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Makanan

Food

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Makan

Eating

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good

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makan

google translation Javanese Indonesian

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makan

Indonesian language

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makan

Chapter 1 First Acquaintances: Persons And Question My first encounters with Maria Baru were decisive for my anthtropological journey into female initiation rituals. She was to open doors to my research in Ayawasi and Fef, in the Northwest Ayfat region of the Bird’s Head area in West Papua, and become an invaluable and untiring source of information on changing female initiation rites in the context of catholic missionisation. This role makes her the protagonist of this study. Let me therefore go back the day I met her. On the day in August 1994, I was walking in the viilageof Ayawasi together with my fellow anthropologist and close friend Ien Courtens, and a local man called Hans Tenau who showed us around the settlement. It was a very hot day, the village lay open underneath a cloudless sky. Only a few inhabitants passed by on the sandy paths. They were moving slowly to the rhythm of the heat, just as we did. There was not the slightest noise of children at play, no hum of voices, no laughter. One could only hear the gentle waving of the palm leaves. The air was filled with the smell of smouldering wood which, shrouded in wisps of smoke, passed through the leafy roofs of the kitchen. Lunchtime was over. Most of the villagers were napping in their houses or sheltering from the sun in the silent shadows of their food gardens outside the village. Just a few hours later they would restart their activities, awakened by the probing sound of cicadas which would tell them that the sun would shortly go down. But, at the time, it almost seemed as if the village had been deserted.it was a badly-timed moment for newly-arrived anthropologist to introduce themselves of the villagers. Yet, although we did not succeed in meeting more than a handful of local residents, from inside the houses, however, some of the people observed us. “ You did not see me that day,” Maria Baru would tell us later, “but inside, the house we were watching you walking by.” Maybe, than, she had also caught a glimpse of our delighted faces when Hans checked his pace near her house and said: “this is the house of (carpenter) Paulinus Bame and Mrs. Maria Baru.” We had already been longing to meet Maria Baru before we when to West Papua, we did not know whether or not she was still living in the village of Ayawasi. During the preparation of my fieldwork, I had interviewed some of the dutch missionary sisters who had been working in the area for thirty years and who had urged me to meet Maria Baru. They informed me that she was a prominent woman in the sphere of indigenous culture as well local Christianity. However, the sisters did not have recent information about Maria Baru’s present residence. And then, suddenly, we fount ourselves gazing at her house. Ien and I planned to visit Maria Baru the next day but, unfortunately, I fell ill so the visit had to be postponed. Sick with malaria Tropicana, I stayed in bed for the next two weeks. But in the morning of the day after I had recovered, we wlaked straight to the house of Maria Baru and her family. When we got closer to the wooden building, I saw a woman cleaning the porch. She swept the twig bristles of the broom over the cement floor with cautious moves. Compared to the other woman of the village, she was slender. From a distance, this woman did not show her exceptional spiritual and physical strength. But when we shook hands and I looked into her eyes, I was struck by their brightness and expression of kind-heartedness. In the year that followed, I was to learn that one could not only read softness, gentleness, and happiness in her eyes, but also grief, dismay, and anger. Not so much her body as a whole, but her eyes initially betrayed her forceful personality and position. Further, her alertness and commitment to the things that happen both in her personal life and within Ayfat society were apparent. We introduced ourselves and conveyed the greetings of the dutch missionary sisters, as they had requested. When she realized that we knew the sisters, Maria started crying with both joy and pain, and told us how she missed them. After some time, when she had dried her tears, we explained the purpose of our visit asked her to lend her assistance to our research on indigenous cultural practices of woman. Maria was visibly startled, I could read it in her eyes; but she reluctantly agreed. “Come back another day,” she said. On the 30th of August we held our first informal interview at her house. Maria Baru gave us a hearty welcome and invited us to sit down at the large wooden table in the middle of the living room. The table was covered with eastern cloth, reserved for special occasions. On the table she had placed a small, brown medicine bottle filled with britghtly coloured little flowers, a habit she had adopted from the dutch missionary sisters. Maria had combed her hair with care and wore one of her finest blouses and skirts. Other house members walked in, to whom we were introduced and who afterwards sat down on the wooden bench against the wall. Maria Baru and her eldest daughter Yosefien joined us at the table. Yosefien would stay during our confersation. But the adult male family members, Maria’s husband Paulinus and her older brother Agus, left: they had interrupted her, to which Maria responded by an expressive gesture with her arm in order to let them knowto keep their mouths shut, and later they quietly left the room. Despite the various sign of welcome, I proceeded with caution because of her somewhat reserved reaction the previous time and we first talked about the composition of the household. Next, Maria Baru spontaneously started telling us about the education she had received from the missionary sisters. She also recounted the dedication of the Dutch Roman Catholic nuns and priests who had been working among the local people with their whole hearts. But then, in a flat voice, shen went on to say: “Now everything has changed. In former days things were different. Nowadays, the elderly are afraid because the people no longer use (tradition,custom). Religion has entered.” What happened next, would be crucial for the course of my research. To my amazement, Maria suddenly switched to the subject of female initiation rituals. “in the coult house we learned how to livewell,” she said: “we received traditional education. But later the government and the church entered. They did not know how to handle our custom. So the houses disappeared. Now we do not use them anymore, and the children no longer learn about custom in this way.” It saddened her that none of her grown-up children had been initiated. Although I had been taking notes myself, Maria Baru urged her doughter Yosefien to write down for us the things that her mother would report next. Then, for two hours, Maria enthusiastically recounted her own initiation experience. Skipping from one subject to another she told many things. While listening, I learned about the rules that neophytes were obliged to obey during the period of seclusion, and what would happen if they violated particular rules: “if we met with men, we had to be killed.” I learned about the importanceof symbols such as ropes, fire, and taro. And, also, about the final ceremony, when when the initiates left the cult house. While recalling this last part, Maria’s eyes were shining with joy. Finally, she said: “go home and study the things I have told you. Then come back again, and I will tell you everything till the end.” I was stunned by the sudden turn to the subject of initiation because I had not mentioned the topic, neither during our first acquaintance nor in this interview. Initially, I had assumed that such a direct approach would scare people off. While studying archival documents and interviewing missionaries before I went to West Papua, it had appeared to me that indigenous information about initiation would not be easily accessible. Nevertheless, I remained highly interested in rites of initiation. In Dutch archives. I had found some references to initiation rites in reports by former Dutch administrators and other officials who had been working in the Bird’s Head region of West Papua (Honnef 1956; massink 1955; Van Rhijn 1957a, 1957b, 1960; Kamma n.d.; Kamma-Van Dijk 1961; Van Der Veen 1953). Van Rhijn (1960), a Dutch physician, had written a report primarily on male initiation rituals in the Bird’s Head area. In anthropological studies I had read cursory descriptions about male and, to a lesser extent, female initiation (Elmberg 1955, 1959, 1968; Miedema 1984; J.M. Schoorl 1979). Elmberg (1965) even published an ethnographic description of initiation rites as practised in the Ayamaru area in the 1950s. However, all my further efforts to learn more about the rites in the Bird’s Head area had been in vain. Miedema (1984) mentioned that initiation rites in the East Ayfat region were stiil performed in the 1980s, while others suggested that, under the influence of governmental and missionary interventions, rites of initiation had disappeared in the greater part of the Bird’s Head (and the wider region of West Papua). There were no studies or other written sources available that could provide an answer as to whether female initiation rites in contemporary Bird’s Head societies were still practised at the time I started my research. I had been wondering if the rites had been abandoned, or whether it would indeed still be possible to study the practice of initiation. Since anthropologists were largely in the dark about female initiation in the greater part of West Papua, female initiation was on my hidden agenda. So, I felt not only astonished, but also pleasantly relieved by Maria Baru’s shift to the topic. On that particular day in August it seemed to me that it might indeed be possible to investigate female initiation. Maria informed me that some other elderly women who resided in the village of Ayawasi had been initiated during their childhood and might be willing to talk about their experiences. Later I found out that,-in the village of Ayawsi, no more than ten such initiated women wre still alive (which is a small number when one considers that the village had approximately 1,000 inhabitants). I felt uncertain and asked myself if it really would be interesting to explore rituals that were only living on in the memories of so few women, however essential their importance had been in the past. I decided to pursue the topic, as a part of my research into religious change, and postponed any decision about narrowing the research focus. “I will cross that bridge when I come to it,” I thought. In the weeks that followed, I still believed that initiation rites had been abandoned all over the Ayfat area. I started by gathering information from inhabitants who originated from various Ayfat villages, who all told me about the abolition of the rites in their native village. In some of the villages the rites had not been performed since the 1960s, while in others they had disappeared in the 1970s. in the 1970s and 1980s, however, male initiation rituals (wuon) had been twice reintroduced in the village of Ayawasi. Through these occasional reintroduction, local people were responding to disasters that look place within their community. The disasters were perceived as punishments by ancestors because the ancestral ruler had not been transmitted by means of the wuon ritual for same years. In the case of the first reinstatement, in 1978/79, pland diseases had seriously affected the taro (a tuberous plan) harves in neighboring Ayawasi village. This induced the raja (literally: ‘ruler’) Marten Tenau to ask the local missionary if had any objections to them performing wuon again. The raja explained that the in habitants of the village of Ayawasi where in a state of tension. They felt insecure about the codes of behavior between elders and youngsters as well as between leaders and followers. Further, younger man did not have much knowledge about animal hunting and the preparation of poison. The missionary, father Jonkergouw,OSA, had answered: “I do not have any objections as long as you do not commit excesses. Do not abuse these boys, but just guide them into adulthood.” The raja gave his world and the male initiation ritual was performed over a years. The second time in the 1980s, the area was struck by an excessively long period of drought that lasted for more than a year. In order to reconcile the ancestors, wuon was performed once more. To date, this remains the most recent male initiation rite in ayawasi and the surrounding villages. Later I found out that, as I had assumed, rites of initiation indeed were no longer common practice in the village of Ayawasi and its surrounding within the west Ayfat region. It was also true for the negative village of Maria Baru in the not Ayfat area and for some other settlements in the region: most families that had settled down in village communities had abandoned female and male initiation. When I travelled to the north Ayfat region in January 1995, however, I discovered that the rites for bots girls and boys had lived on in some other village in the northern region. A few villagers still wanted their children to take part in initiation rites. The duration of the rites, however, had been drastically shortened, while in pre-missionary times the rites generally lasted between one and several (in the case of male initiation) years, the current rites just took a few days or weeks, and were only performed during school holidays. During my stay in the north Ayfat region, local inhabitants informed me that in settlements more removed from missionary stations, especially those situated in the dense reinforest, the rites were still practised in longer forms. However, as I had not visited these areas I could not verify this information. Upon inquiry it appeared that there were families who had not abandoned the rites at all who were still living in the forest: the customary lifestyle before Dutch governmental policy started to force the indigenous people to settle down in village communities. Thay hat not been baptized and their children did not take part ni primary school education. During my stay in north Ayfat, five months after my first meeting with Maria, all of a sudden Ien and I were invited to participate in a female initiation rite. Again, I had not sought the opportunity, but I felt very honoured by this privilege. Maria Baru had used her authority to arrange for us to be allowed to participate inside a cult house for two days and one night, and to attend the final three-day ceremony. It was a unique experience, which turned out to be far more than an opportunity to study present-day female initiation. While participating in the ritual I, just like Ien, was myself partially initiated, which gave me an unique chance to gain deeper insights into ritual female initiation and its meanings. This experience led to my final decision to alter the initial, rather board, research them concerning the changing meanings of indigenous religious practices of woman within the missionary process. I chose to focus my research on female initiation rites and missionisation. Further, I extended the regional scope from the West Ayfat (Ayawasi) area to the Northwest Ayfat area. The broadening of the regional scope was also motivated by the ethnographic reality. Apart from the period when I stayed in the village of fef in the north Ayfat, the village of Ayawasi, as the center of the catholic mission, remained the main research location. Although this village is situated in the West Ayfat area and originally inhabited by members of the Meybrat tribe, it turned out that members of the Meyhabehmase tribe from the north Ayfat region also resided in the village of Ayawasi. They had followed the mission’s track from the north to the west Ayfat regions from the 1970s onwards. Although they quantitatively from just a small part of the village of Ayawasi, their influence in the religious sphere is substantial: not only Maria Baru but also other prominent figures in the sphere of local Christianity originate from the north Ayfat. Before elaborating on the research, let me return to that day in august when I had interviewed Maria Baru for the first time. I will suggest some answers to questions about Maria Baru’s and other women’s in telling me about female initiation. This will also serve an a opportunity to discuss the general meanings of female initiation rituals in the Northwest Ayfat region. When we were walking home after the interview, I considered myself fortunate with the information Maria Baru had given. But I also wondered about the reason for the turnabout, and the trust she had so quickly given us. Some time later Maria Baru told me that, after our first acquaintance, she had sought advice from Yefun (God) about our request. As we shall see. Maria Baru acts as a spiritual intermediary claiming a close relationship with God. Yefun had let her know that we had approached her with good intentions and that she could trust us. Afterwards, Maria had walked to the upper part of the village toconsult with a few senior female relatives. She informed them about our request, the answere that God had given her, and her resolution to open up about fenia meroh (female initiation). The elder women, including another women of high standing, approved of her plan. But it was particularly because of the divine approval, that Maria Baru had cast her hesitations aside and felt free to tell us about fenia meroh. In doing so, however, she was contravening some important ancestral rules. Details about the period of seclusion in the cult house, for instance, are only known to initiated woman and have to be kept secret. Maria Baru, however, would now tell us “everything” (as she usually put it), even the most secret parts. She did not worry about possible repercussions because the felt safeguarded by her exceptional status within local society and with the protection of God. After our initial conversations it became clear that revealing initiation experiences to an anthropologist Maria with a means to record this most essential indigenous practice of woman despite its abolition in her native village. “you have come to us to write it all down” she said, “so it will be saved for our children.” After we had participated in the ritual, it appeared that Maria Baru and her daughter Yosefien had also devised another way of ‘saving’ the culture practice of female initation: they expressed the idea of setting up “archives” in their house for the benefit of younger generations. So, before our departure from the village, we bought a suitcase from them in which the ethnographic data on fenia meroh could be kept safely protected from the damp climate. Its lock would also protect the contents from people who, according to indigenous rules, were not allowed to enter the secret world of fenia meroh: men and non-initiated women. After our return to the Netherlands we sent Maria copies of field notes and recorded tapes, and hundreds of photographs that Ien had taken during our participation in the ritual. We falt this was the least that we could give them in return. Still, however, one urgent question remains: why had it been so crucial for Maria Baru and other women to document fenia meroh? Here we have reached the key question concerning the special significance of female initiation rites. Initiation and Identity In the Northwest Ayfat area, as elsewhere, initiation rites predominantly involve fundamental indigenous cultural beliefs and practices. As such, the rites are crucial for transmitting, expressing, and creating indigenous identities in different spheres and at several levels. The core of both female and male initiation consists of the transfer of ancestral rules and protective power from generation to generation. In this way, links between individuals and their ancestors and, at the same time, between individuals and their clans, are established. Moreover, initiation rives are a vehicle for indigenous gender identity formation as initiation aims at transforming girls into adult women and boys into adult men. As I will show in chapter 3 and 6, the special importance of female initiation rites for female gender identity is expressed throughout the ceremony, and particularly by the well-know Ayfat saying “Women are the door to heaven.” This proverb expressed that women, due to their exclusive procreative powers of pregnancy and delivery, are the “gateway to the secrets of life.” During their stay in the cult house, girls were taught by senior women about ancestral regulations, and prepared for their life as adult women. In this way, female neophytes learned about menstruation taboons, fertility, pregnancy, giving birth to children, child-raising, proper ‘female behaviour’, and social action. The girls were also instructed in practical skills, such as weaving baskets to which symbolic meanings concerning femininity were (and still are) ascribed. The end of the initiation was marked by a ritual washing and decoration of the girls. After that, a three-day ceremony to place in which the transfer of protective ancestral powers was again a central aspect. The initiates had now entered a new life-stage, as grown-up women who were incorporated into the secret ‘traditional’ world of adult women, and who had become full members of their clan. A contradistinction to male initiation is that female initiation in the Northwest Ayfat area is marked by a family-bound condition: only girls who belong to the same clan cloud participate together in fenia meroh. By this, we can already partially explain why it was of little consequence for Maria Baru and other women who originated from communities in which the rites had been abolished, that in other settlements and family groups the rites had lived on: the fact remained that this did not overcome the problem that ritual assignment of secret and sacret knowledge and practices was absent within the own clan. Today, young people ia Ayawasi are ill-informed about the practice of initiation (and other abandoned cultural practices) and their meanings. Most of them are not interested in ‘old traditions’. The majority of the eldery people deplore this development. Elderly women usually reacted with strong emotions when they talked about the abolition of female intiation rites. Especially when they referred to the irreplaceable meanings of the rites in relation to their indigenous identity, they usually began to cry with grief. One day, Maria Baru articulated the particural significance of initiation rites when she, sounding almost desperate, said to me: “it is the main feature of our culture, (…) Without fenia meroh and wuon we are no longer human beings, we are rather like dogs and pigs.” The intricate relationship among female initiation, personal experience, and identity formation became the focus of my research. I found thie tie between initiation and women’s personal experiences and identities intriguing: what did this rite mean for the women who took part in it? I wondered, for instance, about their feelings during the period of seclusion: did they feel anxious, stoical, angry, glad or pround? Had they suffered from heat or cold, hunger or thirst? Had they received the ancestral rules, which they were supposed to obey during their whole life, without objections? I was wondering too about the ways in which thay had coped with their new identities after the end of the ritual, when everyone had returned to the natural order of the day: what happened to their personal lives? To what extent did they follow, or violate, the rules they were supposed to obey as initiated women? With regard to the abolition of the rites, I wondered wether these ways of the adat had disappeared because of missionary or other influences after the arrival of the catholic missionaries in 1949. What did this loss mean for individual women in relation to creating and expressing identities? Had they maybe created new ‘identity rituals’within the catholic sphere? And how was this process related to religious experience? Besides being interesting, such question concerning individual experiences are barely touched upon in the majority of anthropological accounts in initiation rites and other rituals. In the early 1980s, Myerhoff pointed out that “the failure of anthropological to deal with the experiences of ritual participants-private, subjective, psychological, conscious, and unconscious- is an enormous barrier to our understanding of the subject” (1982:118). More then ten years later cohen stated:

Last Update: 2014-01-14
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makan

Indonesia to Madura

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Makan

botanical garden Google

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Dining

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Feeding

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makan

To take your first example, the statement "7 ≡ 2 (mod 5)" is equivalent to "7 - 2 is divisible by 5". So, you can equally well say that 17 ≡ 2 (mod 5), because 17 - 2 = 15 is divisible by 5. Also, 2 ≡ -3 (mod 5), because 2 - (-3) = 5 is divisible by 5. So, to address your final point, two numbers can be congruent to some modulus even if one is positive and one is negative, or if both are negative. Thus, -3 ≡ -8 (mod 5), because -3 - (-8) is divisible by 5. In the first problem, to find c we first calculate 13a as an ordinary number: We are given a ≡ 11 (mod 19), so we can use a = 11. Thus, 13a = 13*11 = 143. Now we must find the integer c, with 0 ≤ c ≤ 18, such that c ≡ 143 (mod 19). Some calculators will do this for you -- Google will calculate it if you search for 143 % 19. It gives the answer as 10. (Here, % is the modulo operator, not to be confused with the percent symbol!) To work it out yourself, you could subtract multiples of 19 from 143 until you reach a number, c, in the range 0 ≤ c ≤ 18. That could take a while, though, especially with a much bigger number than 143. A better method is to divide 143 by 19, and take the remainder, which will always be in the range 0 ≤ c ≤ 18. If your calculator doesn't have a remainder button, just calculate 143/19, getting 7.526315... . This tells you that the quotient is 7, so to find the remainder, you just calculate 143 - (7*19), getting c = 10, the same as Google. :) Just to reiterate, "143 ≡ 10 (mod 19)" is equivalent to "143 - 10 is divisible by 19". The latter is true because 143 - 10 = 133 = 7*19. In the second problem, the numbers are so small that you can calculate the answer most easily by just subtracting 23 a couple of times: 43 - 23 = 20. 20 - 23 = -3. So -3 ≡ 43 (mod 23), and the answer is a = -3. Again, this makes sense because 43 - (-3) = 46 is divisible by 23.

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makan

scandal sex ibu mertua

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Madura

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makan

feed

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makan

palace

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Makan

Eat

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makan

translate

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makan

makan

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makan

pick me up !

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google translation Manado

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