The Sandalwood Horses of Sumba

by Anoushka Prentice (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

Making a local connection Indonesia

There is an unmined jewel tucked in the south of the Indonesian archipelago. It glows with authenticity and culture that has persevered the grasp of tourism and development. The revealing of it is my gift to you. The island of Sumba had me utterly under its charm from touchdown. I whizzed in an open safari car across the bursting green tropical expanse to my destination, passing sporadic settlements in traditional Sumbanese style with peaking thatched roofs believed to house its dweller’s ancestors. Children waved and called in delight and my glee equaled theirs as I waved back, wondering at the absolute amiability of the people. I speculated the irony as a travel companion deemed it due to the simplicity and ease of their lives. At home the lack of rain never brought on a twisting anxiety that food in the next months would be scarce, nor was malaria a continuous and deadly threat. The Sumbanese simply learned to find the joys in living and this wonderful attitude spoke to me. The landscape traipsed on and I found awe in every new sight. It was a stark contrast from the barren and grey hues of the Scottish January that I would usually be experiencing. We twisted a corner and nature threw upon me its ultimate vista. The rainforest canopy cascaded steeply down till it merged with crisp white sands and foaming waves far below. The panoramic ocean was spectacular, a transparent turquoise that lured me in. When I reached my hut and home for the month, the sea became a continuous rushing. This was the location where I would share my gift of English with the locals so that they too would have the tool of communication to perhaps explore the world. But for that moment, I was drawn to the water. I walked the few meters from my lodging and approached tumbling and mesmerizing waves. A long day of traveling was behind me and the sky had begun to sing its swan song as glimpses of fiery colours from the sinking sun threatened the gentle blue. It was then that a thrumming reverberated from the ground. What I saw amazed me. Advancing in my direction was a herd of sandalwood horses, their hooves colliding with the beach. Thrill or fear - or both - raked through me as I took in such an unexpected encounter. It was just me and the creatures sharing the same paradise. The beach was their playground as they whinnied and nipped at one another and rolled wildly in the sand. Some locals came into sight, accompanying the horses and encouraging them towards the water. They heeded and frolicked and coasted and plunged amongst the waves. I stood an outsider only briefly. The natives caught sight of me and immediately beckoned me to share the wonder. They drew out a horse and it took exaggerated hand movements on their behalf for me to realise they meant me to ride it. I had limited experience and was hardly dressed in the correct attire. Yet somehow in a spirit of wild adventure I ignored my reservations and allowed him to help me clamber onto the horse’s bareback. The coat was slippery, the back boney. But I trusted. For trust was the first step to making precious local connections. Together we moved deeper into the water, my clothes clinging to my skin. A wave surged and the horse shifted to its hind legs and kicked off. We were swimming and I was clinging on for dear life. A larger wave barrelled into us and I was knocked off, the water softening my fall. I stood in the sea drenched and laughing. In the midst of swimming horses I was no longer intimidated. This was what it meant to find the joys in life. Despite hardships and strains, we would always be able to return to the simplicity of taking each absurd moment as it came. As abruptly as the horses arrived, they left, sending shards of water in their wake on their return through an opening in the encroaching jungle to their paddocks for the night. The Sumbanese people turned and waved one last time before they too disappeared.