Sarawak, Malaysia
Saturday 27th August 2016
Hello, it's me. 1
Today I travel to Bengoh Dam to rendezvous with a young man from a nearby Bidayuh village. The meeting has been arranged through a mutual friend, who, knowing my penchant for adventure, has suggested the area as an appropriate place to satisfy my curious nature. Brian and Rosemary happily accompany me for the day, despite having little idea of what to expect.
Saturday 27th August 2016
Hello, it's me. 1
Today I travel to Bengoh Dam to rendezvous with a young man from a nearby Bidayuh village. The meeting has been arranged through a mutual friend, who, knowing my penchant for adventure, has suggested the area as an appropriate place to satisfy my curious nature. Brian and Rosemary happily accompany me for the day, despite having little idea of what to expect.
We arrive at Bengoh Dam amidst a procession of some sort. After almost a month in Malaysia, I am unsurprised that some kind of celebration is taking place. Walking above the dam spillway, we approach the gathering out of curiosity. The participants present each of us with a bag of goodies which we gratefully stash away. We now have a packed lunch. The festivities are in some vague way associated with some kind of national celebration. Shortly, we manage to locate Jerome, our tour guide from Kampung Nyegol - a local Bidayuh village. Jerome ushers us onto his motor boat and we speed along the dammed river surrounded by astonishing reflections.
Astonishing reflections
Jerome takes us under a spectacular bamboo bridge to a picturesque shallow river that flows into the main body of water. Strolling along the rocky foreshore, we locate a shaded place to sit and enjoy the beautiful surroundings. Jerome's original village, along with several other small Bidayuh communities, was last year flooded after the government decided to dam the river to provide a future water supply for nearby Kuching. Rejecting the government's proposal of a resettlement closer to town, after much protesting, many villagers decided to rebuild on native land in a nearby location above the anticipated flood level. With no government assistance, the villagers worked tirelessly to rebuild their village and re-establish their crops at an altitude compatible with the proposed flood level. Eventually the village received some level of compensation from the government through a tenacious legal battle.
Shallow river
After a rough outline of the village history, it is time to visit Kampung Nyegol. Speeding along the dam allows us to comfortably access the village in a matter of minutes, a place that would previously (prior to the dam construction) require a gruelling five hour walk through the humid Bornean jungle. After mooring the boat, Jerome leads us to his home, where his mother has prepared an array of delicious dishes consisting of predominantly home-grown ingredients.
Following lunch we are led up a hill to admire the site in which construction of the village church has recently commenced. The site is located in a prime position, with an inspiring panorama of the surrounding mountainous region. As seems to be the case with all ethnic groups in Sarawak (aside from the Malay Muslims), the Bidayuh are predominately devout Christians following mass-conversions in accordance with an era of British governance.
The next part of our tour takes us up an adjacent hill overlooking the village to the recently-finished guest-house. The views from the balcony are equally inspiring.
Following lunch we are led up a hill to admire the site in which construction of the village church has recently commenced. The site is located in a prime position, with an inspiring panorama of the surrounding mountainous region. As seems to be the case with all ethnic groups in Sarawak (aside from the Malay Muslims), the Bidayuh are predominately devout Christians following mass-conversions in accordance with an era of British governance.
The next part of our tour takes us up an adjacent hill overlooking the village to the recently-finished guest-house. The views from the balcony are equally inspiring.
Guest-house views
It is time to escort Brian and Rosemary back to the dam, allowing them to drive back to the comforts of their Kuching apartment. It is highly likely that my two Australian friends have assumed it to be a Bidayuh custom to make a human sacrifice in accordance with primitive spiritual rituals and have thus left me as a gift for the villagers. Fortunately headhunting is now illegal in Malaysia and I am quietly confident that the villagers now consider sacrificing their guests to be rather impolite. Nevertheless, it is wise to take the necessary precautions. I thus present Jerome with a counteroffer whereby my safety will be guaranteed in exchange for my two friends and a packet of resealable salted peanuts. After some negotiation, I manage to talk Jerome down to accepting just the peanuts. I figure that the remainder of the package can be considered insurance to be used if required.
Sunday 28th August 2016
I was wondering if after all these years you'd like to meet. 1
The villagers gather in Jerome's lounge-room to engage in a church service. Sitting on the balcony reading a book, some of the hymns cause me to pause and listen to the superb harmonisation of the Bidayuh congregation.
Following the service, Jerome offers to take me to the local waterfall. So after being well fed, we cruise down the river to the beginning of the trek. After a comfortable walk through the jungle and across several bamboo bridges we arrive at the falls. I go for a refreshing swim before taking a few photographs. Jerome lights a fire and, using some local plant as a brush, coats a batch of sausages in a marinade. The sausages are roasted in a grill over the fire and are complimented by some pre-cooked rice.
Sunday 28th August 2016
I was wondering if after all these years you'd like to meet. 1
The villagers gather in Jerome's lounge-room to engage in a church service. Sitting on the balcony reading a book, some of the hymns cause me to pause and listen to the superb harmonisation of the Bidayuh congregation.
Following the service, Jerome offers to take me to the local waterfall. So after being well fed, we cruise down the river to the beginning of the trek. After a comfortable walk through the jungle and across several bamboo bridges we arrive at the falls. I go for a refreshing swim before taking a few photographs. Jerome lights a fire and, using some local plant as a brush, coats a batch of sausages in a marinade. The sausages are roasted in a grill over the fire and are complimented by some pre-cooked rice.
Almost fire
After our feed, Jerome and I take it in turns to swing from a vine overhanging a rock pool at the foot of a waterfall. Under normal circumstances I would regard myself as relatively agile. However, watching Jerome gracefully negotiate the rocky surrounds and nimbly climb between rock walls, I feel extremely clumsy and uncoordinated. I consider breaking both his legs to improve my relative agility, but he'd probably just saunter along effortlessly on his athletic Bidayuh arms; and besides, I need him to escort me back to the village. Even if he was capable, I get the feeling that he'd be more cooperative if he wasn't missing both his legs. Given the above consideration, I decide that breaking just one leg will be sufficient.
Waterfall
Just now, I notice a group of relatively unfit Chinese-Malay attempting to catch a few fish. Suddenly balance is restored. No legs will be broken today.
Returning from the waterfall, Jerome's young uncle - Lex - introduces himself. We have a pleasant chat, possibly improved by the fact that I didn't break either of his nephew's legs.
That evening, following another superb dinner, several other villagers join us in Jerome's lounge room for a cup of coffee. Noticing the imperfect condition of my ankle (a remnant of my Bako NP adventure), Jerome's father proceeds to expertly massage the swollen area. The area is somewhat sensitive and at times I wonder if he is trying to break my leg. I then reassure myself that only the most uncivilised person would even consider undertaking such a barbaric act. No legs are broken today.
Monday 29th August 2016
To go over everything. 1
Today I have promised to assist Jerome in the construction of a mountain bike trail to attract tourists to Kampung Nyegol. Around thirteen volunteers from the village have turned out to assist Jerome in his project. I am issued with a cangkul and so begins my foray into manual labour. An existing seven kilometre walking loop is to be converted into a track suitable for mountain-biking. The work is exhausting, yet it is satisfying to be participating with the local villagers in a project of significance. Discussing the future of Kampung Nyegol with several villagers, the general consensus among the community is to convert the village from pepper production into an attractive tourist destination. The villagers consider tourism to be a preferable alternative to the current laborious lifestyle in which they lead. The trick here is to throw in the prefix eco and suddenly people begin to listen. So, ecotourism is the objective of the village.
Returning from the waterfall, Jerome's young uncle - Lex - introduces himself. We have a pleasant chat, possibly improved by the fact that I didn't break either of his nephew's legs.
That evening, following another superb dinner, several other villagers join us in Jerome's lounge room for a cup of coffee. Noticing the imperfect condition of my ankle (a remnant of my Bako NP adventure), Jerome's father proceeds to expertly massage the swollen area. The area is somewhat sensitive and at times I wonder if he is trying to break my leg. I then reassure myself that only the most uncivilised person would even consider undertaking such a barbaric act. No legs are broken today.
Monday 29th August 2016
To go over everything. 1
Today I have promised to assist Jerome in the construction of a mountain bike trail to attract tourists to Kampung Nyegol. Around thirteen volunteers from the village have turned out to assist Jerome in his project. I am issued with a cangkul and so begins my foray into manual labour. An existing seven kilometre walking loop is to be converted into a track suitable for mountain-biking. The work is exhausting, yet it is satisfying to be participating with the local villagers in a project of significance. Discussing the future of Kampung Nyegol with several villagers, the general consensus among the community is to convert the village from pepper production into an attractive tourist destination. The villagers consider tourism to be a preferable alternative to the current laborious lifestyle in which they lead. The trick here is to throw in the prefix eco and suddenly people begin to listen. So, ecotourism is the objective of the village.
Manual labour
By lunchtime, my soft hands, unaccustomed to intense physical labour, are severely blistered. The humid air is contaminated by a thick layer of haze and I am glad to trudge home for a break before the afternoon session commences.
Following lunch break, we wander back to continue where we left off. This time I have borrowed a pair of gloves to minimise any further damage to my sensitive hands.
In the evening, the haze clears sufficiently for Jerome, Lex and I to get a reasonable view of the stars from our vantage point at the guest-house. So how did we end up here?
The damming of the river presented the villagers with a major dilemma. The villagers of Kampung Nyegol had three options: Firstly they could rebuild their village on nearby fertile land. Secondly, they could accept the government relocation proposal - A resettlement village off the main highway with limited allocation of land of inferior quality. Thirdly, the event could instigate a complete transformation in lifestyle, prompting villagers to shun their traditional way of life completely and move into the city to pursue the normalities of modern society.
A core group of villagers chose to rebuild the village in the current location and have managed to retain their native customary land rights to a large proportion of surrounding land, thereby allowing them to maintain a high level of self-sufficient living. Non-government organisations have assisted with the installation of a micro-hydro system to allow for a minimal amount of electricity generation for the village and limited phone/internet coverage is also available.
Following lunch break, we wander back to continue where we left off. This time I have borrowed a pair of gloves to minimise any further damage to my sensitive hands.
In the evening, the haze clears sufficiently for Jerome, Lex and I to get a reasonable view of the stars from our vantage point at the guest-house. So how did we end up here?
The damming of the river presented the villagers with a major dilemma. The villagers of Kampung Nyegol had three options: Firstly they could rebuild their village on nearby fertile land. Secondly, they could accept the government relocation proposal - A resettlement village off the main highway with limited allocation of land of inferior quality. Thirdly, the event could instigate a complete transformation in lifestyle, prompting villagers to shun their traditional way of life completely and move into the city to pursue the normalities of modern society.
A core group of villagers chose to rebuild the village in the current location and have managed to retain their native customary land rights to a large proportion of surrounding land, thereby allowing them to maintain a high level of self-sufficient living. Non-government organisations have assisted with the installation of a micro-hydro system to allow for a minimal amount of electricity generation for the village and limited phone/internet coverage is also available.
Village by night
Other villages affected by the flood have elected to accept the government proposal to resettle near the highway. This has allowed them access to mainstream transport and communication systems. I have not visited the resettlement village and thus can only speculate as to the effect on the communities involved. Presumably the character of the resettlement village is completely different from the vibe of the traditional kampungs. A community that was once living in a kampung of charming timber homes situated amidst a luscious green landscape and completely isolated from wider society now finds itself cramped together in uninspiring dwellings next to a sealed road, with full access to water, electricity and communications systems. These services are not provided for free, and the villagers are not accustomed to the cost of living in mainstream suburbia.
A significant group from Kampung Nyegol (a particularly large proportion of the younger generation) have elected to move into the city. These people have moved from a village isolated from mainstream society by several kilometres of tropical jungle to a noisy city environment. The transition is not subtle. Those who have elected to move to the city must now find a way to earn enough money to cover living expenses.
Of course, prior to the flooding of the river, the villagers have not been completely isolated from the outside world. Most villagers embarked upon the long trek to town to receive an education up until at least the end of primary school. Weekly trips to town were required to sell produce (predominately pepper) to local distributors. Before the dam, these journeys were particularly gruelling as the villagers were required to carry their heavy produce. However, spending an extended period of time in town was rare.
The city provides convenience; inclusive of easy access to food, internet, communication, alcohol and modern appliances. Is this what is universally recognised as a better quality of life? Will this lifestyle improve the wellbeing of those who choose it?
Tuesday 30th August 2016
They say that time's supposed to heal ya. 1
The second day of labour proceeds in a similar fashion to the first. We continue to make steady progress along the trail. The job is not small and it is estimated that two days labour a week for a year will be sufficient to bring the project to completion.
A significant group from Kampung Nyegol (a particularly large proportion of the younger generation) have elected to move into the city. These people have moved from a village isolated from mainstream society by several kilometres of tropical jungle to a noisy city environment. The transition is not subtle. Those who have elected to move to the city must now find a way to earn enough money to cover living expenses.
Of course, prior to the flooding of the river, the villagers have not been completely isolated from the outside world. Most villagers embarked upon the long trek to town to receive an education up until at least the end of primary school. Weekly trips to town were required to sell produce (predominately pepper) to local distributors. Before the dam, these journeys were particularly gruelling as the villagers were required to carry their heavy produce. However, spending an extended period of time in town was rare.
The city provides convenience; inclusive of easy access to food, internet, communication, alcohol and modern appliances. Is this what is universally recognised as a better quality of life? Will this lifestyle improve the wellbeing of those who choose it?
Tuesday 30th August 2016
They say that time's supposed to heal ya. 1
The second day of labour proceeds in a similar fashion to the first. We continue to make steady progress along the trail. The job is not small and it is estimated that two days labour a week for a year will be sufficient to bring the project to completion.
Team Bidayuh
Upon returning home for the midday break, Jerome strums a few tunes on his guitar. I have seen several villagers playing Christian hymns on their acoustic guitars around the Kampung. Jerome's family also own a letong - a traditional Bidayuh instrument. The art of playing the letong and the other two traditional Bidayuh instruments is almost lost from Kampung Nyegol. Only a handful of elderly people from the village are still capable of playing these instruments and unfortunately no younger Bidayuh seem particularly intent on learning. Traditional compositions are not documented. I am told that someone has recently made some sort of recording however.
A few tunes
The afternoon session begins amidst the threat of an approaching storm. Toiling away, I am attacked by fire ants. The irritating itching is not the most pleasant experience, but an experience none-the-less. I am not unhappy when the afternoon session draws to a close. As we stroll back along the track, a light rain tickles our faces. Back at Jerome's residence, a shower provides great satisfaction after a muddy, itchy afternoon's work.
Relaxing after a hard days work, I am presented with two traditionally woven Bidayuh bracelets. Weaving the intricate bracelets is clearly a unique skill. Another dying art among the Bidayuh, I am told that aside from Jerome, there is only one other young villager competent in the craft. It is explained to me that one of the bracelets is symbolic of my DNA. Induction complete. I am Bidayuh. Those hours spent agonising over whom I would target on my virgin headhunting expedition were apparently unnecessary.
Relaxing after a hard days work, I am presented with two traditionally woven Bidayuh bracelets. Weaving the intricate bracelets is clearly a unique skill. Another dying art among the Bidayuh, I am told that aside from Jerome, there is only one other young villager competent in the craft. It is explained to me that one of the bracelets is symbolic of my DNA. Induction complete. I am Bidayuh. Those hours spent agonising over whom I would target on my virgin headhunting expedition were apparently unnecessary.
Honorary Bidayuh
Jerome and I station ourselves on a central bench in the village. We are entertained by the activity of two energetic young children who frolic about, indifferent to the complexity of their village and its place in the world.
Following a pleasant dinner, we wander along the village path and into another residence where we have been invited for a cup of coffee. I am notified - not for the first time since arrival - by some of the villagers that I bare a striking resemblance to the man who sits at God's right hand. Now that the secret is out, I feel a certain amount of pressure associated with my role as saviour of the world. Since my contrivance a couple of thousand years ago, I've learnt that it's hard to keep up with expectations and you cant please everyone anyway. Miracles are kind of unfashionable these days, so I prefer to keep a low profile and just do my own thing.
Another common observation is my relative height. I've never considered myself tall. In fact, since childhood I've been consistently shorter than my peers. Now, however, I am forced to realise as I duck beneath cantilever timber beams and squat below elevated houses, I am suddenly the tallest man in the village. The only logical thing for me to do is to exploit any advantages I have over the Bidayuh community. The only practical benefit I can envision is an advantage on the basketball court. Unfortunately there is no village basketball court. Gloating about my remarkable stature will just have to suffice.
Before retiring for the night, Jerome attends to my wounds. A traditional medicine is applied to my blistered hands. I am instructed not to place the solution on the floor, as contact with the ground would render it useless. Red ginger - fresh from the garden - is applied to my swollen ankle and constrained by a firmly wrapped bandage.
Wednesday 31st August 2016
Hello, can you hear me? 1
Today I am one of several Bidayuh guides providing a tour for approximately twenty Kuching tourists. I trust that my extensive Bidayuh credentials and suave sunglasses will compensate for my lack of cat jokes and deficiency in the Malay dialect. The tourists are divided into four boats. Chugging along slowly, our boat is close to exceeding capacity. I wonder whether a diplomatic process should take place to improve the efficiency of our craft. Perhaps we should vote as to who is the least desirable member of the party and eject them from the vessel. Just as I finish finalising the ballot papers, the boat arrives at our destination.
We guide the tourists along the trail, across the bamboo bridges, to the waterfall. There is plenty of potential to lose a tourist or two here. They could fall off a narrow bamboo bridge, become a victim of the waterfall, slip on a rock, fail to provide sufficient leverage on the vine swing, etc.. My mission to encourage an 'accident' is deserted when I remember that no tourism organisation in Malaysia require their guests to sign a waiver of any kind (fortunately there are no Americans in our group).
Jerome and some other Bidayuh guides climb the face of the waterfall and perform a few backflips. Unfortunately my damaged ankle prevents me from undertaking such feats of athleticism.
Following a pleasant dinner, we wander along the village path and into another residence where we have been invited for a cup of coffee. I am notified - not for the first time since arrival - by some of the villagers that I bare a striking resemblance to the man who sits at God's right hand. Now that the secret is out, I feel a certain amount of pressure associated with my role as saviour of the world. Since my contrivance a couple of thousand years ago, I've learnt that it's hard to keep up with expectations and you cant please everyone anyway. Miracles are kind of unfashionable these days, so I prefer to keep a low profile and just do my own thing.
Another common observation is my relative height. I've never considered myself tall. In fact, since childhood I've been consistently shorter than my peers. Now, however, I am forced to realise as I duck beneath cantilever timber beams and squat below elevated houses, I am suddenly the tallest man in the village. The only logical thing for me to do is to exploit any advantages I have over the Bidayuh community. The only practical benefit I can envision is an advantage on the basketball court. Unfortunately there is no village basketball court. Gloating about my remarkable stature will just have to suffice.
Before retiring for the night, Jerome attends to my wounds. A traditional medicine is applied to my blistered hands. I am instructed not to place the solution on the floor, as contact with the ground would render it useless. Red ginger - fresh from the garden - is applied to my swollen ankle and constrained by a firmly wrapped bandage.
Wednesday 31st August 2016
Hello, can you hear me? 1
Today I am one of several Bidayuh guides providing a tour for approximately twenty Kuching tourists. I trust that my extensive Bidayuh credentials and suave sunglasses will compensate for my lack of cat jokes and deficiency in the Malay dialect. The tourists are divided into four boats. Chugging along slowly, our boat is close to exceeding capacity. I wonder whether a diplomatic process should take place to improve the efficiency of our craft. Perhaps we should vote as to who is the least desirable member of the party and eject them from the vessel. Just as I finish finalising the ballot papers, the boat arrives at our destination.
We guide the tourists along the trail, across the bamboo bridges, to the waterfall. There is plenty of potential to lose a tourist or two here. They could fall off a narrow bamboo bridge, become a victim of the waterfall, slip on a rock, fail to provide sufficient leverage on the vine swing, etc.. My mission to encourage an 'accident' is deserted when I remember that no tourism organisation in Malaysia require their guests to sign a waiver of any kind (fortunately there are no Americans in our group).
Jerome and some other Bidayuh guides climb the face of the waterfall and perform a few backflips. Unfortunately my damaged ankle prevents me from undertaking such feats of athleticism.
Feats of agility
Returning home for lunch, I crash on the couch, exhausted in the mid-afternoon heat. By now Adele's Hello has well and truly been established as the theme of my liaison with Jerome and is once again playing in the background - read into this what you will. A Bidayuh performance of this song featuring traditional instruments would be desirable.
The boat is again full when the time comes to return the tourists to the dam. We manage to return the full complement of guests. Jerome and I saunter around the dam whilst a group of Bidayuh pile into the back of a four-wheel-drive to collect building materials for the church. Heavy bags of sand, gravel and cement make fine substitutes for the tourists on our return journey. Whilst the building materials are in many ways superior to a boatload of grumbling tourists, they refuse to transport themselves and must be carried and loaded onto the boat.
The boat races towards a glorious sunset on the horizon as our Bidayuh peer surfs the waves created in the wake of our motorboat.
Following a delightful dinner, Lex invites Jerome and I to join him at the guest-house, where he grills marinated chicken wings over the hot coals of a radiant fire. The day could not be concluded in a more satisfying manner.
Thursday 1st September 2016
I'm in California dreaming about who we used to be. 1
It is decided that today will be fishing day. George joins Jerome and I for our Bidayuh adventure. Cruising around the corner, Jerome steers the boat under a bamboo bridge and moors the boat at the rocky foreshore of a gently-flowing river. Some of us seem to glide effortlessly along the uneven terrain, whilst others stumble in their wake. Jerome and George stretch the net from one edge of the river to the other. In accordance with the principles of ecotourism, the fishing net emits zero greenhouse gas emissions and minimal nuclear waste.
The ingenuity of the Bidayuh is on display. Face masks are cleaned using the juice from some local plant collected in the jungle and leaves are stripped from a vine onto which a multitude of fish (thanks to a net spanning the width of the river) are threaded. To me, it is subtleties such as these that are so intriguing and brilliant. I can't help but wonder what will become of these resourceful people in the next couple of generations. Will quirky practices unique to the Bidayuh be lost in the transformation brought about by modernisation?
The boat is again full when the time comes to return the tourists to the dam. We manage to return the full complement of guests. Jerome and I saunter around the dam whilst a group of Bidayuh pile into the back of a four-wheel-drive to collect building materials for the church. Heavy bags of sand, gravel and cement make fine substitutes for the tourists on our return journey. Whilst the building materials are in many ways superior to a boatload of grumbling tourists, they refuse to transport themselves and must be carried and loaded onto the boat.
The boat races towards a glorious sunset on the horizon as our Bidayuh peer surfs the waves created in the wake of our motorboat.
Following a delightful dinner, Lex invites Jerome and I to join him at the guest-house, where he grills marinated chicken wings over the hot coals of a radiant fire. The day could not be concluded in a more satisfying manner.
Thursday 1st September 2016
I'm in California dreaming about who we used to be. 1
It is decided that today will be fishing day. George joins Jerome and I for our Bidayuh adventure. Cruising around the corner, Jerome steers the boat under a bamboo bridge and moors the boat at the rocky foreshore of a gently-flowing river. Some of us seem to glide effortlessly along the uneven terrain, whilst others stumble in their wake. Jerome and George stretch the net from one edge of the river to the other. In accordance with the principles of ecotourism, the fishing net emits zero greenhouse gas emissions and minimal nuclear waste.
The ingenuity of the Bidayuh is on display. Face masks are cleaned using the juice from some local plant collected in the jungle and leaves are stripped from a vine onto which a multitude of fish (thanks to a net spanning the width of the river) are threaded. To me, it is subtleties such as these that are so intriguing and brilliant. I can't help but wonder what will become of these resourceful people in the next couple of generations. Will quirky practices unique to the Bidayuh be lost in the transformation brought about by modernisation?
Ecotourism?
We return home with a vine-load of fish where the remainder of the day is whiled away in the confines of the enchanting village. It is an ideal location to sit and read a book; or simply sit back and observe the activity of the cats and chickens, the trees swaying in the breeze, villagers returning from their daily errands, the intricate pattern of the cloud overhead, the undulating shape of the mountain range on the horizon, the richness and complexity of lush green jungle plants weaving in and around each other down the valley, the sun getting lower in the sky, and the charming timber dwellings scattered around the village. Most importantly, there is no intrusive interruption from an obnoxious mobile phone.
The quiet life
Friday 2nd September 2016
Hello from the other side. 1
After a relaxing start to the day, Jerome and I decide to walk through the jungle to the family paddy plantation. After sharing lunch with Jerome's parents and Uncle Lex, we spend the afternoon planting our yearly supply of rice. It is hot and sunny. Jerome's family have spent the previous two days burning the field and clearing the land in preparation for the annual cultivation. Jerome and his father pierce the soil with sharpened rods whilst Jerome's mother, Lex and I fill the holes with paddy. It is hard work traversing the steep slope and bending to plant the paddy in the oppressive heat, but again, working with the locals makes for a satisfactory endeavour.
Hard work
A timely finish to the days activity allows us to shelter under a simple bamboo framed/tin roof structure just as a heavy rain commences. Upon conclusion of the rain shower, we trek back to the village.
A sleepy late afternoon is enriched by the entertaining observation of an elderly man feeding his chickens whilst staving off feisty roosters. Meanwhile, Lex nurses two shivering chicks who have been left to freeze after falling into a puddle of water. Observing the delightful proceedings of the village after an afternoon of hard manual toil causes the experience to be all the more rewarding.
A sleepy late afternoon is enriched by the entertaining observation of an elderly man feeding his chickens whilst staving off feisty roosters. Meanwhile, Lex nurses two shivering chicks who have been left to freeze after falling into a puddle of water. Observing the delightful proceedings of the village after an afternoon of hard manual toil causes the experience to be all the more rewarding.
Why did the chicken cross the road?
The villagers have 'fellowship' every Friday evening and I am invited to join them. Recognising the obvious reference to the group of rebels assembled by Gandalf in J. R. R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings, I unselfishly opt to join their improbable yet noble quest to fight against the dark forces of the world. Steeling myself for battle, I again assume this to be a reference to the sacred art of headhunting. I wonder who I should target in my quest to appease the spirits: Justin Bieber? Bernard Tomic? The quest commences with a meeting involving singing, before an inspirational address by Jerome's father (all conducted in the native dialect). Looking around the gathered assembly, I must admit I am not inspired by confidence that we have an army sufficient to tackle the forces of evil prevalent in wider society. The others in the group appear to have been issued with a thick manual presumably detailing the background context and the methods to be employed in advancing the mission. It would seem that the symbol associated with our quest is to be a cross. The significance of this emblem is unknown to me at this stage. It presumably has supernatural properties not dissimilar to those of the one ring to rule them all.
Saturday 3rd September 2016
At least I can say that I've tried. 1
Due to pick up a group of "tourists", I can't help but wonder if these are the evil forces we are to be fighting. As we wait for the group to arrive, I prepare myself for a fast-approaching battle. Our ambush is avoided, however. Some misinterpretation of the enemy code has caused us to arrive a day early. Thus we return to the village without any heads to show for our quest. Despite the apparent absence of purpose to our journey, the boat ride is pleasant none-the-less. Returning to Kampung Nyegol, I relax on the balcony and we make plans to spend the afternoon fishing with Lex.
As we speed along the river, dark cloud ahead threatens to sabotage our plans. We leave the boat by a shallow landing and make our way upriver on foot. We cross the stream on several occasions as is necessary to traverse the rocky terrain. Upon arrival at Lex's pepper plantation, Jerome ambles off in search of bamboo and wild ferns for dinner. A fire is employed to prepare a hot brew. We enjoy a meal of rice, noodles and fish. Meanwhile in the heavens, Zeus starts bawling after his chocolate milk is knocked over, thereby providing the landscape with a significant smattering of rain.
Saturday 3rd September 2016
At least I can say that I've tried. 1
Due to pick up a group of "tourists", I can't help but wonder if these are the evil forces we are to be fighting. As we wait for the group to arrive, I prepare myself for a fast-approaching battle. Our ambush is avoided, however. Some misinterpretation of the enemy code has caused us to arrive a day early. Thus we return to the village without any heads to show for our quest. Despite the apparent absence of purpose to our journey, the boat ride is pleasant none-the-less. Returning to Kampung Nyegol, I relax on the balcony and we make plans to spend the afternoon fishing with Lex.
As we speed along the river, dark cloud ahead threatens to sabotage our plans. We leave the boat by a shallow landing and make our way upriver on foot. We cross the stream on several occasions as is necessary to traverse the rocky terrain. Upon arrival at Lex's pepper plantation, Jerome ambles off in search of bamboo and wild ferns for dinner. A fire is employed to prepare a hot brew. We enjoy a meal of rice, noodles and fish. Meanwhile in the heavens, Zeus starts bawling after his chocolate milk is knocked over, thereby providing the landscape with a significant smattering of rain.
Dinner!
Emerging from the hut after lunch, the river is greatly flooded! I am surprised at how rapidly the stream has transformed from a gentle trickle to a huge body of rapidly flowing water.
Flooded
After collecting a few worms to bait our lines from near Lex's pepper plantation, we stroll to the riverbank to cast. Only a short period of time passes before I feel my bamboo rod jerk violently in my hands. The catch is huge. I probably have the world record hanging on to the end of my line. I estimate the monster to weigh at least sixty kilograms, probably more. Although I can't actually see into the murky water, I am convinced that the beast is a rare rainbow coloured fish that will bring me fame and fortune. I struggle against the immense force tugging at my line. In my mind, I begin to phrase my responses to the inevitable media interest that will confront me in the coming hours. Yes, I'm a local Bidayuh, although I did spend a brief period of time in Australia... Well, it hasn't really sunk in yet. But yes, it is one of my career highlights. Perhaps not as good as the time I won the Puneng Trusan cross-country, but it comes pretty close... No, I assure you, I am Bidayuh... I just want to thank the boys... the sponsors... the volunteers for all their tireless work behind the scenes... my parents... Of course I'm a local... CRACK. My thought process is rudely interrupted as my tough bamboo rod snaps under the excessive loading. The line goes slack and I reel it in to discover the disdainful creature has devoured my hook and left me with just a short length of fishing line.
It was inordinately large
We return to the boat via an overgrown inland route, deciding that the inconvenience caused by the thorny rattan plants along the path would be preferable to drowning in the hostile river.
As we return to the village, it is hardly possible not to be impressed by the stunning sunset over the distant mountain range. I rush up to the guest-house, where I have a prime view of the silhouette of the distant mountain ridge merging with a pink-blue sky textured by a captivating layer of wispy clouds.
As we return to the village, it is hardly possible not to be impressed by the stunning sunset over the distant mountain range. I rush up to the guest-house, where I have a prime view of the silhouette of the distant mountain ridge merging with a pink-blue sky textured by a captivating layer of wispy clouds.
Stunning
After dinner, two of my Bidayuh peers, Jerome and Mus, march down the hill in pursuit of foxes or wild boar. Even hunting has become far less prevalent in the Bidayuh community. It is now more of an occasional hobby, rather than an essential means of providing sustenance. Most meat eaten in the village is bought from town. Relaxing on the balcony, Lex and I are impressed by the lack of haze tonight. The starry sky is as impressive as I've seen since arriving in Borneo.
Impressive
Sunday 4th September 2016
To tell you I'm sorry for breaking your heart. 1
After the morning church service, Jerome and I speed along the river to pick up a family of Kuching tourists. The visitors empathise with me as I tell them of the sentimental value associated with my old village and the resultant trauma after the flooding. My village; the river where I played, fished, bathed, washed, contemplated; and much of the land I used to roam and hunt is no longer. These happy childhood memories exist only in my mind. How do I know what is real? Could I have fabricated my whole Bidayuh existence? Without being able to visit the sites of my childhood, these treasured memories cannot be verified.
It is apparently selfie day. Stopping at every bamboo bridge our guests ensure that each strand of hair is positioned appropriately, each item of clothing is stylishly arranged, and the body is positioned to achieve the most flattering angle that can be obtained. We eventually reach the waterfall where the photo shoot continues. A well organised shoot proceeds with varying camera angles, subtle adjustments to attire, a variety of facial expressions, etc..
Selfie day?
As we make our way along the slippery rocks and tree roots en route to the second waterfall I finally realise Jerome's significant advantage over myself and the tourists. The Adidas Kampung shoes that the villagers swear by are indeed as good as is claimed. The simplicity and versatility of the grippy rubber shoes afford the wearer superior levels of comfort over numerous variations in terrain, from wading through rivers to trekking through mud and hopping across rocks, to fighting vicious dragons. If I had the privilege of owning a pair of these, the colossal fish would have doubtless never escaped yesterday; my reflexes would sharpen considerably; I would be pursued by the most attractive girls in town; no-one would ever dare issue me with a parking ticket; the number of dragons I have slain would be considerably increased; and I would probably be able to fly.
The second waterfall is higher and the flow narrower than the first, providing a completely different ambience. Water crashes onto boulders below and is sprayed over a considerable area. I spend several minutes atop a large boulder inside the spray zone of the powerful waterfall. Whilst the tourists take selfies in front of the roaring falls, I have plenty of time to simply admire the beauty of the scene.
Upon return from our daytrip I collapse on the couch exhausted. It is not long before I doze off. Perhaps the daily recital performed by the fervent roosters has contributed to my state of fatigue. The performance begins at an inordinately inappropriate hour of the morning, each day without exception. Hardly the most creative of melodic phrases, it does get monotonous after a while.
The second waterfall is higher and the flow narrower than the first, providing a completely different ambience. Water crashes onto boulders below and is sprayed over a considerable area. I spend several minutes atop a large boulder inside the spray zone of the powerful waterfall. Whilst the tourists take selfies in front of the roaring falls, I have plenty of time to simply admire the beauty of the scene.
Upon return from our daytrip I collapse on the couch exhausted. It is not long before I doze off. Perhaps the daily recital performed by the fervent roosters has contributed to my state of fatigue. The performance begins at an inordinately inappropriate hour of the morning, each day without exception. Hardly the most creative of melodic phrases, it does get monotonous after a while.
Daily recital
My last night in Kampung Nyegol is celebrated with BBQ pork at the guest-house. An extremely satisfying evening is spent enjoying fine local produce washed down with a mug of coffee. Our elevated position at the guest-house affords us a fine view of the village below. Looking down at the village, I realise that I have developed a fondness for this remarkable place and its extremely friendly inhabitants. One thing is certain: I will return one day.
Lex mans the BBQ
Monday 5th September 2016
But it don't matter. It clearly doesn't tear you apart anymore. 1
As the boat escorts me from the village for the last time, I turn my head to take one final look at Kampung Nyegol as it exists today. The village is evolving. I have visited Kampung Nyegol near the beginning of a major period of change. The possibility of a road through to a national park in the future would provide the village with convenient access to transportation, electricity and modernised communication. I love the village as it is today. In ten years the character of the village is likely to be completely different. Traditional skills may be relics of a rich cultural history, no longer practiced in a technologically dominated world of Westernised clones.
Monday 5th September 2016
But it don't matter. It clearly doesn't tear you apart anymore. 1
As the boat escorts me from the village for the last time, I turn my head to take one final look at Kampung Nyegol as it exists today. The village is evolving. I have visited Kampung Nyegol near the beginning of a major period of change. The possibility of a road through to a national park in the future would provide the village with convenient access to transportation, electricity and modernised communication. I love the village as it is today. In ten years the character of the village is likely to be completely different. Traditional skills may be relics of a rich cultural history, no longer practiced in a technologically dominated world of Westernised clones.
Kampung Nyegol
The most important thing in the future is that nobody should be individual or think too deeply. We should all aspire to the perfect Western system of living where everybody is utterly happy. Everybody should be stimulated by the same pretentious entertainment. The main point of living is clearly to accumulate as much material wealth as possible. All of CRACKGURGLEBUZZHMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM...
Apologies for the inconvenience, but my sarcasm quota appears to have been exceeded. And just when I was about to make a profound statement that would have changed the course of the world. What a pity.
Jerome has been an exceptional guide and become a wonderful friend. Likewise, Lex is a great fellow and I now consider him a great friend of mine. Jerome's parents were generous and welcoming. The rest of the villagers were also friendly without exception. My whole stay here was an overwhelmingly positive experience. There comes a time, however, when a man must pack his bags, wash his face, straighten his shirt, don his suave glasses, ensure his socks are matching, stroke his beard in a moment of reflection, brush aside a stray hair obscuring his vision, wipe away a tear, sing the final line of Adele's Hello, pretend to be busy (i.e. repack bag, re-straighten shirt, etc.), take a quick selfie, run out of things to say whilst lost in the emotion of the upcoming departure, straighten his tie, realise he is not actually wearing a tie, steal a souvenir, switch his phone on, and continue his journey beyond the horizon.
Apologies for the inconvenience, but my sarcasm quota appears to have been exceeded. And just when I was about to make a profound statement that would have changed the course of the world. What a pity.
Jerome has been an exceptional guide and become a wonderful friend. Likewise, Lex is a great fellow and I now consider him a great friend of mine. Jerome's parents were generous and welcoming. The rest of the villagers were also friendly without exception. My whole stay here was an overwhelmingly positive experience. There comes a time, however, when a man must pack his bags, wash his face, straighten his shirt, don his suave glasses, ensure his socks are matching, stroke his beard in a moment of reflection, brush aside a stray hair obscuring his vision, wipe away a tear, sing the final line of Adele's Hello, pretend to be busy (i.e. repack bag, re-straighten shirt, etc.), take a quick selfie, run out of things to say whilst lost in the emotion of the upcoming departure, straighten his tie, realise he is not actually wearing a tie, steal a souvenir, switch his phone on, and continue his journey beyond the horizon.
Bidayuh brothers
I did promise Jerome I would send some girls in to Kampung Nyegol.
Have you ever seen any of those 'reality' television programs where a group of insecure young women decide that the most appropriate method of finding a life partner is to enrol themselves to participate in an artificial enterprise and humiliate themselves in front of a mindless audience who tune in every week to watch a real-life fairytale unfold over the course of several conveniently timed episodes? I am proposing a similar format for my young Bidayuh friend, with a few minor amendments to the standard formula. To improve the entertainment value, the traditional Bidayuh practice of headhunting will be incorporated into the program. If a woman is deemed to be unsuitable, the villagers will embark upon a team-building exercise to obtain the rejected lady's cranium to add to their collection and appease the spirits.
This is the opportunity of a lifetime. Jerome is a dashing young fellow of exceptional repute from a respectable Bidayuh family. If you are a young lady of suitable temperament, please do not hesitate to apply.
So hello from the other side, lah, it's been bagus!
1 From Adele's Hello
Have you ever seen any of those 'reality' television programs where a group of insecure young women decide that the most appropriate method of finding a life partner is to enrol themselves to participate in an artificial enterprise and humiliate themselves in front of a mindless audience who tune in every week to watch a real-life fairytale unfold over the course of several conveniently timed episodes? I am proposing a similar format for my young Bidayuh friend, with a few minor amendments to the standard formula. To improve the entertainment value, the traditional Bidayuh practice of headhunting will be incorporated into the program. If a woman is deemed to be unsuitable, the villagers will embark upon a team-building exercise to obtain the rejected lady's cranium to add to their collection and appease the spirits.
This is the opportunity of a lifetime. Jerome is a dashing young fellow of exceptional repute from a respectable Bidayuh family. If you are a young lady of suitable temperament, please do not hesitate to apply.
So hello from the other side, lah, it's been bagus!
1 From Adele's Hello
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