The Memorial Ceremonies

The Funeral Thursday July 12, two days after the death of Mrs. Maria (Marpuang) Panjaitan

I am writing to try and describe what I saw and experienced at the memorial services and events at the Panjaitan home this morning and afternoon. I’m sure that I have missed a great deal of what transpired, having simultaneously the disadvantage of not fully knowing the Batak customs and also not knowing Bahasa  Indonesia and the Batak language. I wanted to attend the memorial services from a sense of responsibility to represent our family and also a sense of curiosity to see what would happen.

Nancy and Jacob headed out to the seminary to do the English training sessions, while I kept an eye out from our front porch and also our bathroom window, wanting to go over only when there were signs of the event starting. At 8:30 several vans pulled up into our section of the driveway and families walked over to the Panjaitan home. Even though there were not many people gathered in front of the home, the music started and I figured it made sense to go on over. I took my Bible because I knew I would be sitting there for a long time not understanding what was happening and I could use some of this time to read.

I found a seat and spoke a bit with Pastor Turnip and also met the pastor from the neighborhood HKPB church. Not to notice silly things, but he was wearing a tie decorated with drawings of high top tennis shoes. After sitting for just a few minutes, Mr. Siahan walked up and invited me to come sit with him and some other men. I of course had a thousand questions for him, and while we were discussing funeral details, a school micro-bus pulled up and ten young kids came bounding down the driveway, dressed in their nicely pressed primary school uniforms, white shirts and red shorts / skirts. They were accompanied by a nun dressed in dark blue, and several teachers in gray uniforms. As they filed into the house, Mr. Siahan explained that they are Olivia’s classmates. Olivia is the oldest Panjaitan daughter and is 7 years old.

That's Mr. Siahan on the left. The primary school students are facing the body and Olivia's family.

This provided me with a good reason to enter the home. I asked Mr. Siahan to come with me and he did. Inside the room, Mr. Panjaitan was in the same place as two nights ago, at the head of the bed. Yes, the body of his wife was still lying in the middle of the bed. There were several arrangements of flowers on her lap, but otherwise nothing had changed. Olivia sat right next to him, and other relatives filled that side of the room. The schoolchildren lined up along the other side of the bed, with the nun taking the lead in praying, singing, and I suppose offering condolences to the family. The girls in the group, likely Olivia’s close friends, were very serious, but some of the boys were acting just a little cool and not 100% serious. They were standing within two feet of the deceased so I can only imagine their discomfort.

Olivia sits next to her father while her friends offer their condolences. 

When it was time for them to go, they each offered a personal statement into the highly amplified microphone (I think the amp must have two volume settings….extremely loud and deafening) and then walked behind the head of the bed and shook hands with Olivia. It made her father smile, perhaps for the first time in two days.

As the nun climbs on her motorbike the primary school children walk back to their bus.

The room was unchanged from two nights ago, only now there were less people in it and the scene was different, still very solemn but perhaps slightly less tragic as earlier. There was a videographer with his bright, hot light blazing, plus a photographer taking at least five shots a minute, so that took some of the edge off. It seemed a bit like a movie set. I noticed on the wall behind the headboard there was a photograph of the deceased as a bride in her wedding finery. Below the picture and extending left and right along the wall were many scrawlings and simple pictures scribbled over time by the children. There was also something written in black marker that was marked through. I’d love to know what that said. One thing that was different was the fact that today you could walk in and out of the room with your shoes on. This time I had worn my slip-on shoes, and we could keep them on. I asked Mr. Siahan about this afterwards and he said there were so many people going in and out of the home that it would not be practical to remove shoes.

Mr. Siahan also explained that the ceremonies had to be held inside the home rather than outside because the deceased was so young and did not have any grandchildren and no married children. These are the markers of social status in Batak culture. Without them, not only must all the activities happen inside the home (rather than outside, or in an even more public outdoor place), but also there would be no dancing and no drum music. Of course all of us Americans thought this was quite unfair, that a person robbed of life so young would be penalized, but nobody asked us!

I stepped out of the house with the school children and caught my breath for a few minutes while the ceremonies continued inside. The next event involved the Marpuang family, the deceased wife’s parents and relatives. The father presents the husband with a heavy shawl which appeared to be made of dark velvet, which he immediately places over his head and wears at least through the end of the ceremony. This symbolizes that he is now a widower. As the room was heating up, I could only imagine how the head covering only made the husband more and more uncomfortable.

At that point the body was moved from the bed to the casket. The casket was carried into the room and many people gathered to watch. I was peaking in through the doorway with many people jammed in front of me, so this may not be perfectly accurate. The process was guided by a gentleman wearing a Toyota baseball cap. He had control over the microphone and I have to think was shouting out very specific instructions to the helpers. Evidently each family group had to do certain steps in just the right order. He probably also said “don’t drop her” a dozen times though it was in Batak language so I’m just guessing. The floral arrangements and veil were removed and the bedcoverings, appearing to be like a thin rug, were rolled up from either side. The body was lifted, the bed removed, the casket moved into place, and the body lowered into it. 

At Mr. Siahan’s urging I re-entered the room for what appeared to be a neighbor’s ceremony. Our neighbor from across the basketball court seemed to be in charge of this activity, and he read from either a worship book or a Bible. Several others, including Mr. Siahan, offered prayers, and I was prepared to do my best but wasn’t called upon. This ceremony was fairly brief. The body now lay in the open casket, the veil no longer providing any shielding. I tried not to look at the face, as it was becoming discolored and had lost the physical beauty of two nights ago. It is interesting to note the items included in the casket: a pair of shoes, her purse, her wig, several uhloses, the Batak scarves (I don’t know the plural, sorry) and some other cloth items. Mr. Siahan kept encouraging me to stand with him right by the casket, but thankfully there wasn’t any room and I had to stay a few feet back.

David, the youngest Panjaitan, was sitting on his father’s lap and had had enough. He was hungry and grumpy and acting out. He was pulling his father’s and Olivia’s hair and pinching and punching his father’s face. The father never really reacted and merely tried to minimize the damage by gently holding his son and grasping his hand. I would have to think that David, about 18 months old, was ready to move on to something more fun.

Relatives with rice bags began arriving one at a time, and soon it was time for the relatives ceremony inside. Though the relatives carried the rice bags to the outdoor seating area with their hands, when it was time for them to go inside the home they moved the bags to their heads. The rice is a symbol of life and prosperity and I believe was presented to the Panjaitan family. The same rice bags are used to take rice to weddings. The rice bags sat quite high on the relative’s heads and several of them scrapped on the corrugated metal covering and the extension cords.  All the rice bags made it into the house without spilling and the relatives service began. During this ceremony various members from each family spoke about the deceased. It took a long time, over an hour. Everyone who speaks uses the microphone, which is super amplified to the outside. There was much crying and emotionally packed statements.

While we were waiting outside our friend Irma arrived and I moved over to speak to her. She explained that because her last name is also Marpuang (family name of the deceased) that they are in the same family and have a common ancestor, possibly as far back as 400 years. That seems to be when recorded history for the Batak people began, as that is the start of the generational counting (everyone has a number to go with their family name).

While sitting by the side of our house (that’s how far back the covered pavilion and the chairs stretched) I met a very outgoing older lecturer from Medan named Daniel, who spoke some English. A woman sitting on the other side of me helped the conversation along. After much talking she mentioned that she is a sister of the deceased, who was from a family of ten children. I suppose the sister of the deceased doesn’t even warrant an invite to the relatives ceremony, as she was outside while it was going on, but it also could be that I am mistaken about something in the exact relationship.

Meanwhile the lunch truck drove up and started setting up for the meal that would be served to everyone. They unloaded a tent and serving platform, then pulled out the biggest bucket of rice I have ever seen. It must have held 25 or more gallons of cooked rice. The workers served the rice onto individual plates by scooping it out of the bucket with a slightly smaller plate and sliding it off. Next to the rice went the Batak pork/brown gravy mixture (with white chunks of something…fat or gristle?), a spicy green bean mixture, banana, and cup of water. Since you need a sharp straw to open the water, these were anchored to the plate by sticking them in the rice. Of course that totally clogged up my straw, but not to worry, I just pulled the one from my last water cup (it was starting to get warm!)

Everyone here eats really really fast and I was still working on my plate when the workers walked through to collect them. They picked up the plates and if anything was left they just dumped it in the grass. To their credit, they returned to the seating area after the ceremony concluded and cleaned up most of the plastic, banana peels, etc. But I believe they missed enough that the neighborhood ants and animals will be feasting for a few days.

There was still another ceremony, this one for the Nommensen friends. The deceased had been a teacher at the high school which is part of the Nommensen campus. The husband is a lecturer at Nommensen who is completing his Ph.D. During that ceremony the ambulance pulled up and I thought we were very close to a conclusion. It was about 12:30. With the Nommensen ceremony finished, I had my hopes up. Then I saw the local pastor, the one who had been wearing the funny tie, now was dressed in his full, floor length gown. It was time for the official church service. This lasted for a long long time. I am so thankful I wasn’t standing inside that room and cooking while that transpired. It finally concluded and everyone jumped up. I was ready for the conclusion, but instead everyone rushed into the house. It was time for everyone to present the husband and family with money envelopes as an expression of condolence. We already gave this on Tuesday night, so we sat back and watched.

When that event concluded then it was time to put the lid on the casket, and that generated another round of powerful emotion. There was a little ceremony with this act, also. Finally the casket was carried out of the house by many young men (perhaps her brothers?) and loaded into the ambulance. The wooden cross / grave marker was dropped into a slot in the front bumper. Then a large discussion ensued on who got to ride in the ambulance. There was a full row of seats available and I’m sure they squeezed a half dozen relatives in there, in addition to the videographer and photographer in the back with the casket. I imagine that these guys got out after a few blocks and then rode separately to the village. I can’t imagine that they would ride the whole way with the casket bouncing against their knees.

The ambulance departed and the families loaded up in the many vehicles from around our house and up and down the street.

Little Olivia stood holding the hand of her great grandmother (I'm guessing) and Nancy ran back to the house to get her some crayons and a writing tablet, so she could draw during the long drive to the her mother's village, which is near Parpat and Lake Toba.