In the morning light of Sentani, the mist rises gently off the wide expanse of Lake Sentani as village women arrive with bundles wrapped in noken bags—Papua’s iconic woven carriers. The women, known affectionately as Mama Papua, move with purpose, their faces a mix of pride and nervous anticipation. Today, they aren’t just feeding their families. They’re feeding a legacy.
Welcome to the Festival Sejuta Hiloi, a cultural and culinary celebration aimed at reviving Papua’s ancestral cuisine, empowering indigenous women, and reconnecting a new generation with the wisdom of the land.
Held on 28-30 June 2025, in Jayapura Regency, the festival is more than an event—it is a movement, a sensory journey back into the heart of Papua’s identity.
The Return of “Hiloi”: Symbols That Stir the Spirit
The festival takes its name from “hiloi”—a simple wooden eating tool used to scoop papeda, Papua’s iconic sago porridge. Alongside it are helai (clay serving plates) and hote (clay side-dish bowls), household items once central to daily life in the Sentani region. But as imported goods became more accessible, many of these traditional implements disappeared from tables and memories.
“This isn’t just about food,” said Fredrik Modouw, head of culture at the Jayapura Tourism Office. “Hiloi teaches us values—togetherness, patience, and respect for ancestors. These tools have meaning. And now they’re coming home.”
The festival’s curation is deliberate: it aims to resurrect not just recipes but the cultural ecosystem that surrounds Papuan food—from tool-making and storytelling to sustainable harvesting.
When Women Lead, Culture Grows
At the center of this revival are the Mama Papua—women from local kampung communities who have carried recipes across generations. Many of them grew up eating papeda and cooking with fish caught in Lake Sentani but never imagined their skills would be showcased to tourists, journalists, and chefs.
More than 25 community groups participated in the festival, presenting not only dishes but also stories: how to identify sago trees ready for harvest, how to smoke freshwater fish, and how to ferment cassava without refrigeration. These were more than cooking demonstrations; they were oral histories performed over fire and clay.
In the words of one participant: “We used to be ashamed of selling local food. Now, we wear it like a crown.”
The Menu: Sago in All Its Glory
While much of Indonesia prizes rice as a daily staple, sago (sagu) has long been the lifeblood of Papuan culture. High in fiber and harvested from local palm groves, sago is central to the festival’s menu.
The iconic dish? Papeda—a sticky, translucent porridge often likened to glue in texture but rich in meaning. Served alongside yellow fish soup (ikan kuah kuning) or grilled tilapia, it becomes a communal ritual, eaten together from a shared plate using hiloi.
But innovation was on display, too. Visitors sampled:
- Sago cookies flavored with pandan and coconut
- Baked sago cakes with cassava and banana fillings
- Sate ulat sagu – grilled sago worms, a protein-rich delicacy that both thrilled and challenged first-time tasters
- Sago ice cream—a modern twist created by local students
Every dish, traditional or inventive, emphasized local sourcing, ecological balance, and zero-waste practices learned from elders.
Not Just a Festival—An Education
Interactive workshops invited children to mold clay into helai dishes, carve miniature hiloi, and participate in papeda-eating contests—which inevitably turned into sticky, joyful chaos.
Meanwhile, older students and urban youth were drawn to storytelling sessions that explained the cultural symbolism of food. One elder shared how the rhythm of pounding sago pulp mirrors traditional war drums, a reminder that food preparation was once inseparable from spiritual ceremony and social order.
There were also panels on sustainable farming, the decline of sago forests, and how climate change affects traditional food systems—turning the festival into an informal classroom for ecology, economy, and identity.
Culture as Capital: The Economics of Heritage
The festival wasn’t only about preserving the past—it was also a platform for building economic futures.
Dozens of UMKM (micro and small business) stalls were set up for mama-mama to sell dried sago flour, bottled sambal, woven crafts, and handmade hiloi. The income—small by national standards—meant the world to these women.
“I sold out before lunch,” said one vendor from Kampung Ayapo. “Now I can help pay my daughter’s school fees.”
In recognition of its potential, the local government allocated Rp 3 billion (approx. USD $200,000) to support the broader Festival Danau Sentani (FDS), which includes Sejuta Hiloi as a key cultural highlight. The goal is clear: develop sustainable tourism that centers local communities, not outside investors.
Grassroots to Government: The Evolution of a Movement
The original seed for the festival was planted in 2017 by Naftali Felle, a potter from Kampung Abar. Disturbed by the fading knowledge of papeda and traditional clayware among youth, he initiated a small gathering focused on eating papeda with hiloi—a symbolic act of resistance against cultural erasure.
What began as a community potluck became a provincial celebration, now supported by the Cultural Preservation Center (BPK) Region XXII and integrated into Papua’s regional tourism and education policies.
The Bigger Picture: Why This Matters
Indonesia is a tapestry of cultures, yet many indigenous food systems are under threat—pushed aside by imported staples, mass media homogenization, and development models that overlook local wisdom.
Papua, with its rich biodiversity and deep spiritual relationship with land, offers a critical counter-narrative. Events like Festival Sejuta Hiloi are more than festive—they are urgent responses to cultural erosion and environmental change.
They affirm that food is not just nutrition—it is language, memory, resistance, and revival.
What’s Next? Sustaining the Fire
Organizers hope to make the festival annual while rotating through different districts to include more ethnic groups such as Mee, Dani, and Biak. Future plans include:
- Collaborations with culinary schools
- Export branding for sago products
- A digital archive of recipes and oral histories
- Campaigns to plant and protect sago forests
The challenge now is to ensure that this momentum isn’t lost in between festivals. As one elder said during closing ceremonies, “Sago grows slowly. So must we. But when it ripens, it feeds everyone.”
Conclusion
The Festival Sejuta Hiloi is not simply a culinary event—it is Papua’s soul on a plate. It honors the wisdom of grandmothers, the craft of potters, the songs of storytellers, and the silent work of mothers feeding generations.
In a world hungry for connection, authenticity, and sustainability, Sentani’s festival offers more than food. It offers a blueprint for how tradition can thrive in modern times—through community, creativity, and respect for the land.
So the next time you see a bowl of papeda and a carved hiloi, know this: it’s not just a meal. It’s a movement.