Melanie Vella explores Sulawesi, one of the most intriguing islands in the Indonesian archipelago, to witness its elaborate, centuries-old burial rites.

Thick vegetation and high mountains seemed to have insulated Sulawesi’s ancient culture from globalisation.

In the centre of the odd-shaped Indonesian island lies a quiet, rural region known as Tana Toraja where coffee, cacao and rice are the main crops grown.

In July and August, Tana Toraja transforms into an eerie playground for extravagant death rituals that last for several days, encompassing both grief and wealth.

Never before had death been such a prominent social event on my calendar. And yet, here I was with my travel companion Jocelyn Webster, in a bizarre country village hunting down a funeral season for a peek into this medieval culture.

On our first day we sat at a local eaterie that served up all of two dishes: gado gado steamed vegetables and rice with peanut sauce or chicken noodle soup.

Despite its simplicity, there was a calendar of upcoming funerals in the area. This did not strike me as a tourist attraction, but a community event in which everyone was invited to participate.

The family preserves the deceased relative’s body in their home for several months to wait for the funeral season

Most Torajans are Christians, but their macabre burial rituals are rooted in their animist beliefs. They believe that both humans and non-humans, including plants and animals have a spiritual soul.

The family preserves the deceased relative’s dead body in their home for several months to wait for the funeral season.

Burial ceremonies grow in extravagance and boldness according to the class of the departed. The number of cattle sacrificed for the occasion reflects the family’s social level.

The first ceremony we attended was a cattle auction where pigs, cows and buffalos were brought into the centre of the arena, where people were sitting in temporary wooden booths, their family emblem on flags fluttering in the heavy breeze.

Albino buffalos can be auctioned at more than four or five times the price of a regular water buffalo because of their rarity. Albinos are said to have special healing properties. We watched as huge beasts were dragged to the centre and a man on a microphone shouted out bids from families interested in the animal. Once the hammer fell, their fate was sealed.

On Funeral Day, the mayor’s mother’s burial was the funeral of the season.

We were invited to share a meal with the grieving great-niece of the elderly woman. Before entering, we were instructed to offer a carton of cigarettes and bag of coffee, which is a customary gift in respect of the deceased.

How cigarettes could save the old woman’s soul was beyond us, but nothing about this day seemed normal.

Chunks of chewy, indeterminable food were placed on banana leaves, which we hesitantly swallowed out of politeness.

Our eyes were more drawn to the buffalo fight unfolding beneath our booth.

Young boys whistling and slapping the buffalos, prodding and pulling the beasts toward each other. Hordes of excited people gathered around cheering and applauding, with no barriers protecting them from the animals.

The buffalos were locked in a raging onslaught of horn bashing. To our horror, one buffalo ran out of control and rammed its way viciously through the panicked crowd and hurdled toward the exit.

Health and safety rules clearly didn’t apply in this region of the world.

The rare cultural spectacle continued to unfold and resembled a raw cowboy setting, complete with Stetson-style cowboy hats and rope swinging. It felt like we had stepped inside a television documentary.

People from the community were singing mournful tunes known as ma’badong and wearing T-shirts printed with a picture of the dead person.

The women and young girls dressed in full make-up, covered in beaded jewellery of black, yellow, red and white. These colours symbolise sorrow, glory, blood and bone.

Family members slaughter a buffalo because, as animists, they believe that the soul of the deceased person lives peacefully within it

The tomb was then placed high in a tongkonan house for all to see. The typical house is on stilts, shaped like a boat. On average one to four buffalos are slaughtered per ceremony. On this occasion, Jocelyn and I watched as 96 buffalos and four albino buffalos were marched into the main arena, some blindfolded to keep them from getting too frantic.

Each buffalo was tied to a pole. With one swift, precise blow to the neck, blood spurted, the crowd gasped and watched in horrified silence as the buffalo danced around and stumbled to the floor, its eyes rolling backward with a last gasp of life.

Occasionally, a frenzied animal attempted to retaliate against the man with the blade­.

This happened more times than I cared to witness, while other local spectators cheered in amusement.

Though this may seem ­– and is – a gruesome sight for the untrained eye, the family members slaughter a buffalo because, as animists, they believe that the soul of the deceased lives peacefully within it.

The meat of the butchered animals was chopped off and shared with the less fortunate people in the community and this marked the closing of the ceremony. But the burial attractions continued into the mountains as we visited ancient burial caves and drove past intriguing mountainside tombs with life-sized wooden replicas of the person buried inside, all tangled in thick vegetation and jungle.

The tall, carved-out Kambira tree was probably the most chilling. The trunk full of square holes and long dangling branches dwarfed us.

Infants who died before teething age were buried inside. This practice continues until today as it is believed children’s spirits are too pure to be buried in the ground.

This certainly was a twist on a typical cemetery visit.