Everyone warned me that the piglets would get car sick on the long drive from Karangasem. (“What piglets?” enquired my neighbour with alarm). But they were remarkably restrained, given their tender age and the fact that they were in unfamiliar territory, namely the floor of the front seat of my car. The Bali Advertiser on which they were lying was perfectly dry.
We peered through the passenger window at the two little creatures, who peered woefully back. They were eight weeks old. Nyoman had stopped every 20 minutes to give them water, but now they were hot and nervous. As soon as they had been gently decanted into their paddock they both squatted for an urgent pee. I was impressed by their manners.
On my first trip to Bali, back in the mists of time, these little black sway-back pigs were everywhere. They rootled by the dusty roadside and slumbered under the benches of the warungs. Industriously they dealt with the garbage and, in those days before plastic, kept the villages clean. Since then they have largely been replaced by huge pink hybrid porkers which require large amounts of expensive commercial feed laced with growth hormones. Today, the little Bali asli pig can hardly be found south of Klungkung.
For months I had toyed with the idea of re-introducing the Bali pig as a sort of household ambulatory composter. Much of the waste generated by homes in Bali is organic. In the old days when everyone had a little pig, it wasn’t an issue. Today, when keeping a pig entails a considerable investment in livestock, a concrete sty and purchased feed, many people can’t afford one. Leftover food ends up mixed with other rubbish in a plastic bag or thrown down the riverbank. I wanted to see just how much food a Bali pig needs, and whether they might have a place in a contemporary compound or tamu garden.
Pigs are amiable creatures, and highly intelligent. Contrary to general opinion, they are also said to be extremely clean if given the space. Imprisoned in a small concrete pen, pigs can hardly help but smell. So would we, in the same circumstances. Part of my experiment will establish the pong factor of two Bali pigs kept in humane conditions. So far, they are pong-free.
Nyoman had fenced in a large, cool corner of the garden under a stand of bamboos and built a shelter cushioned with ylang ylang. I thought it was Pig Heaven. The piglets were not particularly impressed. Disoriened by the long journey and new surroundings, they promptly went to sleep under a giant keladi.
I went out a little later, leaving them snuffling around their luxurious quarters with my rapt staff in attendance. Then about 6 o’clock, in the middle of a meeting, I suddenly had a strong urge to go home. Driving back little too fast, I parked the car just as dusk began to fall. As I opened the gate, two little black pigs trotted across the garden path, a highly curious Kalypso at their heels.
I had a feeling I wasn’t going to be very good at catching escaped pigs, so I locked up the dogs and called Nyoman, who took about 20 minutes to arrive. Darkness fell. It was astonishing how well camouflaged little black pigs can be, I thought, as I followed them around the garden with a torch. I knew that if I lost sight of them, they would disappear into the rapidly deepening shadows. I couldn’t leave them at large all night because of the dogs. When Nyoman turned up I was sitting on a plastic stool, torch trained on two exhausted piglets who had fallen asleep.
A spirited chase around the garden followed, as we raced through the pitch-black yard after two pitch-black invisible piglets, our torch beams waving wildly. Sensing excitement, the dogs barked hysterically inside the house. We caught one escapee in the crossed beams of our torches and Nyoman threw himself on top of her, muttering about snakes. It is amazing how strong a very small pig can be. We bundled her into an empty aviary and went looking for the other, who broke through the cliff fence and declined to be caught until the following morning.
An experienced pig person pointed out that our wire fence was absurdly inadequate for the likes of these wily escape artists. The piglets spent three days in the aviary while we built sturdy batako walls. During this time the girls began to settle down. I could hear them snuffling away together as they burrowed into the fragrant ylang ylang of their quarters, no doubt discussing the merits of their new accommodation and diet.
The Bali Buddha Café had generously entered into the project with daily contributions of leftovers. The piglets dined enthusiastically if messily on organic greens, bagels and other exotica, tufted tails wagging. The manager dropped by frequently to check the menu and we named the little creatures after our mothers. Paulette and Peggy continue to thrive. Life in Karangasem was never like this.
Stayed tuned for updates on Project Pig, and start checking out your garden for a nice, shady corner.
