Our hotel is utilized by the prostitutes and their customers, and throughout the night there is great activity, people entering and leaving the rooms. We sleep in a large dormitory, and some of the other guests seem to find it interesting to watch the activities of the couples through peepholes, which have been carved between the boards in the wall.
To go to Belaga, still further upriver, we have to board an expensive express boat. Belaga is the last village on the river, which can be visited by tourists. To visit areas close to the border with Kalimantan, you need a special permit, which is very difficult to obtain. The river is now quite narrow, and often we encounter protruding rocks, surrounded by dangerous rapids. Two Kayans board the boat, old men with gentle and calm eyes, long hair, and gold rings in their long earlobes. Obviously, they have enjoyed a lot of tuak (rice wine), which has made them quite merry.
Belaga is a small village, consisting of a boat landing, a bazaar – a modified Dayak longhouse – the district office, a police station, a school, and a number of dwellings. Several Western tourists are visiting Belaga, and we are allowed to spend the night in a house, belonging to the Evangelist Mission, whose priest is a friendly Kayan tribal. There is only one restaurant in the village, owned by a Chinese, and we all pay a visit to his establishment to eat nasi goreng (fried rice with vegetables). As it turns out, a very small portion costs one Malaysian Dollar (app. 70 US Cents). This is outrageous, so we start arguing about the price – after finishing our meal. The Chinese just smiles, refusing to receive any payment. We can go! When we are hungry again, we have no other choice than to go back to the restaurant. The Chinese owner is not at all surprised to see us. He merely serves our meal and receives his payment of one Dollar per head – no arguing this time!
The water level at Long Ba is quite low, so I have to wade barefoot through a lot of mud before reaching firm ground. A couple of boys receive me and guide me to the village longhouse. Here I meet Ida Nicolaisen, who has been living here on and off for a couple of years, and by now speaks the Punan language fluently. She receives me very courteously and takes me to the tuai rumah, the village chief, in whose house I can stay.
The population of Borneo comprises many tribes, e.g. Iban, Punan, Kayan, Kelabit, and Penan, known by the common name of Dayaks. Usually, a Dayak village consists of only one house, a longhouse, which is in fact an entire community under one roof. A longhouse is mainly constructed from tabelian wood, which is very hard and durable. Most longhouses are app. 75 metres long and 25 metres wide, and – at least in former days – always situated near a river, providing easy access to drinking water.
Closest to the river is a common veranda, stretching along the entire length of the longhouse. Many activities take place here. Men and women sit in groups, often separated by sex, performing a number of tasks, e.g. weaving baskets, cleaning rice, and making hunting spears. Next to the veranda are the apartments of the individual families, which are extended families, i.e. several generations live together. Behind the apartments there is often another veranda, used for drying rice, pepper and other crops, and for drying laundry. On the other side of this veranda are the kitchens.
A longhouse is erected on poles, and to enter it you must balance up a log, into which steps have been cut. Often there is no rail, and the first couple of times you wonder, whether you’ll make it without falling down. There are several reasons, why longhouses are constructed on poles. For one, it keeps the number of dangerous creatures, like snakes and scorpions, entering the house, at a minimum. Floors consist of thin poles, tied together, and when you sweep the floor, dust and rubbish fall through the cracks between the poles. Chickens and pigs roam beneath the house, eating anything that is edible.
The most important reason, however, lies in the past. Before c. 1900, most Dayaks were headhunters, and a man’s status depended on his ability to kill enemies and cut off their heads as trophies. The heads were brought back to the longhouse and stored under the roof. Before a young man could marry his fiancée, he had to bring her a freshly cut head. By constructing their house on poles, the inhabitants could haul up the ‘ladders’ in the evening, making it more difficult for enemies to enter the longhouse at night.
The British, who colonized Sarawak in the 1800s, forbade headhunting, and the punishment for breaking this law was severe. Around 1900, headhunting had almost vanished. But the Dayaks had not entirely lost their desire to hunt heads, and during World War II the British again allowed them to cut off heads – but only heads of Japanese soldiers, not others. The Dayaks immediately started hunting Japanese heads, and in this way thousands of soldiers lost their lives.
Even though headhunting does not exist today, most Dayaks still prefer the traditional way of house construction. However, many of them have left the rainforest, living near the cities to work in oil palm plantations, which replace the rainforests of Sarawak at an alarming speed these years.
In former times, Dayaks placed their deceased relatives on top of high burial poles, which were decorated with carved faces and snake patterns. Today, deceased Dayaks are buried.
Dayak men spend most of their time hunting and fishing. They punt up small rivers to roam the forest, accompanied by their hunting dogs, in search of deer, monkeys, bearded pigs, turtles, or other animals. If they happen to kill a mother, they bring back the young to the longhouse, where the children will take care of them, until they are big enough to be eaten.
In former times, the Dayaks used blowpipes, up to two metres long, for hunting. Inside the tube they placed plant marrow, which would fit the pipe exactly. Into the marrow they stuck a very sharp arrow, 15 to 18 centimetres long. The point of the arrow was smeared in a brown mass, containing strychnine, which was obtained from fruits in the forest. When a Dayak blew into his pipe, the arrow would shoot out with a tremendous force, piercing the bark of a tree at a distance of up to 20 metres. He would be able to hit prey up to 40 metres away, and when an animal was hit, the poison would soon take effect. Even if the animal managed to climb to the top of a tree, the poison would cause its muscles to relax, and it would fall to the ground. Today, there are almost no blowpipes left in Borneo.
I stay four days in Long Ba, following the daily life on the veranda. Girls pound rice in large wooden troughs, while women weave mats and baskets from strips of rattan stems (a type of climbing palm). One man is constructing a fish trap from rattan stems, while another is repairing a leak in the roof, which is made from woven palm leaves. A third man is making a small cage for chickens, to protect them against musang, the palm civet, at night.
Women fetch water for the household in the river, but laundry is done on the bank. The kids have discovered an amusing game. Stark naked, they throw mud on each other, afterwards sliding on their behind down the smooth surface of the mud, ending in the water with a splash. The adults don’t interfere. Their upbringing of children is very liberal, but nevertheless the kids are nice and friendly, willingly performing any task their parents may demand from them.
Punans love cock fighting, and almost every man breeds fighting cocks. A sharp metal spur is tied onto the cock’s own spur, whereupon the competing men release the two cocks. Before the fight, the gathered men make bets, as to which cock will win. When their favourite cock attacks its opponent, they shout and cheer. The fight that I watch is short and bloody. The cocks are a blur of wings and legs, and they disappear behind some bushes. The cock belonging to the Chinese trader lies dead, intestines hanging out. The Punans are overjoyed.
In the evening, people sit in small groups, talking, or the girls perform the old-time dances, with fans of hornbill feathers attached to their wrists, moving gracefully to the rhythm of the music. Today, the Punans of Long Ba are modern, their music delivered by a small cassette tape recorder. In former times, the music was performed by men, playing drums and a local, two- or three-stringed instrument, called a sapé.
I join Ida to participate in a healing ceremony. A sick man is going to be cured for ‘insanity’. However, Ida is of the opinion that the man just wants some attention. He has been living a very quiet life and feels a bit like an outcast. A scaffold, with a burning candle on its top, has been decorated with brightly coloured bits of cloth. The shaman, the sick man, and several women now circumambulate the scaffold, while three girls are beating drums of various sizes. The shaman is wearing a special headgear, with numerous hornbill feathers attached. Suddenly he and the sick man jump towards the spectators, uttering a piercing ‘psit’. This sound, as well as the burning candle, attracts beneficial spirits, who supposedly will chase out the evil spirit. When they have entered the sick person’s body, the shaman touches his face with both hands, making a sucking sound to extract the evil spirit. A sword is rubbed on his body, arms and legs, while a very old woman is beating the dancers on head and back several times with an inflorescence from the betel palm (Areca catechu).
At one point during the ceremony, the shaman’s sarong drops to the floor, but he ignores this, continuing to dance, clad only in his underwear. Someone hands him his sarong, but he goes on fooling around, touching several persons with the edge of the cloth, gasping ‘ladylike’. When they reach out to touch the cloth he gets ‘scared’, jumping backwards. Now the old lady, carrying another inflorescence from the betel palm, walks around to all spectators, beating them on their shoulder. During the ceremony, food was served for the spirits, but since they didn’t eat it, we all consume it, washing it down with strong and sweet rice wine.
Two men have chopped a lot of firewood, which they now stack, decorating it with various mythological images. This firewood is meant to be used to cook food for a ceremony, which is going to take place several weeks later, commemorating the villagers who have died during the last year or so. The food is for the deceased. Now it is time for the Punans to celebrate a small preliminary ceremony. Rice with vegetables and dried fish is served, with a glass of rice wine. After the meal, a man approaches me, pouring rice into my hair and down my neck. This is the part for the deceased! A young girl throws vegetables on a young man, the whole affair soon developing into a mock fight.
Next morning, we say goodbye to Ida and start our journey up the Ba River in two canoes, perahus, each paddled by two men. A fourth Punan has agreed to join us without pay, as he is going into the forest to collect rattan stems. We make good progress, soon reaching the first rapid. The men paddle furiously against the strong current, ligaments on their strong arms taut. On several occasions, they stand up, punting the canoes through the rapids, safely and securely. On several occasions, we must leave the canoes, waiting on rocks in the river, while the men pull the canoes over the rocks. We encounter several such rapids, but otherwise the river is calm and quiet, the only sounds coming from birds and insects in the forest, and the splashing of the paddles. In open areas it is very hot, but where the rainforest is dense it is wonderfully cool in the shade, beautiful beams of sunlight penetrating the foliage.
We stop for the night at a simple hut, constructed of branches, its roof consisting of several layers of palm leaves. Tables and beds are scaffolds, made from thin branches. Five or six men from Long Ba are already gathered in the hut. They light a fire and cook rice which we eat with newly caught, fried fish. Dusk is approaching, the sound from a huge chorus of insects increasing in volume. We are tired and soon fall asleep on the scaffolds.
After breakfast the following morning – again rice and fish – we continue our journey upriver. We have to get more rice, so the Punans go ashore at a small hut. Here they take some of the stored rice, placing money in a can to show that the rice has been bought – not stolen. However, theft is almost unknown in this area.
One of our paddlers borrows a fishing net to be able to catch our daily supply of fish. This is a throwing net, with a string attached to the centre. The man holds on to the string while throwing the net, which spreads out like a fan on the surface of the water. Small iron rings, attached to the edge of the net, pull it downwards, thus trapping any fish that might happen to be below the net. The man has brought some stones with him, and now he throws one of these ahead of the canoe. This seems to attract fish. When we get to the point, where the stone splashed into the water, he throws the net with a secure hand. This is repeated several times. On most occasions, a fish or two are caught, and the man jumps headlong into the river to extract them from the net. The total catch is ten fish, enough for us for two days.
Because of our fishing activities, we don’t travel far this day, and we stop for the night at another small hut along the shore. One of the Punans catches a large turtle, swimming in the river. To store it for their return trip, and to prevent it from escaping, the man drills a small hole at the edge of its carapace with his spear, then tying it to a pole with a piece of rattan stem. During the night, another of the men manages to catch a jungle rat. In the morning it is roasted over the fire and served for breakfast. It’s quite tasty!
Most of the day, we wade through streams or walk along muddy paths. I wouldn’t call them paths, as I am not able to distinguish them from the surrounding forest, but our guides lead the way, quickly and safely. Where dense vegetation is taking over a ‘path’, our guides cut it down with parangs, large jungle knives.
Late in the afternoon, we reach a small, dilapidated hut near a crystal-clear brook. On our way, our companions have collected a large number of leaves from a certain palm species, and now they proceed to ‘tie’ them together, sticking sharp strips of rattan stems through them. When the work is done, the leaf-mats are placed over gaping holes in the roof. Rotten branches on the sleeping scaffold are replaced with fresh ones, and now we have nice sleeping quarters – quickly and efficiently. On our way, we also picked a lot of edible fungi from a rotten tree trunk, and these we enjoy with rice and fish.
The following morning, we climb a low mountain – hard work indeed in the intense heat and humidity, but we are rewarded with a splendid view over the forest-clad hills around us. Arriving at the peak, we make a brief stop beneath a couple of huge rocks, which are covered in dense, soft, green moss. From cracks in the rocks, we detect the distinct smell of ammonium, emitted by guano from bats, which roost in the cracks during daylight.
We consume the rest of our food, leaving an egg for the spirits, before we start our descent. It is steeper than the ascent, and we often have to cling to the climbers that cover the rocks. At the foot of the mountain we arrive at Sungei Puti, a clear and cool brook. Shortly afterwards, our guides lose the trail, and for some time we have to make our way through dense vegetation, cutting down plants that block the way. A prolonged shower leaves us drenched, but we’re soon dry again in the intense heat.
After a brief rest we continue towards the village, about an hour’s walk away. The path is muddy and slippery after the rain shower, sometimes leading through abandoned rice fields. Every second year, the villagers must clear a new patch of forest to grow rice, as the nutrients are soon washed out of the soil. The village is tiny, consisting of only two or three small houses, built on poles. We are invited into one of them and spend the evening with its inhabitants. A young man entertains us by playing on a sapé. A couple of men agree to take us downriver, to the Kakus River, in a perahu, provided with an outboard engine.
The following morning, we say goodbye to our three guides, who start their journey back towards Long Ba. As it turns out, our own journey downriver is very difficult. The water level is very low, and toppled trees block our way. Often we have to pull the canoe over these trunks, an almost impossible task. One of the men applies juice from a certain species of liana to the trunk, making its surface slippery. Still, it is very hard work, and our progress is extremely slow. In the afternoon, we arrive at a small sleeping hut, and our companions persuade us to stay here, as there are no huts further down the river. As it turns out, this is a wise decision. During the night it rains heavily, and in the morning the water level has risen significantly, making it possible for us to use the outboard engine.
Soon we reach the Kakus River, where we observe a small saltwater crocodile (Crocodylus porosus). In the old days, there were large and dangerous crocodiles in Borneo, but most of these have long since been shot. We spend the night in an Iban village, and the following day we get a lift with a Chinese to the small town of Tatau. Exactly one week after leaving Long Ba, we reach Bintulu.