Reintroducing Indigenous Crops:

Kaiana Workshop

Cathy Teng　/　photos Lin Min-hsuan　/　tr. by Brandon Yen

December 2024

中文日本語

The everyday lives of the Bunun people are patterned on the life cycle of millet. Bunun culture rests upon this cereal crop. The preservation of millet varieties has become a vital issue for Taiwan’s indigenous peoples.

Arriving in the Bunun village of Kamcing in Taitung’s Haiduan Township, we come across a group of
young people crouching in a field of foxtail millet, weeding the soil. Greeted by Kaiana Workshop owner Hu Yuru (who goes by the name of Ibu), we squat down with her to learn how to distinguish between weeds and millet—the latter has red stems. Noticing how cautiously we approach the task, Ibu reassures us: “Don’t worry. If you pull up millet plants by mistake, just put them back in the soil.”

Reintroducing millet

“Of course it is hugely important. Everything about our culture rests on millet.” Ibu’s father, Hu Tianguo, explains the connections between the Bunun people and foxtail millet (Setaria italica). Throughout the year, the rhythm of Bunun life is closely attuned to the life cycle of millet: sowing in February, thinning out in April, and celebrating the Ear-Shooting Festival in May, when villagers form a circle to sing the pasibutbut, an eight-part polyphony which—if perfect harmony is achieved—helps ensure healthy crops. Millet is harvested in June, and in August rituals are held for storing the dried ears of grain.

Hu Tianguo has played a vital role in reintroducing millet to local agriculture. In 2011 he and his wife, Liu Jinjiao, cooked the first batch of reintroduced millet, and shared it with other villagers. The much-missed taste brought tears to everyone’s eyes.

In the days before milling machines, people would bind harvested ears of millet into sheaves to dry in the sun before hanging them upside down from the ceilings. In the Bunun language, this process is referred to as kaiana, after which Ibu’s workshop is named. Every morning, people would measure the portions of millet they needed that day. To separate the seeds from the plants, they would rub the millet ears against the tops of their feet above bamboo trays. Next, they would put the grains in a wooden mortar and pound them with a pestle to remove the husks. This was a boisterous family task. From as early as 4 or 5 a.m., sounds of pounding could be heard from every house.

Ibu points out that the philosophy of slow food chimes with the philosophy underlying indigenous ways of life.

Adhering to nature

Ibu puts roughly equal portions of millet and water in a pot. While cooking, she tells us that it was by way of the Farm-to-Table Program that she first joined the slow food movement. “This suited us perfectly, because my family had already been doing farm-to-table work.”

As the water is absorbed, the millet has to be stirred constantly. “You give it a pat first and then turn the stick in a circular motion. The patting helps the millet become sticky and acquire a mushy consistency. You have to use a lot of force to obtain the mochi-like mouthfeel. It’s a bit like pounding millet grains.” Cooked this way, Ibu’s millet is served as a farm-to-table meal, accompanied with peanut powder, pork belly, and her mother’s excellent pickles. This has turned out to be a real hit at the Slow Food Festival.

Commenting on the festival’s ban on disposable tableware, Ibu says that the requirement is actually easy to comply with. She demonstrates this with a shell ginger leaf, folding it as if she were wrapping a zongzi dumpling, and then fixing the shape with toothpicks. This is the kind of container in which she serves her cooked millet. She says with a smile: “It’s not difficult to serve the meals at the Slow Food Festival. What’s more taxing is finding the leaves. After you get hold of the leaves, you have to wash and fold them. Everyone says that all the leaves around here disappear when the festival comes.”

After planting landrace maize, Ibu could at last learn from her mother how to make maize congee, preserving the flavors of traditional indigenous cuisine.

Preserving native species

In late summer this year, Ibu traveled to Italy, where she shared her knowledge of preserving millet varieties at Terra Madre Salone del Gusto. “In other countries, millet is a cash crop. By contrast, when it comes to the millet of Taiwan’s indigenous peoples, what we’re looking at is its rich cultural significance.” She tells us that most of the yellow millet we see offered for sale in Taiwan is actually imported. The native millet varieties cultivated by indigenous farmers in Taiwan are white. It is these non-waxy varieties that lend themselves to authentic Bunun cuisine. Another variety is used to make alcohol and mochi. Every kind of millet has its own special uses.

Apart from millet, there are beans. Ibu’s mother has grown many landrace varieties of beans in her kitchen garden. Ibu used to be indifferent to the preservation of traditional varieties, but she has come to realize just how important this initiative is to traditional culture. Once she asked her mother to teach her how to make maize congee, but her mother refused, explaining that she would only make this with landrace maize. “So in order to learn traditional cuisine, I need to preserve the traditional varieties first, to bring back traditional food ingredients. Only then will my mother teach me to cook traditional foods, and only then will I be able to reproduce traditional flavors,” Ibu says.