A Rare Farewell

Death in the mountains holds a kind of presence that is hard to put into words. It is not rushed. It lingers in the home, where the presence of the deceased is honoured with rituals that feel both ancient and deeply personal. During my time in Toraja, I was invited to witness a ceremony so rare that even the locals spoke of it with quiet awe- a high-caste woman, Maria Pare, seated upright in a chair, dressed in her finest garments, surrounded by the love and offerings of her family.

I was told this custom is only practised by the mountain people, and even among them, it is becoming increasingly rare. One of the locals, with a mix of pride and wonder, told me they had only seen it once before in their lifetime. When they mentioned that the family might welcome me if I brought a gift of money and tobacco, I did not hesitate. I climbed the steep path, carrying my offering and an open heart, unsure of what I would find but feeling the weight of its significance.

Maria Pare: The Woman in the Chair

When I arrived at the family’s home, it was pouring rain. The road up the mountain was treacherous, and after a ride on the bike, I arrived at the family’s door looking completely soaked, with water dripping off my clothes. My dreadlocks were plastered to my face, and I’m sure I looked like I'd just stepped out of a monsoon. The family opened the door with a brief look of surprise- clearly, they hadn’t expected quite such a drenched foreigner, but that hesitation quickly turned into warm smiles and welcoming gestures. Despite the heavy occasion, they invited me in without a second thought.

In the centre of the room, Maria Pare sat upright in a chair. She was dressed in traditional clothing- a white top and sarong embroidered with orange, red, brown, and golden stripes. Her wrists were adorned with traditional beaded bracelets and bright-coloured beaded necklaces draped around her neck, flowing onto her arms and torso. Handcrafted swords were tucked into her intricately beaded belt. She wore golden earrings and a delicate piece of beaded headwear.

Above her head hung framed family photos and a wooden cross. To her right, candles flickered softly. Beside her lay heartfelt letters written by her grandchildren. Around her chair, there was a pile of her loved ones’ clothing- a gesture, I was told, to keep her connected to those she was leaving behind.

Her body was not preserved. Instead, she remained fully present, a striking reminder of the thin veil between life and death. For three days, she would stay in this position, allowing her spirit to linger among the living, giving her family time to reflect, to pray, and to say their final goodbyes.

Coins were placed carefully on her cheeks, an ancient Torajan practice believed to hold spiritual significance. Some say the coins act as a form of currency for the deceased’s journey to Puya, the afterlife. Others believe they protect the body and soul, ensuring a smooth transition between worlds. Watching her sit there, both vulnerable and regal, I was struck by the tenderness behind these rituals, the way each gesture held layers of meaning, reaching back through generations.

Honouring the Dead, Holding Onto the Living

As the hours passed, the atmosphere in the room shifted between solemnity and celebration. We feasted on pig, rice, and vegetables around Maria, laughing and communicating in broken English and Torajan. The room was alive with the sound of voices, and there was a beautiful mix of tears and laughter. Children danced around, their movements filled with joy, while the adults shared stories, sometimes wiping away tears, but always returning to smiles. The energy in the room was tangible, alive and full of life, even as they mourned.

Maria Pare’s family did not just mourn her, they celebrated her. They adorned her body with care, placed letters from her grandchildren at her side, and laid their own clothing around her as a reminder that she would always remain part of them. Even in death, she was not alone.

As I left the mountain, I carried the weight of what I had witnessed. There was grief, yes, but also a quiet reverence for the bonds that death cannot sever. These rituals, though rare and slowly fading, speak to a deep connection between the living and the dead. For those three days, as Maria Pare remained among her family, the presence of both was felt equally, no less real than the life they shared.