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.

Along the coastal regions of Timor-Leste, especially in areas where seawater meets fertile land, communities have preserved a unique tradition known as Tein-Masin—the age-old practice of salt making. More than just a method for producing seasoning, this practice reflects generations of local knowledge, environmental adaptation, and cultural ritual.\n\nThe process begins with the careful selection of salty earth, which is usually dug from the beach or coastal swamps. This salt-rich soil is placed into large woven baskets or wooden containers and then carefully filtered using fresh water collected from nearby springs. The resulting brine is collected in clay pots or metal vessels and then boiled over a wood fire for hours—sometimes days—until only fine salt crystals remain.\n\nSalt production is typically carried out by women and elders who have mastered the delicate timing and techniques required for successful extraction. Every step—from gathering the earth to managing the fire’s intensity—demands attention, patience, and experience. It is common to see family members working together, with children helping to fetch water or gather firewood, making it both a household activity and a community effort.\n\nBefore the salt-making begins, it is customary to conduct a ritual led by a lia-nain (traditional spiritual leader) or elder. An animal, often a chicken, is sacrificed and its blood is offered to local spirits as a request for protection and success. This ritual underscores the belief that nature’s resources must be treated with respect, and that balance between human needs and the environment must be maintained.\n\nSalt produced through Tein-Masin is more than a culinary product—it is a symbol of cultural resilience and a vital part of local economies. It is exchanged in traditional markets, used in rituals, and stored as a valuable household good. In times of hardship or isolation, it has even served as a form of currency.\n\nToday, while industrial salt is widely available, many communities still choose to practice Tein-Masin, valuing not only the quality of the hand-made salt but also the cultural meaning embedded in its production. Yet, challenges remain: the practice is labor-intensive and yields are modest, and younger generations are increasingly drawn away by urban migration and modern lifestyles.\n\nPreserving Tein-Masin means more than protecting a traditional technique—it means safeguarding a way of life shaped by harmony with nature, intergenerational collaboration, and deep spiritual connection to the land and sea.

Chewing bua-malus—a combination of areca nut (bua) and betel pepper leaf (malus)—is a widespread and deeply symbolic cultural practice throughout Timor-Leste. While it is often seen as a daily habit, its role goes far beyond oral tradition and personal enjoyment. Bua-malus is inseparable from the fabric of Timorese life, marking every major social, spiritual, and ceremonial moment with its presence.\n\nAt its simplest, the practice involves chewing pieces of areca nut wrapped in a fresh green betel leaf, often accompanied by a pinch of slaked lime (ahu) to release the active compounds and deepen the flavor. The mixture produces a distinctive red juice and is known for its mildly stimulating effects. But in cultural terms, bua-malus acts as a form of communication—an offering, a blessing, a welcome, and a bridge between generations.\n\nIn marriage ceremonies (barlake), bua-malus plays a key ritual role in exchanges between families. During funerals, it may be offered to the deceased or distributed among mourners as a sign of shared respect and continuity. When sacred houses (uma lulik) are built or restored, or when a newborn baby undergoes a fase-matan (eye-opening) ritual, elders may gently rub a paste of bua-malus onto the baby’s eyelids and forehead to protect them and spiritually anchor their life.\n\nElders and ritual leaders (lia-nain) often carry small pouches filled with the ingredients and use them to open or conclude negotiations, calm disputes, or honor guests. Offering bua-malus is a profound gesture of hospitality and peace—it signals trust, respect, and the intention to share one’s truth openly. Refusing it, in some contexts, may even be considered a subtle social offense.\n\nThe act of chewing is often done communally, accompanied by conversation, storytelling, or silence. The red-stained lips and relaxed posture of those gathered in a shaded courtyard or under a tree reflect a rhythm of life tied to land, time, and relationship. Many communities regard bua-malus not just as a habit but as a living heritage—something that must be handed down with care and intention.\n\nDespite its enduring presence, the practice is evolving. Urbanization, health concerns, and shifting social norms have altered how and where people chew bua-malus. Younger generations may engage with it more selectively, and some of the ritual meanings risk being diluted or forgotten.\n\nNonetheless, the cultural power of bua-malus remains strong. Whether offered to welcome a guest, seal an agreement, or bless a new life, this humble bundle of nut, leaf, and lime carries the weight of centuries of wisdom. It connects people not only to each other but to their ancestors, their land, and the values that continue to guide communal life in Timor-Leste.

Nom Banhchok, a type of locally made rice noodle, is a very popular food that can be found all over Cambodia. The noodle can be served with different kinds of sauces or soup, from a simple mix of salt and chilly or a mix of fermented fish paste and chilly and herbs to the red curry, or the most popular one, the samlor proheur or also known samlor Khmer (fish lemongrass soup). The last is generally served with fresh vegetables including cucumbers, long beans, bean sprouts, banana flowers, water lily stems, and so on. Although popular, it is not a staple food like cooked rice. It is eaten once in a while or on a special festival with a large gathering of people.

Once, there was no instrument to play for Rawan ethinicity. One bored a hole on human bone and blown. After that they found that it produced scale so they started using to play .Later it is made bamboo. They use to play it happily when their crops ripe. It is played for Rawan ethinicities festivals. Awai bamboo is cut and the middles potion is bored with knife. Both dried bamboo and fresh bamboo can be used. Air from the lung has to be blown by force and hole has to be pressed with thumb to be made opening and closing to produce tuning. It can be blown all kinds of melodies.\n-2 feet 0.5 inches in Length\n-11.5 inches in Length of air hole\n-2.5 inches in Girth