Tebe-tebe is one of the most widely practiced and deeply cherished traditional dances in Timor-Leste. Rooted in communal identity and spiritual expression, it is performed during a wide range of ceremonies—rituals of healing and harvest, weddings, sacred house gatherings (uma lulik), and commemorative events that bring entire communities together.\n\nAt its core, tebe-tebe is a line or circle dance performed by groups of people—often with women and men linking arms or shoulders—who step and sway in unison to the beat of traditional instruments like the babadok (a hand-held drum). The movements are deliberately grounded and rhythmic, characterized by stomping feet, subtle sways, and communal gestures that convey strength, connection, and balance.\n\nThe dance is accompanied by chanted songs, usually performed in a call-and-response style. These songs are often rich in metaphor, addressing themes of unity, gratitude, remembrance, or negotiation with the spirit world. The lyrics, sung in Tetun or other local languages, carry encoded histories, ancestral teachings, and emotional expressions that elevate the dance beyond entertainment into the realm of cultural storytelling.\n\nTebe-tebe plays a vital role in moments of social and spiritual transition. It may be performed to welcome guests, to celebrate a marriage, to honor the dead, or to invoke protection and blessing during a harvest ceremony such as sau-batar. In each case, the dance serves to activate communal energy and connect the visible world with the ancestral realm.\n\nThe inclusive nature of the dance—performed by people of all ages and social backgrounds—reflects its egalitarian spirit. It is not restricted to professional dancers or experts; rather, it is meant to be shared, learned through observation and participation from a young age. In many villages, elders pass on the steps and songs during festivals and ceremonies, and school programs and cultural centers are increasingly incorporating tebe-tebe into youth education to ensure its survival.\n\nWhile variations exist across regions, the essence of tebe-tebe remains consistent: it is a dance of the people, by the people, and for the people. In its rhythm and repetition, the community finds both cohesion and catharsis—expressing sorrow, joy, solidarity, and reverence through a single, unified movement.\n\nToday, tebe-tebe continues to evolve. It is performed not only in rural rituals but also on national stages, international cultural events, and heritage festivals. And while some modern adaptations have emerged, the traditional forms are still held with deep respect, especially by elders who carry the memory of its ceremonial power.\n\nIn every echo of the babadok and every synchronized step of the dancers, tebe-tebe tells a timeless story—of a people connected to one another, to their ancestors, and to the living land they call home.

Sau-Batar is one of Timor-Leste’s most cherished agricultural ceremonies, marking the successful harvesting of corn—batar, the staple crop that lies at the heart of both sustenance and spiritual life for many communities. Far more than an agricultural routine, this ritual reflects a worldview where nature, ancestors, and community are deeply intertwined.\n\nThe ceremony typically begins with a symbolic act called “taking out the old corn and bringing in the new.” This signifies a transition between agricultural cycles and expresses gratitude to the spirits of the land for their blessings. Families gather at their sacred houses (uma lulik), bringing both harvested corn and cooked rice to share in a ritual meal that reaffirms communal bonds.\n\nCentral to the ritual is the lia-nain—a customary elder responsible for oral tradition and ritual practice—who recites prayers, chants, and invocations handed down through generations. These words are not merely spoken; they are believed to activate ancestral protection and ensure future abundance. The corn offered during the ceremony becomes sacred, often preserved in specially designated granaries or placed on altars within the sacred house as a gesture of respect to the ancestors.\n\nMusic and dance are vital parts of Sau-Batar. Performances of Tebe Lilin (Candle Dance) and other local dances transform the occasion into a festive gathering, where movement and rhythm mirror the unity and joy of a successful harvest. The babadok drum keeps the beat as men and women, elders and children, participate in a shared expression of thanks and renewal.\n\nThe ceremony also involves the symbolic sharing of corn among relatives and neighbors, emphasizing that harvest is not an individual achievement but a collective gift. In some cases, leftover corn from the previous season is burned or ceremonially discarded to make room for the new yield, representing a fresh start and spiritual cleansing.\n\nBeyond its religious and social meanings, Sau-Batar also serves as a moment of informal education. It is during this event that younger generations hear the stories of how rituals are performed, why they matter, and what each gesture or offering means. Through active participation, children and youth absorb the knowledge of land stewardship, spiritual ethics, and cultural identity.\n\nIn recent years, as commercial farming methods expand and traditional schedules shift, Sau-Batar has faced challenges. Yet in many rural areas, the ceremony continues to be practiced with dedication, often with support from local schools and cultural preservation initiatives.\n\nFor the communities that uphold it, Sau-Batar remains a vital link between past and present, the visible and the invisible, and the land and its people. It is a ceremony not just of harvest, but of harmony—a living tradition that continues to nourish both body and spirit.

Along the coastal regions of Timor-Leste, especially in areas where seawater meets fertile land, communities have preserved a unique tradition known as Tein-Masin—the age-old practice of salt making. More than just a method for producing seasoning, this practice reflects generations of local knowledge, environmental adaptation, and cultural ritual.\n\nThe process begins with the careful selection of salty earth, which is usually dug from the beach or coastal swamps. This salt-rich soil is placed into large woven baskets or wooden containers and then carefully filtered using fresh water collected from nearby springs. The resulting brine is collected in clay pots or metal vessels and then boiled over a wood fire for hours—sometimes days—until only fine salt crystals remain.\n\nSalt production is typically carried out by women and elders who have mastered the delicate timing and techniques required for successful extraction. Every step—from gathering the earth to managing the fire’s intensity—demands attention, patience, and experience. It is common to see family members working together, with children helping to fetch water or gather firewood, making it both a household activity and a community effort.\n\nBefore the salt-making begins, it is customary to conduct a ritual led by a lia-nain (traditional spiritual leader) or elder. An animal, often a chicken, is sacrificed and its blood is offered to local spirits as a request for protection and success. This ritual underscores the belief that nature’s resources must be treated with respect, and that balance between human needs and the environment must be maintained.\n\nSalt produced through Tein-Masin is more than a culinary product—it is a symbol of cultural resilience and a vital part of local economies. It is exchanged in traditional markets, used in rituals, and stored as a valuable household good. In times of hardship or isolation, it has even served as a form of currency.\n\nToday, while industrial salt is widely available, many communities still choose to practice Tein-Masin, valuing not only the quality of the hand-made salt but also the cultural meaning embedded in its production. Yet, challenges remain: the practice is labor-intensive and yields are modest, and younger generations are increasingly drawn away by urban migration and modern lifestyles.\n\nPreserving Tein-Masin means more than protecting a traditional technique—it means safeguarding a way of life shaped by harmony with nature, intergenerational collaboration, and deep spiritual connection to the land and sea.

Nom Banhchok, a type of locally made rice noodle, is a very popular food that can be found all over Cambodia. The noodle can be served with different kinds of sauces or soup, from a simple mix of salt and chilly or a mix of fermented fish paste and chilly and herbs to the red curry, or the most popular one, the samlor proheur or also known samlor Khmer (fish lemongrass soup). The last is generally served with fresh vegetables including cucumbers, long beans, bean sprouts, banana flowers, water lily stems, and so on. Although popular, it is not a staple food like cooked rice. It is eaten once in a while or on a special festival with a large gathering of people.

Throughout the Pacific, kava is synonymous as the elixir or drink of the gods. Known in various words ranging from kau, sakau, kava, ava and yaqona, the ritual commonality is similar. \nThis video revisits the sacred kava ritual from a retelling of the indigenous spirituality and worldview as far as yaqona, chiefs, mana, power and the people are involved. \n\nYaqona or kava is the best known traditional drink of the Fijians today. You cannot have a meeting or social gathering without it. For all gatherings where traditional customs are observed, one will see a yaqona ceremony. It is used to welcome visitors, install chiefs at initiations and at the completion of communal work; celebrations of births, marriages, at deaths and in almost all phases of life in villages. Not only it is consumed in social gatherings and traditional ceremonies, it has also been used in after-church gatherings by members to express customary respect and consideration for one another. \n\nIn pre Christian Era, the way yaqona was used was totally different. It was for chiefs only, as they represented the gods. The yaqona or wainivanua was presented to the chiefs in temples early in the morning before any work could begin. The yaqona represented all that belonged to the land. Once the chief accepted it by drinking it in the temple, everyone was free to touch and use everything in the land (vanua). When the ceremony was going on in the temple, total silence was observed all over the land. As the people went to work, the king and chiefs continued to sit around the yaqona bowl discussing the affairs of the vanua. \n\nThomson Basil wrote in his book "The Fijians. A study of the Decay of Custom." 1968, that yaqona serves as a catalyst for social activities and still continues to be so. \n....The chief's yaqona circle supplied the want of newspapers; the news and gossip of the day were related and discussed; the chief's advisers seized upon the convivial moment as the most favourable opportunity for making known their view; matters of high policy were often decided; the chief's will, gathered from a few careless words spoken at the yaqona ring, was carried from mouth to mouth throughout his dominions.

Urtiin Duu is a traditional form of musical expression of the nomadic Mongols. As the slow pace, wide-ranging melody and poetic, philosophical text of the songs express values instilled by the vast, peaceful natural landscape where the nomads live, the Urtiin Duu can be considered as a manifestation of the nomadic spirit, while its composition and performance are directly associated with cycles of the nomadic lifestyles. It serves as a variety of cultural functions, in occasions for social gathering, entertainment and artistic production, community rituals such as weddings, new ger warming feasts, birth of a child, the completion of felt-making, the production of the first airag (fermented mare’s milk). Mongolian long songs are classified in three major styles: Aizam urtiin duu (rhythmic long song), Jiriin urtiin duu (typical long song) and Besreg urtiin duu (short long song). Urtiin Duu-Traditional Folk Long Song was inscribed on the UNESCO Representative List of Intangible Cultural Heritage in 2008.

Before the period of 1963, Lashi/Lachik people settled in the mountain villages. The village head kept the buffalo horn in the house as an apparatus and he blew it for the gathering of the villagers to inform or decide something about the village. The young people also blow it in the sense of enjoyment when their high yielding crops are harvested. Sometimes when the lovers are in different mountains apart, the boyfriend informs his location to his girlfriend blowing this horn. At that time, the girlfriend returns a signal by setting fire something from her location.\nThe buffalo horn has to be boiled to get the flexibility for the desired shape. The big horns require the boiling for three hours at least. As the small horns can't produce the pleasant sound, only the big ones are chosen to make this musical instrument. But the extra large horns have to be blown with a great strength. It's blown by putting a great blow through the mouth-hole. Only those who have the even lip and teeth can blow it to produce the pleasant sound. Usually, the village head blows it in the longer tone while the dating of the lovers with it is in the shorter tone.\n-1 feet 2 inches in length\n-8.5 inches in circumference

Women in the Philippine fisheries are often labeled as “the Invisible Fisherfolk”. Their pre-harvesting contributions are multifaceted, involving bait gathering, net fixing, and meal preparation for their husband while post-harvesting activities include bringing the fish to the shore, sorting, and cleaning of the daily catch. In most cases, women’s participation in fishing communities is neither socially recognized nor economically compensated. The primary goal for the development of women in the fisheries is to empower them, make them productive and self-sufficient. In this way, they can have an equal status as partners in promoting the living conditions of their own families and communities.

Just like any other communities, the livelihood of Lhops also started with hunting and gathering activities. In the past, Lhops gathered wild edible plants like Burr (Kochu or Colocasia) or Lohbol (Tapoica), and hunted as well as fished. With the recent developments in the community, Lhops have adopted agriculture as their source of food and nutrition, and with the passage of time, agriculture has become a way of life for subsistence and commercial means.

The sonteul (hand net) marsh clam fishery, which takes place in the brackish water zone of the river’s estuary, is Korea’s representative traditional inland fishery that continues even today. This traditional fishery is of significant historical and rarity value in that it is a unique fishery knowledge system created through a prolonged collective experience of the river’s residents. In recognition of such value as agricultural heritage, the fishery was designated a part of the Korea Important Fisheries Heritage Systems (KIFHS).