In most places, traditional products used in daily life have been steadily replaced by modern goods. But Sabu Pung, a young teacher of the Paiwan indigenous people, is, it seems, living anew the lifestyle of her Paiwan ancestors.

The Paiwan community of Taniao Village sits in Taitung County, facing directly across the water at Orchid Island. Here, the people have set the rhythms of life by the flowering and growth of plants.

In the fields, when people see chachugen (Paiwan for Cocculus sarmentosus) growing, they know that the spring thunder will soon crash-spring is about to arrive! When the viluwaq (Hibiscus taiwanensis) flowers, it is reminding people to hurry and plant taro, because it is necessary to plant at that time to ensure a bountiful harvest. And when the flowers on the lahei trees (Koelreuteria henryi) turn from yellow to red, it's the season for catching crabs along the river.

Losing track of time

But the pace of modern life has altered time in the mountains. Plants are steadily losing their functions for Taniao village.

During the Japanese occupation era, three communities of the Paiwan indigenous people moved from Tawu Mountain to the plateau on the north bank of the Taniao River, and created Taniao Village.

The roughly 1600 people of this village make their living from farming and odd jobs, though a small number also supplement their income by hunting and gathering.

In the summer of 1995, Sabu Pung, then a student at Taitung Teachers College, who was born and grew up in Taniao, returned to the village. But this time she wasn't just coming back on holiday to see her family. She also began to record and to distinguish various types of plants currently or previously used in community life.

When we enter Taniao village, we see that many people have hung brooms made from wild sorghum on their doors. In the yards everywhere are growing shudou bushes to half the height of a man. Pods on the bushes contain round fruits smaller than a peanut. Says Sabu Pung, "They taste better than peanuts!" They go well mixed with rice or in soup.

Today, most of the farmland in Taniao village has been given over to betelnut, ginger, and other plants brought in from other places. Nevertheless, a few "wild" plants continue a long tradition of being used at the meal table. In the fields are millet, sorghum, corn, and other staple foods, but when you walk past the old shaman's place, you can also see the plant the Paiwan call gadaguli (Donax canae-formis). In Taiwan, this grows only in the area at the same latitude as Orchid Island.

"Is this gainuwai?" Someone carrying something that looks like gainuwai (Alocasia cucullata) goes by. An old person shakes his head and says: "You can't eat gainuwai. That is ganainain." The ganainain growing on the mountains has all been eaten by wild boars. "I brought some back and planted it, and everybody loves it," says this elder, quite pleased with himself.

Know what you are doing

In the past, every type of plant had a particular role in daily life. Couch grass, which to most people today just looks useless and unruly, was in the past material for home building and making bedding. "This is a very precious asset, and you cannot just pick it carelessly." Passing next to a gulitsatsa tree (Broussonetia papyrifera), Sabu Pung says that its bark can be used for making clothing. Qalaban (Murraya paniculata), which can be seen everywhere in low-lying areas, has a very firm trunk, and is often used to make wooden spoons.

Passing a courtyard where someone has piled lumber, Sabu Pung says that in the past families with unmarried daughters piled wood outside to indicate that they had already accepted an engagement.

There is much that Sabu Pung has forgotten, or never knew. So she relies on the memories of the old people. That is how she is able to point familiarly to all the surrounding plants as if they were family heirlooms.

One person in particular, the shaman, is a "treasure chest" in the village. In the days before modern medicine had come to this remote village in eastern Taiwan, she was responsible for treating illnesses among the villagers. She has planted numerous medicinal plants in her yard, and even today some people still come to seek her assistance.

For over a year now, under the guidance of the shaman and old hunters, Sabu Pung has recorded the presence of 141 varieties of plants from 65 botanical families. Of these, 126 have names in the Paiwan language. As many as 57 percent of these plants are used in daily life. Recently natural wild plants have become popular foods in Taiwan, and aboriginal edible plants have become well-known in the process. However, edible plants account for only one-quarter of the plants used in daily life in Taniao village. Besides the necessities (food, shelter, clothing), plants are essential materials for a huge number of other uses-medicine, landmarks, all kinds of tools used for outdoor work, rope, packaging, sandpaper, and cloth.

Living landmarks

Liu Chung-hsi, an associate professor at Taitung Normal College, who oversaw Sabu Pung's survey, is especially fond of telling people about the Paiwan method of marking land, which is very different from the tradition of Han Chinese, who establish land ownership by possessing deeds. In some of the older communities in the mountains, livagon (Crinum asiaticum) is grown between homes to mark property lines.

When people in Taniao build houses, they also plant livagon. After the bushes grow, the villagers use the center branches as the points of reference, dividing property along a straight line connecting these center branches. The livagon is a hardy plant, while in comparison, explains the shaman, "stone markers may topple, and wood ones may rot." Obviously one cannot grow livagon carelessly, since it is like staking a claim.

In the past, Chinese women washed their hair with pig gall and it was said to make hair dark black and shiny. The people of Taniao village, on the other hand, have used powder made from burned millet stem. Meanwhile, common eye pain can be treated using havulu (Polygonus chinese) boiled in water. And geichen (pisonia aculeata) can be used to die teeth black, in order to prevent cavities and strengthen the teeth for chewing. The shaman laughs and says, "Black teeth go better with the dark skin of the Paiwan people. It's more attractive!"

A plant for every purpose

When you are working in the mountains, sticky situations frequently arise, and there are plenty of plants on hand to deal with problems. For example, ground qalanis (Eupatorium formosanum) can be used as a medicine for slight extenal injuries. For more serious injuries, sas (Lygodium japonicum) and lisu (Moris australus) are even more effective. For stomach pain while out hunting, just pick some lavangas (Bidens bipinnata), which can be found just about anywhere, and swallow the stem; your stomach pain will be cured.

The fruit of the vuhs (Rhus semialata) not only can be eaten raw, but can be used as a natural source of salt. In addition, its wood burns easily, and ground into a powder can suitably serve as a substitute for gunpowder. When the vuhs flowers in summer, large numbers of insects are attracted to drink the nectar. So Paiwan used to put rotten jagartze (Lagerstroemia subcostata) under the trees, to attract bees for making honey.

Liu Chung-hsi and Sabu Pung accompanied hunters into the mountains to collect plants. On the spot, hunters showed them how to strip the bark from the branch of a viluwaq (hibiscus), and use the yellow-green layer inside to make a belt one centimeter wide, one centimeter thick, and 50 centimeters long. Two men then pulled on opposite ends to show that it wouldn't break. Even today this is still used by a local residents to tie sheaves of millet to keep them from scattering.

Even hunters, who specialize in collecting meat, must rely on plants. Hunters looking for masked civets, monkeys, and squirrels have long put their traps near fruit trees to capture animals which come to forage for food. To prevent the unwitting from accidentally falling into traps, it is commonly agreed in the village that hunters tie a nearby laviya (Miscanthus floridulus) into a large knot to signify the location of an animal trap.

Male grass and female grass

We are led out of village by the shaman, whom Sabu Pung calls Vuvu (a term of respect used by younger people for older people). Seeing a small yellow flower growing by the side of the road, Sabu Pung asks: "Vuvu what is this?" "Ai-yah! Didn't we talk about this last time? How could you forget already?" Vuvu explains, "This can treat boils." It is a lot to ask of young people today, who so rarely come in direct contact with plants in a natural setting, to be able to memorise the appearance and names of various plants, and especially grasses. Don't they all look very similar?

By contrast, Vuvu can even tell the "gender" of grass: "This is male grass, and that is female grass," she declares, adding, "We divide a lot of plants into male and female." Reaching the mountain top, the petite shaman, who is in her 70s, says to her companion: "I don't know the meaning of the word tired."

Her uncle, the village chief, seeing that she was clever, selected her to be the shaman. At age 14, she began studying with the old shaman. A shaman's role included bestowing blessings on newlyweds, thanking the deities at the millet harvest, and helping in various rituals. When she was in her 30s, the church came, and there was no longer need for a shaman. Sabu Peng, who has already graduated from the teachers college and now is employed at the Chihshang Primary School, told us: "She asked me if I wanted to learn to be a shaman with her." As Sabu Pung related this anecdote, she seemed to be saying to herself: What would there be for a shaman to do in the village today?

Planting the vegetables mother ate

The present stage of research into Taniao village plants is over, and Sabu Pung has completed her report. One may ask: With so many convenient substitutes for traditional products, what is the point of recording traditional plants used by indigenous people? Can they be brought back into daily life?

Liu Chung-hsi, who recommends that his students do surveys of traditional plants, explains: "By studying local natural conditions, the students can come to know local resources. In the future, this will be one of the goals of educating indigenous people in their own native traditions and language." And this is not the only possible usefulness of such data. During the Japanese occupation era, a Japanese biologist used the names given by the various indigenous peoples to plants and animals in order to explore the connections among the aboriginal groups on Taiwan.

In Taniao village, where the network of relationships is tight, when Sabu Pung goes around everywhere asking about old matters in the village, people's memories are reawak-ened. Some people have left a corner in their gardens to plant "the vegetables that mother used to eat." Pointing next to rows of ginger, onions, and cabbage, Wu Ke-jung says: "I planted this." He digs a long stem from the ground, with round fruits growing all along it, like small potatoes.

Sabu Pung takes the vine, saying, "Eureka!" Pointing to the fruits, she explains: "The part that grows on the ground is bitter, while the part that grows under the ground is whiter, and tastes better. It is called gamina in Paiwan." An elderly person walking by says that he hasn't seen this tasty treat in a long time. Off to one side, the shaman says that it's okay to eat the big ones, but you should bury the small ones, because you must think about days to come. The old woman's comment is a recital of a tradition that has been handed down through countless generations.

Betelnut or wild veggies?

For Liu Chung-hsi, the main consideration is whether or not plant resources can serve as intellectual property for the future development of the local area. The report that he and Sabu Pung authored points to a number of "wild" edible plants that are tasty enough to have serious market potential. "In the past the indigenous people depended upon nature's gifts for their very existence. Today these resources may be important for progress in modern society," concludes the report.

Sabu Pung has tried to get her family to plant some "wild" edible plants and explore the possibility of opening a wild plant restaurant. But would anyone come to eat there? What kinds of plants should be cultivated? In the small villages of eastern Taiwan, from which population is draining away, there's no family willing to drop everything and try such an experiment. Sabu Pung's mother insisted on planting betelnut and papaya on the family land. Sabu Pung felt frustrated, but adds: "In fact, I also wouldn't like to see Taniao village become a 'wild vegetable' tourist trap."

Whatever the future may bring, it is certain that the shamanistic tradition is dying out, the village population is emigrating, and betelnut and ginger have replaced millet, corn, and other staples. It may turn out that the 141 varieties of plants in Taniao village will survive, for the most part, nowhere but in the lists in Sabu Pung's academic paper.

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Led by the shaman, Sabu Pung is "rediscovering" her heritage-her ancestors knew all along that the plants around the village are all treasures!

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The gadaguli grown by the shaman is ripe. Though it is not as pretty as the taro in the marketplace, villagers who have enjoyed this example of "grandmother's food" never forget the taste.

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Every house in Taniao has a few shudou bushes. When you're hungry, just grab a few pods and throw them in the pot. The yellow blossoms of these plants also add color to one's garden.

Every house in Taniao has a few shudou bushes. When you're hungry, just grab a few pods and throw them in the pot. The yellow blossoms of these plants also add color to one's garden.