Posts in category: Stories

Many of you may have heard and joined the festive Toraja funeral ceremony that can last for days. However, for non-Torajanese, maybe you have not experienced the long journey home when a Torajanese dies away from their land.

Well, a few months ago, my husband and I were in Makassar where I was asked to share my experience in developing my TORAJAMELO community based business with other women micro-entrepreneurs. We were preparing to fly back to Jakarta, when my husband received a phone call. It was from his brother, telling us that his mother-in-law who was hospitalized in Makassar had just passed away. For Torajanese, it’s very important to attend funerals.So, in a hurry, we cancelled our flight, changed our clothes into an all black garb that we always have in our suitcase and rushed to the hospital. In front of the morgue, a big tent with plastic roof had already been erected. The guests, mostly Torajanese were already there, talking with each other, not unlike a reunion. We prayed in front of the coffin.Then sat together with the other guests. Soon, lunch boxes with rice and meat were distributed. More and more people came. Before we knew it, it was already late afternoon. Cakes and drinks were served.

The oldest son of the deceased made a speech about how he struggled to accept the death of his mother. Then the coffin was put in the van and off we went. We were part of a motorcade of around two dozens of cars, led by a police car with wailing siren. We drove in the night, out of Makassar towards north. After about an hour, suddenly the police car stopped and we all stopped by the road. I stayed in the car. Creeping in the dark were several people giving out dinner boxes of rice and fried chicken! We all sat in our cars and ate. After the men finished their after dinner cigarettes, we moved on.

I fell asleep. Around midnight, I woke up. It was dark. Our car was parked. The driver was nowhere to be seen. My husband was snoring in the front seat. I looked outside, the van with the coffin in it was next to my car. I walked outside and into a small restaurant by the beach. Everybody was there, eating grilled fish and drinking coffee. They were talking and laughing. Amazing!

We drove on, turning north east into the mountains. The police siren was still going strong. I fell asleep once more.At around 3am, the cars stopped again in a little town on a hill. Everybody scrambled out to have coffee. I was too tired and stayed in the car. The van with the coffin was parked in front of my car.

At dawn, I woke up to the sound of revving engines of dozens of motor cycles which joined us at Salubarani, the border into the Toraja land. This is the Toraja way of welcoming home the deceased who will be buried in their ancestor land. As we passed Makale, the first big town in Toraja, dozens of cars followed us into Rantepao, the main town of North Toraja.

At last, after a twelve hours journey, we arrived at the house of the deceased where family members and friends were already waiting. Steaming hot coffee and cakes were served. A short prayer was recited and another speech was delivered. Afterwards, we all had breakfast of rice with chicken or pork cooked in bamboo tubes. It was yummy, but I was so tired, that my face fell on my rice.

From this experience, it’s clear to me, that funeral procession in Toraja is a way of family and friends gathering, as well as celebrating life.

Many of you may have heard and joined the festive Toraja funeral ceremony that can last for days. However, for non-Torajanese, maybe you have not experienced the long journey home when a Torajanese dies away from their land.

Well, a few months ago, my husband and I were in Makassar where I was asked to share my experience in developing my TORAJAMELO community based business with other women micro-entrepreneurs. We were preparing to fly back to Jakarta, when my husband received a phone call. It was from his brother, telling us that his mother-in-law who was hospitalized in Makassar had just passed away. For Torajanese, it’s very important to attend funerals.So, in a hurry, we cancelled our flight, changed our clothes into an all black garb that we always have in our suitcase and rushed to the hospital. In front of the morgue, a big tent with plastic roof had already been erected. The guests, mostly Torajanese were already there, talking with each other, not unlike a reunion. We prayed in front of the coffin.Then sat together with the other guests. Soon, lunch boxes with rice and meat were distributed. More and more people came. Before we knew it, it was already late afternoon. Cakes and drinks were served.

The oldest son of the deceased made a speech about how he struggled to accept the death of his mother. Then the coffin was put in the van and off we went. We were part of a motorcade of around two dozens of cars, led by a police car with wailing siren. We drove in the night, out of Makassar towards north. After about an hour, suddenly the police car stopped and we all stopped by the road. I stayed in the car. Creeping in the dark were several people giving out dinner boxes of rice and fried chicken! We all sat in our cars and ate. After the men finished their after dinner cigarettes, we moved on.

I fell asleep. Around midnight, I woke up. It was dark. Our car was parked. The driver was nowhere to be seen. My husband was snoring in the front seat. I looked outside, the van with the coffin in it was next to my car. I walked outside and into a small restaurant by the beach. Everybody was there, eating grilled fish and drinking coffee. They were talking and laughing. Amazing!

We drove on, turning north east into the mountains. The police siren was still going strong. I fell asleep once more.At around 3am, the cars stopped again in a little town on a hill. Everybody scrambled out to have coffee. I was too tired and stayed in the car. The van with the coffin was parked in front of my car.

At dawn, I woke up to the sound of revving engines of dozens of motor cycles which joined us at Salubarani, the border into the Toraja land. This is the Toraja way of welcoming home the deceased who will be buried in their ancestor land. As we passed Makale, the first big town in Toraja, dozens of cars followed us into Rantepao, the main town of North Toraja.

At last, after a twelve hours journey, we arrived at the house of the deceased where family members and friends were already waiting. Steaming hot coffee and cakes were served. A short prayer was recited and another speech was delivered. Afterwards, we all had breakfast of rice with chicken or pork cooked in bamboo tubes. It was yummy, but I was so tired, that my face fell on my rice.

From this experience, it’s clear to me, that funeral procession in Toraja is a way of family and friends gathering, as well as celebrating life.

Two days ago I received an invitation to attend the commemoration of the World Leprosy Day 2011 with the theme “No Leprosy Among Us”. This brings my mind to Grandpa Marcia, who lives in the Leprosarium Batulelleng in Rantepao, North Toraja. (In Toraja, if you have a grandchild, you will be called with the name of your oldest grandchild. Thus, Marcia is Grandpa Marcia’s oldest grandchild).

I met Grandpa Marcia at Pasar Bolu, the main market of Rantepao, which happens every six days. I was looking for a traditional bamboo hat to be worn to funeral ceremonies. As usual, when I go shopping I always look for a seller who smiles. I will pay a higher price, even without bargaining to a smiling seller. Among all the hat sellers, Grandpa Marcia’s wide smile drew me to him. From then on, I often go to his little, but clean wooden hut in the Leprosarium.

Grandpa Marcia is a Master hat maker. He has taught his daughters and neighbors how to make top quality hats.They share the work in making each hat. Grandpa Marcia does the most difficult part, which is the bamboo center top and the top cone. It takes them up to four weeks to make a hat, which includes the time to dry the bamboo strips in the sun.

Grandpa Marcia goes to Pasar Bolu every six days to bring his hats and those of his neighbors. Many of his neighbors do not dare to leave the Leprosarium, because they have lost their fingers and toes. Grandpa Marcia has also lost his right leg. However, he now wears a false leg. And once he wears long pants and shoes, he looks like any ordinary people. That’s why he does not have any problem about going to the market.

The World Leprosy Day was created and announced for the first time on 31 January 1954 by Raoul Follereau. He is a journalist and a fighter who believes, “that people affected by leprosy could be cared for like all others who are ill and so that those in good health could be cured of their absurd and often criminal fear of this disease and those who are affected by it”. 2011 is an important milestone in eradicating leprosy with the start of WHO (World Health Organization) program of “Enhanced Global Strategy for Further Reducing the Disease Burden Due to Leprosy 2011-2015”.

In Jakarta, the World Leprosy Day will be commemorated on 31 January, 2011 with three goals: to build confidence and independence for the survivors of leprosy, to eradicate stigmatization on leprosy sufferers and survivors and to empower the leprosy survivors to build their own future, their family and community. These goals are important, especially with the fact that according to the Indonesian Minister of Health in 2010, that there are still around 14 provinces and regencies in Indonesia which still have leprosy. Additionally, Indonesia together with India and Brazil are the top three countries, which still have new Leprosy sufferers.

It is clear then, that Grandpa Marcia is one of leprosy survivors who has managed to empower himself socially and economically while supporting his family and helping his community. At the same time, with his traditional hats, he maintains the continuation of Toraja culture.

Two days ago I received an invitation to attend the commemoration of the World Leprosy Day 2011 with the theme “No Leprosy Among Us”. This brings my mind to Grandpa Marcia, who lives in the Leprosarium Batulelleng in Rantepao, North Toraja. (In Toraja, if you have a grandchild, you will be called with the name of your oldest grandchild. Thus, Marcia is Grandpa Marcia’s oldest grandchild).

I met Grandpa Marcia at Pasar Bolu, the main market of Rantepao, which happens every six days. I was looking for a traditional bamboo hat to be worn to funeral ceremonies. As usual, when I go shopping I always look for a seller who smiles. I will pay a higher price, even without bargaining to a smiling seller. Among all the hat sellers, Grandpa Marcia’s wide smile drew me to him. From then on, I often go to his little, but clean wooden hut in the Leprosarium.

Grandpa Marcia is a Master hat maker. He has taught his daughters and neighbors how to make top quality hats.They share the work in making each hat. Grandpa Marcia does the most difficult part, which is the bamboo center top and the top cone. It takes them up to four weeks to make a hat, which includes the time to dry the bamboo strips in the sun.

Grandpa Marcia goes to Pasar Bolu every six days to bring his hats and those of his neighbors. Many of his neighbors do not dare to leave the Leprosarium, because they have lost their fingers and toes. Grandpa Marcia has also lost his right leg. However, he now wears a false leg. And once he wears long pants and shoes, he looks like any ordinary people. That’s why he does not have any problem about going to the market.

The World Leprosy Day was created and announced for the first time on 31 January 1954 by Raoul Follereau. He is a journalist and a fighter who believes, “that people affected by leprosy could be cared for like all others who are ill and so that those in good health could be cured of their absurd and often criminal fear of this disease and those who are affected by it”. 2011 is an important milestone in eradicating leprosy with the start of WHO (World Health Organization) program of “Enhanced Global Strategy for Further Reducing the Disease Burden Due to Leprosy 2011-2015”.

In Jakarta, the World Leprosy Day will be commemorated on 31 January, 2011 with three goals: to build confidence and independence for the survivors of leprosy, to eradicate stigmatization on leprosy sufferers and survivors and to empower the leprosy survivors to build their own future, their family and community. These goals are important, especially with the fact that according to the Indonesian Minister of Health in 2010, that there are still around 14 provinces and regencies in Indonesia which still have leprosy. Additionally, Indonesia together with India and Brazil are the top three countries, which still have new Leprosy sufferers.

It is clear then, that Grandpa Marcia is one of leprosy survivors who has managed to empower himself socially and economically while supporting his family and helping his community. At the same time, with his traditional hats, he maintains the continuation of Toraja culture.

WET MARKETS OF TORAJA

Going to the malls in Jakarta from time to time is fine – to buy books, meet some friends, sip coffee and munch on donuts, etc. You look up and see the fake sky, complete with fake clouds and around you, fake plastic trees…ugh. I am not trying to be pretentious, but please take me to a wet market any day…especially the wet markets of Toraja…and my heart will sing!

The markets in Toraja go in a six-day cycle. The story goes… a long time ago, these markets have their own specialties in addition to the usual vegetables, fruits and fish. One market will be full of mats woven from the tall grass. Another will have terra-cotta pots of different sizes ready to be used to boil coffee or to cook rice. One market will have stalls of coffee beans and powder. But the biggest of them all is the main Rantepao market, which is called Pasar Bolu or betel vine leave market. Maybe long time ago, there used to be a lot of betel nut trees there. Or maybe because a lot of betel vine leaves are sold there together with betel fruit, areca nut, lime and tobacco. This mixture creates red saliva when put and munched together and is still loved by many Torajanese, especially older people from the village. As one lady tells me, “I’d rather not eat than not chew the bolu leaves.” Despite the name, the market is the main buffalo and pig market of Toraja area.

On the night before the market day, my neighbors in Batutumonga-about one hour out of Rantepao- at around midnight will start walking down to the main road carrying vegetables on their back. Actually, Torajanese hangs the bamboo basket with a strap around their forehead and the basket sitting on their back. Then they wait for a car to take them to the markets or some will continue walking down the whole 22 kilo meter. As the sun rises, you can hear the hum of the cars and trucks going down full with people. A few hours before sunset, the cars will return still full of people plus their shopping goods. More often than not, one or two buffalos and some pigs will also ride in the trucks.

On market day, sometimes you cannot take the car to cross the bridge into Pasar Bolu area, because the traffic is simply not moving. As soon as you enter the market, all your senses will perk up: the noise of people bargaining, the bright colors of the fruits and vegetables, the sweet smell of newly roasted coffee, the heat of the sun and bodies jostling together, the bitter sweet taste of the palm wine, the soft texture of woven mats. On my last trip, I took my brother, who is an IT Manager in San Francisco and he sighed happily: “Sense overload…”

I will go across to the open field in the southwest part of the market. There, in the middle of the mud, as far as your eyes can see, stand hundreds of buffalos: big and small, black and white, with or without spots. Their keepers hold them on the leash. And one thing that always strikes me is – despite the presence of hundreds of people and buffalos – it’s quiet. Nobody screams to offer you their buffalos. Nobody pushes you around. The keepers just stand quietly and wait for a buyer. The buffalos also stand or sit around quietly, munching some grass. The scene will change drastically as I reach the pig area on the other side. The pigs are squealing on the ground, trussed up on bamboo poles. The ones in the pig pens will be eating noisily. The piglets are squirming and snorting in the plastic sacks.

Then it’s time to get away from the heat. I will go back to the main part of the market, past the sellers of rock mortars and pestles. Inside, there will be rows and rows of fresh fish from Palopo in the east coast. I choose the fishmonger who smiles the most (‘Why bother spending your money on a grumpy person?’ is my policy in shopping) and buy from him a week’s stock of seafood: white jack fish, bright red tuna, fat striped prawns, blue clawed crabs, fresh silvery anchovies. Not far from him is the chicken lady. I will buy two chickens already cut up into small pieces. Next is the tahu and tempe (soy bean cakes) stalls. Then, I will buy a small container of katokkon, a mini paprika-like chillies of Toraja. I love vegetables, so I will buy a lot of them, i.e. daun paku or fern leaves, pepaya flowers, young bamboo shoots, water cress, soy bean sprouts, carrot, spinach, green beans, dried red beans, tomatoes, potatoes, shallots, pumpkins, etc. I will never forget to buy a litre of the black pamarassan or keluak powder of Toraja, cooked with fish or pork – it will become a yummy soup. If I am in the mood, I will also go to the pork area and buy some ribs. Oh, don’t forget to buy some fruits: pepaya, lime, oranges, yellow passion fruit from high mountains or markisa, purple Toraja passion fruit or terung Balanda, bananas, salak or snake fruit, kedondong (fruit with hairy seed) and sometimes durian from Palopo. A litre of freshly ground coffee and ground soybeans are a must. I love bamboo baskets and pandanus mats. A few months ago, I bought two baskets to be used as laundry containers at home. When I have guests, I usually take them to the traditional souvenir area. Over there, they can buy local costume, woven textile, jewelries, wood carving and hand-bags to take home. Pasar Bolu has everything you need!

At last, my hands laden with goodies, going past the fighting cocks area, I will walk to my car and start heading back home to the cool Batutumonga. I will start looking forward to the sixth day again. However, if the calling or need is very strong, I will go to the pretty as a picture Pasar Pagi or morning market by the Sa’dan river. A few weeks ago I went there with Andrew Zimmern and his crew from Travel Channel to shoot the Sulawesi episode of his program: ‘Bizarre World’. But that’s another story!

WET MARKETS OF TORAJA

Going to the malls in Jakarta from time to time is fine – to buy books, meet some friends, sip coffee and munch on donuts, etc. You look up and see the fake sky, complete with fake clouds and around you, fake plastic trees…ugh. I am not trying to be pretentious, but please take me to a wet market any day…especially the wet markets of Toraja…and my heart will sing!

The markets in Toraja go in a six-day cycle. The story goes… a long time ago, these markets have their own specialties in addition to the usual vegetables, fruits and fish. One market will be full of mats woven from the tall grass. Another will have terra-cotta pots of different sizes ready to be used to boil coffee or to cook rice. One market will have stalls of coffee beans and powder. But the biggest of them all is the main Rantepao market, which is called Pasar Bolu or betel vine leave market. Maybe long time ago, there used to be a lot of betel nut trees there. Or maybe because a lot of betel vine leaves are sold there together with betel fruit, areca nut, lime and tobacco. This mixture creates red saliva when put and munched together and is still loved by many Torajanese, especially older people from the village. As one lady tells me, “I’d rather not eat than not chew the bolu leaves.” Despite the name, the market is the main buffalo and pig market of Toraja area.

On the night before the market day, my neighbors in Batutumonga-about one hour out of Rantepao- at around midnight will start walking down to the main road carrying vegetables on their back. Actually, Torajanese hangs the bamboo basket with a strap around their forehead and the basket sitting on their back. Then they wait for a car to take them to the markets or some will continue walking down the whole 22 kilo meter. As the sun rises, you can hear the hum of the cars and trucks going down full with people. A few hours before sunset, the cars will return still full of people plus their shopping goods. More often than not, one or two buffalos and some pigs will also ride in the trucks.

On market day, sometimes you cannot take the car to cross the bridge into Pasar Bolu area, because the traffic is simply not moving. As soon as you enter the market, all your senses will perk up: the noise of people bargaining, the bright colors of the fruits and vegetables, the sweet smell of newly roasted coffee, the heat of the sun and bodies jostling together, the bitter sweet taste of the palm wine, the soft texture of woven mats. On my last trip, I took my brother, who is an IT Manager in San Francisco and he sighed happily: “Sense overload…”

I will go across to the open field in the southwest part of the market. There, in the middle of the mud, as far as your eyes can see, stand hundreds of buffalos: big and small, black and white, with or without spots. Their keepers hold them on the leash. And one thing that always strikes me is – despite the presence of hundreds of people and buffalos – it’s quiet. Nobody screams to offer you their buffalos. Nobody pushes you around. The keepers just stand quietly and wait for a buyer. The buffalos also stand or sit around quietly, munching some grass. The scene will change drastically as I reach the pig area on the other side. The pigs are squealing on the ground, trussed up on bamboo poles. The ones in the pig pens will be eating noisily. The piglets are squirming and snorting in the plastic sacks.

Then it’s time to get away from the heat. I will go back to the main part of the market, past the sellers of rock mortars and pestles. Inside, there will be rows and rows of fresh fish from Palopo in the east coast. I choose the fishmonger who smiles the most (‘Why bother spending your money on a grumpy person?’ is my policy in shopping) and buy from him a week’s stock of seafood: white jack fish, bright red tuna, fat striped prawns, blue clawed crabs, fresh silvery anchovies. Not far from him is the chicken lady. I will buy two chickens already cut up into small pieces. Next is the tahu and tempe (soy bean cakes) stalls. Then, I will buy a small container of katokkon, a mini paprika-like chillies of Toraja. I love vegetables, so I will buy a lot of them, i.e. daun paku or fern leaves, pepaya flowers, young bamboo shoots, water cress, soy bean sprouts, carrot, spinach, green beans, dried red beans, tomatoes, potatoes, shallots, pumpkins, etc. I will never forget to buy a litre of the black pamarassan or keluak powder of Toraja, cooked with fish or pork – it will become a yummy soup. If I am in the mood, I will also go to the pork area and buy some ribs. Oh, don’t forget to buy some fruits: pepaya, lime, oranges, yellow passion fruit from high mountains or markisa, purple Toraja passion fruit or terung Balanda, bananas, salak or snake fruit, kedondong (fruit with hairy seed) and sometimes durian from Palopo. A litre of freshly ground coffee and ground soybeans are a must. I love bamboo baskets and pandanus mats. A few months ago, I bought two baskets to be used as laundry containers at home. When I have guests, I usually take them to the traditional souvenir area. Over there, they can buy local costume, woven textile, jewelries, wood carving and hand-bags to take home. Pasar Bolu has everything you need!

At last, my hands laden with goodies, going past the fighting cocks area, I will walk to my car and start heading back home to the cool Batutumonga. I will start looking forward to the sixth day again. However, if the calling or need is very strong, I will go to the pretty as a picture Pasar Pagi or morning market by the Sa’dan river. A few weeks ago I went there with Andrew Zimmern and his crew from Travel Channel to shoot the Sulawesi episode of his program: ‘Bizarre World’. But that’s another story!

MASSAGE a la TORAJA

One thing that I am addicted to besides drinking coffee, is having a massage. Of course my husband loves giving me a massage, but it comes with strings attached…if you know what I mean…he…he…So, I prefer to have somebody else, mostly a lady to give me a thorough, long, relaxing massage.

I have tried massage with different styles. In a gazebo of a boutique hotel by the sea in Bali, two slim ladies in their sarong give me a massage from my head and my feet simultaneously. In Jogya, on the island of Java, the ladies put me in a bath full of red rose petals before giving me a deep tissue massage. On an island in Maldives after scuba diving, a tall and blond woman give me a Swedish massage…oh so soft that I fall asleep. In a suburb of San Francisco, a stout Korean lady gives me a shiatsu massage. Afterwards, my sister and I plunge into a hot pool. In Chiang Mai, a lady gives me a massage by twisting my body, my arms, my legs…then she puts me in a sauna smoked with Thai herbs before leading me into a plunge pool under her rice barn.

But in Toraja? Where can I get a good massage? I have tried the five star hotel, the hair salon…no luck! The massage I get is so..so…to put it mildly. It’s only…rub…rub … then it’s over! I guess, massage is simply not part of the Torajanese culture. Until one day, my beloved mother-in-law tells me that her next door neighbour is a good masseur. I ask her, how come she hasn’t told me before. “Oh, but the masseur often goes to Malaysia to be with her children and to serve her clients over there. She is seldom in Toraja.” So, that’s how I meet Ne’ Baruppu which means The Grandma of Baruppu. Baruppu is a hamlet high in the mountains, above the clouds in North Toraja. It’s famous for its beautiful girls. But Ne’ Baruppu says, “ I am the exception, because I am not beautiful at all”. Then she laughs with her toothless mouth.

Ne’ Baruppu gives massage by using the five fingers of her right hand. Sometimes, when stronger pressure is needed, like on the base of our feet – not unlike a reflexology, she also uses the back of her hand. She claims, that her massage is ‘cure massage’ as opposed to ‘relaxing massage”. She gives massage to cure sore back, twisted muscle, headaches, even limping caused by stroke. At the beginning of her massage, she asks her clients to sit up. Then she starts stroking our back with her five fingers. This way, she can find the muscle easier. Once a client insists on sleeping on his stomach-as is the common way- to be massaged and Ne’ Baruppu refuses to give him a massage. She says: ”This is massage Toraja style. You have to sit up. When you lie down, your muscles become flat and it’s hard to find!” After finishing our back, she will do our arms and our head. Then, only then we can lie on our stomach and she will do our legs and again our back. Lastly, she will give our chest and stomach a massage. Where necessary, she gives her clients an elixir of traditional Torajanese herbs.

Enough story…..I am waiting for Ne’ Baruppu to climb up to my house anytime soon!

PANGLAWA’

(barbecued chicken with center of young banana tree & peanuts)

Mama Danny’s version

INGREDIENTS:

2 young chickens, cut into two, rubbed with salt and barbecued. Then shred into small pieces

2 young banana trees, cut & slice the inside, squeeze out the water, throw away the water. Put some salt on the sliced banana tree

HERBS/SEASONING/SPICES:

0.25 litre peanuts, fry without oil, crush finely

4 lime: use the juice

0.25 litre chilly – crush finely

10 red onions, grill or fry then crush finely

METHOD OF COOKING:

Mix the shredded chicken with the dry inside of banana tree

Mix in the spices

Fry the mixture without oil

Serve with hot rice

CHICKEN IN GINGER PLANT

(dangkot ayam)

Mama Danny’s version

INGREDIENTS: 2 chickens – cut up into small pieces

HERBS/SEASONING/SPICES:

1 litre grated lengkuas (ginger plant)

mix & crush:

0.25 litre red and green chillies

6 garlic

10 red onions

10 lemon grass-sliced

salt

3 ginger

METHOD OF COOKING:

– stir fry all crushed spices

– mix with chicken pieces

– leave on small fire, stir until no more juice is left

– mix in lengkuas

ESCARGOT A LA TORAJA

(suso’ santan)

a la Dorce and Mama Tiku

INGREDIENTS:

1 litre of suso’ (small snails from the rice fields)

HERBS/SEASONING/SPICES:

A quarter of coconut, put some water to make coconut milk (santan) twice

Put the first and second coconut milk in two separate bowls

2 stalks of lemongrass-crushed

pounded together:

2 cloves of garlic

2 cloves of red onion

salt

METHODS OF COOKING:

– wash and soak the snails overnight so that the sand & dirt are flushed out

– in the morning, break the back & sharp part of the snails, so that it’s open, wash again

– bring to boil the second coconut milk, stir in the mixture of spices

– when boiled, put in the snails

– when the snails mixture is boiling again, put in the first coconut milk until all snails are covered

– wait for 10-15 minutes

– served with hot white or red rice

METHODS OF EATING:

Suck out the flesh of the snails from the broken back part…..

Suck…suck…

Yum…yum…