In Search of my Moyang

by Ian Lett

A sub-woofer the size of a truck tyre pounded my leg like a shopping mall Chinese masseuse. Indo pop (Indonesian pop music) blared from the multiple speakers of the minivan-taxi, with massive guitar riffs washing over my fellow passengers. Seven school girls wearing hijabs sat opposite, managing to communicate to each other, despite the deafening music. The Manager of Tourism in Mentawai, Dr Dinul Harbi, sat next to me, as we travelled to his home outside the city of Padang, Sumatra. It was August 2008, and I had come to see the grave of my moyang (great grandfather) on the Indonesian islands of Mentawai.

I had met Dinul, or Edy as he preferred to be called, while walking along the Padang riverfront. “Hello. Are you Australian? I’ve come from Sikakap” he said cheerfully. I stopped, wondering who this well-dressed man with a gentle smile could be. Wearing patent leather shoes and a large gold ring, he stood out from the traders and travelers at the city’s main port. How had he guessed my nationality? Was it a coincidence that he had come from the tiny Mentawai village I was booked to sail to the next day?

My moyang (great grandfather), missionary August Lett

I revealed my intention to visit the grave of my moyang, missionary August Lett. Edy’s demeanour changed as he solemnly told me that it had been a misunderstanding that led to the killing of August Lett. The missionary had used the word ‘father’ in a way which was forbidden in the Mentawai culture. August was referring to the Holy Father, but the Mentawains thought that he was evoking the ‘spiritus’ of the late father of a local man. The misunderstanding led to August being stabbed multiple times while visiting a village in Mentawai’s South Pagai Island. He died many hours later, in the arms of his wife Dora.

Edy took my hand, and we walked along the river, hand in hand. It was a friendly gesture, but it felt strange to be holding the hand of a man I had met just moments earlier. An hour later we arrived at his house in a rural village where roosters crowed in the street, and where I met his wife and four children. Dishes of chilli-encrusted carp, rendang and nasi goreng were placed on the table in front of me. I was embarrassed to find that all this food was for me. The familiy waited while I ate, but I realised that the remaining food would be eaten by the family later. As I ate Edy wrote a letter of introduction to his uncle in Sikakap. His name, Mr Gunter, is also my second name. I knew I was in the right place.

Beef rendang