Haktuir Ai-Knanoik

Natural Color Of Atauro (Traditional Ink)

This documentary explores the cultural and spiritual significance of Uma Lulik (Sacred Houses) in Timor-Leste, which serve as powerful symbols of Timorese identity passed down through generations. These sacred houses are often located in high, remote areas—both for protection and to maintain spiritual connection—and are key centers for preserving tangible and intangible cultural heritage, such as sacred water sources, stones, tombs, and rituals.\n\nThe film highlights the distinct architectural features of Uma Lulik, such as the male and female wooden pillars (Ai-rin Mane and Ai-rin Feto), which carry profound cultural meanings. It explains the differences between Uma Lulik and Uma Fukun—supporting clan houses—and Uma To’os, sacred houses used by Timorese communities living in urban areas like Dili.\n\nThrough interviews with cultural custodians like Tiu Eugénio J. Sarmento and Tiu João dos Santos Hohulu, viewers gain insights into construction rituals, traditional ceremonies, and the symbolic meanings embedded in the sacred architecture. These include elaborate community efforts to transport and erect wooden pillars, sacrificial offerings, and spiritual dances that mark the creation of Uma Lulik.\n\nThe video also features the Knua Lulik Hohulu in Fatubessi, a living example of cultural continuity, where traditions are upheld by local leaders through collective roles and ancestral knowledge.\n\nFinally, the documentary emphasizes the efforts of the Government of Timor-Leste, particularly through the Secretary of State for Arts and Culture, to safeguard and promote sacred cultural sites. Through active community engagement and support for traditional practices, these initiatives aim to ensure the intergenerational transmission of cultural memory and identity, while also encouraging cultural tourism.

How Asian local and indigenous groups’ practices and cultural styles can play an essential role in strengthening the coastal ecosystems and international cooperation in the midst of on-going climate change. Through the examples of Timor Leste, we hope to find both indirect and direct solutions while maintaining international collaboration and the Sustainable Developmental Goals.

In the communities of Viqueque, particularly among the Tetun-Terik-speaking people, fai-akar—the production of sago flour from the akar palm—is not merely a method of food preparation; it is a cultural ceremony that blends labor, rhythm, and collective identity. At the heart of this tradition is the Tali-Bole dance, a dynamic performance woven seamlessly into the act of pounding sago, transforming a daily task into a vibrant expression of heritage.\n\nThe process of making fai-akar begins with harvesting the inner pith of the akar palm tree, which is then ground and washed to extract starch. This labor-intensive task is done in groups, mostly by women, using long wooden pestles to pound the fiber in large mortars. But what sets this practice apart is the way pounding becomes performance: the coordinated movement of the pestles rises and falls to the beat of chanting and drumming, and the Tali-Bole dance emerges from the rhythm of the work itself.\n\nDancers move in synchrony with the pounding, often stepping in and out of the work line, twirling or waving cloth, and responding to sung verses. The term tali-bole can be interpreted in various ways—some connect it to the image of “binding cords,” others to the swinging motion of the pestles themselves—but in all meanings, it emphasizes connection, unity, and the shared pulse of community labor.\n\nSongs sung during the pounding and dancing are passed down orally and are rich in metaphor and memory. One of the most well-known verses, Lakaleok, is sung toward the end of the session, signaling closure and expressing gratitude. These lyrics often tell stories of ancestors, landscapes, and social values, ensuring that cultural knowledge is preserved even in the most practical of activities.\n\nTraditionally, fai-akar and Tali-Bole were performed during rites of passage, funerals, house inaugurations, and communal feasts. Participation was seen not only as a contribution of labor but as an affirmation of cultural belonging. The rhythmic beat of the pestles and the voices of the singers created a space where work, ritual, and performance blended into one.\n\nAlthough the practice remains alive in some villages, it faces growing challenges. The availability of processed food, the decline of communal labor traditions, and the migration of youth to urban areas have all contributed to its reduced presence. Yet, in places where it continues, fai-akar and Tali-Bole are embraced as sources of pride, often featured at cultural festivals and heritage events to showcase the strength and creativity of traditional life.\n\nTo witness Tali-Bole is to see cultural memory in motion—where hands work, feet dance, and voices carry the wisdom of generations. In every stomp and song, the community reaffirms its bond with the land, its past, and one another.

Rooted in the ancestral traditions of the Fatumea and Fohorem communities in Covalima Municipality, Tebe Otas-Uluk is more than a dance—it is a collective act of memory, identity, and reverence. The name itself combines “tebe” (a traditional line dance) with Otas (ancestor) and Uluk (first or origin), signaling a ritual expression dedicated to those who came before.\n\nTraditionally performed by the elders of the community, this dance takes place during important communal gatherings such as ceremonies of healing, protection, thanksgiving, or agricultural celebration. Participants often wear traditional attire and move in side-by-side formations, linked by hands or shoulders, stepping rhythmically in unison to the beat of local drums, gongs, or the babadok (a hand-held percussion instrument). The dance circle forms a symbolic space where the living and the spirits of the ancestors meet.\n\nWhat sets Tebe Otas-Uluk apart is its solemn and purposeful character. The movement vocabulary is simple yet powerful: synchronized steps, grounded footwork, and fluid arm gestures that flow with the communal rhythm. Songs are chanted throughout the dance in the Tetun-Terik language, often carrying metaphorical meanings related to the land, family, and the ancestors’ wisdom. The lyrics function as oral archives, preserving knowledge and history that is not written but remembered through voice and motion.\n\nBecause of its deep spiritual roots, this dance is only performed on specific occasions, often after traditional leaders conduct consultations with spiritual entities or conduct rituals to prepare the ground. Each gesture, each chant, is believed to activate a connection to the ancestral realm—inviting blessings, healing, or protection for the community.\n\nIn recent years, however, the practice has become increasingly rare, with fewer young people learning the movements or understanding the embedded meanings. Despite this, dedicated elders continue to lead and teach the dance, ensuring its survival as a living heritage. For them, Tebe Otas-Uluk is not simply a performance—it is a prayer in motion, a ceremony that anchors the community to its origins and affirms its cultural continuity.

The Rise of Genre Tebe-Tebe: A Song of Ancestors from Timor-Leste

15 December 2021: Sixteenth session of the Intergovernmental Committee for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage approved the inscription of Tais on the UNESCO List of Intangible Cultural Heritage in Need of Urgent Safeguarding. \n\nAs the first inscription of Timor-Leste’s ICH element to the list, ICHCAP has been requested by the UNESCO Jakarta Office for cooperation projects on the transmission and promotion of Timor-Leste’s ICH and plans to cooperate with local NGOs and plan possible projects. Safeguarding and promoting these rich cultures need research, publication and production. Moreover, as general masses could be reached through audio-visual production to promote and safeguard these cultures, academically arranged narratives processed into visual presentations such as documentary productions are crucial and timely. \n\nThis informational and promotional material development project adds continued value to the Timor-Leste National Commission for UNESCO’s work with the National ICH committee that undertakes to nominate the element (Tais) to the Urgent Safeguarding List with the international assistant. \n\nTimor-Leste National Commission for UNESCO agrees to employ Merkurius Yung with the position of Director of CEVNAG Production Film in accordance with the terms set out in the Term of Reference (ToR). In this position, the Director of CEVNAG Production Film, as well as a consultant, reported to Timor-Leste National Commission for UNESCO on 2 (two) items such as video production for Tais and Uma Lulik, and 14 (fourteen) elements of the Inventory Booklet project. The process sites cover the municipalities such as Baucau, Bobonaro, Covalima, Ermera, Lautem and Oecusse. \n\n(ICHCAP has the original file)\n

In several rural communities of Timor-Leste, Tuku-Osan—meaning “iron striking” or traditional blacksmithing—remains a respected livelihood and cultural craft. Practitioners, often known as tukun-besi (blacksmiths), transform scrap metal into ritual accessories and functional tools using simple, locally made equipment: a small furnace, a bellows typically fashioned from bamboo or wood, hammers, anvils, and chisels.\n\nThis blacksmithing tradition is not just about utility but also ceremony. Items created include decorative arm rings (li’uli’u), ritual knives, and symbolic metal accessories worn during important events like weddings, funerals, and traditional dances. These artifacts often serve as markers of identity, social status, or ancestral ties.\n\nApprenticeship usually begins at home, with young boys observing and gradually assisting their fathers or uncles in forging metal. Mastery takes years and involves not only technical skill but knowledge of the symbolic meanings tied to each object. For instance, some blades or tools are believed to possess protective properties or spiritual significance, especially when used during sacred rituals or by lia-nain (custom custodians).\n\nThe process itself requires intense physical labor and patience. The blacksmith begins by heating pieces of iron until they are malleable, then striking them repeatedly on an anvil to shape them. The rhythmic clanging of hammer against metal is accompanied by puffs of smoke from the wood-fired furnace—an image that recalls generations of artisans practicing the same technique.\n\nWhile modern materials and factory tools have reduced the demand for handmade ironwork, many rural communities continue to commission traditional blacksmiths for ceremonial needs. These craftspeople are regarded as keepers of ancestral knowledge, and their work is vital to ensuring that elements of Timorese identity endure in tangible form.

Tara-Bandu is one of Timor-Leste’s most enduring systems of customary law—an ancestral method for maintaining harmony between humans, nature, and the spirit world. Practiced across many municipalities, this tradition involves the collective setting of social and environmental rules by the community, enforced not by police or government, but by deep-rooted respect for customary authority and ancestral belief.\n\nThe term “tara-bandu” itself means “to suspend” or “to declare a prohibition.” At its core, it is a communal agreement to protect certain aspects of life—be it sacred forests, clean water sources, agricultural land, or interpersonal relationships. Violating a tara-bandu is believed to bring not just social disapproval, but also spiritual misfortune, such as illness, crop failure, or even death.\n\nThe process of establishing a tara-bandu involves an elaborate ceremonial act led by lia-nain (customary custodians), elders, spiritual leaders, and village chiefs. At the heart of the ritual is the symbolic installation of the prohibition. This may take the form of hanging a tree branch, an animal skull, or even a bound bundle of leaves at the boundary of a protected area. These symbols serve as visible markers that the space or behavior they refer to is off-limits.\n\nEach tara-bandu is tailored to local needs. In some communities, it may prohibit cutting down trees from a specific forest. In others, it may regulate marriage customs, resolve conflicts, or prevent theft and violence. The process is highly participatory: villagers gather in large open-air meetings to discuss the rules, agree on penalties, and publicly reaffirm their commitment to uphold the communal values.\n\nThe ceremony itself often includes the sacrifice of an animal—commonly a pig, goat, or chicken—as an offering to the ancestral spirits. A traditional oath is spoken, and traditional liquor (tua sabu) is sometimes poured on the earth as a gesture of sealing the agreement. These rituals symbolize not only human consensus but a spiritual pact between the living and the unseen world.\n\nBeyond its legal implications, tara-bandu has an environmental and ethical function. It teaches respect for natural resources, encourages collective responsibility, and reinforces peaceful coexistence. It also represents an indigenous system of governance, reminding the Timorese people that long before modern institutions, their ancestors had mechanisms to resolve disputes and protect what mattered most.\n\nIn the years following independence, tara-bandu experienced a significant revival. Communities, NGOs, and government bodies alike have recognized its value—not as a relic of the past, but as a living, adaptable tool for building resilient societies. It is now being integrated into conservation projects, natural resource management plans, and even civic education programs in schools.\n\nStill, its continued vitality depends on intergenerational transmission. Elders must be supported in sharing their knowledge, and younger generations must be empowered to see the relevance of tara-bandu in today’s context. As both law and ritual, tara-bandu is a shining example of how intangible cultural heritage can guide communities in shaping a sustainable, respectful, and united future.

In the rugged landscapes of Timor-Leste, where dry seasons can stretch long and food insecurity remains a reality for many, the people have long relied on their deep knowledge of wild, resilient crops. Among them is Koto-Tisi—a hard, dark wild bean that offers vital sustenance but must be carefully prepared to remove its natural toxins. What might appear at first glance to be just another seed is, in fact, a symbol of survival, ecological wisdom, and ancestral resilience.\n\nThe bean is typically found growing on hardy, thorny shrubs or climbing vines in semi-wild areas. It is gathered primarily by women, who know when the pods are ready to be picked and how to handle them safely. The challenge lies not in harvesting but in transforming Koto-Tisi into something edible—an intricate cooking process that has been passed down through generations.\n\nPreparation begins with repeated boiling and rinsing, sometimes up to five or six times. Each round helps to leach out the toxic compounds present in the bean. The water must be discarded each time, and the beans carefully watched to ensure that they soften without disintegrating. After boiling, the beans are often sun-dried and stored for later use, to be boiled again before eating or ground into a starchy paste.\n\nThe process is labor-intensive and demands both patience and precision. Elders in the community emphasize that the knowledge of how to process Koto-Tisi is not written in books—it lives in memory, movement, and the rhythms of daily life. To rush the process or ignore the sequence could lead to poisoning. For this reason, children are taught to observe closely, assisting their mothers or grandmothers and gradually learning the delicate balance between danger and nourishment.\n\nIn times of drought, scarcity, or natural disaster, Koto-Tisi becomes a lifeline. Its ability to grow in harsh conditions, with little water or care, makes it a dependable fallback when cultivated crops fail. But it is more than a survival food—it is also a testament to how culture and ecology intertwine. The knowledge required to use it safely reflects a deep respect for the land, a skillset honed through centuries of careful experimentation and oral transmission.\n\nToday, as dietary patterns change and imported food becomes more available, the practice of preparing Koto-Tisi is fading in some areas. But in others, it remains a respected tradition—especially among elders who see it not only as food but as a story, a ritual, and a reminder of community strength in the face of adversity.

Performed with grace, dignity, and deep cultural symbolism, Tebe-Lilin is a traditional dance that brings together members of a community in shared celebration, remembrance, and expression. It is practiced in several regions of Timor-Leste and is especially known for its emphasis on unity and peaceful co-existence.\n\nThe word “tebe” refers to a communal line or circle dance, while “lilin” translates as candle or light. Together, the name evokes the image of people dancing around a source of light—both literal and symbolic—illuminating shared values such as harmony, hope, and continuity. Historically, dancers would carry actual candles or use candlenuts wrapped in cotton, creating a flickering trail of light as they moved through the night.\n\nTebe-Lilin* is performed by groups of men and women—young and old—who link arms or shoulders and form lines or circles. They move rhythmically in unison, stepping to the beat of babadok drums and chanting in call-and-response style. The songs are often poetic and metaphorical, expressing themes of love, sorrow, longing, and reconciliation. Each verse is rich with meaning, serving not just as entertainment but as oral literature passed from generation to generation.\n\nThe dance is deeply woven into ceremonial life. It features prominently during sau-batar (corn harvest celebrations), barlake (marriage exchanges), community healing rituals, and memorial events. In each setting, Tebe-Lilin helps strengthen the spiritual and emotional ties among participants. Its circular form is believed to create balance and connection, while the singing creates a space for open emotional expression—an opportunity to share joys and wounds alike.\n\nIn some versions of the dance, the use of light is entirely symbolic. The “candle” represents the enduring spirit of the ancestors, the resilience of the community, or the moral light that guides people through challenges. The act of dancing around it becomes a ritual of reaffirmation—a moment when the community collectively reflects on its path forward while honoring its roots.\n\nThough Tebe-Lilin remains alive in certain communities, it faces challenges. Younger generations are increasingly detached from these communal traditions, and the ritual contexts in which the dance once thrived are becoming less frequent. Elders and cultural leaders continue to play a vital role in teaching the songs, movements, and meanings behind the dance, often through village gatherings, church events, and cultural festivals.\n\nIn its form and spirit, Tebe-Lilin exemplifies intangible cultural heritage at its finest: it is an art form, a social practice, and a vehicle for transmitting identity. Every time the dance is performed, it brings light—not just to the night, but to the hearts and memories of those who dance and watch.