In Timor’s Mollo highlands, life-giving waters, rocks and trees — and their devoted guardian clans — flourish. Lakoat.Kujawas rekindles intimate knowledge of this land through creative arts and food.

MEET DICKY AND LAKOAT.KUJAWAS

“We, Orang Mollo, are a people of gatherings,” says Christianto “Dicky” Senda. “We called our gatherings elaf. It’s a moment where people meet and hear the spoken word, tales, and genealogies.”

Elaf came to life before my eyes, writ large in the form of a celebration marking Indonesia’s Independence Day, where, with the state’s blessing, North Mollo residents dressed up and performed traditional songs and dances at a talent show in Kapan Square, the district’s centre.

But nearby, another celebration was taking place: an exhibition of photography by 11- to 15-year-olds; and the launch of a book of poems by To The Lighthouse, a writing club at Kapan’s St Yoseph Freinademetz Catholic Middle School. Under a flowering tree by the bonfire, a youth choir harmonised. 

“These teenagers are making contributions to this village,” observes Father Jeremias “Romo Jimmy” Kewohon, principal of St Yoseph, with pride. He credits this creative revival among his students to Lakoat.Kujawas, a Timorese literacy centre and social enterprise founded by Dicky. 

Now, Lakoat.Kujawas also welcomes travellers to explore this corner of South Central Timor, in Indonesia’s East Nusa Tenggara (NTT) province.

CELEBRATING TRADITIONS

A former student guidance counsellor in Yogyakarta and Kupang, Dicky started writing stories inspired by Timorese fairy tales from his childhood. The need to conduct research for his books, and care for his ailing father compelled Dicky to move home to North Mollo’s Taiftob village in 2016.

Upon his return, Dicky saw that Mollo hadn’t changed much since his childhood. Children still had little access to educational playtime. Meanwhile, knowledge of Timorese oral tradition, indigenous spirituality, guardianship of natural resources, Timorese cuisine, and tenun (handwoven textiles) was dwindling. 

“Lately, festivities, rituals, and harvest thanksgivings are not happening anymore,” says Dicky. “Without elaf, we’re deprived of spaces for telling our stories.”

So Dicky opened a library — a little elaf space for North Mollo children. It has since hosted English classes, a writing club, dance workshops, photography projects, music rehearsals, and a residency for visiting creative professionals.

Eventually, adults who miss their elaf joined in too. Working with local schools and creative youth communities, Lakoat.Kujawas now brings back the arts into everyday life for Orang Mollo (Bahasa Indonesia for the Mollo people), while recording them for future generations. 

CELEBRATING HERITAGE

“We are our world. Soil cover our land like our skin. 
Water flows through the land like our blood
The stones holding the land together are our bones
The forest moving with the wind is our hair.
We are our world.”

A Mollo philosophy

Dubbed “the heart of Timor,” North Mollo’s Mount Mutis is the source of four major Timorese rivers, with diverse ecosystems like bonsai forests, eucalyptus woodlands and horse-grazed meadows.

Travel experiences to Mollo were not on Dicky’s mind when he started Lakoat.Kujawas. The venture into tourism — focusing on heritage trails, culinary products, and tenun textiles — happened in response to outsiders’ appreciation for his community’s creative revival. 

Hence, once a month, from January to August, Lakoat.Kujawas runs the M’nahat Fe’u Heritage Trail, which are guided trips introducing travellers to North Mollo’s natural landscapes, culture, and food.  

M’nahat fe’u, which means “new food” in Dawan language, is a harvest elaf, and each trip varies according to the harvest of the season. 

I was lucky enough to join the last trip of the year, which kicked off with a satisfying breakfast prepared by Lakoat.Kujawas members: black beans, steamed yams and coconut sweetened with palm sugar syrup, and pumpkin cake with marmalade. This was served with coffee (including a robusta blended with pumpkinseed), sweet fruity cascara tea made from coffee cherries husks, and loquat leaf tea.

Guiding this tour is Willy Oematan, who takes us to the Oematan wellsprings, introducing native plants and related rituals along the way. The Oematans are a revered Mollo clan traditionally designated as guardians of water sources, with their rituals being passed down through strict protocols. 

From there, we hiked up Napjam Rock, where Lakoat.Kujawas members were cooking jagung bose maize porridge and broadbean stew over bonfires. Banana leaves became a picnic blanket set with palm leaf trays and claypots of Timorese dishes: smoked beef (seʼi), sweet-spicy chili-tomato relish (sambal lu’at), baked purple yams, cassava leaves in roasted pumpkinseed sauce, and a vegetable flower stir-fry.

Members of music collective Forum Soe Peduli lead a communal singalong as a prelude to lunch, and Dicky served consenting guests sopi lakoat: loquat-infused Timorese palm wine garnished with dried fruit. 

Sopi, he shares, has cultural importance as a gesture of peace and camaraderie, and economic importance as a commodity that affords some Timorese families an education.

CELEBRATING LIVELIHOODS

Homegrown Mollo cuisine is a major component of the Lakoat.Kujawas brand. On the day before I joined the heritage trail, Marlinda Nau, a farmer and member of Lakoat.Kujawas, welcomes me with a bountiful display of fresh produce.  

With a basket in hand, I follow the cooks to a pink flowering tree called gamal (Gliricidia sepium). At a distance, they could be mistaken for cherry blossoms.

Whack! Someone climbs the tree and chops off a branch. Petals fall like confetti. The flowers, I learn, were a seasonal Timorese vegetable before it fell out of favour to commercially-grown vegetables. 

“Lakoat.Kujawas gives us the space to revive our traditional agricultural knowledge and innovate our homegrown food,” says Marlinda. 

Her husband Willy adds that Taiftob produces more carrots than people can eat, so they sell some to middlemen at unfairly low prices. “Now, we make carrot noodles and carrot-based snacks. Our produce gets consumed, and we save money otherwise spent on children’s snacks,” says Willy.

“In Mollo, we joke that we sell our organic fruits and vegetables, and buy instant noodles and cookies instead. We used to think what we have at home isn’t important. But now we know better and we laugh because it’s ridiculous.”

Dicky Senda Co-founder, Lakoat.Kujawas

Tenun handwoven textiles is another aspect of Timorese culture Lakoat.Kujawas strives to preserve. This ancient craft involves the weaving of coloured threads into complex motifs, requiring imagination, meticulous hand-eye coordination, and patience. 

In Nusa Tenggara society, tenun is a marker of a person’s social status, clan kinship and geographical origin. Today, tenun is also a profitable commodity marketed to travellers, fashionistas and collectors.

A prominent Lakoat.Kujawas weaver is Amelia Koi, who runs a family collective comprising her six daughters. “It’s hard to find young ones interested in tenun, so I teach mine,” says Amelia, who has them fully trained by age 11. 

The girls stay in school until they graduate their final year of secondary school, around age 18 or 19. Although none attended university, her elder daughters are financially independent and experienced weavers.

Months earlier, I ordered a tenun backpack from a Yogyakarta-based brand that partners with Lakoat.Kujawas. The tenun is Amelia’s. “The work of my hand has returned ,” says Amelia, recognising the bag (pictured below). “My textiles travel further than I do. It feels that a piece of me travels along.”

My trip culminates in a march with thousands of North Mollo residents in Kapan’s Independence Eve Parade, many dressed in tenun as a statement of their local identity. But even as the most festive occasion of the year comes to an end, elaf is never over at Lakoat.Kujawas. 

Says Dicky: “At Lakoat.Kujawas, we continue to grow and nurture… Our spirit is not project-based — it’s an elaf spirit that restores our cultural spaces with dignity.”

Sumba’s unexplored beaches and quaint villages are set for a tourism boom, and your relaxing getaway in this island resort will help enthusiastic locals like Jeffry meet the demand – funds go towards training programmes to hone their hospitality skills.

MEET JEFFRY 

Curious, cheery and always ready with a smile, Jeffry is more than happy to show you around the place he calls home - the beautiful island of Sumba! Located near Bali, in the province of East Nusa Tenggara, Indonesia, Sumba’s stunning coastline and lush greenery makes it an appealing attraction for travellers looking to get away from the crowds. He’s the proud graduate of a training programme by Sumba Hospitality Foundation, which provides Jeffry and the local farming community the opportunity to gain the skills needed to reap the economic benefits of tourism.

“To see economic hope for the future, you have to teach local people, so they will have the opportunity to work on their island.”

Redempta TetaBato, Director, Sumba Hospitality Foundation

FUN IN THE SUN

Who doesn't love relaxing on the beach? Or how about visiting a Sumbanese village to learn about their culture and traditions? For something a little more adventurous, you can also explore the Blue Waterfall, named for its unbelievably blue waters. These are just a few of the possible itineraries – there’s much more to explore, depending on your tastes and how much time you have.

DOWN TIME ON THE ISLAND

During your stay, you can also spend some time getting to know the students to learn more about Sumba, or share any valuable experiences that may deepen the students' knowledge or thirst for learning. If you feel like it, you can even participate in their community English classes, or sit in a culinary class!

Famed for their elaborate rituals honouring the dead, a trip to Toraja is an adventure set in the highlands of South Sulawesi. Now through Torajamelo, you can stay in the homes of locals to experience the community’s heart and soul, while supporting their fledgling livelihoods in tourism.

MEET MERI AND THE TORAJANS

When Meri is able to bring a pig to every ceremony in the community nestled in the mountains of Toraja, her hallowed dream will be fulfilled. 

One of many weavers living in this region, Meri’s dream echoes that of many in her unusual community, whose culture would strike even seasoned travellers as a world apart. 

Elaborate funerals, amongst other rites and rituals, have become the way of life for the 450,000 inhabitants — an indigenous ethnic group also called Toraja — on this land in South Sulawesi, Indonesia. 

Pig and water buffalo offerings are the main currency of exchange during these events and a stern label of your social prestige in the community.

The community blends Christian beliefs, as brought in by the Dutch missionaries in the early 1900s, with local religion known as Aluk to Dolo or “Way of the Ancestors”. Living 14,000 feet above ground, this mountain tribe has stuck firmly to its ancient roots, spanning generations.

But in a place where the dead are exalted in grand ceremonies, female empowerment, which has long taken a backseat, has been quietly making inroads. And I was here to see this for myself, even as I took in Toraja’s colourful culture. 

#SOULFULTRAVEL

Toraja has long been a magnet for adventurous travellers, but the benefits of tourism has not always trickled down to the community as a whole. 

“Most of the tour guides and agents were coming from outside the region, like Bali and Makassar, and the money was not coming back to the community. And with that, the special traditions and stories of this community were also being diluted,” shares Dinny Jusuf, founder of social enterprise Torajamelo.  

Determined to do it differently, Dinny, who was already successful in helping women weavers in the Sa’adan region find an international market for their handcrafted products, joined hands with the local Tourism Village Association in Suloara’. Together, they ventured into community-based tourism.

Under this initiative, dubbed #SoulfulTravel, Torajamelo’s weavers and participating villagers earn additional income by renting out their homes and offering tours that may include traditional home cooking and learning the local dance. 

Arriving at the village, I am greeted by stunning views of the green, hilly landscape, and the sound of rooster crows and chuckling children in the background. I felt as though I was on the cusp of an adventure in a strange new land, yet in a welcoming embrace that felt like home.

The homestays are simple but cozy, and some are fitted with amenities like western-style toilets. Those seeking a less rustic experience can choose to stay with Dinny at her house, Banua Sarira, at Batutumonga, a villa hugging the mountainsides of Toraja amidst sweeping rice fields. 

Less than a year since the venture was made official, Torajamelo is seeing results, with participating Torajans gaining a sense of agency through improved economic circumstances and sense of dignity, especially among the women. 

Arriving for my weaving workshop, I was greeted by weavers who were initially reticent, their reserve only dissolving when they demonstrated their skills. 

Over coffee and kue, we overcame the language barrier to learn more about each other. I was amazed at how delicately they managed both technique and artistic flair, and how earnestly they passed on these skills to their daughters — who in turn skillfully balance their school work with this traditional art of weaving.  

Says Dinny, “The weavers are proud to share their culture with guests from abroad. They find it useful to transfer their skills in communication, financial literacy and leadership skills in this new context. Plus, they can now sell directly to the tourists and earn additional income.”

An ex-banker from Bandung, Dinny’s connection to Toraja is a personal one — her husband is Torajan nobility, whom she met and fell in love with during one of her trips. 

Staying with Dinny is akin to staying with a friend: she is happy to engage in conversations under the stars of her second floor verandah, sharing intimate insights into the traditions of the Toraja community.

The key to Torajamelo’s success has been keeping the community at the heart of its mission. “As long as the community remains at the core of this venture, and we keep them involved in all our programmes, we can stay authentic,” says Dinny. 

HEAD IN THE CLOUDS

The Toraja landscape boasts scenic mountain views and wobbly roads opening up to rice fields and boat-shaped roofed ancestral houses called tongkonan. 

There are no postal codes. Clans still live together in compounds. These houses are built with bamboo and raised from the ground to reduce the impact of frequently-occurring earthquakes in the area. 

Rice is the subsistence crop, and the harvested rice is stored in special “rice barns” — carved and painted with traditional motifs like the buffalo or the sun, telling a story through the symbols.

Travelling on an itinerary planned by Torajamelo, I dove into diverse facets of the community.  Cultural music and dance performances. Visits to the workshops of the traditional weavers, woodcarvers and coffee planters. 

Soft spoken by nature, every person greeted me with a smile and a friendly handshake, locking my attention with gentle gazes as they shared their unique practices. Unlike many other places I have travelled through, there was no touting at any point of the tour — which I was told stems from the proud Toraja culture. 

Torajamelo also designs tours according to individual preferences, catering to its diverse spectrum of tourists. The tours have attracted the likes of Indonesia’s Master Chef, William Wongso and film actress, Christine Hakim. 

Dinny is working closely with the newly reorganised local tourism board, which has recently set up the Tourism Information Center dedicated to boosting tourism in Toraja in a healthy and harmonious way. 

The last thing they want is to attract travellers who are just in Toraja to “tick boxes on their tourist trails, and have no interest in understanding the community or nature”, says Dinny. 

AT DEATH’S DOOR

No visit to Toraja is complete without a visit to the local market, and the many graves sites that dot the region and form the centrehold of the community.

Toraja’s death rites are a big draw for travellers, who feverishly take photos as the Torajan go about their business, unperturbed by the attention. 

Tipped by Dinny on a funeral gathering nearby, I venture to see this for myself, though not before I am given a primer on the significance behind the elaborate rituals, which can cost anything between  US$50,000 to US$500,000. 

When a Torajan dies, the body is embalmed as funeral preparations can span months as the family saves enough money for the rituals. The funeral, when it happens, can go on for days,  with sacrifices of pigs and water buffalos, processions, chanting, dancing and feasting. 

The meat from the animals sacrificed is divided among the guests to take home, and the government receives taxes on the animal offerings.

After the funeral, the bodies are buried in stone graves carved into cliff sides, and marked with wooden effigies meant to protect the deceased. 

Every few years, families gather to clean the graves, where the dead are taken out of the coffins, washed, and dressed in fresh garb.

After the ceremony, when the sensory overload wore off, I could not help but feel slightly envious. While I grapple with urban existentialist tendencies, here is a community deeply in tune with their ancestors, holding firmly to their belief and values, celebrating  life and death in perfect unison.

Not every traveller gets the chance to attend a funeral here, and I consider myself very fortunate. All I can say is, be respectful, be mindful. And always carry a black shirt whilst travelling in Toraja, in case you are invited to a pesta orang mati — a party for the dead.

Explore Lombok’s natural beauty and laid back charm with a former shark fisherman who has hung up his nets in favour of guiding tourists, instead of hunting down the dwindling shark population. When you book an eco-tour, you support his new livelihood.

After we first told their story a few years ago, many like Eunice were inspired to go on these eco-tours. We also made a journey with The Dorsal Effect to take in the natural wonders of Lombok - and find out how it has changed lives.

MEET SUHARDI

He dives into the clear blue waters of Lombok, proudly guiding snorkellers as they take in the vibrant coral reefs.

It is a long way from his previous trade - shark fishing. Born and bred in Lombok, Suhardi became a shark fisherman when he was 10 years old.

He would go out to sea two to three weeks at a time, cut off from his wife and two children. As the relentless demand for sharks decimated their numbers, his income dwindled.

Fishermen have had to venture further to hunt sharks, which meant that each expedition cost more. Depending on the catch, Suhardi would take home around S$50 to S$200, notwithstanding the inherent dangers of being out at sea.

Now, working for The Dorsal Effect, “I can sleep at home every night with my wife and kids,” he shares. He has also saved enough from his four years as a guide to buy a second boat, which he uses to run a local boat taxi service for extra income.

And he loves meeting new people, and showing off the beautiful and pristine islands of Lombok.

DIVE INTO THE DREAM

A trip with The Dorsal Effect is both a venture into a dreamscape and stark reality.

As a guest, you will be taken on a boat to pristine snorkel sites and secluded beaches far away from the touristy areas, where you can swim in crystal clear waters amid healthy reefs. If you’re lucky, you may even spot sharks swimming in their natural habitat.

And you can choose to trek around scenic rice paddy fields and visit beautiful waterfalls in Lombok’s luxuriant rainforests. Meals consist of local delicacies such as nasi campur (mixed rice with vegetables) and yummy curries.

But you also visit Tanjong Luar market to see firsthand the shark trade, and learn how precarious it is for both the sharks and the men who hunt them, as the trade is increasingly unsustainable.

And you see the pitfalls of tourism, when you see how little care other tourists take when traipsing through the islands. During our trip, we saw some guides and tourists on other tours picking up corals from the sea floor, to pose for pictures.

You also learn how to not just enjoy, but also respect the environment - Suhardi, unlike other boat operators, only lands his anchor on sand, to ensure that the coral reefs are not damaged from the boat tours.

THE ONE WHO STARTED IT ALL – KATHY

An ex-secondary school teacher from Singapore, Kathy’s passion for the environment and dismay over shark trade spurred her to start The Dorsal Effect. Her solution? Persuade shark fishermen to earn their livelihoods as eco-tour guides, and save sharks from being hunted down for their fins.

“When you see sharks in their natural habitat, I think there is a point where something would change in you and you really want your future generations to able to experience that as well.”

Kathy Xu, Founder, The Dorsal Effect