Describe Wind: Tepuq Do' Ribed

Almost immediately after I went up the stairs leading to the longhouse, I was introduced to Tepuq Ngalinuh Karuh do' ribed (which means the beautiful Tepuq Ngalinuh Karuh). She, in all of her grandmotherly charm, commanded us to come to her. So like little kitties, we did so slowly, unsure of what to expect.

“Bila datang?”,

“Berapa lama?”

*A throaty chuckle and something in Kelabit that to this day I still cannot piece together. *

I left thinking, that wasn’t so bad. Soon it became an almost daily routine. Everyday she would call me or another WHEE member over, and coddle us as though we were one of her own grandchildren.

When she was not doing so, it became a past time for me to watch how much a part of the community she was even in her old age. She was still loved by the rest of the long house, serenaded to by Uncle Julian, picking vegetables with the rest of the women in view of cultural night, and being part of fire side talk. I think that definitely makes life worth living.

The aforementioned interactions, and a dozen hand gestures and “pu ayam”s (affectionate term grandparents call their grandchildren) later, I realised I could not love her any less than I loved my own grandmother. In her gentle, almost subtle way, she laid claim to my heart in ways no other elder could and tore it apart the day I left, silently telling me to come back again with tears in her eyes.

I hope to be able to still hear her sing as Uncle Julian plays the guitar for ger the next time I come back.

Tepuq Ngalinuh Karuh - Photo by Rhonwyn