Tidore and Its Fusion of Beliefs
Tidore: Where Spices, Spirits, and Faith Intertwine
The island of Tidore, a small gem in North Maluku, once stood at the very center of the world’s desires. For centuries, ships from across the globe set their sails for this volcanic island. They're not in search of gold or silver, but for something far more fragrant: spices. Cloves, nutmeg, cinnamon, and the sago palm—simple plants of the tropics—were once valued as treasures in European courts. Dried and preserved, a single bud of clove could season food, perfume a body, or heal an illness.
But spices, as Des Alwi (1996) reminds us, brought both fortune and misfortune. Alongside prosperity came conquest. Colonization carved Tidore into the global trading map, entangling its people in networks of commerce, faith, and power.
Yet, what makes Tidore truly fascinating is not just its role in trade, but how its people absorbed and reinterpreted these outside forces. The island became a cultural crossroads where Islam, trade, and local cosmologies merged into something deeply unique.
Spirits in the Stones
Long before the Arabs introduced Islam to Tidore, its people already held a worldview that was profoundly tied to the land. Unlike Java or Sumatra, which bore the deep marks of Hindu-Buddhist influence, the islands of the east retained animist traditions. Here, spirits were believed to reside in stones, especially those that lay high in the mountains. The stones were not mere objects, but guardians, advisors, and arbiters of fate.
When Islam arrived, it did not sweep these beliefs away. Instead, the people of Tidore wove the monotheism of Islam into their older faith. They prayed to Allah, yet still turned to the stones for guidance. Islam and animism became threads of the same cultural fabric.
I once met a family in Topo Village who embodied this living tradition. A young woman, accompanied by her grandmother and brother, had come to perform a ritual at Mafujara—the “stone of horse.” Before finding a job, she had made a nazar—a sacred promise to the spirit believed to dwell in the stone. Now, having secured employment, she returned to fulfill her vow.
“The genie of this stone helped her,” the ritual master explained quietly.
To the people of Topo, such practices are not superstitions but relationships. Stones hold power, and promises to them must be kept. Only a handful of such stones are still revered today, but their presence speaks of a time when the landscape itself was alive with spirits.
Traces of Trade
If the stones on the mountaintop whisper of spirits, the soil of Mareku Village speaks of trade. Scattered fragments of porcelain lie buried beneath homes and pathways, relics of voyages that once linked Tidore with China, Europe, and beyond.
Some of these ceramics, cracked and weathered, are discarded among trash and soil. Others, more intact, are treasured by villagers—protected in glass cabinets, admired not for eating, but for ritual.
In one home, Ibu Ain carefully showed me her collection. “We use these ceramics,” she said, “as vessels for offerings to the genies.”
Here again, global trade found new meaning in local belief. What was once an object of luxury for European dining tables was reimagined in Tidore as a sacred container, a bridge between human and spirit. Rarely used as tableware, the ceramics became too precious—almost holy—for the mundane act of eating.
Anthropologically, Tidore is a portrait of what happens when local traditions meet global forces. Trade was never only about goods—it carried with it religion, worldviews, and cultural practices. The Arabs brought Islam, the Chinese brought porcelain, the Europeans brought power and colonization. In return, Tidore offered cloves and nutmeg, riches rooted in its volcanic soil.
Each exchange left its mark. Islam reshaped religious life, yet animism endured in quiet rituals. Ceramics lost their function as dinnerware but gained new sacred value. Even today, while Tidore’s people are fully Muslim, echoes of the old ways remain in their rites and stories.
Continuity in Change
A hundred years ago, Tidore was a coveted island, contested by sultans and colonizers alike. Today, it is a quieter place. Yet some things have not changed. The cloves still grow fragrant under the tropical sun. Nutmeg still perfumes the air. And somewhere in the mountains, villagers still climb to lay offerings before ancient stones, seeking guidance from the spirits who have never left.
Tidore’s story is not one of loss, but of weaving. Spices, spirits, and Islam : each thread contributes to a fabric that is distinctly Tidore: an island where history is alive in every fragrance of clove, every shard of porcelain, and every whispered prayer to stone.
