Reflecting

A group of youths on a two-week trip to a secluded place sounds like something with high potential to backfire, or at the very least the introductory line to a cautionary horror movie. I'm very happy to say that things did not backfire. Well I mean, apart from some casualties every now and then (swollen foot, stung by bees, gastric pain, the usual) but we had fun together. We had a lot of fun together. Between the 11 of us we have an entire afternoon at the Tom Harrison Memorial Hill, chilling out at the white verandah, beading, and selfies, selfies, selfies. 

My experience in Bario could not have been as awesome as it was if any one in my team had been different. I'm glad to have been given the opportunity to meet and know such strong, intelligent people, and it's nice to know that although the project has ended, we will always have Bario.

(I don't actually have a story here, just wanted to show off the picture I took of the beads.)

Moving on to something a bit more serious, after coming back from Bario, when I came back and told people about my trip and life in Bario, I found that most of them reacted with stuff like "wow paddy planting! What a tiring life." and similar things. Now, I will admit that when I first came to Bario, I compared life in Bario to city life quite often, but these days, I don't know. I guess the words are said with good intentions but I find myself getting somewhat defensive because it just sounds patronizing. Sure, maybe some people are genuine and maybe I am reading too much into it. Or maybe I just know a lot of terrible people, I don't know. But there is always this undercurrent of oh my god how could people live like that in the words that I've come to expect when I tell people about my trip. Because I walk into Sina's mother's kebun and she is perfectly contented tending to her fish pond. I watch my Sina and her family effortlessly adapt to water rationing without a struggle. And even if there was, it doesn't make city life any better. 

 

I'm actually doing a terrible job explaining my thoughts, but luckily my fellow Project WHEE! participant Kan Wai Min similarly blogged about it in a way that is far more eloquent than anything I could say, in his post, Reassessing Happiness, Redefining Success.

Wai Min says: "It’s so fundamentally flawed to think that just because someone doesn’t want, need or have the same things (tangible or intangible) that you do, their sense of happiness is less valid - because it is not."

I probably sound like some spoiled person saying this but 2 weeks in Bario taught me that there is no rightful way to live. Just because someone spends their 9 - 5 planting paddy, it doesn't mean that that value of life is any less compared to a 9 -5 in the office. Two weeks in Bario taught me to be open-minded when it came to new things. And not the kind of open-mindedness about accepting each other no matter our size or color (although that's a very important things to be clear about so do keep your minds open!), but to really go in with a blank slate, watch and listen, learn and understand. 

The Essence of A Kelabit Woman

On the first morning everyone was to officially start following/ accompany their assigned Tepuqs and Sinas, Daniel received a text from Aunty Dayang Nalin who is the lady I have been paired with saying she’ll be late in picking me up from our longhouse because, get this- she had to put out a bushfire!

I envisioned this woman in a firefighter uniform- looking extremely badass- holding a big pipe with water blasting out extinguishing the bushfire. Obviously I was over imagining but the feeling of awe was definitely there.

Aunty Dayang is tall and slender, with light makeup brightening her elegant features and she wears jeans and three- inch wedges; not your typical Kelabit women get up. But that’s Aunty Dayang for you- wearing three- inch wedges when putting out bush fires.

Aunty Dayang and I at the airport

What is a typical Kelabit women supposed to be like though? Well for Aunty Dayang’s case, she does everything in the name of servicing the community. She is the person who escorts ministers sent by the government; she deals with government officials regarding the agriculture of Bario, she also goes out of her way to give anybody who needs a ride to the airport.

There are days where she is so busy that she doesn’t have time to cook lunch for herself or drink water, hence the common occurrence of dry and cracked lips. She sacrifices her own time tirelessly driving around to have meetings with various people. Even if she has time to go home, she will always find things to improve in her homestay.

The picture below shows Aunty Dayang's homestay. The banners on the wall are a compilation of pictures she took herself which showcases Bario's culture and people. She carried the tall ladder and and heavy banners herself, climbed up (even though she was afraid of heights) and nailed it on.

We coincidentally colour coordinated with the table cloths behind!

Aunty Dayang does have tiring days where she has to wait on people causing her schedule to be messed up or she just has so many issues to attend to she feels burnt out. But whenever the request for her help is needed, she is ready no matter the circumstance.

She always tells me during our car ride conversations that she is always willing to do anything for the benefit of the community. She doesn’t need to, but she wants to. And that itself is a reminder to me that I can’t afford to be selfish all the time.

And I have concluded that Kelabit women are just so selfless and able. Everyday they are kept busy with the hard labour of planting, reaping, sowing and maintaining their land. They practically uphold the agricultural production considering they do all the planting by hand, yet they still find the energy to cook, wash and care for their families.

Perhaps without them, the Kelabit women, every one of us project participants wouldn't have experienced such hospitality and care like we have. And I admire their openness to accept us and be perceptive to the project objective. Being the age of retirement, yet so eager and striving to learn English is a great motivation to all that we are all able.

Ai Jin 
Aren

Burn, baby, burn!

There is a certain something about writing this, while watching as the entire area surrounding me burns.

My view from the charred log that I'm sitting on while scribbling this into my notebook.

Right now, in the days following Sina Mayda about her daily life, I am doing something I never thought I’d ever do. Ever. Setting off forest fires. The environmentalist in me is absolutely disgusted with myself while my inner pyromaniac is basically rubbing her hands with glee, chanting “burn, baby, burn!”

There's a rather strange beauty to it. 

Malaysians have a tendency to roll their eyes and go: “Gah, the Indonesians are burning again, that’s why the stupid haze lah!” Because obviously everybody knows that the entire country participates in an annual open burning fiesta for the sheer heck of it.

Now I am imagining hundreds of Indonesian families who burn their land so that they can plant crops again. So they can feed themselves, and their families. Sure, it’s by far one of the least environmentally friendly ways of rehabilitating the land, but I think I sort of get it now. It is the fastest, cheapest and easiest way of getting a very necessary job done.

"When used properly, slash and burn agriculture provides communities with a source of food and income. Slash and burn allows for people to farm in places where it usually is not possible because of dense vegetation, soil infertility, low soil nutrient content, uncontrollable pests, or other reasons."

Source: geography.about.com

I am still having extremely bipolar feelings about this, but all I can do is to not condone, nor to condemn. This is their way of life. All I can do is tell my sina how bad this is for the air as I continue helping her with my trusty purple lighter...

The heat is intense and I'm choking every time I inhale a lungful of ash. Every time it looks like it is about to die out, a gust of wind blows and it flares up again. Every time a section of the hill is deemed not black enough, more paddy husks is piled on and set fire to again.

*hides from the environmentalists' rage*

We’re being very careful with it and are staying around until it completely burns out to make sure it doesn’t spread beyond the actual intended area. The area that will become my sina’s kebun (farm) on one of the hills that surrounds the valley her paddy field is at. The same hill that they one day hope to build a guesthouse on.

A few days later we go back and drop around six different types of seeds directly into the ash...

A few days before I leave, we visit the hill again... And there are tiny leaves sprouting from the ground.

This is life.

Unfortunately, I didn't have the foresight to take a picture of the tiny leaves growing from the ashes,
but this is the closest to the memory of them that I can find on the net.
Source: shanassecretgarden.com

 ~alicia nicholle aka Ruran Ricky

P.S. The irony that Ai Jin who was following Aunty Dayang was helping to put out forest fires that day while I was off somewhere else starting them is not lost on any of us.

To, Tepuk Uloh; Sincerely, Ganit.

Tepuq Uloh, my assigned lady; whom I fondly call Tepuq (Grandmother) now, is one of the few ladies in Bario, Sarawak to still harvest paddy all on her own physical self. No additional help nor machines. Little did I know, that this one aspect of my Tepuq led to so many other interesting facts that would still stay in my mind as a reminder to gratitude and moderation.

Due to my delayed arrival to Bario, my meet and greet session with my Tepuq was a 10 minute conversation over the dining table and that was it! A day before my work day, I confirmed with my Tepuq what was I going to do the on my first work day. It came as a surprise when she told me to meet her at her paddy field the following morning. I must say of everything I expected, I did not expect us to head straight to the paddy field! I was a little disappointed that I could not stay back at the home and simply get to know her further before getting into work, but I had to also understand that taking away work time from her would have meant wasting great amount of hours on a bright day which permits completing or partially completing to plant paddy on one of her paddy fields.

A sleepless night filled with anxiety and excitement all at once lea me to a little hut, close to a big plot of muddy, empty land the following chilly morning. Closer to the mountains, so beautiful and so serene. I could actually hear birds chirping and unknown sounds from the surroundings. Extremely calming to the mind. Tepuq Uloh's paddy field was there, empty. I was slowly getting excited to kick start the planting of paddy! 

Worried that my clothes would get dirty in the mud, I was given a pair of trousers and cardigan to protect me from the heat. I was moved at her level of concern when I told her I was going to go in the paddy barefoot, and she had a good laugh when I mentioned I was to go in barefoot because she was going in barefoot too. All of these little moments, taking place after only about a 10-15 minutes of introduction the day before.

Stepped my right foot into the paddy with chills running down my spine. The feeling of a new adventure; so refreshing, so delightful and so comforting in the hands of a caring Tepuq. Whilst teaching her English words only related to the surroundings and the planting season, I realized that she too, wanted to really just share some of her stories and get to know me further. From there, I understood that she has multiple paddy fields around the area and works all of it by herself. Almost half a day into planting paddy, my heart just sank thinking how one individual, ONE individual, does all of these immense physical work on her own self.

At this point, my back feels like it’s breaking into two, my thigh muscles feels like its tearing and here is my Tepuq next to me, who is 70+ years old bending her back to plant paddy, for five days a week from dawn till dusk on all her paddy fields while the season allows and above it all still able to crack really funny jokes. I wondered at their perseverance, hard work, and most of all, the ability to really just smile and simply enjoy their day at work. I really admire how strong my Tepuq is!

It was still my first day with her at the paddy field, and she kept asking my name again and again in between casual conversations when later, she starts to call me random names. It took me a while to notice that they were all Kelabit names.  After a few names, she said, ‘Saya panggil kamu Ganit!’ (‘I will call you Ganit!’) This moment still gets me every time as I still remember how I was missing my father and when she said, ‘Ganit! ‘, I was thinking what a coincidence it is to have been given this name. To be honest, I never thought I will leave Bario with a  Kelabit name, knowing how special it is to receive one, thus; I felt very special to have received one so quickly and the fact that she shared her grandchild’s name with me.

It was the days I spent at the paddy field with my Tepuq that I learnt, one should not worry too much. If you enjoy your work; not as an obligatory job you must rigidly fulfill every day, but really as an acceptance to what makes your heart feel light, you can smile at the end of your day. The exhaustion just to plant one box of paddy field taught me moderation. From the first day of paddy planting, I made sure I am always moderate in the amount of rice I take on my plate as wasting a grain feels like a fear. It is so sad to know how much we waste food on an average not knowing how much it takes to produce a grain of rice, what more a bag of rice.

For the entire life lesson series you have directly and indirectly shared with me over my paddy planting hours; for reminding me that having wealth in the form of dough does not mean the world, for reminding me, that being grounded and humble will bring me a long way in life and for celebrating life with a lot of simplicity.

Thank you for accepting me so quickly into your life and trusting me in sharing all your personal stories; Terima kasih, Tepuq  Uloh! :)

Little Parts Of Us Left Behind

Slated for the final batch of Project WHEE! for the year, I had to watch yearningly as Batches 1 and 2 headed off to Bario in May and in June, and then hear/read all about their experiences upon their return – all the while itching to throw myself onto the very next plane. There wasn’t a single person I talked to who came back without having left a big part of themselves behind in Bario: with the place, and especially the people. Each came back missing their tepuqs and sinas terribly.

Then it was finally my turn to go...

We land upon a seemingly enchanted, quite untouched paradise and meander the one hour walk to the place we’ll call home. The Kelabits welcome us warmly with their big smiles and even bigger hearts, a warmth that would span over the next 16 days. They throw open their arms even wider than the doors to their longhouses and from the first prayer said before our first dinner together, they cemented our relationship as family. The words of prayer, so simply and sincerely weaved, really touched me because there we were – 10 unknown budak bandar (city kids) (not counting Rhon and Dan, who are practically local in their eyes) who could either be sporting halos or horns– who had descended upon their tranquil life. I have never been the overly religious sort, but hearing their heartfelt gratitude and thanksgiving for our presence really hit me hard. I felt undeserving. I guess it would not be wrong to say it was a clear litmus test as to how well Batches 1 and 2 did? Or maybe they really are just that accepting... and trusting in God’s plan and the inherent good in every two-legged creature?

The very first night <3
Oh, and Dan's birthday celebration. I hope your birthday wish *coughKelabitwifecough* comes true (;
picture credits to Project WHEE.

Either way, I eventually realised that the tepuqs and sinas had to get through round after round of the pain of separation from their susuks after Batch 1... and again after Batch 2, and that they knew it would happen yet again when we left. And yet, they welcomed us into their hearts and their homes without any barriers.

One thing about me is that I tend to be quite guarded about whom I get attached to. As my mama likes to say: I do emotional attachment well, but I do tend to crash and burn when it comes to separation. And so, knowing full well that I was there for only 16 days, I subconsciously flicked the internal warning switch to ensure I do not get tooooo attached to anyone I would have to inevitably leave. But how could that even be possible when Sina Mayda was so sweet and thoughtful? When her husband Tama Ricky was so interested in every aspect of my life? When our homestay host Tepuq Sina Rang was so, so, so welcoming and accepting? When they all went out of their way to take care of us, and make sure we were comfortable.

Let it suffice to say that I failed. Miserably. Either that, or my internal switch was faulty. Right now, ensconced in my bedroom in Petaling Jaya with the air-conditioner working overtime to cool the warm night, I long instead for the crisp cool air of the beautiful highlands as we huddle in a circle like penguins in the middle of the road (no matter how insane we look to the random motorist passing by), looking up into the starry night, and basking in the love, laughter and company of each other, and the peace that Bario and its people give. I miss my family in Bario. And there’s a chunk of me that was unintentionally and very reluctantly left behind.

Quite literally: Huddled like penguins under the stars, while looking quite insane to random passers-by.
(P.S. I never claimed to be able to draw)

~alicia nicholle aka Ruran Ricky