Sharing Breastmilk & Creating Family

Wet nursing is now uncommon in the West, but can be found many in other cultures. Many Cocos Malay women have breastfeed someone else's biological child, making that child into part of their family. This creation of family through shared milk seems to contrast with Western ideas that family comes from sharing the same 'blood'. But appearances are deceiving.

Breastfeeding motherhood

Breastfeeding motherhood is almost intertwined with adoption for Cocos Malays. However, for the purposes of analysis, I'll keep them separate here. Here are some biographical notes Monika and  I collected from people who have a 'breast-feeding mother':

• Mak Dem told me she found out, as a child, that she had a 'breast-feeding mother'. After giving birth, her biological mother had health problems and was taken to West Island for medical care. So another woman had breast-feed Mak Dem. After Mak Dem found out about this, she began addressing her breastfeeding mother simply as 'mum' (Mak); similarly she calls her breast-feeding mother's husband 'dad' (Pak). She does not use the she would normally use for an adult--other people would address the couple as Nek Zal. Put another way, this husband and wife are related to Mak Dem because of the breast milk the wife shared.

• Mak Mae is a mother whose baby, Mae, has two breastfeeding mothers. Mak Mae is a Cocos Malay woman who has moved to Home Island from the Cocos Malay community in Katanning. Before she moved, she gave birth to her daughter Maesha. When Mak Mae started working in Katanning, another Cocos Malay woman offered to breast feed Maesha. Although the two women had gone to high-school together in Katanning they hadn't been so close. Mak Mae said she initially she was taken aback by the request, but she agreed. As a result, the two mothers (biological and breast) became very close. Maesha also considers the breast-feeding mother with deep affection, Mak Mae told me. So the breastfeeding brought these 3 people (birth mother, breast-feeding mother, and child) into a close bond. 

• Mrs Nek Sofia told me that her breast-feeding mother already had a biological son. Nevertheless, she wanted a daughter. So she asked Mrs Nek Sofia's biological mother if it would be alright to breastfeed Mrs Nek Sofia. Mrs Nek Sofia's mother acquiesced. Mrs Nek Sofia's husband said that Mrs Nek Sofia was, in effect 'adopted' by the breast-feeding mother. Mrs Nek Sofia agreed with this when I asked her. I'll discuss adoption more in a subsequent blog.

• Aini / Mak Sofia. Nek Sofia told us that her next-door neighbour, and sister-in-law, Nek Kelem asked if she could breastfeed Aini. Nek Sofia agreed. Nek Sofia said it was always impromptu, based on when Nek Kelem wanted to breastfeed the Aini (presumably when her breasts were full). Aini's grandparents, Nek Sofia's biological parents, also looked after her. So Nek Kelem just came in to breastfeed, more than to look after Aini for extended periods. Aini would also sleep at Nek Kelem's house.

Milk siblings:
Mr Nek Sumila & Nek Ramdan 

• Nek Ramdan said that she has a milk brother. Her mum breastfed Nek Sumila. Nek Sumila is also her mother's anak angkat; because he was dibuang by the Mokta family. He lived with Nek Ramdan's family and, importantly, got married at their house (i.e. the groom's part of the wedding celebrations were held at his house). 

• Nek Arena, an imam (Islamic preacher/scholar) told me he is a 'breast-feeding or breast-milk father' (bapak susu). His wife had breastfed Ayesha the biological child of Haji Hajat; Ayesha calls Nek Arena "bapak" or father. "It's a very strong bond," he added, between the breastfed child and Nek Arena, his wife, their children and grandchildren.
• 
  

Local understandings

These actual stories contrast with the theories people have about breastfeeding.

• Nek Arena also had an interesting take on breast-feeding mothers. He explained that the bond with a breast-feeding mother is stronger than just with an adopted child [but I think it depends on the scale of adoption]. If you only feed off a breast once or twice, then you're not a breastfed child. More than that three times, then you can be accepted as breastfed child. 
• Nek Rezeki (Bujang/Bohari's mum and Kylie's mother in law) said that tak boleh breastfeed someone else's child, according to hukum agama. Also she said that because we now have 'susu kaleng' it's not necessary to breastfeed another's child "dulu tak ada susu kaleng". Nek Rezeki has seven kids which explains why . "Kita tak tahu dulu".

I'm not sure if these opinions are widespread, but I never heard anyone else mention them. 

Cultural and social context

Stories like this are common in the Indonesian-Malay world, where you frequently meet people who have family through breastfeeding. In other words, breastfeeding can be seen as creating family; in the same way that Westerners are familiar with the idea of marriage and giving birth as creating family. Cocos Malays we spoke with emphasised the bond and the connection with he breastfeeding parents and milk siblings. How can we compare this to prevailing Western attitudes?

Finding children delightful

Delight in raising children

First, Cocos Malays view raising children differently. Raising children is idealised as a delight. Children are thought to be a blessing; parenthood (and, perhaps, grandparenthood) is possibly the greatest achieved status. Not having children is 'bored at home' (boring di rumah) in the words of Nek Shah. (This reminds of my fieldwork location in Java, where not being a parent leaves a person lonely (kesepian); being childless is something to be pitied (kasihan).) The attitude is slightly different to the Western approach; it tends to be indulgent of children. Perhaps it would be too imprecise and generalised to say that in the West raising children is viewed as a bit of a chore for which the child should be grateful; among the Cocos Malays raising children is a godsend for which the parent should be grateful. This might help explain why some lactating women seek to breastfeed other children.

Responsibility for raising children

Another reason is a sense of collective responsibility for children. As Cocos Malays see it, children aren't just their biological parents' responsibility. This is exemplified in the way the mothers and sometimes the father who attend the local playgroup and better beginnings program at the school would collectively look after the young children and babies, passing them around and taking care of them. Maybe the reason for this collective parenting is because they are all related. Yet, I think it is more than just that. In the Indonesian village where I undertook fieldwork the collective parenting much more pronounced and not confined to relatives. As another example, one local gentleman seemed to have a very low opinion of me. I was still unable to engage him in so much as a nod when we were in other's presence. One day I was inside and didn't notice my child quietly crying outside. The man took time, and not in a condescending or aggravated manner, to let me know. It was, as far as I could tell, merely out of concern for my child; and I am grateful to him for that. It did not mark the beginning of friendly relations between us; nothing really changed. Whatever he thought of me, he still looked out for my child in a caring fashion. This sense of collective responsibility may also contribute to understanding the sharing of breastmilk.

Breastmilk means something different

Another important factor pertains to the meaning of breast milk. Human breast milk obtains different significance in different cultures. For the Cocos Malays, sharing it with another person's biological child remains deeply meaningful. Nek Arena told me of a special prayer for the mother who provides breast milk; it is a "doa memulangkan air susu" . In that prayer, to paraphrase him, what we sucked from our mother we want to return to her. This prayer is also used for the breast-feeding mother. But it signifies the relationship continues on to the hereafter (akherat). Nek Sofia said susu is like blood; it makes you family. Shana said that the susu is more important than blood; it nourishes you, gives you life. English speakers use the expression 'blood is thicker than water' to emphasise the closeness of kin; we could say for the Cocos Malays that 'milk is thicker than water'.

Still taken from Mead's video, showing a mother breastfeeding another child, while her own child remonstrates

Bateson and Mead misunderstood Balinese breastfeeding. 

Controversial anthropologists, Gregory Bateson and Margaret Mead made a video showing Balinese mothers teasing their procreated children by breast feeding the children of other mothers. Implicitly drawing on Freud, Bateson & Mead interpret the Balinese mothers as intensifying the attachment with their biological child and encouraging sibling rivalry. 

I think other things are going there. I think Balinese adults punish inappropriate behaviour in children by teasing and laughing at them. The mothers are simply teaching children Balinese values, such as 'you need to control your temper'; 'you cannot be possessive or jealous of your mother'. They are also showing kindness and neighbourliness by breastfeeding someone else's biological baby. I think Bateson and Mead couldn't see all this because they assumed that the mother would 'naturally' feed the child she procreated.

Westerners tend to assume a natural breastfeeding connection between procreative mother and child.  Breastfeeding is thought to be a deeply personal, unique, and at the same time natural, bond between procreative mother and child.Bateson & Mead assume that the procreative mother will breastfeed child--an assumption built in to Freud's theories The idea that the biological mother should be the breastfeeder. Even the pro-breastfeeding, quasi-feminist pamphlets seem to rely on this value, which Marxists like Habermas would understand as a bourgeois family value. However, to understand the breastfeeding mothers in Cocos Malay perspective, maybe it is more useful to think that any lactating woman could be the breastfeeder.

Westerners idealise breastfeeding as a natural connection between mother and her biological daughter.

Translating "Mak Susu" & "Mak Tetek"

Cocos Malays have two terms for what we have translated as breastfeeding mother--mak susu and mak tetek. I have been cautioned to use, when speaking Cocos Malay the polite term "mak susu". "Mak" means mother or mum. As in English, it is a form of address (e.g. "Mum, can I have a present?") and reference (e.g. "Where does your mum live"?). "Susu" presents more of a problem, meaning "breast"; "milk"; and "breast milk".  However, the common, and coarse,  term for breastfeeding mother is "mak tetek" . "Tetek" can mean "boob", "tit", and "nipple". In Indonesian, influenced presumably by Javanese, "netek" means to suckle, but we have not heard this verb used on Home Island. One woman explained to me in mixed Malay-English, a Mak Susu is "when you isap another person's tetek".

Translating 'mak susu'

People in English-speaking cultures are familiar with the idea of a 'wet nurse'. A wet nurse is a woman who, for a variety of reasons, was employed to breastfeed another person's child. A number of Cocos Malays we met were breastfed by a woman (or two!) aside from their own biological mother. In Cocos Malay, these people are referred to as "mak susu" (a politer term) or "mak tetek" (coarser). To translate, instead of 'wet nurse', I'll use the word "breastfeeding mother" (although  "milk mother" might have been more accurate). The term for husband of the breastfeeding mother is, "pak susu", which I'll translate as "breastfeeding father" (similarly "milk father" might have been better here) . The biological children of these people I will call, following the anthropological tradition, milk siblings (they are 'milk brothers' and 'milk sisters').

• "diambe" is a word that often comes up
• Nek Ramdan is a Mak Tetek to Pak Izahan. Pak Izahan is a twin. 

Prophet's Birthday: Procession

Like other Muslim communities the world over, the people of Home Island celebrate the birth of the Prophet Mohammad with celebrations and reverence. They also add their own Cocos Malay twist.

Men chanting

Birth of the Prophet

Muslims celebrate the birth of the Prophet Mohammad on a day called Maulud Nabi. Maulud Nabi occurs once every lunar year. In this blog, I describe the first part of the Maulud Nabi celebrations on Home Island.

Procession / Ngarak

The first part of the ritual was a procession (ngarak). Home Islanders began gathering for the festivities at the mosque from 7am. Then with a few announcements Mr Nek Shah got the the procession going.

An imam makes a few announcements before we set off. Behind him,
the Cocos (Keeling) Islands and Australian flags

At the front were the imam and wakil imam. Behind them were boys from the religious school (they study the Koran and Hadith after school everyday) carrying banners.

Imams at the front with wakil imam, and boys carrying banner behind them.

Further back marched the tambourine men (orang rebana) who chanted. The chanting was loud, joyful and welcoming. Unlike a Christmas pageant, there were few spectators. The emphasis was on joining in, rather than just watching the procession.

At the rear was the rest of the procession--Home Islanders and a few mainland Australians who had made the trip over from West Island to join in.

Women and children, further back in the procession.

The procession did a lap around the kampong (village). The pace was cracking initially, so the whole procession took about 25 minutes to complete, returning back to the mosque.

Procession comes to an end.

After that, the next part of the ritual involved readings and eating. I'll discuss that in my next blog.

Anthropological Analysis

Ethnomusicology

Ethnomusicologists study music and dance in a larger cultural context. As I understand it, ethnomusicology is the anthropology of music and dance performance. Ethnomusicologists are not just interested in 'big ticket' ritual or ceremonial performances like the procession I've described in this blog. They also focus on things like mothers singing lullabies, humming around the house.

Procession

From ethnomusicologists we get a sense of the procession as a distinct form of ritual and that performance can be found in many cultures.  often accompany rites-of-passage. In Western marriage rituals, the bride walks down the aisle with musical background. In the famous New Orleans funerals of the past, the musicians accompany the performers. The term seems to be "processional performance".

Ethnomusicology of Cocos Malay culture

Other ethnomusicologists, Dr David Irving and Dr Jenny McCallum, are undertaking a research project on the history and practice of Malay music traditions among the Cocos Malays. This is not just on the Cocos (Keeling) Islands--they researched Maulud Nabi this year among the Cocos Malays of Katanning. Their research will form an important contribution to our understanding Cocos Malay culture.

Ethnomusicology in other contexts

You might also want to read at the work of Monika Winarnita, who is the other half of this research project on Cocos Malay culture. Her book specifically focuses on Indonesian migrant women's dance performances in Perth, Western Australia:  http://www.sussex-academic.com/sa/titles/SS_Asian/Winarnita.htm. Drawing on ethnomusicology, Monika shows how these women would like to perform their Indonesian cultural identity as migrants in Australia. Although mostly amateur housewives, they see themselves as cultural ambassadors, teaching Australians about Indonesian culture. They perform created dances which show their mixed identity--and as part of her participant-observation, Monika joined in. The dances are mostly performed at multicultural festivals. In doing this, they are trying to belong and 'reinvent' themselves as part of the Indonesian community in Australia.

Different kinds of parents

In my culture, you can expand your family by marrying or sexually reproducing. Cocos Malays also use other ways.

Different forms of parenting

Aside from 'biological' parents, Cocos Malays recognise three other common 'relatives' who look after children: breastfeeding parents (that is a wet nurse and her husband); adopted parents; and grandparents. Nenek's personal experiences of child-rearing incorporate all three. As she related to Monika, she has six biological children (3 shared with other mothers) and one 'milk son':

• The milk son. Nenek said she had breastfed (i.e. wet nursed) another woman's biological son. The boy's mother requested because she did not produce enough milk, her "body was infertile" (tubuh tidak subur). The boy's grandparent and Nenek 's father are siblings. Nenek explained that the boy "is my son and I'm his mak susu" (wet nurse, milk mother). This sense of "son" and "mother" has a literal dimension. The boy could not marry any of Nenek's biological daughters because the daughters were, effectively, the boy's siblings. Anthropologists would say that the daughters are the boy's 'milk siblings'.
• The adopted daughter. A local Cocos couple who had one son and no daughter asked if they could adopt one of Nenek's daughters. Nenek consented. This daughter would spend most of her time at her adopted parent's house but would go home to her biological parents house to sleep at night. The adopted parents had hoped by having Nenek's daughter as an adopted child they would be blessed with another child. 8 years later they had their own biological daughter.  The adopted parents still play a role in Nenek's daughter's life as an adult and they remain close. 
• Another adopted daughter. Nenek has another daughter. She was adopted by Nenek's niece. The niece had been married for a long time but didn't have a child, so the niece adopted Nenek's daughter.  Now this daughter has two sons and a daughter; Nenek's niece is considered their grandmother and take oldest son's name (see my blog on teknonyms). When we arrived in 2016, the two mothers (biological and adopting) were waving goodbye to their daughter and grand-daughter who were heading to the mainland for a short trip. 
• Adoption brings the two grandmothers together. The niece is working full-time. So the grandmothers divide up the labour of looking after the grandkids. The niece looks after the older two boys. Nenek looks after the granddaughter. Nenek explained that this granddaughter is important to her because she looked after this granddaughter since she was very young. On Tuesday when Moni was supposed to meet Nenek, Nenek cancelled because she had to help her granddaughter with her introduction day to kindergarten.
• The breastfeeding mother. When she had her youngest daughter, Nenek had the opportunity to go on the Haj (pilgrimage to Mecca). She left her daughter with her family in Cocos. While Nenek was on the Haj, her grandmother gave her daughter to another woman to be breastfed for six months (as the grandmother thought the child was still quite young). It hadn't been organised before she left; Nenek only found out when she got back.
• To summarise, Nenek has 6 biological children. 3 of them are 'shared': a daughter, who was adopted by another local couple; a daughter who was adopted by her niece; and a daughter who was breastfed by another woman while she was on the Haj. Nenek also breastfed another boy; becoming his 'milk mother'.
• As she explained it; she didn't plan it this way; it was up to Allah; it's not really up to us humans. 
• In most societies families are made through marrying people and having children. Many societies have yet other ways of making family. For the Cocos Malays, the kinds of parenting--adoption, milk parenting (wet nursing), adoption and milk grandparenting--are all common ways of caring for children and making family bonds.

In subsequent blogs, I will analyse these different kinds of parenthood in more detail.

Grandmas with their grandchildren. This is an end-of-year party for government school program. Called "Better Beginning" it is designed to prepare pre-school children for school

Anthropological Analysis

Kinship

The first thing to say is that this blog is concerned with what anthropologists call kinship. If in English we say that "my cousin Jan is related to me through my father's side"; what we mean by "related" is the object of kinship studies. Or if you say, "family is everything"; what you mean by "family" is what we study in kinship. Kinship is, in basic terms, the anthropological study of what counts as 'family' or who counts as a 'relative' different cultures. As this definition implies; every culture has a slightly different understanding of who relatives are and what family consists in. I have already discussed an aspect of kinship in another blog. In that blog, I described some of the words--teknonyms--that Cocos Malays use to explain situate a person in terms of his or her family. As this indicates, the kinship of a society can have a variety of facets. Analysing these requires putting yourself in 'their' shoes.

Putting yourself in their shoes isn't easy...

Anthropologists try to 'put themselves in other people's shoes'. We try to understand the world from another culture's point of view; we try to see the world from the perspective of people who are different from us. Doing this is daunting; even for experienced anthropologists. This is especially the case when we try to understand customs which, when viewed from within our own culture's standards, seem strange or even offensive. For example, an Indonesian anthropologist might struggle to understand the culture of 'parties'  (replete with drinking alcohol, fornication, and violence) in Australia; or putting old people in homes. Conversely an Australian anthropologist might struggle to understand 'adoption' practices in Indonesia. Both anthropologists have to get beyond their own 'natural' assumptions if they want to understand what is going on.

...so we use strategies.

If you are new to studying anthropology, it sometimes seems like your lecturers and professors took up the anthropological perspective easily. It may seem they were born thinking and the way they do. But what anthropology teaches us runs against the grain even for lecturers and professor; things we assumed to be natural turn out to be, to a large degree cultural. This notion can be intellectually and emotionally challenging. So to help deal with the challenge, anthropologists (Australian, Indonesian, or from wherever) tend to employ several strategies, in particular; reflexivity, methodological relativism, and holism.

Dusk on Home Island

Reflexivity

So here's how I would approach Cocos Malay kinship using reflexivity: I grew up in a culture where the bond between biological mother and child is thought of as natural. For instance, when I raised the topic of Cocos Malay adoption with an Anglo Australian mother, she said "if someone wanted my baby, I would be like, 'just try to get him off me'". This implies that she would do everything in her power to stop her biological baby being separated from her. Given my cultural background, this really resonated with me, so I think the attitude is common enough. Even though we talk about new families, and extended families, unconventional families etc. these seem to measured against a very clear norm. When we are not thinking like anthropologists, we assume it is 'natural' for animals, especially mothers, to protect their offspring. So adoption has many negative connotations for Westerners; the common idea is that biological family is solid, indissoluble unit--a shelter from the storm of modern society. The widespread practice of adoption and milk parents slightly breaches this Western ideal. But then, we do give our children to day care 9-5; then send them to to school. We entrust our children to teachers; sometimes to nannies and au paires. We formalise and depersonalise this through contracts and pay. The Cocos Malay have informal relationships based on lifelong care and connection, on a sense of personal obligation, gift-giving, and responsibility. When I think about it using the principle reflexivity, the kinship practices I'm describing in this an subsequent blogs, start to make more sense. Anyway, this is only one step. Principles like methodological relativism and holism will also be useful to putting oneself in the another's shoes. And though the goal of empathetic understanding remains most likely unattainable, we anthropologists hope that applying these principles will provide a solid basis from which the real business of anthropology--the analysis of cultural and social aspects of human life--can proceed.

Anyway, more about Cocos Malay kinship and anthropology in subsequent blogs.

What kind of language is Cocos Malay?

Cocos Malay is the mother tongue for the people of Home Island. It's older than modern Malaysian and Indonesian but shares the same roots as these languages. Here is a sentence you might hear on Home Island:

"Habis lonceng, dorang pigi belakang pulu" (Cocos Malay)

There are many ways the Cocos Malay sentence translate this into English, I'll just stick with:

 "After the lunch bell, they're going to the ocean side of the island" (English)

The first thing to note is that the Cocos Malay sentence is clearly a Malay language. Let's compare it with another Malay language, Indonesian. Again the Cocos Malay is:

"Habis lonceng, dorang pigi blakang pulu" (Cocos Malay)

Rendered in Indonesian this might be:

"Habis lonceng, orang-orang pergi ke belakang pulau" (Indonesian)

I've used colors to highlight the similarities in the words. For the benefit of Indonesian speakers, I should note that the Cocos Malay has some idiomatic and unique meanings. "Belakang pulu" refers to the ocean side of any island in the Cocos atoll. "Dorang" (or sometimes "dong") is a plural form of person. And "lonceng" has a unique sense of the "lunch bell" in this context. Without knowing Indonesian however, you can see the resemblance between the two languages

Where is Cocos Malay spoken?

Cocos Malay almost certainly emerged on the Cocos (Keeling) Islands. But as Cocos Malays have emigrated, so has the Cocos Malay tongue. As far as I know, the Malay of the Cocos (Keeling) Islands is also spoken in the Cocos Malay diaspora, that is, in Christmas Island, Perth, Katanning, Port Hedland, Bunbury and in Tawau, Malaysia. It might be that the differences of the Malay spoken in these diverse locations outweigh the similarities. But for the meantime, it's probably safe to say it's the same language spoken in all these locations. As far as numbers; there are probably a little over 5000 speakers. They comprise about 4000 native speakers in Malaysia; 400 on Cocos (Keeling) Islands; 400 on Christmas Island, and a similar number on the Australian mainland.

What kind of language is Cocos Malay?

What language family does Cocos Malay belong to? I should first warn you, I'm a sociocultural anthropologist, not a linguist! With that caveat in mind, there are different ways of categorizing and bracketing the languages of the world. I think this is one way of doing it for Cocos Malay.

1. Austronesian

First, Cocos-Malay is an Austronesian language. We think that around four thousand years ago, one of the great migrations of human history occurred. The Austronesians began their grand journey. They probably started from Taiwan. First, they sailed to (maybe on their outriggers) and inhabited the islands of Southeast Asia. Then they head further east (to the Pacific) and a lot further west (to Madagascar). Such a widespread migration of a single people in pre-modern times is probably hard to match. I think the spread of the indigenous people through the Americas would come a close second.

This map depicts the commonly accepted picture of Austronesian migration, spreading from its earliest point (Taiwan 3000 BC) to its
most recent (New Zealand 1300 AD). It probably should include a small area of Cambodia, where Cham people speak an Austronesian language.

Anyway, the first point to make is that the language the Cocos Malays speak today is directly related to their Austronesian speaking ancestors from 4000 years ago.

2. Malayo-Polynesian

Second, among the Austronesian languages there are two major kinds:

1. Non-Malayo-Polynesian. Basically, these are the indigenous languages of Taiwan otherwise known as Formosan.
2. Malayo-Polynesian. This incorporates the languages spoken everywhere else in the Austronesian world. From Hawaii to New Zealand, the Philippines to Malaysia you can find Malayo-Polynesian languages, spoken by Austronesian populations.

So the Cocos Malay dialect could be grouped among the Malayo-Polynesian languages.

3. Western Malayo-Polynesian (WMP)

Third, among the Malayo-Polynesian languages, Cocos Malay belongs to the 'Western' branch. Malayo-Polynesian can be divided into:

1. Eastern Malayo-Polynesian. This incorporates the Pacific Ocean or Oceania; Polynesia, Micronesia, and parts of Melanesia. It is the yellow part, "Oc", on the map below
2. Western Malayo-Polynesian, the 'Malayo' part. This incorporates Madagascar, Malaysia, Indonesia. It is indicated as "WMP" on map below.
3. Central Malayo-Polynesian. These languages are spoken in Eastern Indonesia, the small area just to the north of Australia. See "CMP" on the map below.
4. South Halmahera West New Guinea. See the small area SHWNG squashed between the other three.

This map shows the Austronesian world, but divides it into 4 language areas. 

In the above map, the huge yellow area to the right incorporates Oceanic languages or EMP. The smaller WMP area is to the left. And squashed in between are SHWNG and CMP.

While Oceanic (or EMP) incorporates the largest area, but WMP incorporates by far the most speakers numbering in the millions.

(Note that in the areas with stars the indigenous peoples do not speak an Austronesian language, but rather the 1,000 or so Papuan languages.)

Several languages in the WMP have been influenced by, for example, Arabic, Sanskrit, Chinese languages, and subsequently colonial languages.

With only around 5000 speakers, Cocos Malay is not one of the largest WMP languages.

4. Malayic /Malay-Indonesian

Fourth, within the Western Malayo-Polynesian languages, one of the large branches is the Malayic (also known as Malay-Indonesian) languages. Cocos Malay is similar to modern Indonesian, Malaysian, and other varieties of Malay (such as spoken in Kupang and Bangka in Indonesia; Pattani in Southern Thailand). They all derive from a similar language Malayic or Malay-Indonesian language. Most probably this was spoken by the Melayu (Malay) people of Sumatra and peninsular Malaysia.

Summary

So there you have it. Cocos Malay is a Malayic language. Malayic languages belong to the Western branch of Malayo-Polynesian languages. The Malayo-Polynesian languages themselves belong Austronesian family. The next question is what distinguishes Cocos Malay from other forms of Malay, including modern Malaysian and Indonesian? I will take a more detailed look in a later blog.

Analysis

This blog has situated Cocos Malay in progressively smaller language groups from the huge (Austronesian) to the small (Malayic /Malay-Indonesian). Personally, what really interests me is the maps. These indicate that a single culture complex united such apparently diverse cultures as from Madagascar to Hawaii.

That was at least until about 1500, when societies on the Western seaboard of Europe (Portugal, Spain, and later England, Holland, and then France) started colonizing the world. As a result, the majority of people in Hawaii and New Zealand now speak English and in several Oceanic nations French is spoken. In other places, 'creoles' or 'pidgin' languages prevail. Nevertheless, Austronesian languages survive and flourish.

Was there a uniquely Austronesian culture? Initially, the Austronesian migrants probably spoke a single language, Cribb explains in his Digital Atlas of Indonesian History. For survival:

The Austronesians brought with them the technologies of pottery, outrigger canoes, and bows and arrows, as well as domestic pigs, fowl and dogs, and they cultivated rice and millet, along with other crops. Rice and millet at this stage were crops suited to temperate and sub-tropical climates, and they apparently did not become established in [in the tropical climate of] Indonesia until somewhat later; their place in the Austronesian diet was [initially] taken by taro, breadfruit, bananas, yams, sago and coconuts.

Austronesian religion probably included animism (the belief that spirits inhere in local trees, hills, streams, etc.); ritual meals to feed and reward these spirits; and maybe other things. For instance, dolmens, But it's difficult to sustain the argument of a uniquely Austronesian culture-complex, because we find these things elsewhere in the world and not always in Austronesian cultures. Still, when in 1497 Vasco de Gama set sail around the Cape of Good Hope; and, in 1521, when Magellan, coming from the other direction, rounded the Magellan Straits, there may have been a definable culture-complex linking these cultures of the Indian and Pacific Oceans.

But actually, this large-scale type thinking is not part of my anthropological background. I have been more influenced by the detailed study of small places. In particular, the anthropology from Malinowski (say 1920) to Geertz (1970) tended to have microscopic focus. Anthropologists looked at big themes (e.g. kinship) in little places (e.g. a village) in relation to specific issues (e.g. gift-giving).
The context in which I learned anthropology was skeptical about considering a culture (e.g. Cocos Malay 'culture') as a cohesive and unique single entity, and even more wary of the idea of a larger cultural complex.

But anthropology hasn't always been like that. In the early days (1880-1920), anthropologists Tylor and Frazer tried to search for the original forms of all human culture (an approach which could be called 'Origins and Evolution'). Boas studied how one culture influenced another (an approach known as 'Diffusionism').  In the 1960s, Levi-Strauss, taking his structuralist approach, treated indigenous cultures of North, Central, and South as a single Amerindian culture complex. 

If you want to look at more recent examples large, big-picture anthropology you could look at Europe and the People without History, in which Eric Wolf uses a Marxist approach to talk about swathes of the world in a single breath--and it works! Scott, also using a Marxist approach, takes a grand view of a huge area of Asia in The Art of not being Governed. Tim Ingold and Marshall Sahlins are two other original and exciting thinkers who take a step back and try to apprehend the larger scene.

Quarantine Station--Cocos (Keeling) Islands

What was it like working on the Cocos Quarantine Station? On Monday, November 28 2016, I was lucky enough to join my daughter's social science class at Cocos Islands District High School as they tried to answer this question.

National Library of Australia photo of Ostriches at Quarantine Station taken in 1995

These Grade 2-3 social scientists are uncovering local history. The topic of concern this week--the defunct Quarantine Station--once formed an important part of what we now call the 'biosecurity' of Australia. By joining them, I had the chance to learn a lot about life on the Cocos (Keeling) Islands.

Nek Diana (Nek Didi); Mr Wicks (Pak Tali); Mak Maesha

The field trip was organised by Social Studies teacher Mr Wicks. Fortunately, Nek Diana, a former employee at the Quarantine Station, agreed to give us a tour. The children had prepared all the right questions; Nek, Mak Mia and Mak Mae helped translate and keep everything running smoothly; I simply had to relax and learn.

National Library of Australia photo of Quarantine Station taken in 1995

Quarantine Station

Basically, the West Island quarantine station provided animal quarantine. Animals being imported to Australia were temporarily kept there. The animals were destined for farms and zoos. Vets could work out if the animals had diseases which could spread to Australian animals. Mostly the animals were healthy, but the workers at the station had to keep them healthy by washing, exercising,  and feeding them. The Quarantine Station apparently operated from 1981. A set of stamps was even issued, in 1996, to commemorate the Quarantine Station. 

Cocos (Keeling) Islands Quarantine Station First Day Cover

The Quarantine Station seems to have wound down in the 2000s. However, 8 elephants were housed here before being cleared for transportation, in 2006, to zoos in Sydney and Melbourne. (You can see them on Cocos in a documentary entitled Flight of the Elephants at around the 34:00 minute mark.) And, more recently, the excellent buildings were put to good use in 2012, housing Sri Lankan asylum seekers. 

Nek Didi

Nek Didi

The Quarantine Station was mostly staffed by workers from the Australian mainland. However, two Cocos Malays, in particular, worked there for many years: Nek Didi and Nek Kaya. So I was very lucky to join in Nek Didi's tour. 

The concrete for the brick buildings was laid by the Cocos Co-op under Nek Ainul and Nek Jamil. Workers from Australian mainland helped build the structures.

Before the tour began Nek Didi explained to us that the animals' blood would be tested. This would ensure that sick animals would not make it to the mainland. Either they would be cured at the Quarantine Station or put down. For larger animals, Nek Didi told us, they would use a gun. The area of the Quarantine Station is large because the animals needed space to exercise.

The tour

First, Nek Didi took us to the barn where they had a machine for making animal food. This machine mixed and pressed grass clippings to make food pellets for the sick animals.

Then we looked at the composting area, where all the waste and dead carcasses were transformed into fertiliser for the fields of the station. The composting area was behind the shed where all the hazardous materials were stored.

Shed for hazardous materials, behind which the composting occurred.

After that, Nek Didi took as into the barns where the animals were washed.

Barns for animal washing? 1995

Mr Wicks and students inspect the same (?) washing facilities in 2016.

Following this, we went to what I think is called the stocks or a stockyard, where a herd of animals is sorted into a single file, leading, ultimately, to the stocks.

Stockyard

At the stocks, the animal is held still for the sample to be taken.

Stocks

Then we saw the animal hospital and laboratory, where the blood samples were analysed.

Bacteriology desk

Finally, we headed up to the mess and single men's quarters. The mess, as the students learned, is a place where people eat. Quarters are places to live for a short while; these quarters were for men who did not have their wives with them, or were unmarried. Nek Didi sometimes resided in the single men's quarters during his working years, because his family lived on Home Island.

Mess hall

The Sri Lankan asylum seekers were temporarily housed in the single men's quarters in 2008; and they used the mess hall and kitchen.


I think this was Pak Didi's favourite part of the tour. Maybe he liked that it was all well maintained. Maybe it was because he had so many nice memories from the time after 'knocking off' (finishing work) for the day. He was very happy to see the BBQ and remember the good times

Mess hall 

Analysis: Social Studies and Social Sciences

Social studies at school typically includes history and geography. At university, students and lecturers branch this out to study political science, anthropology, sociology, politics, archaeology, and so on. Along with history and geography, these studies are called 'disciplines' at university. So, for example, politics is known as one of the disciplines. At university, some people also use the word 'social sciences' to cover all these disciplines.  

Generally, social sciences are distinguished from the 'hard sciences' such as maths, chemistry, and physics. The social sciences are concerned with human life The way social scientists work is basically the same as social studies in school. When social scientists try to understand something, like what life was like working in the Quarantine Station--they start out asking 'who, what, when, where, why, and how' questions. They try to find out how things looked to people involved; like asking Pak Didi about his life working there. They try to visit place that they write about, like going to the Quarantine Station. So whether in social studies and social sciences we use the same techniques to try to understand human life better.

Mess kitchen

One thing that my social studies experience taught me was how much life for Cocos Malays changed as they increasingly became part of Australia. I could see this in how different life was for Pak Didi. Prior to working at the quarantined station, he told me he had collected coconuts as part of the Clunies-Ross's economy. He remembered how hard his life had been; waking while it was still dark, sailing out alone on his jukong, working all day alone collecting coconuts; returning exhausted; only to be paid in the despised plastic tokens. He seemed bitter and disconsolate when remembering that life. He it was like being a fish in a tank

The contrast with work on the Quarantine Station was palpable. He was sad to see the run down state of the animals' area. But he came particularly nostalgic and content when we came to the mess and single men's quarters, which are still in pretty good shape. So I could see how Pak Didi's life experience formed a small part of the large transformation that the Cocos Malays have undergone during Pak Didi's lifetime.

The social studies trip to the Quarantine Station with Nek Didi was a great learning experience for me. It was all thanks to the planning and insight of Mr Wicks, the assistance of Mak Mae, Mak Mia and Nek; the enthusiasm of the social studies students; and, most of all, the expert guidance of Nek Didi. So thank you to Cocos District High School for allowing me join the field trip

Burial on the Cocos (Keeling) Islands

This blog is an account of fieldwork Monika Winarnita and I have undertaken, with our kids, in 2011 (for two weeks), 2014 (for six months), and 2016 (for one month). Here are photos and notes from a burial in 2011.

Reading prayers graveside

My friend, Nek Su, is a repository of many Cocos Malay traditions. He instructed us and others in Cocos Malay dancing. He also catches fish to order--his wife, Ayesha--simply requests one kind of fish, and Nek Su goes out to the lagoon and catches. 

2011 was a time of deep bereavement for Nek Su as his father, aged in his 90s, passed away. As Monika and I were undertaking our first fieldwork visit, I took some photos and asked questions to learn about mourning in a Cocos Malay community. 

I was told that there is a committee which is responsible for washing the corpse at funerals and has duties at other festivities.

Prior to the burial, the corpse is washed. This is an Islamic cleansing ritual called "wudhu".

Then the men make a "payung" (shade, umbrella) This is sprayed with water. I asked one of the mourners why, he responded "I don't know, maybe our ancestors did it that way" ("tidak tahu kenapa mungkin nenek moyang begitu").

Before leaving for Pulu Gangsa

The corpse is then transported to the cemetery Pulu Gangsa("The Island of the Geese"). Actually, this is no longer an island, as the name "pulu" [island] would suggest. Pulu Gangsa now connects with Home Island. So the mourners used the local form of transport, 4 wheelers, and golf buggies, to take themselves and the corpse to the cemetery.

Men, dressed in white, and shaded from the heat with umbrellas, perform prayers graveside.

At the graveside, the mourners recite a prayer for the spirit of the dead ("bacakan doa arwah"). I observed that, like cemeteries in Indonesia, frangipani had also been planted, and a mourner explained that "Frangipanis are [used?] but that's not religion, it's tradition" ("Kembamg Cambodja dibawa bukan ugama, tapi adat").

A mourner takes some time out.

The corpse, wrapped in a white shroud, was placed in the grave and then covered with soil, in accordance with Islamic practice.

Mortuary rituals

Anthropologists call funerals and other ceremonies associated with the dead "mortuary rituals". In many cultures, the final disposing of the body can be delayed for days, weeks, months, or even years. The 'disposing' varies; the corpse can be burned, left to decompose, and parts of the corpse might be consumed. In other cultures (Jewish and Islamic) the body should buried as quickly as possible. Aside from 'disposing' of the body, there are usually attendant rituals both before (think of the Irish wake, which comes before the burial) and after (in Java people celebrate the 1000th day of bereavement with a ritual meal.

Mortuary rituals as rite of passage?

Generally, we understand mortuary rituals as a kind of rite of passage. Rites of passage, it will be recalled, change a person's ritual status from being, for example, unborn to born; or unmarried-married; or child-adult; or undergraduate-graduate. All of these relate to what most Westerners would equate with physical life, so it might seem strange that dying is also thought to be rite of passage. 

One way to understand this is to look at it from the perspective of those involved. They understand that there is a spirit that still survives. This spirit needs to be transformed from being in a living body to another kind of body (possibly, we could say, a dead or decomposing body) or leaving the body altogether. The mortuary rituals, including a funeral, are part of that. 

Even in a Western context, I am familiar with this. I have been to funerals with avowed atheists who say, "I think he [the dead person] is looking over us right now". 

Reasons for mortuary rituals

Even if we do not think of mortuary rituals as a rite of passage, there are obvious psychological functions (dealing with grief) and social functions (bonding the mourners together). 

Art is Trash!

Artists working on West Island turn trash into art

Anthropology is the study of social and cultural aspects of human life. Although making tools is an aspect we share with other species (various primate species, for example, use sticks and stones), the variety and complexity of our tools, and our ability to make tool-making tools seems to distinguish us. 

For tool making, gratitude seems due to our predecessor, Homo habilis, “handy man” of 2.6-1.7 million years ago. Archaeology is constantly being revised but currently, Homo habilis is famous for making the first tools.It's possible even earlier hominids made tools; but whoever was responsible someone didn't just use what he or she found, but actually transformed the object so it could be used. We think the earliest example of this is the Oldowan pebble choppers made by homo habilis. Now extremely valuable, these were random rocks till archaeologists 'discovered' them and put them in a museum.

Factory

 Since these ancestors, tools and the things we have created through them, often develop a life of their own, almost literally. For example, we give our boats names such as “The Queen Mary” and mourn them when they sink.Yet the Industrial Revolution allowed us exponentially, the ability to create tools and objects. Factories can makes loads of things, quickly. Mechanical reproduction, a guy name Benjamin observed, meant that original works of arts obtained a different significance. Now in the electronic age, a musical track is produced as a binary sequence which is exactly and infinitely reproducible.

But what gives these objects their value? If they have an allotted time, how do we treat the objects when they reach them.

Watts Towers

Watts Towers

Simon Rodia made me, and many others, reconsider how we use 'things' when we have finished with them. From the 1920s to the 1950s, this Italian migrant living in Los Angeles collected trash and transformed it into beautiful, surreal monuments. In the late 50s the local government decided to destroy his towers as they were called, against much local opposition. According to the story, the towers stood up against the crane attempting to pull them down. And today they still stand, a fantasy of curly designs, pastel colors, and mirrors. Discarded objects now have been transformed into art and heritage, which is the theme of this blog.

Art Adrift

Rubber sandals collected
by Emma 

We tend to associate coral atolls like the Cocos (Keeling) Islands, part of Australia's Indian Ocean Territories, with pristine white sands and and overhanging palms. Yet strewn above the high water mark of most of the ocean beaches, particularly those facing Australia and Southeast Asia are, along with coconut shells, lines of plastic bottles, plastic sandals (called "thongs" in Australian English), nets, ropes, and other human detritus. Shampoo containers from Indonesia, plastic toys and cutlery, toothbrushes.  This debris appears to have floated down the streams, rivers and other waterways of Southeast Asia and Australia, across the north-east Indian Ocean over the coral reefs that surround this out of and onto the calm sandy white peaches of the islands. Some artists in particular have sought to transform this maritime refuse into another category--art. In this blog I focus on 3 artists, Emma Washer, Cara Ratajczak and my aunt, Sandy McKendrick, who have, over the years, created stunning pieces by collecting and juxtaposing items salvaged from the beaches of Cocos.

"Rubbish on the beach is a supermarket for artists," Sandy McKendrick explains. She :

walks kilometers along the coast looking for things that catch my eye whether it is things that are shades of green or bits of furniture. It might also be wood that has paint on it; bamboo that has been carved; big thick mooring ropes wash up in massive bundles.When you unravel these have really vibrant cores.  What I really love is when we find thongs (i.e. flip-flops, plastic sandals) that have a name carved into them.  I don't find a new thong all that satisfying. The ones I love are the old ones. Those thongs have traveled thousands of kilometers. With the next high tide that might get picked up and taken away. The toothbrushes have identity. When you collect them put them together they are like people with different hair styles. They become more beautiful as they disintegrate, like old sculptures. The chance of finding that particular thing at that particular time, that particular piece of rope that happens to be washed up. 

The barge, Biar Selamat, now transformed into a small art gallery.

Emma Washer, an artist who has lived on West Island since she was a child, has realized what might seem like a fantastic dream. She has built an art gallery on West Island, using the barge that used to transport people between Home and West Island. She took an old barge, which was used to ferry residents across the lagoon, and fitted out interior areas with lights and air-conditioning. The barge had been in a forlorn state, I'm told, before it was rescued and transformed. Now her Big Barge art gallery, exhibits works from local and other artists, some of them utilizing similarly salvaged materials.  The third artist, Cara, I have not met yet, but am hoping to one day.

In 2009, the Big Barge gallery was opened with an exhibition called Art Adrift,which exhibited boats made out of beach debris. As Sandy explained:

This was a 6 week project of the 3 artists working with Cocos Malay traditional boat builders and local community to explore maritime history of islands and create vessels of fantasy from flotsam, melding traditional skills and contemporary arts practice.

Then Art Afloat was the next stage, that was floating art works at Direction Island and Christmas Island. On Home Island, the Cocos Malay school children, the elders like Nek Neng (see blog The Bird that Returns Home) and the local doctor, among others, all participated in creating the exhibition. 

Finally, the two projects were combined in the harbor town of Fremantle, Australia, for the 2013 Fremantle Festival. Part of this festival was the work of art below created by Asylum Seekers on Christmas Island and then displayed in Fremantle harbor.

Identities of things

Emma explained to me that: "Lots of the rubber sandals that come adrift are repaired, if the plugs have come out they’ll resew the thongs. Often they’ve been fixed a number of times. In our society we just chuck them out". The difference in the way the rubber sandals are treated came out when the artists were working with asylum seekers on Christmas Islands. Emma reflected:

 When we use rubber sandals for art the first thing we did was cut of the straps. We gave them ropes. Then the first the thing they did was remake them into rubber sandals. They all started fixing [the straps even though we had cut them]. In the picture they’ve all been remade into thongs. They said “oh we can fix these” because it’s so easy to make them wearable.

In other words, the asylum seekers wanted to make the rubber sandals wearable as well as beautiful. 

Emma's art (ABC)

So , a rubber sandal may have had the most extraordinary biography. Rubber synthesized from chemicals is transformed in a Chinese factory, where the worker is compensated with money for creating a pair of sandals. The two sandals are then transported as cargo on a boat taken to the Surabaya port in East Java, Indonesia. Perhaps a bribe to the harbormaster helps facilitate the container the sandals are resting in to move quickly onto the docks. From here, it is distributed through Chinese and Muslim merchants to a  market in a small town. There, a man spends half his daily wage on them and carves his initials. Now when he goes to the mosque for Friday prayers and removes them, he knows that he can find them on the way out, and no-one else can claim them. No-one, that is, until his poor cousin asks for them, and the man is too embarrassed to refuse.  The poor cousin can only afford a hut by the river. Then when the river embankments collapse in the next monsoon, the pair of rubber sandals gets separated forever with one washing downstream and floating in the ocean. For months the human world is oblivious to its existence bobbing under the sun. Possibly fish and birds nibble at it. It gets washed up on Christmas Island, where an artist collects it and other artists, asylum seekers transform it into a sculpture. It is exhibited in Fremantle Harbor. Then it features in this blog! Then, maybe, it is again washed away to Africa perhaps, where it is seen as trash, or used for something else, and then the possibility of its use is endless. On the one hand, it is an inanimate piece of rubber, on the other, humans invest radically different meanings into it, all of which, bring the thing to life. 

A good example of this is the commodity--things we buy and sell. Our common sense tells us that a diamond has more value than a diamante or glass. But our common sense partly misleads us. You might get two tables equally useful for eating on, yet one with the right label (a famous designer) or the right history (a famous movie star sat on it) is more valuable. This value is an exercise of imagination. To borrow Marx's idea, it is as real or fanciful as if the table had started crawling around and talking to us: 

The form of wood, for instance, is altered, by making a table out of it. Yet, for all that, the table continues to be that common, every­day thing, wood. But, so soon as it steps forth as a commodity, it is changed into something transcendent. It not only stands with its feet on the ground, but, in relation to all other commodities, it stands on its head, and evolves out of its wooden brain grotesque ideas...

The commodity value of a table appears natural or inherent, but it is cultural and extrinsic to the table.

Emma's art materials

The same object has different meanings and values attached to it in different cultural contexts. It is a commodity to be bought and sold. Depending on the theory of value, initially in the factory its value is determined by the price of the materials and the labor or the class relationship between the person who owns the factory and the person who works in the factory. Then as it is transported the cost increases. As a gift, the value has to be determined with reference to the relationship between giver and the receiver--whether it is a patron and client; and whether they reciprocate in a general or specific manner. Once the rubber sandal is separated it has almost no commodity value. Then as art it might acquire an aesthetic value as well as a commodity value. The thing itself, the rubber sandal, steadily deteriorates, but the values attached to it change. All of these values or meanings are deeply and intricately connected to human relations and meaning. 

The way the rubber sandal moved across the ocean, pushed and pulled by currents, swells, and winds, seems a good metaphor for the way it moves into different spheres of meaning.  As Kopytoff (83) writes:

when the commodity is effectively out of the commodity sphere, its status is inevitably ambiguous and open to the push and pull of events and desires, as it shuffled about in the flux of social life.

If correct, this provides an easy first step to answering a whole range of difficult philosophical questions, such as "what is art?", and to a lesser extent, "what is a commodity?", "what is a gift?" and so on. In the first place, it is a meaning  and use that humans have invested in objects.

Inside the art gallery, the lower deck of the barge. Foregrounded is the inside of the barge's hull. In the background prints, painting etc. The bright tropical sun has whited out the windows in this photo.

References

The concepts I have used here come mostly from Igor Kopytoff, "The Cultural Biography of Things". I have also drawn on Marshall Sahlins' Stone Age Economics. The analysis here is primarily enabled by Karl Marx, "The Fetishism of Commodities and the Secret Thereof".

2016 Update

I wrote the above in 2014. Two years later, the life of these objects has been further enriched as they now feature on Australian stamps 

Stamps themselves have a fascinating extension from use value (to post letters with) and fetish value (as commodities to be bought and sold for profit). The plastic trash that floats up on the Cocos Islands continues to evolve.