*The proceeding chapter should be read with the knowledge that the author has recently been reading Johnathan Swift’s “Gulliver’s Travels”, and the tone and cadence of the writing may have rubbed off.
Chapter IV
The author spends time in the areas sub-villages and acquaints himself with its inhabitants. A number of brief excursions into the surrounding environment are detailed, as well as mundane aspects of daily life. An account of a village elder.
Having arrived and become settled with the habits and comportments of the village life, i feel it now appropriate to share an account of several events and observations that have struck the readers’ humble traveler.
The village is yet to be connected with the majesty of the perpetual modern electrified lamp. Further, the villagers are also not yet interconnected through the cables of spun glass fibres carrying news and gossip from the web of world-spanning dominion, and as such are refined to communicating by the ancient art of face-to-face conversation, or if distance commands, by way of handheld communication device allowing them to talk, send messages or even view a page full of the various faces of their kin and peers. The domiciles of the local inhabitants are varied in age and size, but the average house is constructed of ulin (ironwood) and meranti wood with metal shingles, and encompassing about 1000-1500 ft2 and are elevated by two feet or more to avoid the rising rain waters. The houses are electrified by generator and possess a foyer adorned with comfort couches and chairs and a small table used to hold magazines of interest or coffee, large furniture-less viewing room containing a television, a kitchen, outhouse and various chambers for rest. Food and common necessities are purchased from local vendors on the beachside, on equipped motorbikes, or in general stores located within the village. Many of the inhabitants still maintain gardens on the property, or some kilometres into the distance, from which they draw fruits and vegetables to round out and supplement the daily dietary needs. However, many now rely solely upon the production of others, having traded their land for stacks of the local currency, with the land now put to industrial use.
Babes of varying age are left to wonder the property, the youngest occasionally without the full dress, often completely bare. Their activities include erudition by means of accompanying and assisting parents through a number of the daily tasks, but also include games (a popular one including tops and rope), roaming the village lands, swimming, soccer and a local pastime known as “SMS”.
The author has befriend a number of the local children, two (brother and sister) of which are of particular interest for their reader and thus merit detailed description. Both seem to suffer unfortunate bouts of mental disillusion as the young girl, Juleha of approximately 96 moons, has the unfortunate affliction of presuming herself to be a crab, scuttling sideways when I approach her and fleeing to a safe distance. She then returns toward the author and again flees when engaged in conversation, claiming, again, that the author should “cari kepiting” (catch crab). When I deciphered the manner in which the girl cyclically attempted to employ me in this game of mockery, questioning both my wit and intellect, I quickly put an end to the relationship by first describing Santa Clause and then informing the girl that the figure does in fact not exist.
The brother, Tamudin, new to the age of teen, has become skilled in the art of sorcery and deceit. When yours truly attempted to employ the boy with the task of cataloguing the animals receiving husbandry on in the village, the boy repeated informed the author that the prefix ‘peler’ (penis) was to precede any description of the various beasts (goat, fish, chicken, cow, and cat; pig being absent due to the taboo delineation the beasts receive in the local religion). It was to my detriment, succumbing to an uncharacteristic moment of naiveté, that I should repeat the refrain ‘peler kamping’ (goat) in the presence of my local attendant (the mother of the house I took residence in) without full knowledge of its meaning. The result was to draw blush to the woman’s cheek, and yours truly. The author, seeking retribution for such a treasonous act of casting disrepute upon an elder’s noble character, allowed the boy to lead me, and two other friends, to the local spring source supplying freshwater, by way of river, to the towns people. The trek was but a short jaunt into the wooded area of the surrounding hills (approximate to 2 Canadian kilometres), passing through thick bush hacked away by local men, though quickly overgrown with crawling, thorny vines of a dozen varieties or so, and inhabited, most predominantly, by an array of monkeys, birds, and butterflies which bounded about the forest cover. Upon arrival at the spring source, after the four feasted upon local cakes and crisps, the author threw the boy into the source, from a height of about 1.5 meters, in full knowledge that one should not go swimming less than half a Canadian hour after one has feasted. To my dismay, the boy bounded about happily in the spring, in full health and knowledge of the art of buoyancy.
In another meander through one of the local sub-villages, in the attempt to better understand the local ways of life, the author came upon a one noteworthy of description. The village was set back off of the beach into hills and the small valley area which surrounded the local area. In walking strolling through, the author took note of a number of fruiting trees (mango, cocoa, papaya, jackfruit and a number of other specimens unknown to the author and his translator). The village seemed to teem with life, both cognizant human and savage beasts (snakes, chicken, goat, cow, cat, dog, monitor lizards, monkey, and during the night, wild boar would descend from the hills to feast in the gardens the villagers maintained). In attempting to seek out insight from one of the village elders, the author came across a man of 80 years cradled in a hammock and engaged in conversation with another local man. In inquiring of the man’s health and activities, the gentleman informed us that he was ‘Masih sehat (still healthy, pointing this head and chest) but that his “peler”, he remarked grinningly, was no longer of functioning capacity.
The man also went on, simultaneously judiciously inspecting the teeth of a saw and the health of its structure, to inform the author that all the people of the world, with a variety of religions, nationalities and skin colours are “sama sama”. While adorning the author with nothing but praise for the good people of his home nation, Canada, and congratulating my choice to learn the local language (though greatly unable to understand it when I spoke it to him) which is spoken by many, he continued by expressing his confusion as to why people of Australia, sharing a common area with that of Indonesia (approximately equidistant with the distance separating Canada and Mexico), did not also speak the language of Indonesia. An answer, which your good author felt he was unplaced to give, and more generally incapable of expressing in the local tongue.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Life on 'the island'
Borneo is not what I thought it would be. Having read so much about the island, I felt I would have a good sense of what to expect when I arrived. Lots of forest, lots of deforested areas and villages and towns sitting at the edge of the jungle. While much of this is what you will find here, I was misled by the place I had imagined that Borneo would be. When I say the word – firmly pressing my lips together, quickly drawing them inward before forcefully pushing out to pronounce the ‘B’, and letting the rest of the word rise and then fall out of my mouth – I can't help but conjure up images of half-dressed natives in steamy jungles crawling with too many deadly insects, reptiles, mammals and diseases to comprehend. It just feels exotic saying it. While for many years this has been the only reality, for many of the nearly 18 million people living on the island now, this is not the world they live in.
Having been here on the island – however, being the world’s third largest and covering an area of 740,000km2, it doesn’t always have the island feeling – for about 30 days now, I have had a good spread of surprises from my time spent in a number of different sized towns and cities along its eastern coast. Samarinda surprised me with its (disproportionately distributed) wealth; mansions to rival those of Palm Springs, Florida. Kota Kinabalu, and much of Sabah, had smooth paved roads, luxury cars with few motor bikes with much of the infrastructure, goods and services you would find in a small Western city (albeit, one situated in the incredibly beautiful scenery of white sand beaches, small remote islands, rain forests, mountains and azure waters). The prevalence and capability of Malaysians to speak English – amongst the multicultural setting of its Chinese, Malay, Indian (and many Western and Asian tourists and ex-pats) residents – made me feel as if I was back in the Canada (if only because my presence here was not a novelty, as it is elsewhere in the region). And the innumerable goods in the (predominantly Chinese owned) shops of Tawau, Sabah or the presence of satellite dishes, Blackberry’s™, and plasma televisions in the Houston, Texas-like oil city of Balikpapan and in Sekerat, Kalimantan, the ‘remote’ rural village where I’m living that is yet to have electricity (generators only) and only a few years ago received a small water sanitation facility (relying before on boiled rain and river water), have been just a few of the realities rattling my former notions of what life in Borneo is like.
That being said, much of what I had previously thought of Borneo is still what you will find here. On my numerous bus and minibus trips, lasting between 2 and 9 hours in duration, the hilly and pot-hole marked Trans-Borneo highway provides vistas of vast expanses of green dipterocarp canopy, flagged with the pale bark of protruding trees with canopy's extending up to 250ft into the bright blue skies. Many people still eat what they trap or fish out of the murky, coffee-and-cream coloured rivers each day. [On my first full day in Sekerat, we motored out some 2km in a 20-odd foot long boat onto the Makassar Strait separating Borneo from Sulawesi and caught about five hand-length fish (these count for Nippissing!) that were then grilled up for us 30 minutes after arriving back on shore.] Roads are still rough and are not extensive into the interior. Travelling remains difficult in many areas even when there are roads – the 30km from Sangatta to Sekerat took about 1.5hrs – and I was encouraged to carry a machete with me while walking around the outskirts of the village, in case I encounter “things” from the forest.
Aside from the physical environment, the people here have also made my experience quite unique. Always friendly and willing to chat, I have little problem making new friends. Walking through the streets, I receive quite a bit of attention. Sometimes times a glance, often an unabashed stare, other times a quick look and then a turn to a friend to share in the novelty of someone who looks markedly different than you. If these glances and stares came from only girls and not men as well, I’d think I was the most handsome man in the world (I still secretly think this). I keep looking at myself in the reflection of shop windows after each such encounter to make sure I don’t have something on my face or check my pants zipper, but it is only occasionally these things...the zipper on my shorts is broken, shut up! But regardless, my presence here is an oddity for local people. With very few people speaking English and little in the way of tourist destinations compared with other areas of the island, ‘tall’ people with white skin (as I’m often reminded that I have, in a humours recognition, in contrast to their ‘black’ skin) are unique.
Cultural note: There are many commercials promoting skin whitening creams as being a sure way for girls to get noticed by the boys. While I was first somewhat inclined to think this was part of a wider Western-cultural kick seen in the country (and the all over the world for that matter – a subject which, despite my interest in its underlying reasons, I shall leave aside here), it seems to be more an indicator of wealth or prestige than Western envy; more time working inside at more lucrative jobs in offices and stores (or not working at all) means less time out in the sun.
Elsewhere, I live on the beach!
Settling in with a local family (and stealing the bedroom of a daughter off studying in another town), we have been graciously welcomed by the community and have been able to get around and really start to get an idea of the kind of life people lead. While I will save a more detailed description for another post, one of the interesting things about this village and life in many towns and cities with minimal infrastructure is the use of fire. If water is the universal solvent, then fire is the universal problem solver. Raw meat too tough to chew and covered in deadly bacteria? Use fire! Is forest cover stopping you from growing crops or are trees are growing into your house? Use fire! Garbage piling up because there are no facilities where you can dispose of waste? Use fire! Tough math homework giving you headaches? Use fire! (just kidding kids, math is fun!) Nonetheless, the use of fire makes obvious many of the things I’ve taken for granted back home: waste disposal systems, clean burning fuels to heat homes and water, heavily manufactured landscapes, and calculators (damn you fractions!).
It’s funny how you can become blind to the things that you rely on in your everyday life. But I should end this post. I’ve got to go pay for my time here at the internet cafe. I have to figure out if my 10,000Rp note will be enough to pay for 1 ¼ hours of internet time at a rate of 7,000Rp/hour...ugh, where are my matches?
Having been here on the island – however, being the world’s third largest and covering an area of 740,000km2, it doesn’t always have the island feeling – for about 30 days now, I have had a good spread of surprises from my time spent in a number of different sized towns and cities along its eastern coast. Samarinda surprised me with its (disproportionately distributed) wealth; mansions to rival those of Palm Springs, Florida. Kota Kinabalu, and much of Sabah, had smooth paved roads, luxury cars with few motor bikes with much of the infrastructure, goods and services you would find in a small Western city (albeit, one situated in the incredibly beautiful scenery of white sand beaches, small remote islands, rain forests, mountains and azure waters). The prevalence and capability of Malaysians to speak English – amongst the multicultural setting of its Chinese, Malay, Indian (and many Western and Asian tourists and ex-pats) residents – made me feel as if I was back in the Canada (if only because my presence here was not a novelty, as it is elsewhere in the region). And the innumerable goods in the (predominantly Chinese owned) shops of Tawau, Sabah or the presence of satellite dishes, Blackberry’s™, and plasma televisions in the Houston, Texas-like oil city of Balikpapan and in Sekerat, Kalimantan, the ‘remote’ rural village where I’m living that is yet to have electricity (generators only) and only a few years ago received a small water sanitation facility (relying before on boiled rain and river water), have been just a few of the realities rattling my former notions of what life in Borneo is like.
That being said, much of what I had previously thought of Borneo is still what you will find here. On my numerous bus and minibus trips, lasting between 2 and 9 hours in duration, the hilly and pot-hole marked Trans-Borneo highway provides vistas of vast expanses of green dipterocarp canopy, flagged with the pale bark of protruding trees with canopy's extending up to 250ft into the bright blue skies. Many people still eat what they trap or fish out of the murky, coffee-and-cream coloured rivers each day. [On my first full day in Sekerat, we motored out some 2km in a 20-odd foot long boat onto the Makassar Strait separating Borneo from Sulawesi and caught about five hand-length fish (these count for Nippissing!) that were then grilled up for us 30 minutes after arriving back on shore.] Roads are still rough and are not extensive into the interior. Travelling remains difficult in many areas even when there are roads – the 30km from Sangatta to Sekerat took about 1.5hrs – and I was encouraged to carry a machete with me while walking around the outskirts of the village, in case I encounter “things” from the forest.
Aside from the physical environment, the people here have also made my experience quite unique. Always friendly and willing to chat, I have little problem making new friends. Walking through the streets, I receive quite a bit of attention. Sometimes times a glance, often an unabashed stare, other times a quick look and then a turn to a friend to share in the novelty of someone who looks markedly different than you. If these glances and stares came from only girls and not men as well, I’d think I was the most handsome man in the world (I still secretly think this). I keep looking at myself in the reflection of shop windows after each such encounter to make sure I don’t have something on my face or check my pants zipper, but it is only occasionally these things...the zipper on my shorts is broken, shut up! But regardless, my presence here is an oddity for local people. With very few people speaking English and little in the way of tourist destinations compared with other areas of the island, ‘tall’ people with white skin (as I’m often reminded that I have, in a humours recognition, in contrast to their ‘black’ skin) are unique.
Cultural note: There are many commercials promoting skin whitening creams as being a sure way for girls to get noticed by the boys. While I was first somewhat inclined to think this was part of a wider Western-cultural kick seen in the country (and the all over the world for that matter – a subject which, despite my interest in its underlying reasons, I shall leave aside here), it seems to be more an indicator of wealth or prestige than Western envy; more time working inside at more lucrative jobs in offices and stores (or not working at all) means less time out in the sun.
Elsewhere, I live on the beach!
Settling in with a local family (and stealing the bedroom of a daughter off studying in another town), we have been graciously welcomed by the community and have been able to get around and really start to get an idea of the kind of life people lead. While I will save a more detailed description for another post, one of the interesting things about this village and life in many towns and cities with minimal infrastructure is the use of fire. If water is the universal solvent, then fire is the universal problem solver. Raw meat too tough to chew and covered in deadly bacteria? Use fire! Is forest cover stopping you from growing crops or are trees are growing into your house? Use fire! Garbage piling up because there are no facilities where you can dispose of waste? Use fire! Tough math homework giving you headaches? Use fire! (just kidding kids, math is fun!) Nonetheless, the use of fire makes obvious many of the things I’ve taken for granted back home: waste disposal systems, clean burning fuels to heat homes and water, heavily manufactured landscapes, and calculators (damn you fractions!).
It’s funny how you can become blind to the things that you rely on in your everyday life. But I should end this post. I’ve got to go pay for my time here at the internet cafe. I have to figure out if my 10,000Rp note will be enough to pay for 1 ¼ hours of internet time at a rate of 7,000Rp/hour...ugh, where are my matches?
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