The Ghosts of Bandaneira

"When will come that time that I will have my happiness?
It will be when the clock chimes that hour: when my country has lived up to its ideals.
For now I am blessed within my family whom I love."

Or something like that...¹

The message is etched in a pitted window pane, in a bare room where dust motes drift in watery sunlight. The thinning panes of the window distort the view of a long-dry fountain outside, beyond which lies a ruined pier that would have so often been the focus of attention of the message's author, a former controleur in the Dutch colonial administration of the Banda Islands.

These former offices, an adjacent mansion and the walled garden in between form the Istana Mini or Little Palace, the island group's administrative center during the years prior to, and for a while after, Indonesia's independence. Built in the early 1820s, the imported glazed stone tiles of the floors, the wide collonaded verandahs and decorated high timber ceilings hint at former grandeur, but near total emptiness, the thick patina of dust on the scored floor tiles and the creeping mould that forces the paint from the walls create a despondent, abandoned air today.

The inhabitants of Bandaneira refer to this room with the controleur's message as the kamar spok - the "spook room", believing the message was written by a ghost.

It surprises me that on an island with such a sad and violent history, the only ghost story we ever heard was one related to a signed and dated message on a window pane. Not five minutes' walk from here are the scenes of events you'd imagine far more likely to give rise to a ghost or two: It was violent resistance to the 1609 Dutch invasion of Neira to secure a monopoly over the nutmeg trade that resulted in the ambush and murder of a Dutch admiral and 40 of his staff and soldiers. Retaliation in 1621 saw the almost complete annihilation of the original population of the Banda Islands and the herding of 44 of Banda's remaining orang kaya (rich men) into a bamboo cage, to be slaughtered by quartering at the hands of Japanese mercenaries.

The islands certainly have no shortage of potential haunts. Stories are told of wells filled with heads, other wells filled with the bodies of Imams. There are rocks where unsuspecting Dutch were lured to be pushed to their deaths, and cemeteries filled with victims of pestilence, torture, slavery and other calamities of the colonial era. Today, only two blocks from this building are burned out ruins of churches and houses, reminders of violent and untimely death here as recently as 1999. Among others, the passions and violence of 1999 claimed the life of Wim de Broeke, the owner of the last of the original Dutch nutmeg plantations. A man whose family graves at Waling on the neighbouring island of Banda Besar stretch back over two hundred years. Standing here in the Istana Mini, I reflect that Wim de Broeke's ancestors would have been well known to the man who etched this message in the ghost room window pane.

The message is attributed to Resident Rutger Martens Schwabbing, who was known to have died aged 35 on April 12, 1832. The inscription was discovered after his successor moved into the building was believed to be dated September 1, 1832. QED as far as the inhabitants of Neira were concerned - how else if not a ghost?²

Nutmeg. Murder. Ghosts. I take a few pictures of the Resident's poignant message and hope that the killings of 1999 will be the last. That ghosts proven and ghosts forgotten may all now rest in peace.

1 - Thanks to Emily for translating the message for me. I thought poor Schwabbing's ghost was missing his family's dog! Pffft...

Emily pointed out that not being a native French speaker makes an accurate interpretation difficult, especially when it's likely that the writer wasn't French either. The writing makes a few of the words difficult to decipher too. Perhaps the interpretation quoted above wasn't exactly what the the controleur had in mind, so I've reproduced Emily's literal translation below. Comments on other possible interpretations are welcome!

Quand vendra-t-il le temps que je [eusse ete?] mon bonheur
When will it come that time that I [would have?] my happiness

Frappera la cloche que va sonner l'heure
(It) will strike the clock that chimes that hour

Le moment que je reverra(i)s les [heros?] de ma patrie
The moment that I will dream/revere the heroes of my country

le sein de ma famille que j'aime que je benie
Within my family that I love I am blessed

2 - Well, how about the fact that the "2" in the date could quite conceivably be a "1"?