The Sea Sustains

Ignasius Serang Blikololong, 75 years old

For generations, hunting has sustained his family—a tradition he naturally inherited when he first set sail at 20. But in 2018, tragedy struck: his youngest son went to sea to support the family and never returned, becoming the youngest Lamafa (whale hunter) claimed by the ocean. The loss of both his son and wife nearly drained his will to carry on. As the years passed, he turned to crafting miniature traditional whaling boats—both as a way to remember his time at sea and as souvenirs for foreign visitors. In doing so, he preserves his cultural heritage while making a living. Yet reality remains unforgiving: to afford his children’s education, he must sell these handcrafted boats. The village has only a primary school; to attend high school or university, children must leave for distant islands.

The First Baptism

At the entrance of Lamalera’s church, a statue of Patung Bode stands atop a boat, honoring the man who performed the village’s first baptism. The boat’s bow points toward the vast ocean—a silent witness to the generations who have set sail in search of sustenance, carrying faith and tradition across the waves.

Drifting in the Hunt

From Monday to Friday, around 7 am, the boats set out for the hunt and usually return to the village by 5 pm. The hunting grounds are typically located 12 miles off the village’s coastline, requiring a voyage of 2 to 3 hours to reach. Once a whale or other fish is spotted, the captain steers the boat toward the target. When the prey comes within range, the Lamafa(whale hunter), or harpooner, takes aim at the whale and thrusts the harpoon into its body.

The Tempuling

The tempuling is the primary weapon used in the hunt—a Y-shaped metal spearhead mounted on a 4-meter-long bamboo pole. This long shaft serves as a handle for thrusting, allowing the harpooner to strike with precision. A 50-meter rope is tied to the tempuling at one end and to the peledang (whaling boat) at the other, ensuring the hunters do not lose their catch after the strike.

Compass of the Sea

As their fathers set sail, the children gather in the boathouse. Luto carefully draws on his friend Polus’s face, his hand steady with purpose. “It’s a compass,” he tells me—a symbol of direction, of finding one’s way.

Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men

In Lamalera, every villager is a devout Catholic. Before each hunt, the whalers gather at the chapel on the beach, praying for a successful catch. Inside, a statue of Santu Paulus (Saint Paul) stands solemnly—one hand gripping a harpoon, the other holding a book. Here, faith and survival are inseparable. Catholicism and the ocean shape daily life, intertwined in prayer and the hunt.

Belle Lelu, 72 years old

Like many elderly women in Lamalera, Belle Lelu spends her days sitting at her doorstep, weaving scarves and blankets adorned with whale and manta ray patterns. These handcrafted pieces are sold to help pay for her grandchildren’s education, with a small scarf priced at around 10 British pounds sterling.

Belle Lelu’s Room

In the village of Lamalera, walls adorned with photographs of elders and children symbolize both reverence for ancestors and the continuation of tradition. The elders' portraits serve as a reminder of cultural roots, while images of children represent hope and a promise for the future. A chair sits by the window, facing the sea—a quiet tribute to the husband she once loved.

Juliana, 55 years old

Juliana started hunting at the age of 20. Ever since he was a child, he had dreamed of becoming a whale hunter, and now that dream has come true. He tells me that in recent years, “whales have become increasingly scarce. This year, they have caught only one.” The whale bones outside his home have been resting on the beach for a decade. His children have all left the village for life in the big cities. When I ask if he ever thinks about leaving, he answers, “I will never leave this place. My Whaling boat is my property, and I will fish until I grow old.”

Murals of the Church

The murals on the church walls vividly depict the villagers' daily lives while reflecting their deep devotion and unwavering prayers. Each brushstroke tells a story of their connection to the land and their steadfast faith. In the background, the coastline—on which their survival depends—serves as a constant reminder of their bond with the sea. This is a place of worship for the community, and a place of connection.

Tono, 23 years old

Like most young men in the village, Tono never earned a diploma or finished school—his family couldn’t afford the fees. However, he admits he never truly wanted to continue his studies. Instead, he chose to follow on tradition. He once left the village for work, but being away from family and the sea never felt right. He never forgot where he came from, nor did he ever question the tradition he was born into. For him, hunting is more than a job—it is a way of life. “For the people of this village,” he says, “the ocean is like a mother.” Before we parted, he asked if I could get him an Android smartphone.

Pito, 19 years old

This is the living room of Pito’s home, where family portraits and religious symbols fill the walls. As the youngest son in his family, he is not yet old enough to join his brothers at sea. But standing beside the statue of Christ, he tells me he can’t wait to become a Lamafa—a whale hunter, just like them.

Emen, 16 years old

Every afternoon, Emen practices traditional whaling techniques alone, leaping off the rocks into the sea again and again. "Becoming a whale hunter," he says, "is not about proving our skills to others. It is about carrying the weight of tradition—piercing through the modern world’s misconceptions with a harpoon."

Diskotik and His Sister

During the holidays, Diskotik’s sister came to visit him in the village. When she saw what the villagers call a “large black dolphin” lying on the shore, she could hardly believe her eyes. Overwhelmed with excitement, she grabbed her brother’s hand and ran to find me, eager to take a photo with the massive creature.

Faith and Memory

The villagers place these whale bones on the shore not only to honor the glory and sacrifices of their ancestors but also as a symbol of God’s blessing. The bones serve as a silent reminder to future generations—to cherish this legacy and the traditions passed down to them. At the same time, the villagers are intentionally shaping their home into a cultural and tourist destination, hoping to share their history with the outside world.

The Dolphin’s Breath

The children's father returned from the hunt, bringing back an entire pod of dolphins. Among them, one lay on the shore—its body had no visible wounds, but its fin was injured. Its breath was weak but unmistakable. Their children reached out, placing their hands on the dolphin, feeling its breath rise and fall beneath their palms. Some carefully scooped seawater with their hands and poured it over its body, as if hoping to keep it alive a little longer.

The Trophy

Mimi holds up the freshly cut dolphin fin, a prize from her father’s hunt, proudly showing it to me.

The tethered goat

A goat stands tethered to the rocks, unable to move freely. Here, villagers are not only fishermen; some also raise pigs and goats. However, livestock is scarce and when the time comes, the rope will be untied.

Tidak, 9 years old

At the village entrance, Tidak and his friends duel—banana leaves as shields, wooden sticks as swords. He tells me this is a childhood game among the children of the whaling village. Unlike many others, he does not spend his time on the beach practicing traditional whaling techniques.

Facing the tide

Wave after wave crashes onto the shore, yet Tari and her sister do not retreat. Instead, they stand firm, letting the water wash over their feet, their laughter drifting into the wind. They are not only playing—they are listening, engaging in a silent dialogue with the sea.