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HOOT OF A HORNBILL
A sultry haze settles over Kuching,
capital city of Sarawak largest of the Malaysian states. Early morning hunger
is sated by a bowl of mee noodles with chicken and chilies, just the thing to
spice up the blood and allow the brain to focus on a forthcoming journey up the
river in a dug out canoe.
Sipping the strong black coffee
straight from the first class Hilton breakfast bar, Ginny’s gaze lingers across
the Sarawak River to the ruins of the Brooke mansion. The history of a white
Rajah featured in Joseph Conrad’s book, “Lord Jim”, held a fascination for a
much younger Ginny. Here, in Kuching, she is able to experience a sense of
place about this exotic tale. Also across the river is a golden domed building,
Islamic in design. This is the new award-winning House of Parliament splendidly
mirrored in the river.
Sawarak was a gift by the Sultan of
Brunei to James Brooke of England in the 19th Century. From a huddle
of primitive huts, the village of Kuching rose to be a gentile city. Three
generations of Brookes, white rajahs, ruled an independent Sarawak. They
established law, banning headhunting, slavery and piracy. They also banned
Christian missionaries and established schools where Malay and English were
acceptable languages. The White Rajah abdicated in 1946 ceding Sawarak to
Britain as a crown colony. In 1963 Sawarak joined the Federation of Malaysia.
Rumours of headhunters living in teak
longhouses whetted Ginny’s appetite for a trip down the river.
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When travelling alone in a strange land, she tries to stay at
a good hotel aware that a hotel’s reputation depends on the safety of its guests.
Her guide brings along two other guests of the Hilton, Dutch nationals who look
like they have come straight from a physical training camp. They walk with a
military swagger and display arrogance towards the locals that Ginny finds
unpleasant.
Heading down the dusty road, they
leave the city far behind. The guide relaxes as he drives them at a leisurely
pace past a Malay fishing village where pole nets are set at the mouth of the
river to catch fish on the incoming tide. He teaches them about his country’s
culture. He is a river Iban, one of the five types of the Dayak indigenous
people of Borneo and he is taking them to visit his wife’s relatives.
At a country market where barbers
shave young men’s heads whilst they balance on stools in the dust, they
purchase trussed up chickens, lollies and gardening implements as presents for
their hosts up river. Along the
way they take a walk through a rainforest to find the world’s largest flower,
the rare Rafflesia. Over a meter in diameter, it is in bloom.
Finally they arrive at a simple
river jetty where a colourful, wooden canoe with its outboard motor is moored.
Their guide advises “ Wait till you get to the river before you take off your
shoes”. It is polite to take off your shoes when entering a Malaysian house,
but a boat? What type of adventure was unfolding here?
As the group glides up river in a
leaky boat they are glad that their shoes remain dry. The guide, the boat owner,
and the three travellers take turns ladling water out of the boat. Ginny sits
on a life jacket because the boat seat is just bare board.
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The journey takes hours. She feels
that she is moving through time in the jungle heat. Through the tropical
rainforest where orangutans find sanctuary, she realizes that this is a rare
experience.
If the rich palm oil planters have
their way, then it is an experience that will vanish in the mists of time.
Round a bend in the river, the boat
party arrives at a tiny cove where a rope ladder hangs down the bank. Children
splash naked in the river. Their dark eyes and sparkling white teeth beam a
warm welcome. They laugh to watch the visitors navigate the rope ladder up to
their jungle home.
The longhouse is a whole village
under one roof. It is built up
high, on poles, overlooking the river.
One climbs up a wooden ladder that is flanked by totemic wooden
guardians. Once at the top to one side are flat wooden balconies where black
peppercorns, spread out on rattan mats, dry in the sun. The other side opens
onto a wooden verandah. This is called the ”spirit road”, the heart of the
village. The eaves of this spirit road are decorated with shrunken black skulls. Apartments for each family lead off
from this general meeting place.
The visitors are taken into some of
these homes and are offered hospitality. “You may stay here for the night”,
says a charming woman with a Kuching haircut and many gold necklaces.
A feast is prepared and everyone is
invited to partake of this meal. Freshly
killed chickens are stuffed into bamboo stalks with field mushrooms and
lemongrass. Grilled over an open fire, the chicken is accompanied by jungle
ferns fried with
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garlic and the fried rice of the
region, nasi goring. Suckling pig is served on a bed of stewed melons. Although
this is a predominantly Muslim country, most Iban are Christian and enjoy pork.
Musicians play, dancers twirl. The
tribe sings a haunting melody. Ginny sings and dances as custom dictates a
return gesture. The Dutch lose their arrogance. Despite their towering strength this may well be their cover
for fear. They relax in the ambience of the night as the Iban shyly show off their
wooden carvings and batik cloth.
The visitors present gifts to the tribe.
The Headman brings forth the local firewater, tuak, distilled from rice and
made on the premises and langkau, iban whisky, for the adults to sample. Ginny
thinks of the brown water from the river and hopes that no ill will come of
this sharing. To refuse would be insulting and the height of bad manners. Rolled tobacco leaves straight from the
jungle ‘supermarket’ produce a spat of coughing from the visitors and everyone
joins in the merriment and laughter. A shaman, spiritual doctor, enters the
spirit road. He has the utmost respect of the whole group. He sits down next to
Ginny. Barely five feet he has the
eyes of Yoda, from Star Wars. She
wonders what visionary wisdom will he impart? He wears the distinctive tattoo
between the thumb and forefinger of a headhunter. He has one English sentence for Ginny, ‘Kiss me, baby”. She
has only to answer, “Behave!” and all is well.
All visitors decide to stay in the
guesthouse, a bamboo structure built over the pigpen closer to the new cement
ablutions block.
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Partitions of wax dyed batik cloth separate cubicles. Each
cubicle has a mattress on a raised rattan platform covered by a mosquito net. Ginny
makes sure that she has the middle cubicle. She has a fairly unsettling waking
sleep. Sighs and sounds are
carried in the night wind.
A soulful hoot of a hornbill
awakens the visitors. This mighty bird, the symbol of Sarawak, is the size of a
swan. Once hunted for its brilliant tail feathers worn in war headdresses of
the Iban, this bird represents a powerful omen. In an animistic world, a world
where there is no separation between the spirit and material world, it is a
call to be answered. It is time to
go into the jungle to pay respects to the spirits of the place. It is time to learn to hunt and gather.
Separate to the longhouse, the
bamboo guesthouse also has a spirit road.
On this bamboo road the visitors are instructed how to use a blowpipe.
The pole is about 2 m long, the middle of which has been hollowed out by a
sharp iron rod leaving a hole 10 mm across. The darts are splinters of palm
wood, 20 cm long, fixed to the end of a piece of soft wood or pith. These fit
exactly into the tube. Darts have notches on them so that the poisoned end will
stick into the victim’s body when the pith portion breaks off. The poison comes
from plants that make medicine for muscular relaxation. A target is set up at
one end of the road. Gourds, made from carving out a dried large melon, carry
the pith bits. These are brought up for the visitors to use with their
blowpipes. Before setting off into
the jungle a blood sacrifice is offered to the spirits of the land. This is in
the form of a cockfight. The owner of the winning cock has the right to choose
the jungle leader.
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The Headman’s son is the chosen
one. His grandfather, the Yodic
spirit doctor, presents him with a ceremonial jacket of Ikat fabric. These
textiles are purposely made to be beautiful to attract the favour of the
spirits. They are hand woven threads of gold and silver, laced with shamanic
symbols for protection and are beaded with precious stones. The young man is very pleased to be
wearing it.
The young man tells Ginny that he
wore his grandfather’s jacket once before. When it is time to gather the
honeycomb from wild bees, a hunter is sent out. As soon as he locates an old
tapang bee tree, he marks its trunk with a cross, and builds a simple hut
beneath the tree. The honey is his to claim. On the night of the last day of
the lunar month, or the first night of the new moon, he climbs the tree
chanting the bee song, and collects the honeycomb. The young man collected much
honeycomb wearing the jacket. This he shared with the members of the longhouse.
He does not bear the tattoo of the
headhunter. “How can I claim the mantle of manhood without a head to nestle in
the eaves of the longhouse?” he asks the visitors.
The Iban lands by the rivers are
ancestral lands; their blood and flesh belong here. Everything needed to
sustain life is available and is governed by the laws handed down in hereditary
line from father to son. Spirit doctors hand down secret medicinal herbs and
chanting sounds. Stories of lineage and history are sung and passed down in the
oral traditional. Wrong doers who provoke the wrath of the spirits are required
to pay a fine.
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In more serious cases, a blood
sacrifice of pig or chicken is demanded by the tuai rumah, the longhouse
Headman.
The moon and stars signal time for
planting rice, corn and sago. Omens also come with nature’s blooming. From
childhood the Iban learn to read the landscape. Farmers stuff their ears with
grass so they will not hear the omen bird come planting time so that the crop
will be abundant.
Part of initiation into manhood is
the ritual placing of a shrunken head into the eaves of the longhouse. A special
mark is tattooed between the thumb and forefinger. The Headman and the spirit
doctor both have these marks. They tell the visitors that the last time a head
as gathered was in the border war in 1964 between Indonesia and Malaysia.
Called Operation Claret, British and Australian troops fought in this secret
war. Headhunting was a reprisal for a very serious offence against the people
of a region, like the stealing of land. Who decides where to place a border on
a map? This always opens a can of worms.
A sliver of light splashes across
golden threads of the ikat jacket worn by the young Iban man. This bejeweled
jacket, handed down from father to son, is his license to walk through the
ancient jungle to the sacred burial grounds of his ancestors. It is his protection
from the harmful spirits that lurk in the tropical rainforest along the
riverbanks of Sarawak.
Iban belief is that if one lives in
harmony with one’s neighbors and the earth, then one will find favor with the
spirits. When one is mean, then one calls down upon oneself the wrath of the
spirits. Misfortune may stalk the jungle path. Vines
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may trip the unwary visitor.
Dangerous predators may lie in wait for the unprepared.
“Tread softy on this jungle soil,’”
he tells the visitors, ’”we are going to pay our respects to the ancestors.” He
stands facing the Dutch woman, who has been loudly singing a pop song. In his
hand is a machete, its blade gleams in the sun.
Her silence is achieved and her
spirit is awakened by the hoot of the hornbill.
There are many mysteries to be
learned in the jungles of Sarawak. These are secret and are hidden from the
uninitiated.
There will be a new skull to be
placed under the eaves of the longhouse. The young man will receive his tattoo,
the mantle of manhood. The world flutters and turns in the spirit road of time.
Jungle breathes in its quiet memory.
Back from the jungle walk, the same
leaky boat that had brought them to this village conveys Ginny and her guide
downstream. Crocodiles laze on riverbanks and blink as they pass. They bail out
the brown water at the bottom of the boat and this beats a rhythm that suits
the journey.
It’s time to stay at an altogether
different longhouse. They arrive at the shores of a wide lake. A ferry lies
slumbering against a crumbling wooden jetty. A cheery fellow, who greets the
guide with a hearty hug, captains this dainty yellow and red craft. They are
cousins and swap news of family while lorry men load supplies from Kuching onto
the ferry. With only a few people on board, the ferry starts up and heads for
the only destination possible, Batang Ali Long.
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Deep jungle surrounds Ali Longhouse
Resort. On the edge of the Indonesian border of Kalimantan, it is a Hilton
Hotel of distinct quality. Constructed of teak, it is vogue sleek and often
features in fashion magazines. Out of a dream, it sits in tranquility and
splendid isolation.
This hotel boasts a Michelin Star
French Chef, and one English book to read from its library, “Heart of
Darkness”, by Joseph Conrad. Someone has a sense of humour.
Crisp white sheets on a king size
soft bed are a far cry from sleeping on home made batik covers stretched over
rattan floor mattresses. Cool breezes blow through the windows. Weird jungle
noises echo through the modern spirit road and there is a hush of expectation
in the outdoor dining area. Vivid white of the chef’s tall hat stands out in
contrast to an ultramarine dusk. A
thousand jungle eyes watch as barbeque flames leap up and dance with the
crescent moon.
There are no skulls lurking in the
eaves of this teak longhouse, but there is a feeling of deep respect for the
custodians of this land. The indigenous architecture is honored by this new
structure. So too, any who seek to know the Iban would appreciate both modern
and ancient ways. This rite of travel can expand life’s reality and is truly a
gift enhanced by contrasting experiences
Virginia Gow
20/06/12
