ABOUT WEST SUMBA

Hand Me Sumba (by Mr. Taufik Ismail-a national poet of Indonesia)

In Uzbekistan, there are open and dusty meadow/Funny, I then remember Umbu. My Longing for Sumba is the longing for the open meadow/ where the sun arcs overthere the fire/My longing for Sumba ist the longing to the young brooders/when the sweat and energy are no value counted/The ground full of grass, the hay of grass/The sounds of the ringing bells/the neighs of horse and the shouts of shepherds/Stand now anthe coast/the sun will rise from the sea/and the hot acid wind will blow from there/Give me a piece of roasted meat/the bellow of buffalos and bull during the night/

Give me a Bossanova guitar and three horses /Give me the tropical and dry weather without rain hundreds of days/ Give me an indescribable vast area without fences named : Sumba/

My longing for Sumba is the longing to a thousand horses/that thundering down from the far away hills/meanwhile the sky is like a hand made weaving/dark, dark brown /and the bright red fire ball set in peacefull horizon/ My longing for Sumba is the longing for the open meadow/where the sun is like a fire ball, dry weather and the cattle below /my longing for Sumba is the longing for thousand horses/that thundering down from the far away hills. Sumba is the longing for thousand horses/that thundering down from the far away hills.

Travel To Sumba

Visiting Sumba, especially the West ,can be an experience to treasure if one has an appreciation for non-indrustrial culture.The women spend their days planting, harvesting and pounding the husks off rice, fetching water in bamboo tubes, and minding the little kids. The men build and repair the huts,prepare the fields by breaking up the dry soil with hoes or-in the wetter areas-driving the buffalo across the paddies to aerate the mud. Men also attend to ritual matters.