the village in the forest I

It wrapped around me at once--like a warm embrace--that sense of slowing down, of time hanging in mid-air, of the heart lightening.

Strange. Because there was nothing extraordinarily resplendent about the tall trees that shielded the village of Badui Dalam (Inner Badui). Surely, I have gazed up at similar woodlands countless times before. But there it was, this perceptible feeling of peace pouring all over me as I paused for breath and listened, awestruck, at the timeless quietness surrounding me.

More than an hour has passed since the guide marked the border where we were allowed to take pictures for the last time. Since then, our trek has been unbroken by mad scrambles for group selfies. We have been walking unshielded by trees for some time now--trudging along cracked soil and unforgiving rocks, passing by burned, abandoned rice fields. 

And suddenly this wall of high, high trees. Three of us were separated from the leading group and so we entered the woods somberly, without the usual accompanying chatter of a large crowd. Here, shrubs and trees grew thickly--as thick as our anticipation at coming in contact with the famed tribe. 

They are known as the "Indonesian Amish"--the Badui or Baduy who call themselves Kanekes. Their tribe thrives in a forest just within the province I'm at, Banten. I had never heard of them until five days ago, and though I was repeatedly told there was no way I could go to the Inner Badui, I just knew I would.

Think of this: 

*a people who have never used a book, a pen, slippers, shampoo, soap... or, heaven forbid, handphones and wifi!

 *families who have never stepped outside their village because to do so would be deemed sinful; 

 *a reclusive village in the heart of West Java to which even the President of Indonesia was purportedly once denied entry!

 *worshippers who follow a blend of animism and Hinduism in a land with the largest Muslim population in the world;

 *magic--a tribe famed all throughout the archipelago for their skill in magic!

How can I not want to go? 

You will never see photos of folks in the inner circle because taking pictures in that area is forbidden. As such, only the Baduis in the outer circle--protecting the inner circle--are shown in photos wearing black shirts. The Inner Baduis wear white shirt which they make themselves. The color symbolizes their purity.

Foreigners are forbidden to enter the Badui Dalam (Inner Badui); even only very few locals are allowed there. And I was told that three years ago, it was absolutely taboo for even these privileged Indonesians to sleep overnight in the inner sanctum.

But now, we were here. We were about to spend the night.

We soon came upon a bamboo bridge over a noisy creek, and I heard indistinct laughter at the other end. 

"We're here," my companion said.

"What? This is it?" I exclaimed, taken aback. We have come upon a clearing at the end of the bridge where a cluster of huts stood. On the steps of the first two huts sat the Badui guides and the rest of my group--fanning themselves, drinking from their water bottles, exchanging jokes, guffawing. In short, being as rowdy as ever.

I didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this playful merriment in a village that looked--to all intent and purposes--abandoned. The huts stood close to one another. There must have been around 10 only as far as I could see (later I learned there were more), but there was no life around them. There was no one peering from their doors as you would normally expect when a boisterous bunch of strangers come upon your place. No faces looked out of windows--because there were no windows, only walls of brown, undecorated weaved bamboo. There was nothing in each hut that would distinguish one from another--no smoke wafted up from any cooking, no potted plant or flower signalled ownership, no slippers lined up the bamboo porch (the Baduis go barefoot) no colorful mats lay on the steps, no sound came out of any hut, nothing hung from the beams--not even drying sarungs.

"We're here?" I whispered again, uncertainly. We had three guides in all--two wearing the white homespun shirt of the  Badui Dalam tribe, and one in the black shirt of the Badui Luar (Outer Badui). In truth, I was rather overwhelmed by the inconsistent moods I have experienced this far--the quietness and serenity at the entrance; the unexpected gaiety of my companions; the contrasting desolate setting of the village; and all these in the heart of a rich, throbbing forest. It was like opening a box to find another one and opening it to find yet another!

And I haven't even come close to understanding our hosts yet, the enigmatic Badui Dalam--why they could go out and meet us when I read they were forbidden to step out of their village, and why they looked so cheerful when they were supposed to be magical!

"Come on everybody! It's time to meet the Jaro," our leader called out. We stood up and started hauling our bags. An expectant hum rose among us. The jaro is the village chief and we were invited to his hut. Now, surely, answers will start coming, I thought. 

But I knew so little then how true answers rarely come in words.