LIFE AND DEATH IN MENTAWAI

Each time I return to Mentawai I discover something new about the people and about the way they deal with the often-confronting circumstances that arise during their lives. This recent experience presented all that and more.

Arriving in the port town of Siberut, Arla and I were greeted by news that my friend Aman Masit Dere was ill. His condition though was unclear. Infection. Leg injury. Fever. Confused, we purchased a variety of basic medical supplies to take up river.

His son, Aman Jiji, who had received word of our arrival, appeared late that day to collect us. He informed us that the illness was cough related; that he had been crook for over two weeks; and that at times he had been coughing up blood. He didn’t have a name for what this illness might be. We left at first light the following morning. The canoe ride takes eight hours if the river is not too dry.

To give you a sense of what eventuated here and in the days ensuing I thought I’d share with you some sections of writing taken from my personal daily musings:

Heading up river I enquired the whereabouts of his brothers. Aman Jiji responded, “Most of the extended family is at the Uma so that if he dies they can be there with him.” He then asked, smiling with incredible sincerity, “If my father dies will you still come to visit us?” He then quickly moved on making comment on a completely unrelated matter. All smiles. It is quite amazing to experience – first hand – the way they deal with what appears to be a life-threatening situation. Adopting this approach, I’m trying to give as little thought as possible to what may or may not be. The forest is soothingly beautiful to watch pass by.

Aman Masit Dere is terribly ill. My heart fell away when I saw him. He can barely move. This powerfully strong-willed man is frail and hurting. He has barely eaten for two weeks. I feel sick. Sitting with him, watching his daughters holding him upright and, in small green leaves, catching the bile he continues to cough up, tears wanted desperately to well in my eyes. I held it back. Arla was unable. They were quick to comfort her “You can’t cry. He is not dead. He is still strong. We need to be happy. We can’t confuse him.”

Five Sikerei were completing the final day of a Mentawai healing ceremony. We shared in the experience. They then asked for my advice. I suggested we take him down to the Puskesmas (medical clinic) in the port town as soon as possible. They don’t have any money. We will cover the costs. They agreed that, tomorrow, after completing the ceremony, we take him down river. I later managed to find some time alone. I cried for my friend. I will look into trying to extend my visa to stay on. Stay by his side.

Aman Masit Dere almost passed away last night. He coughed an incredible amount and found it very difficult to continue breathing. We’re now in the Puskesmas. It was a long, slow commute down the river. He was in the arms of his siblings or children all the way. He is connected to a drip and has a breathing apparatus stuck up his nose. He looks too exhausted to show any fear for this foreign environment. We have set up camp in his room. Ten of us. Including his three youngest children. I’m moved – even more so than previously – by the love and support shown by his family. Such a powerful form of medicine. So tired.

Finally she sees that it’s us in the canoe. Their faces. The tears. The joy. Their father is still alive. Wow. It is truly amazing when life presents a scene of such raw happiness. So glad to be back here. Everyone is feeling the same. We spend the evening singing and talking and drinking tea and laughing. It feels a lot more like the evenings I’d become accustomed to.

Masit Dere grew stronger each day. By the time we left to head back to Australia he was eating well. The passion for life had slowly begun to return to his face. He now participated in conversation; projecting his customary spiels and tone that would lead you to think he’s arguing the world’s most important issue when it is in fact merely a discussion about collecting timber to build a new contraption. He has agreed to stay off the tobacco for the next few years at least and, I think, grasps the importance of needing to take the medicine everyday for the entire six-month period. It was an emotional departure.

I guess the reason I felt this important to share relates back to a recent article I wrote discussing the methods by which the Mentawai community here deal with illness and loss of life and whether this contrasts against what, if any, actions need to be taken. This experience, coinciding with this effort to determine what is best for the community with regards to their situation, has indeed broadened but yet refined my views.

In particular, it has further highlighted the people’s positive attitude for accepting death as a natural form of life and that, despite the consequence, they feel safer within the confines of the environment they know and trust. But equal to this they do not want members of their family to die. And in cases such as this, which are quite common amongst these remote communities where they’re unable to afford costs for any other option, it’s possible that these deaths are prevented with minimal disturbance to their desires.

I’m unsure of the costs that would be involved in such an exercise, but, given what I know about the people and have learnt from this experience, it seems the most logical step would be to provide early immunisation against life-threatening and contagious diseases such as Tuberculosis. A simple vaccination. A needle given to each person within the comforts of their nearest village. I believe this would have almost no impact on their ongoing perceptions of survival here, but would most definitely save lives.

With regards to action, the program and foundation being developed as part of this project focuses more on education than specific medical health issues such as this – there are other experienced organisations that focus their work in this field. However I am eager, on the side, to further research the possibilities of working with others to help make this happen. So I ask, if any readers have access to experience, contacts, facilities, or just general advice with relation to helping achieve this, please make contact.

Whilst I don’t yet know much about the procedures involved in vaccination, I feel it would be foolish not to explore these pathways which arise that are ultimately leading to the one desired outcome for the livelihood of the Mentawai people. Thanks for reading.