Elegant, joyful, and rooted in everyday village life, Bidu Lensu-Mutin—the White Handkerchief Dance—is one of the most beloved traditional dances in the Suai Loro community of Covalima, Timor-Leste. Performed by young girls with white scarves in hand, the dance is a celebration of welcome, harmony, and feminine grace, passed from mother to daughter over generations.\n\nThe name lensu-mutin comes from the Tetun words for “white handkerchief,” which the dancers carry as they move in coordinated steps and gestures. The origin story, widely shared in oral tradition, speaks of seven girls who danced with white scarves to welcome their community members back from a corn harvest. Their spontaneous joy and coordinated movements captured the spirit of unity and gratitude, and the dance has been cherished ever since.\n\nPerformed during weddings, religious celebrations, community gatherings, and rituals involving sacred houses (uma lulik), Bidu Lensu-Mutin carries layers of meaning. The white scarf symbolizes purity, blessing, and good intentions. Dancers use it to wave, twirl, and gesture in graceful arcs, often moving in circular or serpentine formations that reflect the flowing rhythm of traditional life.\n\nAccompanied by soft babadok drumming and gentle singing in the Tetun-Terik language, the dance creates an atmosphere of warmth and welcome. The songs, often metaphorical, may include blessings for the couple in a wedding, prayers for peace in a community, or expressions of joy and connection. In some versions of the performance, older women sing while the younger girls dance, creating a multigenerational moment of transmission.\n\nLearning the dance happens organically within families and the community. Young girls imitate their older sisters, mothers, and aunts at ceremonies or home gatherings. In recent years, schools have also incorporated the dance into cultural programs and performances, ensuring its continued presence in the lives of younger generations.\n\nWhat sets Bidu Lensu-Mutin apart is its gentle spirit and universal appeal. It does not require elaborate costumes or formal training—just the willingness to move together with grace and intention. The dance represents a form of cultural continuity that is deeply tied to everyday experiences and shared values: welcoming guests, honoring ancestors, and expressing collective joy.\n\nThough still widely practiced in Suai Loro and surrounding communities, cultural leaders recognize the importance of continued teaching and celebration. As modern influences shape young people’s interests and identities, Bidu Lensu-Mutin offers a graceful reminder of the beauty found in tradition and the strength found in unity.

Sau-Batar is one of Timor-Leste’s most cherished agricultural ceremonies, marking the successful harvesting of corn—batar, the staple crop that lies at the heart of both sustenance and spiritual life for many communities. Far more than an agricultural routine, this ritual reflects a worldview where nature, ancestors, and community are deeply intertwined.\n\nThe ceremony typically begins with a symbolic act called “taking out the old corn and bringing in the new.” This signifies a transition between agricultural cycles and expresses gratitude to the spirits of the land for their blessings. Families gather at their sacred houses (uma lulik), bringing both harvested corn and cooked rice to share in a ritual meal that reaffirms communal bonds.\n\nCentral to the ritual is the lia-nain—a customary elder responsible for oral tradition and ritual practice—who recites prayers, chants, and invocations handed down through generations. These words are not merely spoken; they are believed to activate ancestral protection and ensure future abundance. The corn offered during the ceremony becomes sacred, often preserved in specially designated granaries or placed on altars within the sacred house as a gesture of respect to the ancestors.\n\nMusic and dance are vital parts of Sau-Batar. Performances of Tebe Lilin (Candle Dance) and other local dances transform the occasion into a festive gathering, where movement and rhythm mirror the unity and joy of a successful harvest. The babadok drum keeps the beat as men and women, elders and children, participate in a shared expression of thanks and renewal.\n\nThe ceremony also involves the symbolic sharing of corn among relatives and neighbors, emphasizing that harvest is not an individual achievement but a collective gift. In some cases, leftover corn from the previous season is burned or ceremonially discarded to make room for the new yield, representing a fresh start and spiritual cleansing.\n\nBeyond its religious and social meanings, Sau-Batar also serves as a moment of informal education. It is during this event that younger generations hear the stories of how rituals are performed, why they matter, and what each gesture or offering means. Through active participation, children and youth absorb the knowledge of land stewardship, spiritual ethics, and cultural identity.\n\nIn recent years, as commercial farming methods expand and traditional schedules shift, Sau-Batar has faced challenges. Yet in many rural areas, the ceremony continues to be practiced with dedication, often with support from local schools and cultural preservation initiatives.\n\nFor the communities that uphold it, Sau-Batar remains a vital link between past and present, the visible and the invisible, and the land and its people. It is a ceremony not just of harvest, but of harmony—a living tradition that continues to nourish both body and spirit.

This documentary explores the cultural and spiritual significance of Uma Lulik (Sacred Houses) in Timor-Leste, which serve as powerful symbols of Timorese identity passed down through generations. These sacred houses are often located in high, remote areas—both for protection and to maintain spiritual connection—and are key centers for preserving tangible and intangible cultural heritage, such as sacred water sources, stones, tombs, and rituals.\n\nThe film highlights the distinct architectural features of Uma Lulik, such as the male and female wooden pillars (Ai-rin Mane and Ai-rin Feto), which carry profound cultural meanings. It explains the differences between Uma Lulik and Uma Fukun—supporting clan houses—and Uma To’os, sacred houses used by Timorese communities living in urban areas like Dili.\n\nThrough interviews with cultural custodians like Tiu Eugénio J. Sarmento and Tiu João dos Santos Hohulu, viewers gain insights into construction rituals, traditional ceremonies, and the symbolic meanings embedded in the sacred architecture. These include elaborate community efforts to transport and erect wooden pillars, sacrificial offerings, and spiritual dances that mark the creation of Uma Lulik.\n\nThe video also features the Knua Lulik Hohulu in Fatubessi, a living example of cultural continuity, where traditions are upheld by local leaders through collective roles and ancestral knowledge.\n\nFinally, the documentary emphasizes the efforts of the Government of Timor-Leste, particularly through the Secretary of State for Arts and Culture, to safeguard and promote sacred cultural sites. Through active community engagement and support for traditional practices, these initiatives aim to ensure the intergenerational transmission of cultural memory and identity, while also encouraging cultural tourism.

In 2017, Tajikistan ratified the 2003 Convention. Two years later, the Tajik government passed a decree and project to take place between 2013 and 2020. The goals of this project were to safeguard ICH from disappearing; reviving traditions; helping and supporting performers and masters; endorsing cultural elements accessible for wide use; studying and preparing books, films, and musical discs; and organizing folk festivals, cultural competitions, and other exhibitions. The festivals have several social and cultural functions due to their continuity. Infestivals, a person experiences his/her membership in society and feels the collective solidarity. Festivals also include didactic elements, mainly structuring the young generation in the task of responsibility among other members of the society; they should follow prescribed social and cultural norms. At the same time, festival also function on a psychological level, giving people a sense of national or ethnic identity and building social integration, solidarity, thus creating an atmosphere of friendship.

Firewalking (Vila) an intangible gift to the people of Sawau (Beqa, Fiji) performed only on solemn ceremonial occasion. This is the mystical phenomenon of walking on hot stones passed through generations from the Sawau ancestors.\nThe making of costumes for the dauvila (firewalker) is a very significant part of the ritual as it re-enacts the moment when the gift of Vila becomes the Sawau collective intangible cultural heritage (ICH). Women, mostly, participate in its preparation. The costumes are vibrant and intricately woven, symbolic of power and strength. Wearers project a different self allowing them to walk on hot stones.\n\nIntroducing Beqa Island and Firewalking.\nSir David Attenborough: introducing the gift!

The sonteul (hand net) marsh clam fishery, which takes place in the brackish water zone of the river’s estuary, is Korea’s representative traditional inland fishery that continues even today. This traditional fishery is of significant historical and rarity value in that it is a unique fishery knowledge system created through a prolonged collective experience of the river’s residents. In recognition of such value as agricultural heritage, the fishery was designated a part of the Korea Important Fisheries Heritage Systems (KIFHS).

In the communities of Viqueque, particularly among the Tetun-Terik-speaking people, fai-akar—the production of sago flour from the akar palm—is not merely a method of food preparation; it is a cultural ceremony that blends labor, rhythm, and collective identity. At the heart of this tradition is the Tali-Bole dance, a dynamic performance woven seamlessly into the act of pounding sago, transforming a daily task into a vibrant expression of heritage.\n\nThe process of making fai-akar begins with harvesting the inner pith of the akar palm tree, which is then ground and washed to extract starch. This labor-intensive task is done in groups, mostly by women, using long wooden pestles to pound the fiber in large mortars. But what sets this practice apart is the way pounding becomes performance: the coordinated movement of the pestles rises and falls to the beat of chanting and drumming, and the Tali-Bole dance emerges from the rhythm of the work itself.\n\nDancers move in synchrony with the pounding, often stepping in and out of the work line, twirling or waving cloth, and responding to sung verses. The term tali-bole can be interpreted in various ways—some connect it to the image of “binding cords,” others to the swinging motion of the pestles themselves—but in all meanings, it emphasizes connection, unity, and the shared pulse of community labor.\n\nSongs sung during the pounding and dancing are passed down orally and are rich in metaphor and memory. One of the most well-known verses, Lakaleok, is sung toward the end of the session, signaling closure and expressing gratitude. These lyrics often tell stories of ancestors, landscapes, and social values, ensuring that cultural knowledge is preserved even in the most practical of activities.\n\nTraditionally, fai-akar and Tali-Bole were performed during rites of passage, funerals, house inaugurations, and communal feasts. Participation was seen not only as a contribution of labor but as an affirmation of cultural belonging. The rhythmic beat of the pestles and the voices of the singers created a space where work, ritual, and performance blended into one.\n\nAlthough the practice remains alive in some villages, it faces growing challenges. The availability of processed food, the decline of communal labor traditions, and the migration of youth to urban areas have all contributed to its reduced presence. Yet, in places where it continues, fai-akar and Tali-Bole are embraced as sources of pride, often featured at cultural festivals and heritage events to showcase the strength and creativity of traditional life.\n\nTo witness Tali-Bole is to see cultural memory in motion—where hands work, feet dance, and voices carry the wisdom of generations. In every stomp and song, the community reaffirms its bond with the land, its past, and one another.

Rooted in the ancestral traditions of the Fatumea and Fohorem communities in Covalima Municipality, Tebe Otas-Uluk is more than a dance—it is a collective act of memory, identity, and reverence. The name itself combines “tebe” (a traditional line dance) with Otas (ancestor) and Uluk (first or origin), signaling a ritual expression dedicated to those who came before.\n\nTraditionally performed by the elders of the community, this dance takes place during important communal gatherings such as ceremonies of healing, protection, thanksgiving, or agricultural celebration. Participants often wear traditional attire and move in side-by-side formations, linked by hands or shoulders, stepping rhythmically in unison to the beat of local drums, gongs, or the babadok (a hand-held percussion instrument). The dance circle forms a symbolic space where the living and the spirits of the ancestors meet.\n\nWhat sets Tebe Otas-Uluk apart is its solemn and purposeful character. The movement vocabulary is simple yet powerful: synchronized steps, grounded footwork, and fluid arm gestures that flow with the communal rhythm. Songs are chanted throughout the dance in the Tetun-Terik language, often carrying metaphorical meanings related to the land, family, and the ancestors’ wisdom. The lyrics function as oral archives, preserving knowledge and history that is not written but remembered through voice and motion.\n\nBecause of its deep spiritual roots, this dance is only performed on specific occasions, often after traditional leaders conduct consultations with spiritual entities or conduct rituals to prepare the ground. Each gesture, each chant, is believed to activate a connection to the ancestral realm—inviting blessings, healing, or protection for the community.\n\nIn recent years, however, the practice has become increasingly rare, with fewer young people learning the movements or understanding the embedded meanings. Despite this, dedicated elders continue to lead and teach the dance, ensuring its survival as a living heritage. For them, Tebe Otas-Uluk is not simply a performance—it is a prayer in motion, a ceremony that anchors the community to its origins and affirms its cultural continuity.

Tara-Bandu is one of Timor-Leste’s most enduring systems of customary law—an ancestral method for maintaining harmony between humans, nature, and the spirit world. Practiced across many municipalities, this tradition involves the collective setting of social and environmental rules by the community, enforced not by police or government, but by deep-rooted respect for customary authority and ancestral belief.\n\nThe term “tara-bandu” itself means “to suspend” or “to declare a prohibition.” At its core, it is a communal agreement to protect certain aspects of life—be it sacred forests, clean water sources, agricultural land, or interpersonal relationships. Violating a tara-bandu is believed to bring not just social disapproval, but also spiritual misfortune, such as illness, crop failure, or even death.\n\nThe process of establishing a tara-bandu involves an elaborate ceremonial act led by lia-nain (customary custodians), elders, spiritual leaders, and village chiefs. At the heart of the ritual is the symbolic installation of the prohibition. This may take the form of hanging a tree branch, an animal skull, or even a bound bundle of leaves at the boundary of a protected area. These symbols serve as visible markers that the space or behavior they refer to is off-limits.\n\nEach tara-bandu is tailored to local needs. In some communities, it may prohibit cutting down trees from a specific forest. In others, it may regulate marriage customs, resolve conflicts, or prevent theft and violence. The process is highly participatory: villagers gather in large open-air meetings to discuss the rules, agree on penalties, and publicly reaffirm their commitment to uphold the communal values.\n\nThe ceremony itself often includes the sacrifice of an animal—commonly a pig, goat, or chicken—as an offering to the ancestral spirits. A traditional oath is spoken, and traditional liquor (tua sabu) is sometimes poured on the earth as a gesture of sealing the agreement. These rituals symbolize not only human consensus but a spiritual pact between the living and the unseen world.\n\nBeyond its legal implications, tara-bandu has an environmental and ethical function. It teaches respect for natural resources, encourages collective responsibility, and reinforces peaceful coexistence. It also represents an indigenous system of governance, reminding the Timorese people that long before modern institutions, their ancestors had mechanisms to resolve disputes and protect what mattered most.\n\nIn the years following independence, tara-bandu experienced a significant revival. Communities, NGOs, and government bodies alike have recognized its value—not as a relic of the past, but as a living, adaptable tool for building resilient societies. It is now being integrated into conservation projects, natural resource management plans, and even civic education programs in schools.\n\nStill, its continued vitality depends on intergenerational transmission. Elders must be supported in sharing their knowledge, and younger generations must be empowered to see the relevance of tara-bandu in today’s context. As both law and ritual, tara-bandu is a shining example of how intangible cultural heritage can guide communities in shaping a sustainable, respectful, and united future.