Metatah & the giant (tooth filing & the giant!)

It’s still dark as night when I wake up. Annie dresses me in the sarong and brings up a necklace she wants me to wear today. The wedding of Oka’s daughter will start at 5AM with the traditional Balinese tooth filing, or metatah. Long teeth hold evil vices like, greed, jealousy, and deceit. Filing cleanse the body of evil and is the traditional right of passage for young Indonesians. We drive for an hour, to a small village, walk quietly through a narrow blue door, around a short wall that keeps evil spirits from the house (because evil spirits cannot turn corners), into the compound. There are five large open, empty, buildings. The only sounds come from the one building that is packed tight with people – old and young – crowded around a small bed, framed with massive palm and dyed rice displays, offerings of food and fruit, smoking incense. An old woman sings a slow, strange song.

I feel I’ve walked into something very special and very personal. I hesitate, it feels like walking into the bedroom of a person you just met. It’s so intimate. But Oka pulls me up the 5 stairs (stairs always lead to holier grounds) to stand among the people around the bed. Floating 4 feet higher than the ground, it’s then that I see two men, in their early twenties, dressed in gold, covered in a purple and shining gold blanket. The women and men huddled around them hold their hands and legs down on the bed as one elder works at
filing down the men’s teeth. We stand there, until a woman looks up, sees me and whispers to the one next to her. Like a wave, whispers spread, and the crowd of people turn from the bed and the boys to stare at me, with confused, less than welcoming eyes at my obvious outsider status. I smile, bow my head slightly to show respect, and quietly say good morning in Indonesian (wishing they would go back to the ceremony.) Oka says something, smiles at me, the woman chants again, another woman turns to me. Sizes me up and down. Then delivers the verdict, in careful English: giant.

A shriek of laughter, as they take turns then, smiling and laughing repeating the English word. I join in for a laugh, happy to be the butt of their jokes if I can now be included in this circle. And I am. Instantly. They turn their backs to me and continue with the ceremony. The men rise, spit juice and blood into a hollowed coconut. A rail-thin woman with mangled teeth
holds the small mirror, as they see for the first time their flattened canines, the elders nod in approval. It is the Indonesian coming of age ceremony. Two women take their place. They are dressed in gold wraps with gilded flowers in their black hair. Prayers are said and fresh incense lit. They are given something to chew on, spit, and repeat and then the filing begins. He holds their mouths open, one at a time, and goes to work. It looks like uncomfortable and painful. But they say nothing. The mirror is held, more work is needed, then approval.

The women rise and join the men in an empty building, they are all gold and burgundy. In the early morning, it’s beautiful beyond belief. Oka presents me and I bow low as I wish them good morning. I want to somehow show them my respect. I tell them it was all very, very beautiful (chantik).

They ask me to sit with them. Coffee and cake is brought out for the guests, but the men and women of the ceremony are fasting for the day. They will eat nothing and drink only water. I practice faltering Indonesian, as one of the men (the one who will marry Oka’s daughter) practices his halting English with me. We laugh and smile as words are carefully chosen, contemplated, translated, pronounced, shared. He works sometimes for the cruise ships. We trade email addresses. I meet Oka’s wife and daughter, both are both beautiful, warm, and gracious. There is a closeness with the people, family and friends, that delights me. Oka, his family, and friends have no problem grabbing my arm to shows me things I should take pictures: family temple, the traditional kitchen, the women and men cooking in the open hallways of the compound kitchen. Everything I greet with interest, smiles and a mix of Indonesian and English questions. I am always greeted back with slow answers in an equal mix of Indonesian and English.
The kids run after my sarong and take turns to grab my hand or a bit of fabric and say, Hello! Only to squeal with laughter, when I turn and respond with an emphatic “Hello!” worthy of a good Balinese giantess. I take their pictures and show them the big display. They squeal and race around the compound. The women look into my eyes or softly touch my hand and tell me, “chantik” (beautiful). I ask if I may take their photo, they always agree, and I show them the display afterwards – chantik, I say back. The men nod in approval when they overhear me practicing Indonesian. Oka proudly tells them I’ve only been in Indonesia for three (tiga!) days and already speaking good words.

The young bridegroom asks if I need more food. Annie nods for me. (It’s impolite not to eat, she says, and they have been cooking fresh food since 2am.) I thank him and ask for only a little, in Indonesian. The takes my hand and leads me to the buffet line. He picks up a plate and teaches me the Indonesian names as he scoops rice, gurring, curries, potato, dried coconut, three kinds of babi (pig), vegetables, fruit, fresh grilled satay (some coconut and some curry) A little turns into a little of everything! They gather to watch as I eat and exclaim over it all. Enak sicali! (Very delicious!) over and over. It’s spicy, hot, fresh and amazing. Oka is proud, Annie pleased. Despite two cups of Indonesian coffee, I feel a food-coma induced, jet lag enhanced sleepiness coming on.

But it’s only 7 am and the wedding starts at 1. There is a long way to go. Annie tells me to eat nothing the rest of the day, as I must eat again and again and again at 1pm (and eat a lot), otherwise I will be rude. I pretend to complain and pat my belly, saya kunya! (but I am full!) In response, Oka and Annie each grab one of my arms and tell me they must take me somewhere, despite my attempts to decline leaving the compound on such a special day. I want to say no, but then I hear myself say Ok, yes, I'd love to go. Please show me.