Echoes of Siberut Mentawaian legacy

THE MENTAWAI

ECHOES from SIBERUT:

The Mentawai Legacy

Part Two

Below is an immersive portrayal followed by key participants introduction featured in Part Two.

TREATMENT Part Two:

Seq 9: Sakuddei. The return.

Sakuddei river. PM Photography. 2024

We glide silently in a canoe along the Sakuddei river.

The jungle tightens around us. The light dims beneath the canopy. The jungle here feels denser, the canopy heavier, the journey deeper.
A shaman’s voice rises above the quiet, chanting a song of travel — a sacred invocation for the passage to Sakuddei.

He sings an old song, passed through generations — a chant of journey and return.
Each phrase is a signpost. Each note is a bend in the river.
This is a song about traveling to Sakuddei.
It is not just music. It is direction. Invocation. Memory.
The canoe moves forward with the rhythm of the song.

“This is a good time — the time of songs.”

Sakuddei is not just a place. It is a destination steeped in memory and myth — remote, revered.
For the Mentawaian people, it holds deep meaning.

This is where Reimar Schefold, the Swiss anthropologist, lived in the 1970s and returned again in the 1980s.
Many here still remember him.

Among them is Aman Jagau, who was perhaps six or seven when Dr Schefold first came.
And Bali — the solitary huntress. Feared for her strength, respected for her tenacity.

Later, inside the uma elders gather.
They open a weathered copy of Toys for the Souls — Schefold’s book. For the first time they see it.

They don’t know how to read.
They just study the pages in silence, pointing at photos, recognizing faces, postures, fragments of ceremonies now fading.
They remember.

And as memory returns, so do the shadows of history.

Still from drone shot by Toine IJsseldijk 2024

Sakuddei river banks. PM Photography. 2024

Sakuddei Siberut PM Photography. 2024

Seq 10: The Shadow of History

In the 1950s, after Indonesian independence, the government sought to shape a unified national identity.
The Mentawaians — with their body tattoos, sacred chants, and animist traditions — did not fit the mold.

Their ancestral belief system, Arat Sabulungan, was deemed incompatible with the new state.
In 1954, a formal decree was issued: all citizens must adopt a monotheistic religion.

A year later, in a staged meeting of three faiths — Protestantism, Islam, and the indigenous Arat Sabulungan —
officials declared that only state-recognized religions could be practiced.

Shamans were stripped of their role.
Masks, carvings, feathers and soul vessels. must be buried in fear.
As Dr Juniator Tulius writes:

“The traditional belief system of the Mentawaians was forbidden.
Sabulungan artefacts and shamanic regalia were confiscated and burned,
judged to be hostile to the norms of acknowledged religions.
After enduring political pressure and social turbulence,
many Mentawaians were forced to abandon core elements of their traditional culture.”

What we see today in Sakuddei —the rituals, the uma, the chants —exist not as a preserved past, but as a living thread stretched between memory and change.

Despite decades of repression, Arat Sabulungan survives — in breath, in memory, in practice.
But it is fragile.

And the future remains uncertain.
New horizons pierce through a stormy sky.

Uma. Sakuddei. PM Photography. 2024

The question now is not only how to remember —but how to adapt.

Only recently has there been a shift in how to carry this way of life forward without losing its soul.
Only now is the true value of this culture being recognized — as a living patrimony, a memory of a long song carried through time and space.

People in uma. Sakuddei. PM Photography. 2024

Deer and monkey trophies in uma. Sakuddei. PM Photography. 2024

Seq 11: Blessing the souls of the monkeys

Monkey skulls. Sakuddei. PM Photography. 2024

Monkey skulls. Buttui. PM Photography. 2024

Darkness has settled over the forest. The forest hums in the background — humid, dark, alive. The uma is silent. The villagers sleep. But the shaman is awake.

He enters the uma holding a monkey skull — once taken by a foreigner, now returned. Inside, skulls hang from the beams, staring outward. They are not just trophies but also witnesses. Ornaments for the soul.

He places the skull among its kin, then lays down fresh leaves and small offerings of food — gifts to please the spirits. The chant begins, low and steady. A call across worlds in an unknown and secret language.

There is no rehearsal, no spectacle here — only the reality of a moment steeped in mysticism. Alone with the skulls, the shaman calls to the souls of the monkeys convincing them to call their relatives and friends to come to the hunt to be killed.
It feels as if the air itself listens. What unfolds belongs to the domain of the supra-natural.

Shaman Aman Manjas blessing the monkey skulls. Buttui. Still from the film.

In parallel, we see and hear the four shamans seated together. Their voices intercut with the ritual. They speak calmly, as if continuing the ceremony. They recall what was passed to them — how the skull must be honored, how the forest must be asked. The animal must agree. The soul must bless the hunt.

Their memories surface. They remember rituals performed by their fathers, by their ancestors. They speak of the rules that bind the living to the hunted. The forest must be asked. The animal spirits must be blessed. The skull is not just remains — it is a messenger.

One after another, they speak — not in debate, but in harmony. Their words overlap with the chant. The flame. The skulls. The offerings. The camera lingers on their faces — quiet, firm, weathered. Each voice echoes something older.

Through them, the viewer begins to understand: the hunt is not a sport. It is not an act of power. It is part of a sacred cycle — a necessary, complex agreement between humans and spirits, life and death, balance and renewal.

Filmed as it happened, without rehearsal, the moment remains a rare glimpse into the unseen world of the Mentawai.

Shaman Aman Manja bringing leaves as mediators to the spirits and food to the skulls to pease the souls.
Still from the film.

Four shamans conversing about hunting.
Still from the film.

As the ritual nears its end, the voices grow quiet. The offerings are in place. The chant fades. In a few hours, at first light, the hunt will begin.

SEQ 12: Poison arrows, the Hunt and the Signs

Shamans preparing arrows with poison. Buttui. PM Photography. 2024

Shamans applying poison on the arrows. Buttui. PM Photography. 2024

It is a clear morning. The sky is pale blue, the air still cool. Morning light spills across the yard, the uma is quiet in the background. Nearby, children laugh.
In a shaded corner, the shamans sit, grinding leaves and chili from the forest—secret plants known only to them—into a dark, fatal poison.
This ancient skill, passed from elder to apprentice, marks the beginning of the hunt.

The jungle is deep, dense. Light flickers through the canopy, but the forest remains restless—rain can fall without warning and can ruin a shooting day.
The heavy downpour floods the paths, routing streams through fallen leaves. Vines twist across the trail, roots split the ground, hidden holes wait at every step. Snakes vanish into brush. Leeches cling.
Only Mentawai hunters walk and run through this terrain easily without hesitation.

The hunters move silently, attuned to forest signs. A distant rustle. A darting shape through foliage—it might be a Bokkoi, the pig-tailed langur. Bokkoi are familiar to Mentawaian hunters: diurnal, folivorous, often heard in morning chorus but rarely fleeing.
Unlike the sacred bilou, Bokkoi are hunted—and their presence signals both prey and ritual. The bilou, never taken, stands as one of the clearest expressions of the Mentawaian bond with nature: a living reminder that the forest is shared, not owned.

As noted by anthropologist Juniator Tulius:“The bilou gibbon ape and various other animals symbolize specific sacred knowledge within the sabulungan spiritual belief system and traditional cosmology of Mentawaian society.”

In their path, hunters also interpret other signs: a snake crossing may foretell misfortune; a bird’s shriek might portend an event far from the forest—perhaps even death.
In the Mentawai forest, danger and meaning are intertwined.

Here, the world is not merely inhabited—it is interpreted. Every rustle, shape, and call is woven into an ancient conversation between humans and spirits.
The hunt closes the initiation in the forest and precedes the final rituals in the uma—swift blessings that end the cycle on the third or fourth day of ceremony.

Hunting scenes. Around Buttui. Lamat Salakirat & PM Photography. 2024

SEQ 13: TATTOOS

First tattoo in the making. Buttui. PM Photography. 2024

Tarik, a young Mentawai young man, sits bare-backed on a low bench, his head slightly bowed. Today he will receive his first tattoo.

A rough sketch has been drawn and welt onto his skin — the figure of a cross. The first line runs horizontal, from the tip of one shoulder to the other. The second falls vertical, from the nape of his neck down toward the small of his back. These marks signal balance and will frame the designs that will come in later years.

For the Mentawai, tattoos are not fashion. They are an extension of the body, as essential as clothing. They declare identity, origin, and readiness. As photographer Charles Lindsay once wrote, they are “an extension of Mentawai clothing.” Without them, a person is unfinished.

The tattoo maker — a shaman of the uma — works with the simplest of tools: a sharpened needle, a small wooden mallet, and a steady hand. He leans close, tapping rhythm into skin. Each blow drives ink — a mixture of soot, sugarcane juice, chili, and a secret plant — into the shallow wounds. The lines begin to welt, the skin swelling and darkening. Medicinal leaves are kept close, ready to soothe, disinfect and protect.

This is not the only ritual of beautification that demands endurance. Among Mentawai women, the practice of teeth-chiseling has long been a mark of beauty and strength — a deliberate reshaping of the smile, done with a hammer and chisel in moments of grit and ceremony. Like tattoos, it is a declaration etched into the body for life.

Women, too, carry tattoos — fine, flowing patterns that speak of lineage, skill, and resilience.

Outside, the sounds of the village carry on — the laughter of children, the bark of a dog — thin in the dusk, as if far away. Inside, the tapping continues, a slow heartbeat in the dark. The night deepens, the moon now hidden. For Tarik, each strike is both pain and proof. Perhaps, in time, they will be the first steps on the long path toward becoming a shaman — though only the future will tell.

Tattooing Tarik’s back and woman tattooed hand. Buttui. PM Photography. 2024

SEQ 14: THE YOUTH

Mentawai next generation: Bentura, Sali & Lamat. Buttui. PM Photography. 2024

Once, the role of the kerei — the shaman — was the spiritual and social heart of Mentawai life.
Within the rhythms of forest living, taboos, and communal rituals, each individual could grow into their place.
It was a freedom rooted in the forest, guided by ancestral knowledge and shared responsibility.

Now, that balance is under strain. Schooling, wage labor, market economies, and the pull of social media bring new opportunities — and new pressures.
Traditional skills risk being replaced by the demands of a third-world labor force.
For the young, the choice is narrowing: remain in the forest and continue the lineage of the shamans, or step into the uncertain promise of modernity.

The faces of the next generation tell the story — boys in school uniforms, girls in bright T-shirts and during school hours hijab and phones in hand. A motorbike idles outside a shop selling instant noodles, Oreo cookies and electronics. The market hums. The forest feels far away.

As anthropologist Reimar Schefold observes, the future may yet be shaped on their own terms — if they can build upon the foundation of their cultural heritage. “Can the youth adjust to the modern world while maintaining their environment and fostering their own self-directed participation?
Will they choose to develop their traditional lifestyle and secure a unique place within Indonesia, or will they cast aside their roots for an increasing dependence on foreign goods?” (Dr Reimar Schefold)

The answers are not yet written — but the stakes are high for the future of Mentawaian culture and essence. Are the Mentawaians destined to share the fate of so many other tribal peoples before them — the slow erosion and eventual loss of their cultural roots?

This sequence also introduces one of the film’s key voices: Toine IJsseldijk, who was adopted by a Mentawai family more than thirty years ago.
Over decades of close ties, Toine has dedicated himself to safeguarding Mentawaian culture.
Today his work with his wife Mega focuses on educational initiatives with the younger generation — programs designed to pass on ancestral knowledge while equipping Mentawai youth to face the challenges of modern life.

Mentawai youth at school , in Muara Buttui/ government village and in settlement with modern clothes. PM Photography 2024

SEQ 15: TOYS for the SOULS

Shaman Aman jagau carving a bird in uma. Sakuddei. PM Photography 2024

In the half-light of the uma, a shaman begins with an incantation to the tree. From its wood he carves the shape of a bird, each stroke of the machete releasing a form that seems already alive.

The bird, he explains, is a “toy for the soul.” It is made to please and seduce the souls of those in the house, keeping them from wandering away.
For when a soul drifts too far, sickness follows, even death. Imbalance — the force they call bajau — can unsettle the body and invite ghosts that bring misfortune.

As anthropologist Juniator Tulius notes, Mentawaian art is never for temples or museums. Carvings, songs, and dances are living bonds with the spirit world — indispensable ways of teaching and preserving ancestral values.

Carved bird hanging from ceiling of uma with trophies. Sakuddei, PM Photography 2024

Once painted, the bird is hung from the ceiling beams of the uma — a guardian presence, always in flight. Suspended in the shadows, it is more than a carving.
It is a bridge between body and spirit, forest and home, the living and the unseen.

SEQ 16: EPILOGUE: The Last Blessings

In the Butui settlement, the circle closes. On the front porch of the uma, under a clear sky before dusk, the elder shaman Aman Manja leads the ritual of farewell.
One after another, wives and children receive blessings as green leaves brush gently over their bodies, carrying prayers for health and protection.

It is a simple, tender gesture — yet it seals the long ritual cycle that continued in the forest and ends here, at home.
The circle is closed.

Laughter drifts through the house, children press close to their mothers, and for a moment the weight of spirits and taboos lifts.
Outside, the wind moves softly through the trees — a final echo of the forest, reminding us that the spirits are never far.

The film Echoes from Siberut, the Mentawai Legacy ends on this quiet joy — a touch of happiness and hope for the future of the Mentawaians.