Tajen
Traditional Bali Rooster Fight
Banned by the Indonesian government as a form of gambling, traditional rooster fights, or cock fights (Tajen) are still taking place almost every week. Villager's say it's a ritual to expel evil spirits by spilling blood, with a small razor blade (Taji) strapped to the leg of each rooster and a long time taken to fire up the birds, it's little surprise that death is the end result. Local's gather to chant and cheer, exchange money and socialize away from their family and wives, as women are not allowed to participate. With a solid weeks earnings thrown down on each bet tensions run high, but in-amongst the chaos it's clear who is in charge. The losing bird's blood is left to soak into the ground as offering, and the bird is prepared for that night's meal.
In this remote village of Sidemen on the island of Bali, Indonesia, the men allowed two Westerners to observe.
"After walking through our fixer's village, meeting his family and seeing a few temples, we hadn't found our story. Granted, we had only been in the country for two days. As the rain fell and the locals retreated indoors, Kumang, our guide, asked if we wanted to go to a rooster fight. I didn't know what to expect, as we walked to the hut containing around 50 men, they started cheering and yelling at each other, Kumang ran off leaving James and myself, camera in hand looking at each other wondering if this was disrespectful...I thought cock fights were banned by the government in the 80's. We hung back for a while, handshake and a smile allowing us to 'observe'. We couldn't understand a word they were saying, as Kumang just gave us the thumbs up and continued laughing and smoking with his friends. I could only imagine what they were laughing about...two white kids looking way out of place. As the next round of Rooster's were brought into the ring, the cheering got even louder, and we moved in closer.
As the first birds started to fight, the crowd formed a tight circle, mindful of the razor sharp blade slashing at ankle high with each swoop of their legs. Less than a minute later one bird was lying motionless on the ground, it's dark crimson blood soaking into the ground barely visible in the gloom of the shelter. The losing owner carried the bird to complete the sacrifice, while the winning bird's owner examined it for damage. Finding nothing to stop it from competing again, he upped the bid for a back-to-back fight. Moments later money started flying around at an alarming rate, I had no idea how they kept track of who bet what, and the next fight was underway. The new entry killed the champion rooster, again in under a minute, and the defeated owner took his rooster to prepare for his family's meal.
In just under 30 minutes we saw three fights, large amounts of money being exchanged and a sense of local village games. Kumang found us watching the last bird being 'processed' and said we had to leave. The men were exiting the shelter shaking hands, happy at the days processions. Most looked to myself and Thorn and waved, the hospitality of the Balinese one of the most genuine and undemanding cultures I've experienced."
Banned by the Indonesian government as a form of gambling, traditional rooster fights, or cock fights (Tajen) are still taking place almost every week. Villager's say it's a ritual to expel evil spirits by spilling blood, with a small razor blade (Taji) strapped to the leg of each rooster and a long time taken to fire up the birds, it's little surprise that death is the end result. Local's gather to chant and cheer, exchange money and socialize away from their family and wives, as women are not allowed to participate. With a solid weeks earnings thrown down on each bet tensions run high, but in-amongst the chaos it's clear who is in charge. The losing bird's blood is left to soak into the ground as offering, and the bird is prepared for that night's meal.
In this remote village of Sidemen on the island of Bali, Indonesia, the men allowed two Westerners to observe.
"After walking through our fixer's village, meeting his family and seeing a few temples, we hadn't found our story. Granted, we had only been in the country for two days. As the rain fell and the locals retreated indoors, Kumang, our guide, asked if we wanted to go to a rooster fight. I didn't know what to expect, as we walked to the hut containing around 50 men, they started cheering and yelling at each other, Kumang ran off leaving James and myself, camera in hand looking at each other wondering if this was disrespectful...I thought cock fights were banned by the government in the 80's. We hung back for a while, handshake and a smile allowing us to 'observe'. We couldn't understand a word they were saying, as Kumang just gave us the thumbs up and continued laughing and smoking with his friends. I could only imagine what they were laughing about...two white kids looking way out of place. As the next round of Rooster's were brought into the ring, the cheering got even louder, and we moved in closer.
As the first birds started to fight, the crowd formed a tight circle, mindful of the razor sharp blade slashing at ankle high with each swoop of their legs. Less than a minute later one bird was lying motionless on the ground, it's dark crimson blood soaking into the ground barely visible in the gloom of the shelter. The losing owner carried the bird to complete the sacrifice, while the winning bird's owner examined it for damage. Finding nothing to stop it from competing again, he upped the bid for a back-to-back fight. Moments later money started flying around at an alarming rate, I had no idea how they kept track of who bet what, and the next fight was underway. The new entry killed the champion rooster, again in under a minute, and the defeated owner took his rooster to prepare for his family's meal.
In just under 30 minutes we saw three fights, large amounts of money being exchanged and a sense of local village games. Kumang found us watching the last bird being 'processed' and said we had to leave. The men were exiting the shelter shaking hands, happy at the days processions. Most looked to myself and Thorn and waved, the hospitality of the Balinese one of the most genuine and undemanding cultures I've experienced."
