Patterned after the shape of a shell, Orchid Island stands 49 nautical miles from the Taitung County shoreline. Redhead Mountain, or Dzirakoavak in the aborigine language, is the prominence of the island, rising 548 meters above sea level. From this point, the land slants gradually to the coastal areas. Covering a land area of just 45 square kilometers, the small island has no alluvial delta. And except for some gradual slopes or flat beaches, the relative altitude is high.
Yami tribesmen, the major residents of the island, call it Ponso no tau—ponso meaning island and tau, people. Today, the Yami are divided into six tribes—the Iraralai in the northern part of Orchid Island, the Yayu, Iratai and Imourud in the west, and the Ivarinu and Iranumiluk along the east coast. A round-the-island coastal highway is the island's major traffic artery.
Most of the tribes are settled on the coastal slopeland. Their traditional residences are unique, each small unit consisting of three quarters—a basement, a workshop, and a terrace. Sometimes, interim quarters are added for newlyweds, the sick, or specially for pregnant women to deliver their babies. Different residences and internal living quarters are selected in keeping with tradition and changes of season and climate as well as various requirements of daily life.
The basements are about two meters deep. Outside the residences, ladder-style stone walls are erected all around to ward off the sea winds. The Yami live, cook, and store their personal belongings in the basements. (But in the scorching heat of summer, they live in the open workshops.) And though small in size, the terraces are the Yami families' activity center, where they chitchat, enjoy the cool air, weave wicker baskets, or nurse babies.
The three different areas of each house are precisely oriented. The roofline of the basement, or vanai in the Yami language, is constructed parallel to the coastline. The workshop, or makaran, is perpendicular to the shore and stands to the front of the basement. Still further forward is the terrace or tagakal. A small courtyard in front of the basement is paved with huge stones, with grass cropping up in the interseams. One-meter high stone tablets erected in the courtyards are to lean your back on. Nearby racks are for drying fish or to air clothes or a quilt. And often there are chicken and hog pens and a sheepfold.
In recent years, Orchid Island has seen great changes in the community lives of the six tribes. For one thing, the government has built modern houses—snugger and easier to live in. They replace traditional residences, except in the Ivarinu and Iraralai areas.
Still, Yami tribal ceremonial activities retain their special social and cultural significance.
Most "modern" people may have the wrong impression, that tribal peoples like the Yami are "primitive" and "backward." But the Yami have developed a complex irrigation system for their paddy fields and plantations of sweet potatoes, as well as sophisticated dry land cultivation techniques. Their shipbuilding and fishing skills are superb. And they bank on their own handicraft skills and local raw materials for fabrication of traditional tools and other objects used in everyday life, and for traditional garments and residences. For ages, inconvenient access prevented this isolated offshore island from commerce with the outside world. So it was through accumulations of their own experiences and wisdom that they came fully to tap their island's natural resources. Through the generations, Orchid Island has become a self-reliant society.
The Yami tribesmen developed their own traditional ways of production and distribution. Their most fundamental and noteworthy economic activity is called "group production." In Yami society, at least three areas of endeavor are dedicated to group cooperation. The first is the construction of homes, fishing boats, ditches, and roads. The second includes seasonal works that have to be completed in a limited time period, such as land cultivation, crop harvesting, and fishing. And the third concerns miscellaneous common interests of the whole community, such as the gathering of wild fruits and the like.
Each fishing boat also involves its own cooperative organization. Once such an organization decides to build a new boat, the prospective crew must start cultivating new paddy fields, planting taro, and raising hogs and sheep specifically for a sacrificial launching ceremony two years later.
The Yami fishing boats are dramatically styled, with raised and pointed stern and bow, and hulls carved in various decorative patterns. Red, black, and white paints are applied to the boats in clearcut lines. Concentric circles filled with sawtoothed patterns like the radiations of sunlight, painted on the bows, arc called by the Yami "the eyes of the boat."
To build such a boat, the Yami select 24 huge planks and three keel pieces in different materials. Not a single nail is used. The boats are flexible and very suitable for sailing amid coral reefs. Since it requires complicated precision techniques to construct the boats, the young men watch and learn as their seniors do the work.
The launching ceremony is called a mapopospos, and its highlights include the gathering of taro and its placement on board the boat, the invitation of guests, the singing of songs, distribution of the taro, animal sacrifices, sharing the pork, driving off evil spirits, and finally, launching the boat and conducting its virgin sea trials.
Several days before the launching ceremony, the women of the crew's families harvest taro early in the morning to serve both as a sacred sacrifice and as a gift for friends and relatives. Special wooden scoops with carved decorations are the major tools used in this effort.
Each crew member later stacks taro in his house and recites aloud the procedures for growing the taro. Then friends and relatives, chanting, call down blessings for a bumper taro harvest, and the master of the home reciprocates the well-wishing.
In time to be properly prepared before the ceremony, hogs are bought and transported from Taiwan, then quartered together in a hog pen at the residence of the new boat's captain. Since the hogs are to serve as sacrifices for the ceremony, auspicious objects are placed in the hog pen to keep Anito, the evil spirit, from encroaching.
Two days before the ceremony, the crew dons traditional Yami costumes and invites friends and relatives to join a grand pageant. Then at dawn the next day, the crew members gather in front of their captain's residence, and go with him to the boat to temporarily divide its interior into ten individual parts with planks. Hot disputes may follow as they haggle over every inch of space. Relying on traditional measurement standards, the captain employs stalks of grass to determine dimensions—and it's hard to please everybody.
The families of the crew members carry the taro in their homes to the boat, putting taro roots without stems in first, and on top, the taro with stems. A bamboo stick is fitted across the boat, and there the largest and most beautiful taro roots are hung. In a seemingly fierce competition, the individual taro piles grow higher, overflowing the boat to the ground.
At noon, all the male guests gather outside the Iratai village, then re-enter in single file. Donning traditional homespun garments, the crew members add silver toy-top-like helmets with openings in the eye areas, then squat on thier heels beside the boat to wait for their guests. When a guest arrives, they push up the silver helmets and touch noses. Then together, they hunker down again, sing songs, and congratulate each other until dusk. At that point, the guests file to the crew members' houses, the hosts in one file and the guests by their sides. After dinner, all sing on throughout the night, without sleep or a break.
At daybreak, the village raises a rumpus. It is time for the distribution of taro, and it is moved now from the boat and placed beside the captain's house in small stacks. The hosts and the guests each take away their own shares. Men and women, including the old and children, are up to their ears in the work. Remnant taro is discarded on the road and trampled underfoot.
There is now a commotion in the nearby hog pen. A mixture of swinish squeals and men's yells roar to the sky. It takes four men to catch and tie down a hog—each of them will get a leg of pork afterwards. After trussing up the hog, the four carry it to the front of one of the crew's residences, where a man stabs a sharp knife into the pig's throat. The blood is gathered in a pottery bowl, boiled, and cut into small pieces for distribution.
Before dissecting the hog, the Yami cover it with dry cogongrass and set it on fire, then use a knife to scrape off the burned bristles. It is washed clean before dissecting. The butcher is so quick and nimble that in a matter of minutes, he has finished cutting the pig into its parts—head, legs, shoulders, chest, back, intestines, liver—and boiled blood. All is distributed according to the relationship between the host and the guest.
Trivial as this activity may seem, it involves complicated and well-planned principles both in the ritual and in its acknowledgements of the status and relationships of the human beings involved, like the equally "trivial" protocol at an international diplomatic function.
The climax of the ceremony occurs when all the crew is gathered beside the new boat, in front of the captain's residence, for a series of ceremonies to pray for bumper catches for the fishing boat, to expel evil spirits, and finally to auspiciously launch the new boat. Women in their best traditional costumes now roll their hair into buns and fix it with decorative ornaments.
During the ceremony to expel evil spirits, the Yami line up in two files and march towards the boat shouting blurred sentences, their eyes glaring, fists clenched, and heads swaying from side to side. When the two files meet at the stern, they start to circle the boat, pounding on the hull. A man aboard the boat now wields a sword, shouting: "Evil spirits, go away." And through concerted effort, they all toss the boat up and catch it.
The boat is carried now on their shoulders and marched off towards the shore. On the way, they toss the boat up again several times, becoming more excited, the men shouting and tossing until the boat is finally launched.
These formalities have a notable similarity to Indian "Potlach" festivities along the northwestern coast of North America. In Yami society, staging such ceremonies and hosting banquets to celebrate the completion of a new boat or new house enhances community relationships.
Even though the Yami village is, in itself, a community and a basic unit of economic activity, the Yami have no leadership system of formal association. In general, the Yami attach importance to authoritative leaders in all walks of life—patriarchs, fishermen's captains, revenge and combat leaders, rich persons, outstanding craftsmen—but not to political leaders. The Yami earn their social authority via their own individual daily performances, in a social structure that functions on the basis of a patrilineal system established according to residential relationships.
It is interesting to note that the traditional residences of the Yami people are closely linked to their descent rules. Uniquely, after the father dies, his brothers tear down the old residence. The eldest son inherits its central pillar or tomok, and he has the priority to rebuild the house and use the land. His younger brothers construct new residences around the central house, renewing the patrilineal succession.
The Yami are very particular about their house-construction techniques. Besides carefully selecting the wood materials, they develop good sewerage systems. Through the results of their construction work, the Yami families demonstrate to the community their hard work and character, and their material assets.
Last summer, a resident of the Ivarinu village, Chou Jen-chen, 60, prepared a grand ceremony for the overhaul of his workshop. In fact, he had only changed a roof on the workshop. A leading senior citizen of the town, Chou is noted for his fine ceremonial voice. Considering his advancing years, Chou took the opportunity to show his "muscle." The old man somehow truly expresses the Yami love and attention to ceremony and the motives behind it.
With mountains to its back and an immense sea to the front, the Ivarinu village is composed of an old residential area on one side and government constructed apartments on the other. However, most of the tribesmen prefer the old quarters; the new apartments for this tribe are mostly empty or used as warehouses.
To witness this special ceremony, I new from Taitung to Orchid Island on June 23, traveling with a Yami-language interpreter, architecture and anthropology specialists, and a supply of canned foods, rice, and biscuits. I was no stranger to Orchid Island, having visited the Ivarinu and Iratai tribes in the summer of 1981, and again in June-July 1983.
When we arrived this time, Chou Jen-chen could not tell us the timing of the workshop ceremony. Since he did not raise hogs, he had sent his son Chou Tai-chu to buy pigs in Taitung, on Taiwan. But when Chou Tai-chu arrived in Taitung, he decided to go on and spend a few days in Taipei, unexpectedly prolonging our island stay. Jen-chen was even more anxious then we were. The taro for the sacrifice had to be harvested, otherwise it would rot.
We spent a whole week waiting for the sacrificial hogs—however, not in vain. In the interim, we took the opportunity to investigate the pattern of the village, the structures of the houses, the processes of construction, and above all, to establish a close relationship with the tribesmen to facilitate our purpose.
On June 29, Tai-chu finally returned with three white hogs.
The ceremony started with the taro gathering, or minyanyaw, at daybreak the following day. Early in the morning, Jen-chen and his wife put on their best traditional attire—Jen-chen a hat made from coconut palm leaves, a homespun vest, and a loin cloth. On his wrists were silver bracelets and in his hand a net-sack. Jen-chen's wife wore headgear made of wood, a long-string agate necklace, hand-knit vest and skirt, wrist and ankle ornaments, and carried a sculpted wood scoop or vavagot, an iron scoop or kakali, a small knife or ipayan, a cushion on the back or palikoden, and a backpack basket or yala.
Together the couple went to a taro plot at the back of the house in the morning sunlight. Chou Jen-chen cut five blades of the grass species Miscanthus sinensis and stuck them in the ground near the harvested taro. The grass blades, running two thirds of the length of an arm, serve to drive away evil spirits. The Yami call it sigen. Jen-chen's wife now bent her head and said a prayer: "Oh, may the gods help us to harvest finer and more plentiful taro roots." She used the wood scoop to dig five taro roots; these five were particularly important because they foretold if there would be a bumper harvest the coming year. Jen-chen washed the taro roots clean, put them all in a net, and carried them back to a sacred corner of the residence called sarey, which means "where the sun set."
Since the sarey is the most sacred corner of the house, the fishermen sleep there in fishing season. Dried fish are also stored here. Most of the time, women are only allowed to carryon their activities at another corner "where the sun rises"—the kitchen is placed in this particular corner.
The newly harvested taro must be placed in the sarey and decorated with sigen or other auspicious objects. And all doors and windows must be closed to keep evil spirits from the sacred taro.
After the couple had their breakfast, Jen-chen's wife awaited female companions who would help her gather more taro. All the women were richly attired and carried baskets, cushions, wood and iron scoops and knives, and wore hats. Once at the taro field, they changed to work clothes carted in their baskets. On the first day, only family members were allowed to gather taro. Since the Chous were short of helping hands, more distant female relatives were permitted to offer assistance. No man was allowed to participate until after the second day, when the men could help washing or carrying the taro.
Taro ceremonial harvesting may last as long as five days. The more taro gathered, the more is the master honored.
The taro roots are categorized into three grades. This year, Jen-chen failed to raise the top grade and had to make do with the medium and common grades. Harvesting must start in fields of immature taro to ensure against rotting; the immature roots will be in better shape on the ceremonial day, since they must be held for a time. Towards the end of the harvesting, more mature roots are dug.
Lin Hsin-yu, a village spokesman, pointed out that in the past, strangers were not allowed near a taro field during such harvesting, and that no conversation was allowed. These days, the harvesters are free to talk to each other—this day, in some merriment—and to return with whatever taro they want. The host must supply free meals to show his gratitude.
While the women were busy in the field, Jen-chen and the men were practicing songs in the village. Yami ballads are performed mostly in a monotone—more like reciting than singing. There are no complicated variations; the rhythm and melody are simple and monotonous. But the lyrics are intimately related to everyday life and the ceremony, and the singer is free to add his own words. In order to present his best side to the ceremonial guests, Jen-chen had now to practice singing and to create new lyrics. The demonstration of singing talents, like the ceremonial harvest of taro and the quality of the construction on the workshop, speak for his social status.
On the fifth day, Jen-chen sent several male friends and relatives around to invite guests over from the other five tribes. Such messengers must don their best traditional attire, wear bracelets, carry knapsacks, and hold short daggers in their hands. Many tourists have taken the Yami to be a bellicose people, not knowing that they carry the daggers to ward off evil spirits.
While inviting a guest of another village, the messengers first hobnob for a moment with the master of a house in his doorway. The invited party treats the messengers to betel nut and cigarettes. In the old days, the invitation was accomplished in song; now, only the aged stick to that tradition. To show their gratitude, the invited party also sends various gifts, such as maize, dry fish, bananas, and other foods, back to the host for the ceremony. The messengers must shy away from a funeral service in any village.
Meanwhile, Jan-chen and his wife climbed the mountain to gather sweet potatoes and betel nuts for their guests of the following day. His two daughters plucked taro leaves in which to pack the pork. Tai-chu chopped enough firewood in the courtyard to boil the food.
In the afternoon, Jen-chen ordered his son to collect pebbles from the beach, and Tai-chu took a basin and walked to a clean stretch of seashore. He pointed out that he must select "living" rather than "dead" pebbles. "The dead stones are dirty. We can't use them, because we want these stones for counters, to keep track of the numbers of guests and stacks of pork," he explained.
In the dusk, Jen-chen and his son and a senior relative, on the terrace, counted the number of guests and the quantity of pork. The older people, not knowing arithmetic, use this primitive method for calculations.
Before the sun had set, Jen-chen put on his best garments and went in person to invite his relatives in the village.
The ceremony was officially staged on the sixth day. Before the guests arrived, Jen-chen opened his doors and windows to show off his taro. At day break, about 17 men from the village, in ceremonial attire, sat on the basement terrace and chanted eulogies for the taro. At 9 a.m., six singers from other villages joined them.
After dinner, the men in the village started to help display the taro harvest on the rooftop of the workshop before the guests arrived. Round wood slices were placed along the eaves to block taro rolling down the roof slope. Five bamboo crosses were erected on the roof ridge and the four corners to serve as auspicious omens. The inferior taro roots were placed at bottom, and the best exhibited on top, as in a supermarket display. After the work was done, the men (no women were allowed) sat down on the terrace to sing songs. Then after half an hour, each returned to his home to take a bath and put on special garments before greeting the guests.
At 3 p.m., the guests were waiting at a grocery store at the entrance to the village. One of Jen-chen's relatives, holding a man-high ceremonial sign, sat down against a stone backrest along with the father and the son. Jen-chen's relatives then arrived and sat on both sides of the courtyard. The empty space in the center was reserved for guests from other villages. On behalf of the host, Lin Hsin-yu now went to call the guests to the residence. After Jen-chen touched noses with every guest, the crowd of men sat down on the paving stones and started to sing. Village women, also in beautiful ceremonial garments, observed from the terrace or chitchatted with each other. When the sun set, the village folk returned to their homes, while those from other villages stayed on to be entertained by the host.
The men gathered in Jen-chen's workshop sang all night, until daybreak, then got up and took down the taro from the roof and distributed it among them selves. There followed the hog sacrifices and distribution of pork, just as in the boat launching ceremony.
At night, the workshop was tidied up. All the guests, including women, were now invited to join an overnight singing party called a mikaryag. The party was unique in that everyone present was free to start a new song or to offer new lyrics; the rest of the party would sing in accompaniment and beat time. For a midnight snack, the hostess prepared boiled pork, taro, and sweet potatoes. Then the singing revived, and many became so very excited—or tired—that they forgot where they were. When the sun finally jumped up from the sea, the songs had long blended with the mountain, the sea, and the sunlight.
When it was time for the guests to leave, each was laden with generous gifts. Jen-chen and his wife, though, had not completed their task. On the morning of the ninth day, the couple ritually offered wood plates in hand, piled with taro roots and five slices of fat meat, to placate evil Anito. They had later to preserve and store the meat.
Boat launching and house-warming ceremonies are common also to modern society. But to the Yami, each ceremony is a great event for the entire tribe, with deep religious and social significance, and a time to get together and warm up mutual friendships.