It has been decided: the machete will be mounted on a board so it becomes an ornamental wall hanging (which, to be fair, is what it is destined to be) and sent by post. Accordingly, I went early in the morning with Y, our guide, to her village where she introduced me to her uncle, a carpenter. He found a board, planned out a simple mount, and I had some very sweet tea. As we were finishing up, a shaman and his aide walked past with a chicken which they were going to sacrifice to bless the fields. I watched as the shaman offered some betel nut, said some words, and slit the chicken’s throat. His elderly assistant, it turned out, was a Muslim and a haji, so I mimed the appropriate respect.
We saw some very monumental tombs indeed. You are certainly surrounded by death on Sumba.