A Muslim, a Christian and two Atheists walk into a Mosque

The golden dome of Darussalem

We were sitting at Kejol’s Kiosk on the esplanade overlooking the strait where the dark afternoon clouds were rolling in.
We both felt very happy, for once again we had arrived in a place which far exceeded our expectations.
There is no better way to recover from a long and difficult passage than with a friendliest welcome to shore. And this alternation between dispiriting passages and revitalizing experiences onshore seems to have become a pattern of our travels in Indonesia, where the winds are so fluky and the people so true.

It was the elaborate waterfront and the giant Dome of the Darussalem Mosque which had first drawn our attention to Raha. Already visible ten nautical miles away, reflecting the afternoon sun like was it itself a setting sun on the horizon, the dome had stood out from the otherwise indistinct city, luring us in just in time for the afternoon prayer, which unfortunately turned out to be much out of tune.

Arriving at Raha was like arriving at a secret, for although it is right in the track of a commonly traveled sailing route, Raha is not mentioned in any cruising books and has, according to the locals, until now been a place cruising yachts sail past.

The Esplanade frames a series of huge manmade lakes lying side by side along the whole waterfront of the city. And when we came ashore, we were thrilled to discover that it was busy with many little kiosks and food stalls, selling things such as deep fried sweet potatoes and bakwans, tofu dipped in satay, sugar powdered donuts and fried bananas in chocolate sauce and coconut shavings.

The pregnant Ghost

At Kejol’s Kiosk a group of younger people joined us, curious to hear where we had come from, where we were going and if we weren’t scared at sea, a common question people ask when they learn there is only two of us onboard.

I do not remember how it came about in conversation, but at some point someone warned us of something called the Pontianak and judging on his humored expression, I suspected that this was some kind of joke.
“Apa Pontianak?” I asked. And after much comical charades, which included mimicking the gestures and sounds of a ghost, we learned who the Pontianak was.

An old legend dating back to the 1800’s when a Sultan in Kalimantan was first haunted by them, tells of ghosts who take the form of a pregnant woman. She has long black hair, she wears a white dress, and some people say that she has red eyes and long fingernails which she uses to tear open the body to devour the organs of her male victims.
A sign of her presence is the sound of a laughing woman, the cry of an infant baby and the smell of a decaying corpse or frangipanis. If the sounds are loud, it means she is far, but if the sounds are quiet, she is right nearby.

The guy pointed to the treetops, apparently that is where she hides during the day, specifically in banana palms.
“But can she swim?” I asked and gestured to Black Duck anchored a couple of hundred meters off the Esplanade. He laughed and shook his head and assured us that we were quite safe on the boat.

A closer look at the Mosque

We agreed to return to Kejol’s Kiosk later that evening, but first we wanted to have a closer look at the giant Mosque which had just once again fallen silent finishing afternoon prayers.

Outside the Mosque two women called us over and asked us to sit down on the wall with them. Umi and Elizabeth, both original Muna People as it is commonly phrased, were waiting to watch the sun set behind the Mosque.
When they asked us what we were doing, we explained that we wanted to look inside the Mosque.
“Why?” Umi asked with a confused expression, “are you Muslim?”
We explained that we weren’t but were interested in seeing what an Indonesian Mosque might look like on the inside.

So Umi and Elizabet took us to the Imam who was standing in the garden chatting to the gardener who was smoking a cigarette and explained to him that we would like to have a look at the Mosque.
“Selamat Sore Imam” we said and greeted him with our hands put together and a bow of the head, “Boleh masuk?” may we enter?
The Imam said that we were welcome to enter as long as we took off our shoes.

Approaching the Mosque Umi took my arm and giggled. “I told him we were Muslim” she said, “but Elizabeth is Christian”.
It was like the beginning of a joke; ‘A Muslim, a Christian and two atheists walk into a Mosque’
At the door Elizabeth hesitated for a moment before she entered, as if she was stepping into another world, one which she wasn’t too sure of.

A Photoshoot in the Mosque

Walking into any holy building I find it natural to whisper, maybe it is a result of all the shushing in the Italian cathedrals, or maybe it is a sense that there is something sanctified build into the very structure of the building and something divine in the air from the intentions of the people who come here.
I might not believe in a God, but when I visit a place of worship, I can easily identify with the devotion to that which is beyond our understanding, that which is the greatest; the creator of all the universe, whoever or whatever that might be.

But this did not turn out to be one of those visits, it was neither holy nor quiet.
Maybe it is the punchline to our joke; A Muslim, a Christian and two Atheists walk into a church, where did they all end up? on Instagram.
Following us into the Mosque came a giggling group of young Muslim girls in Hijabs who had noticed the to Bule (foreigners) walk in and wanted to grab the opportunity to have their picture taken with us. This is very common in Indonesia, especially in places where people do not see many western tourists.
But I like to be at least introduced before posing for the camera with someone, let alone for a whole photoshoot, but these girls were in it for the photos.
Not satisfied with one group photo, each girl wanted individual photos first with me, then with Riley and then with both of us. And as if this wasn’t humiliating enough, this was executed using filters which brighten the skin and adds red to the lips, making them look great, but making me look like a freaky pale porcelain dull.
It went so far that even Elizabeth and Umi got impatient and had to tell them it was enough.

The Mosque however was the least impressive on the inside. Empty, and incomplete, with parts of the ceiling missing and only furnished with a few signs, rails, and fans it resembled a warehouse more than a house of worship.
But outside the sun was setting behind the Mosque and the peach-colored dome was again shining like gold, and soon the singing would start again, amplifying over the water, calling people to prayer.

A drink for togetherness

After sunset we returned to Kejol’s kiosk and joined a group of people who had gathered around a table for coffee.
The only person who had a little English was Ibu (miss/mama) who had the kiosk next door to Kejol’s.
I like it this way as it is a great way to learn more of the language fast.

Soon after joining, the Porter, who worked in the harbor next door carrying cargo and luggage to and from the ships, asked if we would like to participate in some Sopi drinking.
Sopi is a traditional Indonesian distilled alcohol made from the fruits of an Enau palm tree. Tourists usually refer to it as moonshine (there is a lot of variety in quality and it often takes a local to find the good stuff) but among locals Sopi has high cultural value and is a symbol of fellowship and problem solving between family members, families or even villages. How could we say no to that?
It is so strong you can burn a flame off it, which was demonstrated by one of our companions. It has a very potent flavor, sort of like a sweet vodka and is sometimes mixed with a little coca cola.
Sopi is sipped very slowly and often past in a shared glass, which emphasizes the communal feeling and slows down drunkenness.  

We don’t drink much these days. It isn’t a great habit to mix with sailing despite what the pirates might have claimed, it is very expensive and, where in Australia drinking was considered to be a social activity, here it can be quite the opposite, as many people do not drink at all.
But when we are invited for a drink on special occasion, this is usually a very pleasant experience, where conversation is lightened a bit with the effect of the alcohol and with the respect which is gained by drinking and enjoying the traditional drink, which many people take a lot of pride in.

A Conversation About Religion

As often, the conversation landed on religion, a subject which I really do enjoy having with people in Indonesia, where religion is treated quite differently than most other places I have been to.

In the Indonesian constitution it is stated that the people of Indonesia are free to believe in which ever religion they so choose. However, on paper this is limited to six religions; Islam, Protestantism, Catholicism, Hinduism, Buddhism and Confucianism (Though the last two are commonly perceived to be philosophies).
Atheism is not an official option, as a religion must be linked to your identity, it is for example listed on your passport. But among registered Muslims and Christians, there are however still a number of atheists or people who do not practice their religion.

Though freedom of religion is the maxim of the constitution, it is greatly contradicted in the Pancasila, the Philosophy of the Indonesian Government, which states that there is only one true God, and that is Allah.
But although this might be the verdict of the government or parts of it, it does not seem to reflect the common believe of the people, who tend to express an opinion parallel to that of the constitution.

Religion is a big part of most Indonesian People’s Identities and many are therefore very interested in what religion we belong to and how we practice it.
When faced with this question we sometimes hesitate afraid to offend or shock and then give some vague answer like; “my country is Christian” or “my family is Christian Protestant” which is only true for Riley.
For how do you explain in basic Bahasa that you have grown up with the Christian values, that you live by the Christian morals, at least most of them, but you do not believe in God or practice the religion?

But on this evening when drinking Sopi, the drink of fellowship and resolution, we chose to say it as it was. We are atheists.
Of course, this did not come as a shock to anyone, though the Porter told us, that atheism is not always tolerated among Indonesians, and sometimes people have gotten in serious trouble with authorities for declaring their non-believe.
I have read about situations like this and know that although tolerance and freedom of religion has most often been the preaching’s of the places we have been, there are places in Indonesia where the Islamic religion has a much stronger hold, and the philosophy of Pancasila is dominant.

Testing tolerances

I really appreciate the conversation we had on this evening. It was as if we were taking turns trying to shock each other with introducing the religious or cultural customs of our countries. I think it was an attempt to test the boundaries of each other’s tolerances maybe to understand how much we really could have in common.

The Porter told us that Muslim men are allowed to have up to four wives, the reasoning being that, that is how many the Prophet Muhammed had. Women are only allowed one at the time.
Then I told them that my mother has three children, but she has never been married.
Marriage in Indonesia is not in question, and neither are having children. When we explain that we have been together for six years, that we are not married in the church, only registered with a government and that we do not have any children, people commonly reply with “Belum” which means not yet. And we usually leave it at that.

I then tried to take it a step further and told them that my dad lives in a different country and has four daughters with four different women.
“Broken family” the Porter, who himself was with his third wife, said.

It did not seem that our profane, western family-ways could shake anyone. For all they cared we could believe in aliens and deny that the earth is round. All that mattered was that we were respectful to their culture, granted that, the respect would be mutual.

Meaningful meetings

A little later in the evening a new guy joined our table.
Starting work in the Nickle-Mine in Kendari on Sulawesi, he was waiting for the ten o’clock ferry.
This guy, regrettably we never caught his name, had excellent English and so we continued to explore that which in each other’s cultures was so foreign to us.

Muslim men for example are not allowed to wear gold, including gold wedding rings, but women are.
I researched this later, and found no mention of this in the Quran, but many interpretations stating that gold is for women, and it is un-masculine for a man to wear it.
Other interpretations stated that it is not halal for a man to display this kind of material wealth, for his true wealth lies within his relationship with Allah.
Men are however allowed to wear a silver ring weighing less than one mithqal and a gemstone may be added.

Somehow it came about in conversation, the old mythologies of the north.
“Have you heard of Thor?” I asked.
“The friend of Zeus!” the Porter said eagerly, he had watched the movies.
I explained that there was Greek mythology and Northern Mythology, though different they were both very old religions of Europe, one of the north and one of the south, with many Gods and many great stories.

I explained how Thor throws his hammer across the sky thus creating thunder and lightning, I told them about Valhalla where the Gods live and Ragnarok which will cause the end of the world and all the Gods die, and the Miner translated it for the other guys to understand.
Suddenly I felt proud of having a religion attached to my culture, despite it being nothing more than myth and movies today.

It is the long history of our homes going far back in the past to the present future, involving so much tradition and pride, which paints the cultural identity we take with us when we meet people from different places. The right amount of pride for where we are from mixed with the right amount of openness and curiosity for the places we visit is key to very meaningful meetings.
This was one!

Thank you friends in Raha for the great conversation!

• Sailing through Buton Strait? Read ‘A Sailors Practical Guide to Buton Strait, Raha and Baubau’