Madura Island has many unique cultural traditions. These deep-rooted customs, which can stir each sense, show the many sides of Pulau Garam’s complex nature. And the wealth and scope of this heritage can leave observers to Java awed by the sheer scale of it all.
Madura’s history dates back centuries. Various cultures, be they Hindu, Buddhist or Islamic, have shaped Salt Island’s evolution. In so doing, Madura Island has forged a character as rich as you will find in Indonesia. Even a brief glance at Madura’s past and traditions, as the reader can expect here, will give an insight into the island’s rich complexion.
Those aware of Madura Island will know of the colourful goings-on, many centuries old, that reflect the islanders’ pride in their home. The kinesis of the renowned bull races will clap like thunder, and the sounds of saronen folk ensembles will ebb and flow like smoke borne on the wind. But so, too, can visitors expect stimulation from many other things.
Uldaul / Tong-tong
Those who strain their ears – and those who do not – during the Muslim holy month of Ramadan will hear uldaul music. Uldaul is a raucous, attention-seeking thing designed to awaken the devout at dawn for sahur, the pre-fasting meal.
This sound first came to prominence in 1999, when a blackout afflicted Madura Island. It just so happened that a gang of sapi maling, that some might call cattle thieves and others have termed rustlers or duffers, used this cloak of night to conduct their thievery. In retaliation, communities patrolled each night to safeguard their livestock and ward off the robbers. The patrollers coupled their movements with loud music to make themselves known and stave off the wrongdoers.
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Uldaul groups comprise many people. The players create an elemental, frenzied thud. The noise comes largely from homemade percussion, such as plastic barrels, wooden slit kentongan drums and terbangan tambourines. Saron instruments, bars struck with mallets and often used in gamelan, create a distinct, hypnotic resonance. Such a sound boosts traditional Madurese songs, such as Olle Olang, Pajjar Lagghu and others, some of which have received fresh forms in the shape of call-and-response group vocals, drum solos and vibrant trumpets and horn breaks.
It is a question as to what sense an observer will first apply to these groups. Perhaps they will feel the distant thrum of the many-drummed sound and impassioned singing. Maybe the joyful trumpet chorus will make itself known before all else. Most likely, the vision of uldaul bands will transfix those who see them.
Many viewers have reported tremors when they encounter this music. The groups proceed on and around giant floats known as odong-odong that lumber forward with slow relentlessness, which, coupled with gilded paint, intricate LED displays and giant animalistic faces or bodies, creates the sensation of a lurching beast moving with the surety of a tidal wave. Upon and around these beasts do the players stand; those aboard on different levels of ascending height, and stragglers follow behind, adding their voices to the din and smashing drums placed on racks.
Attractions such as dances and pencak silat martial arts displays often form a part of uldaul festivities. So, too, do anthropomorphic animals. These beasts, with eyes that shine like diamonds, herald the floats’ arrival. They slink forth and get in amongst the crowd, making jump those not paying attention and inspiring yelps of alarmed surprise. Such yells carry a long way and communicate that a poor soul had paid the price of turning their back on uldaul.
Some have classed the energetic, cyclical pulse of uldaul as the sound of Madura Island. It is also true to say that uldaul stems from what the people of Sumenep call tong-tong. Tong-tong and uldaul are cut broadly from the same sonic cloth. Both types of music create a passionate, vibrant sound that reflects the Madurese character. And, although the rhythms of tong-tong and uldaul differ, they breed a similar sense of togetherness among their beholders.
The name tong-tong has an onomatopoeic foundation. The term derives from the sounds made by instruments, usually kentongan slit drums typically made of bamboo. The term also refers to an orchestra comprising tong-tongs. These orchestras improvise their music around a punchy rhythmic theme, repeated and enlarged by different instruments. A trained ear should hear a range of tones: kendang two-headed drums; kennong gongs; trumpets; kalenang; tambourines, bas sok; flutes; and so on. The listener may also discern a slenthem, a metallophone that produces sound when a tabuh mallet strikes the instrument’s keys.
Saronen
For a less punchy but no less hypnotic hum, one should seek out saronen folk music. Saronen’s defining trait is its insistent drive. The players latch on to a motif and repeat it until it gains enough power to ready the listener for strenuous activity. Thus, saronen tends to soundtrack the thundering kinesis of Madura’s bull races by psyching up the bovine participants as they prepare to charge down the track.
The listener may also hear this music in other contexts: purification rituals, the petik laut ceremony, sapè sono’ beauty contests for cows, equine jaran kecak demonstrations and so on. Choreographed dance moves often go with these sounds, and oftentimes the players will wear the ubiquitous Madurese red and white striped shirts that reference Majapahit’s naval flag.
Saronen folk ensembles employ typical Indonesian instruments: drums, gongs and cymbals. But so, too, do they use the saronen reed wind instrument, replete with teakwood pipe and lontar reeds, that gives the music both its name and its distinct piercing tone. The sound evokes images of snake charmers in corners of unfamiliar marketplaces, and many listeners will know its cadence, even if they do not know the source. A lale secures the instrument’s mouthpiece, as does another shell shaped like a moustache. More informed sources than EITM can clarify whether this aesthetic touch has a satirical edge, like how certain aspects of Reog Ponorogo mocked the perceived feminism of some of its male characters.
Topeng Dalang
The performative and the demonstrative rear their heads again and again on Madura Island. Witness the mask dance of topeng dalang, a complex form of traditional folk theatre art that blends storytelling, music, dance, puppetry and craft.
Topeng aligns with other Javanese and Balinese theatrical forms, such as Wayang Orang. Hypnotic ebbs of gamelan soundtrack the performances, and the dancers’ statuesque, controlled movements embody themes from the Ramayāna or Mahabharāta. But it is also here that Madura’s contribution to the form becomes clear.
In Topeng Dalang, the actors use masks, intricately designed and brightly painted, that convey distinctly Madurese traits. Such features, the product of generations-old artisanry, work on two levels. First, they identify the duality of Pulau Garam’s fiery stiffness and innocent honesty. And second, they subtly depict the island’s coastal and rural communities.
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As is the way of these things, regional variations abound. One may know the Slopeng masks, for instance, by their jasmine and sun decorations. The masks’ intricate face carvings also feature exaggerated shapes, eyes, nose, eyebrows, mouth and facial hair. The masks’ unique designs and looks, testified to by the care that sees them hand-carved from wood, put them in great demand for other such performances on Java’s mainland – from where visitors may recognise the distinct designs.
Part of this interest lies in the masks’ precise designs. Elaborate facial details mark the character as good or bad, while the colours symbolise different traits: red means dynamism; gold symbolises grace and gentleness; yellow denotes nobility; green signifies dedication; and black conveys wisdom. Thus, can the audience identify with the personalities on display and find something they see in themselves.
Although the masks give Topeng Dalang its name and thus draw the most attention, the costumes add magisterial pomp. Paraphernalia in the form of hairpieces, necklaces, bracelets, headwear and all kinds of props is key. Most expressive are the ghungseng sleighs. These bells, attached to the ankles, sound each time a dancer moves. This rudimental percussion mirrors the story’s pace and allows communication between the cast and the narrator.
Performances, often from midnight to dawn, involve around 25 cast members. A viewer may note the interaction between the performers and the off-stage dalang. The former group, silent, only makes body or facial movements that match the beat and storyline driven by the latter, the only one who may speak. The dalang also leads the gamelan orchestra of drums, xylophone, gong, kenong, gender, ponggang, bonang, peking and, once more, the saronen.
Carok
The outsider who stumbles upon Madura Island will note the stringent code of honour and pride. This same outsider should thus respect their surroundings and watch what they say, lest they become embroiled in an act of carok. This, however, is unlikely, and it would be a poor soul indeed who finds themselves in such a bind.
Carok results from provocation. It is a violent thing, a punishment for crimes such as harassment of one’s family, stealing cattle, dishonour, perceived insults; in short, slights that may see the victim lose face.
On Madura Island, one must pay back what they get, meaning an act of disrespect needs a receipt. And if the parties cannot resolve their differences amicably, they may enact carok, wherein the aggrieved and the aggressor duel with the traditional Madurese celurit sickle. These duels often prove fatal and can include multiple participants; it is a bloody side of Pulau Garam that one may not ever wish to see.
Arek Lancor
There remains an underlying disconnect that places Madura Island on the periphery of Indonesia. The nearby attractions of Bali and East Java ensure Madura is not a place burdened by tourism. On either side of the strait that divides the island from the mainland, a certain wariness, although not universal, exists as to the motivations of the other party. Were it not for the Suramadu Bridge, the longest such structure in Indonesia, the suspicion arises that Madura would happily become detached from its moorings and float free from the archipelago, beholden to none save Madura.
It is often said that Bali, the nearest landmass of equal size to Madura Island, exists in and of itself. Perhaps it is a question of mystique. Bali’s renown far exceeds its stature and confuses some visitors who do not know that the island forms but one – small – part of an archipelago.
Because of the distinct culture, landscape and atmosphere, a visitor to Indonesia’s tourist centre may feel like they exist a half-pace out of sync with the rest of the country. Subtle traits, even in the types of food or regional costumes, grow into vast cultural differences. Madura exists on similar latitudes, albeit from contrasting religious, traditional and civic perspectives. As Bali is to the Balinese and vice versa, one can also say the same about Madura and its native islanders.
Such distinct heritage shows itself in Madura’s edifices. In Kota Pamekasan resides a monument that depicts valour and vigour: Monumen Arek Lancor. This structure honours the freedom fighters, such as the figurehead Sakera, who defended Salt Island from the Dutch colonists.
Visitors to Pamekasan will find themselves drawn to the city’s alun, or square. There, overseeing the tennis courts, food sellers and playground, they will espy a striking, flame-like memorial writhing out of the ground.
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This is Arek Lancor. The metal construction, perhaps 20 or 25 feet high, bears an attitude of devotion that befits its position between two ornate places of worship: the Great Mosque of Asy Syuhada, with its bulbous green roof and needle-thin minaret, and the Church of Mary Queen of the Apostles.
It’s fitting that a tribute to Madurese unity should sit between Islamic and Christian houses of worship, as though crossing a divide to integrate those who sit on either side. Arek Lancor’s design, topped by five curving heads, serves two purposes. First, it reflects the unceasing fire of the battle for independence. Second, it does so with an appearance that mimics the lancor sickle and other traditional weapons used by freedom fighters to defend Madura’s shores.
Thus does Arek Lancor denote the intrinsic traits of Pulau Garam: assertion, passion and strength. And given the monument’s central position in Pamekasan, the message of oneness it transmits flows around the island as if pumped forth by some great pulmonary system.
This is a clear example of the notion that self-respect does not need the trappings of statue-esque grandeur tens or even hundreds of feet high and coated in bronze. Madura Island is a practical, unpretentious place, and its iconography carries the same weight.
The flames of Arek Lancor convey a contemplative message, and they do so for all who come to bask in their glow. The essence is a simple and intrinsic truth; the freedom fought for and won by the Madurese flows from the same wellspring that created in them the readiness to fight for Pula Garam and the people and values that make up its unique spirit.
Slopeng Beach
Sequestered to the east of Ambunten on the northeastern coast of Madura, Pantai Slopeng lies hidden behind a barricade of sand. These dunes, some 15 metres in height, rear out of the ground like the shells of a resting turtle. These mounds show why the Madurese term such mounds pasir hamil, or pregnant sand.
From atop such a raised position, it becomes possible to sway in rapport with the coconut and siwalan [ta’al] trees that line the coast, observe the fishermen as they plough the waters in their wooden canoes or, on holidays like ketupat, watch the devout break their fast to mark the conclusion of Ramadan.
Lombang Beach
To the northwest of Sumenep, on Madura Island’s east coast, lies a long, wide stretch of coastline hidden behind a woodland canopy. White sand and clusters of evergreen plants and coconut trees contribute to a serene atmosphere, made all the more unique by a type of foliage that borders the entire shoreline: casuarina equisetifolia, also known as the shrimp tree.
This spruce’s name stems from its distinct bent and elongated body in the shape of a crustacean. These trees are a rarity in Indonesia because they grow on so few beaches. Few, that is, except Lombang, where such a unique and rare species continues to flourish.
Masjid Agung, Sumenep
Masjid Agung is Sumenep’s focal point: markets, food stalls and more contribute to a healthy buzz of activity outside its ancient wooden door that always faces the sunrise. On special occasions, the building provides a spectacular backdrop to the myriad cultural events of which the Madurese are justly proud.
Completed in 1787, the mosque–one of Indonesia’s oldest–boasts a striking white and yellow gateway, compounded by splashes of green in deference to the Madurese custom. Architecturally, the main gate follows the Chinese style, while the body is typical of Javanese forms; the tower, meanwhile, is of a distinct European heritage. The interior is marked by 13 pillars and two sermon areas.
Keraton Sumenep
Keraton Sumenep, the former royal palace complex, played a central role in the formation of modern Indonesia. It was here, in the 13th century, that Aria Wiraraja, the area’s governor, set forth a scheme to establish the Majapahit mega-kingdom.
The site has ornate gateways, original teak pillars and a handsome well. One may also see Taman Sari, bathing pools once favoured by royal women but now disused; legends abound that ghosts haunt these pools at night. In a courtyard of some grandeur, visitors may witness saronen folk ensembles and gambuh dancers ply their trades.
Keraton’s attendant museum charts the history of Sumenep. There, one may see relics, weapons, manuscripts and assorted ephemera, including a horse carriage from the Queen of England.
Karapan Sapi
Cattle and livestock, and the prestige attached to success in raising these beasts, hold much stock on Madura Island. One may only look at the many images of bulls around the island, from flags to clothes, to confirm this fact. Raising cattle also boosts the agricultural economy and offers extra income for farmers. Most pressingly, it forms the basis for Madura’s renowned bull-racing contests, karapan sapi.
Racegoers watch from afar, lest the bulls lose control and run amok amongst the crowd, as two pairs of bulls draped in much finery, their young ‘jockeys’ perched behind on wooden ploughs, thunder down the track like ancient chariots. They propel the oxen forward by pulling on their tails.
The glory of winning these races means bribes and sleight of hand have become commonplace. So, too, has the deployment of black magic to cast spells on opposing bovines. Factor in a frenzied crowd, the hypnotic cadence of saronen music and bulls charged up by liberal pre-race doses of arak, and there emerges a competitive and chaotic spectacle.
Legung
A visitor to the east coast of Sumenep will find the villages of Legung Timur, Legung Barat and Dapenda. And if they delve further still, they will find that in many homes, the residents keep a small room covered in sand. This logic follows a simple course: the sand offers more comfort than conventional furniture.
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The villagers prefer it this way: the sand cools them down when it’s hot, and vice versa. The sand also calms health difficulties to such an extent that some swear it has life-giving qualities.
Such tradition has passed down from generation to generation on Madura Island It serves a communal purpose, where friends and family can spend time together. The highly pliable sand mattresses create a preternatural atmosphere of comfort and calm. It is also here that the folklore becomes clear: when humans do good to nature, it is said, that nature will respond in kind.
Thus, the villagers care for nature, respect their surroundings and sleep on the earth. In doing so, they strengthen their bond with nature. In return, the insidious grasp of witchcraft and black magic finds itself deflected because it can find no chink in the bond to taint and spread its corruption; nature protects its protectors. As the saying goes: ‘When one unites with the earth, no evil thing can come to them’.
Asta Tinggi
Given that Madura Island is a devout place, many sites of pilgrimage litter its dusty expanse. In Sumenep, in Kampung Kebunagung, one may find the royal tombs of Asta Tinggi. These tombs have a distinct blend of Javanese, Hindu, Chinese and European architecture.
A courtyard framed by palm trees and a pendopo pavilion greets arrivals. From here, they can see Sumenep’s rugged terrain, dusty panorama and rocky peaks stretching into the distance. Through grand gateways, aged tombs grab the viewer’s focus. These centrepieces impose themselves upon faded green, red and yellow columns and carvings.
To the west lie the resting places of Prince Pulang Jiwo, Bindoro Saod and Queen Radan Ayu Tirtonegoro. To the north, through a striking white gate, Arya Noto Kusumo I and his descendants repose in eternal sleep. And on all sides lie slumbering souls who, even in rest, know to face holy ground. A word of warning: the climb to the tombs is steep and beset by speeding trucks and bemo minivans.
Gili Iyang
This island, one of Madura Island’s obscure outposts, flanks the eastern coast of Sumenep. Its distance from the mainland made Gili Iyang a reputed dumping ground for society’s outcasts and misfits. But more pertinently, the island became known for its oxygen levels, supposedly the second-highest on the planet, after Jordan. For this reason, Iyang claimed a second name: Pulau Oksigen.
Studies found that here, the oxygen content reached 21.5 per cent, higher than the average 20 per cent in most other places. Panacea or not, the island offers a cool, fresh atmosphere. Such purity prompts reports of extended life spans. Some have said that people can live to nearly 200. And perhaps these claims have depth.
Few could deny Iyang’s life-enhancing air. Not when they watch an aged islander rapidly climb a palm tree to harvest sugar before descending with startling speed and grace. So go the subtle miracles of life on Pulau Garam’s ageless island.
Gili Labak
This pocket-sized island, home to only 50 people, offers a real insight into local fishing practices. Triangular bagan frames dot the shoreline. Visitors can also see traditional selerek boats bedecked with colourful tributes to the Goddess of the sea. Come the evening, a beatific calm descends on the island, and one may also see the outlines of nearby Talanggo and, further afield, Kalianget, the port from which they arrived.
Masalembu Islands
Seafarers who head northeast of Kalianget towards Kalimantan will eventually reach Masalembu. This threefold chain of islands resides in the Java Sea between Borneo and Madura Island. The chain includes three bodies: Masalembu, Masakambing and Keroha. Upon these places exists high biodiversity, as shown by the coral reefs, mangroves, seaweed and algae forests. The islands’ settlers have Madurese, Javanese, Mandar and Bugis origins. Inspired by the beasts the newcomers found, they named the chain Nusa Lembu, which gradually mutated into Masalembu, the place of many oxen.
The smallest of the Masalembu archipelago has a unique resident: the endemic abbotti cockatoo, a resilient species that looks to have averted the blight of extinction. Known as Bekka Masakambing by the local Bugis population, this yellow-crested bird has teetered on the edge of oblivion.
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Hunting and the loss of its natural mangrove habitat saw to that. Bekka’s numbers fell to eight, and all on Masakambing. But a conservation push turned the tide. Replanted mangroves have given Bekka the space to flourish once more.
Batu Putih
Should a visitor go to Madura’s northeastern coastline, they will eventually find the district of Batu Putih. This place has drawn fame for the geometry of its namesake limestone quarries. The pits’ distinct angular forms, due to the rigours of mining and natural erosion, have carved out a distinct pattern. A series of layers, one atop the other, records the passage of time.
Batu Putih stands apart from the coastline’s otherwise rural sensibilities, wherein green and vibrant rice fields hug vast stretches of coastline. There, the visitor will reach this surreal and unique cuboid terrain with its limestone towers reaching 40 or 50 feet high. So, too, will they note the air of mystery. No signage announces Batu Putih’s existence; no guards prowl its boundaries; even the cries and calls of nature are conspicuous by their absence.
Food and Drink on Madura Island
But what are the sensations of Madura Island without its tastes and smells? As with elsewhere in Indonesia, from Sumatra to Wests Papua and Timor, a place’s food carries a part of its soul to wherever it is consumed. The same is true of Pulau Garam, the food of which has branched across the country and shaped the archipelago’s culinary course. What follows are a few examples of this fare.
Sate Madura
More than most, Pulau Garam steered the direction of satay, the cornerstone of Indonesian cuisine. The revelatory introduction of peanut sauce by the Madurese has become so ingrained that it feels like the only conclusion to skewering chunks of meat and grilling them over charcoal.
One can identify sate Madura by its thin chunks of meat and a dark sauce of sweetened kecap manis, palm sugar, fried shallots, petis shrimp paste, peanut paste, kemiri chilli/candlenut sambal, salt and garlic. Sliced shallots, sambal and ketupat rice cakes complete this most vaunted dish that fuses place and nourishment like the strands of a DNA helix.
Soto Mata Sapi
Waste is no virtue in the northeast of Java. Such practicality extends to this unique soup that extracts delicate tastes from cow eyes, tripe and intestines. The dish sees a whole cow head boiled, which then goes into a red broth seasoned with red chillies and secret spices and completed by a few slices of beef.
Tradition dictates that the eyeballs remain whole to preserve the soup’s flavour. Rujak seasoning, sprouts, peanuts, corn, fried onions, sliced cayenne pepper, and orange/lime juice add further dimensions to the soup; ketupat or topak rice cakes wrapped in coconut leaves serve as worthy complements.
Sop Kaldu Kokot
The cloven-hoofed influence of bovines stamps itself on Madura’s lifeblood, from the racing bulls to the island’s unique dishes. Sop kaldu kokot – a soup – includes green beans and a broth made from the cow’s leg bones: usually kikil or marrow. The latter often comes with a ‘straw’ to sip the insides; the same things happen with offal. The soup’s flavour becomes more distinct with the addition of soy sauce, lime juice, salt, shallots, garlic, pepper, ginger, nutmeg and spring onions. Kaldu Kokot is a staple of Eid or Ramadan celebrations. Typical accompaniments include lontong, cassava cakes, fried onions, crackers, sambal petis and peanuts.
Soto Madura
Little more needs saying. [Editor: The well has run dry. Can the reader pinpoint when the writer lost interest? Clue: it’s this entry.] One of Indonesia’s most well-known dishes. A chicken soup embellished with vermicelli, vegetables and hard-boiled eggs.
[Editor: That’s enough. This is over 4,000 words, which is 2.5k too much. Madura. This is that. Read more. Even better, go. Or don’t.]
[Editor: We’re also aware that Bangkalan doesn’t feature too heavily in this story. In short, that’s the area of Madura we’re least familiar with, so it’s not really worth including something we know not so much about.]
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