2008/06/22
PADDY BOWIE
WE celebrated another festival this month, the Gawai Dayak, when the Ibans of Sarawak "balik longhouse".
The Orang Ulu people, from time immemorial, have lived in the jungle where their identity is defined by their unique habitat.
Communal living is characteristic of Malaysia, be it the Malay village, the extended Chinese family or the Indian rubber estate. The long house is the ultimate of this way of life -- a whole village under one roof.
The Iban, Bidayuh, Penan, Kayan, Kenyah, Kelabit and Kadazan among us are from the jungles of Sabah and Sarawak.
Sarawak, a terrain of mighty rivers, makes them mainly a riverine community. Access is by jungle and partly by river, if they run out of roads. Some have penetrated deep into the interior.
The Kelabits of Datuk Idris Jala fame hail from the isolated highlands of the Bario.
As Idris would tell you, when he was growing up, it took a jungle trek barefoot and several long days to reach comparative civilisation.
Even today, there are only two ways to get to Bario -- by a small plane or a timber logging road.
The Bario was opened up by MAS, a debt that one of today's most illustrious Kelabits is endeavouring to repay.
The longhouse's relative inaccessibility is manifested at election time when the precious cargo of votes has to be transported precariously up river to the polling centre. So far, there has been no mishap.
Ironically, my own first encounter with the Orang Ulu took place in sophisticated Kuala Lumpur.
Entering a lift to a minister's office, I found myself in the startling company of what, at first glimpse, looked like three naked men.
I felt my modesty had been outraged, before realising this was a tribal delegation in their traditional warrior gear -- loin cloth, colourful head gear, tattoos and all.
Suddenly, my mother's stories of the "Wild Man of Borneo" were confirmed. Nowadays, they are more likely to be wearing the anonymous suit and tie prescribed by public or business life.
In visiting the longhouse, there was another surprise in store. They bore names like Leo, James and Daniel, thanks to the English missionaries in colonial time.
The missionaries had converted them, as they had the natives in Africa, to Christianity. But they still ordered their lives in accordance with a blend of Christianity and animism -- of religion with the vestiges of paganism. They swear by the "sacred birds" and the power of dreams.
One of their gods is Sinalong Burung, the ancient God of the Rainforest who said:
"I am the God of the rainforest
"I have the power to make all men successful
"Provided you listen to the voices of the sacred birds."
The "power to make men successful" we translated into the technology we, in Shell, brought to the jungle territory.
"Listening to the sacred birds" enjoined a respect for the environment.
This comes naturally to a people who have lived, for centuries, close to nature. Far from being primitive, they have a homely wisdom and can teach us a thing or two about how to handle the natural world where they are centuries ahead of us.
The longhouse, because of its isolation and its communal basis, is a very close knit community, open and egalitarian, very dependent on mutual support, and, as elsewhere in Malaysia, with its own power structure from the headman and the elders downwards.
They don't miss the bright lights or the nightspots of the town but make their own entertainment, are famous for their hospitality and their conviviality, fuelled with liberal doses of tuak. Their traditional songs and dances are legend.
Uppermost with them is the cult of the "sacred birds".
One of my colleagues in Shell who got close to them was affectionately known as "Jungle Jim". He tells the story that when he set out to visit a longhouse, it was by jungle trek without benefit of phone or Internet, no means of alerting them.
Nevertheless, they invariably met him half way and when he asked how they knew he was coming, their reply was: "The sacred birds told us."
They always take care to listen to the chirping of these birds, trying to detect whether these came from the left or the right -- which, apparently, made a great difference to the message.
The day for them begins with a recounting of their dreams and working out their significance.
One of the Iban customs is the Ber - jalai where the young men, as part of their rites of passage, had to venture alone into the world outside the long house to prove their manhood.
For most, it meant braving the hazards of the jungle. But the more adventurous went further afield.
A few, even more intrepid, were among the first Colombo Plan scholars sent literally to the end of the earth — New Zealand.
One of them was Tan Sri Leo Mogg ie.
Far from becoming a Lost Tribe, they have gone beyond (but not forsaken) the longhouse to participate in the national sphere.
Moggie himself had a distinguished career for over 20 years as a minister in the federal cabinet.
The boy from the remote jungle longhouse spearheaded the countr y’s debut into ICT (information and communications technology) and later became chairman of one of our most technological companies, Tenaga Nasional Berhad (TNB).
The other most notable longhouse product very much in the news at present is Idris, the man who is doing a sterling job at MAS to turn the airline around.
A Kelabit, his is an extraordinary backg round.
There are only 4,000 Kelabits left in the world but they have already produced a disproportionate number of over-achievers.
Idris, who is one of our leading global players, learned to read and write without the benefit of pen and paper.
A stick tracing the earthen floor had to suffice.
Perhaps the most spectacular gift from Sarawak to the world, and not just to Malaysia, was the research by William Wallace into the origins of man.
These are the most ancient jungles in the world.
Wallace, alongside Charles Darwin researching in Brazil, contributed to one of the greatest scientific discoveries of all time—the evolution of the species.
In the modern generation, many Sarawakians have left these longhouses for the bright lights and opportunities of urban living.
But they never forget their roots.
Gawai Dayak is the natural opportunity for them to “balik longhouse”.
I wish their compatriots in the rest of Malaysia could rediscover the unity and communal spirit we are in danger of losing.
The Orang Ulu people, from time immemorial, have lived in the jungle where their identity is defined by their unique habitat.
Communal living is characteristic of Malaysia, be it the Malay village, the extended Chinese family or the Indian rubber estate. The long house is the ultimate of this way of life -- a whole village under one roof.
The Iban, Bidayuh, Penan, Kayan, Kenyah, Kelabit and Kadazan among us are from the jungles of Sabah and Sarawak.
Sarawak, a terrain of mighty rivers, makes them mainly a riverine community. Access is by jungle and partly by river, if they run out of roads. Some have penetrated deep into the interior.
The Kelabits of Datuk Idris Jala fame hail from the isolated highlands of the Bario.
As Idris would tell you, when he was growing up, it took a jungle trek barefoot and several long days to reach comparative civilisation.
Even today, there are only two ways to get to Bario -- by a small plane or a timber logging road.
The Bario was opened up by MAS, a debt that one of today's most illustrious Kelabits is endeavouring to repay.
The longhouse's relative inaccessibility is manifested at election time when the precious cargo of votes has to be transported precariously up river to the polling centre. So far, there has been no mishap.
Ironically, my own first encounter with the Orang Ulu took place in sophisticated Kuala Lumpur.
Entering a lift to a minister's office, I found myself in the startling company of what, at first glimpse, looked like three naked men.
I felt my modesty had been outraged, before realising this was a tribal delegation in their traditional warrior gear -- loin cloth, colourful head gear, tattoos and all.
Suddenly, my mother's stories of the "Wild Man of Borneo" were confirmed. Nowadays, they are more likely to be wearing the anonymous suit and tie prescribed by public or business life.
In visiting the longhouse, there was another surprise in store. They bore names like Leo, James and Daniel, thanks to the English missionaries in colonial time.
The missionaries had converted them, as they had the natives in Africa, to Christianity. But they still ordered their lives in accordance with a blend of Christianity and animism -- of religion with the vestiges of paganism. They swear by the "sacred birds" and the power of dreams.
One of their gods is Sinalong Burung, the ancient God of the Rainforest who said:
"I am the God of the rainforest
"I have the power to make all men successful
"Provided you listen to the voices of the sacred birds."
The "power to make men successful" we translated into the technology we, in Shell, brought to the jungle territory.
"Listening to the sacred birds" enjoined a respect for the environment.
This comes naturally to a people who have lived, for centuries, close to nature. Far from being primitive, they have a homely wisdom and can teach us a thing or two about how to handle the natural world where they are centuries ahead of us.
The longhouse, because of its isolation and its communal basis, is a very close knit community, open and egalitarian, very dependent on mutual support, and, as elsewhere in Malaysia, with its own power structure from the headman and the elders downwards.
They don't miss the bright lights or the nightspots of the town but make their own entertainment, are famous for their hospitality and their conviviality, fuelled with liberal doses of tuak. Their traditional songs and dances are legend.
Uppermost with them is the cult of the "sacred birds".
One of my colleagues in Shell who got close to them was affectionately known as "Jungle Jim". He tells the story that when he set out to visit a longhouse, it was by jungle trek without benefit of phone or Internet, no means of alerting them.
Nevertheless, they invariably met him half way and when he asked how they knew he was coming, their reply was: "The sacred birds told us."
They always take care to listen to the chirping of these birds, trying to detect whether these came from the left or the right -- which, apparently, made a great difference to the message.
The day for them begins with a recounting of their dreams and working out their significance.
One of the Iban customs is the Ber - jalai where the young men, as part of their rites of passage, had to venture alone into the world outside the long house to prove their manhood.
For most, it meant braving the hazards of the jungle. But the more adventurous went further afield.
A few, even more intrepid, were among the first Colombo Plan scholars sent literally to the end of the earth — New Zealand.
One of them was Tan Sri Leo Mogg ie.
Far from becoming a Lost Tribe, they have gone beyond (but not forsaken) the longhouse to participate in the national sphere.
Moggie himself had a distinguished career for over 20 years as a minister in the federal cabinet.
The boy from the remote jungle longhouse spearheaded the countr y’s debut into ICT (information and communications technology) and later became chairman of one of our most technological companies, Tenaga Nasional Berhad (TNB).
The other most notable longhouse product very much in the news at present is Idris, the man who is doing a sterling job at MAS to turn the airline around.
A Kelabit, his is an extraordinary backg round.
There are only 4,000 Kelabits left in the world but they have already produced a disproportionate number of over-achievers.
Idris, who is one of our leading global players, learned to read and write without the benefit of pen and paper.
A stick tracing the earthen floor had to suffice.
Perhaps the most spectacular gift from Sarawak to the world, and not just to Malaysia, was the research by William Wallace into the origins of man.
These are the most ancient jungles in the world.
Wallace, alongside Charles Darwin researching in Brazil, contributed to one of the greatest scientific discoveries of all time—the evolution of the species.
In the modern generation, many Sarawakians have left these longhouses for the bright lights and opportunities of urban living.
But they never forget their roots.
Gawai Dayak is the natural opportunity for them to “balik longhouse”.
I wish their compatriots in the rest of Malaysia could rediscover the unity and communal spirit we are in danger of losing.
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