May 8, 2007

Belaga (BORNEO)

Into the Heart of Borneo and Sleeping with a Penan Tribe

No matter how you look at it, 5am departures are always rough. My nose was still stuffed up from the night before and I didn't get enough sleep, but I collected my gear and walked across town to board the small passenger ship heading upriver.

The hull of the boat was inundated with cold air, but I was too tired to go above deck and simply unpacked several t-shirts and pants to stay warm. I then slept for most of the morning.

The other passengers on the boat were all native tribesmen and the views offered nothing except the occasional longhouse speckling the waterfront. Most of the native men aboard the boat bore a variety of tattoos, which usually included an imposing tattoo down the throat of the neck, while most of the women had elongated earlobes with large holes and patterned tattoos going from the elbow to the fingertips.

The only real incident worth mentioning came a little after 10am when the boat cut the engine suddenly, and I could hear the pounding of feet above deck. Looking out my window, I saw men jumping over each other with their spears aimed into the water. At first I thought some one might have fallen in, but as the boat began circling the water I realized they must have spotted a wild animal and wanted to hunt it. Whatever it was they were looking for was hidden by the murky waters, and soon we were back on our way.

At 2pm, the boat made its final stop at the small town of Belaga, which was the kind of one street town that existed in the early days of the wild wild west.

I searched the town for a man named Daniel who could supposedly direct me into the jungle, and when I found him we sat down to eat lunch and discuss my options. Daniel said I arrived at the perfect time because he was heading into the jungle within the hour to stay with a nomadic tribe called the Penan. So, rather than visit a longhouse for a couple days as I originally planned, I could join him and sleep in the jungle while learning the native ways of the Penan. This was a better option than I had ever hoped for, so I jumped at the idea (after the painful process of negotiating costs down from the substantial price of $150USD to $35USD, of course).

Two other Westerners, a Brit named Mick and an Aussie named Roger, had spent the last couple of days organizing the trip with Daniel, so I was basically piggy-backing off their work. When we met one another, they advised me of the dangers in the jungle - primarily diseases like malaria and Japanese encephalitis - and wore an obvious look of shock when they heard I hadn't even had my malaria shots. I took the hint, and stopped in at a local shop to buy a mosquito net, a long-sleeved shirt, and a bottle of bug spray loaded with 40% deet. Then, only one hour after I arrived in Belaga, I boarded another small boat and headed upriver with Daniel, Mick, and Roger.

We were going beyond where Westerners are legally allowed to travel, but Daniel assured we would be OK. He seemed to know everyone, and we saw plenty of cash changing hands en route, so I wasn't too worried.

We disembarked at the massive Bakun Dam project, which has suffered numerous set-backs since the project began in 1996, and picked up some last minute supplies. I know our presence was highly illegal as there are a variety of NGOs around the world who would love to cover the destruction the project is causing - roughly 15,000 natives have been displaced, the entire valley was razed for profit, and everything will be flooded when the project is completed.

A 4x4 jeep drove us along a set of logging tracks for about an hour before we arrived at the Penan encampment. We were greeted by the Penan people, who consisted of three families (16 people) with ages ranging from a newborn baby to several elders who appeared to be around 60. Although they have been living at this site for the past 8 months, I was shocked that these shacks were the best they could build in such a long time frame. Quite frankly, the living standards were horrific.

Needless to say, the depressing collection of four shacks were not the jungle abode we were expecting, and to be honest it was a bit disappointing. However, it was getting dark and we had to get our sleeping arrangement settled before the mosquitoes settled in. It was a difficult task coordinating our three mosquito nets so there were no gaps - especially considering the mosquitoes could get in from any direction (including below us). However, Mick served in the British armed forces for 35 years and was able to jerry-rig quite well (no bites throughout the night).

For dinner, we settled into the main hut for a simple dish called Sago, which is a kind of vegetable that comes from a Sago Palm. It was horrible to the taste, but none of us wanted to offend the local Penan by refusing. We followed it up with tea that we brought as a gift and a small serving of white rice. It was clear the tribe hadn't eaten in quite some time as the children were all eyeing the food anxiously.

It was customary for we three guests to eat first and there were only 4 plates and 3 cups to go around. It was awkward knowing the locals had to wait until we finished, but in all honesty it was better than eating the Sago where everyone dug their hands in at the same time. Would you have eaten the food shown to the right?

Even though he is Kayan, Daniel learned the Penan language as a boy, and he did all the translating as we spent several hours talking with the village chief after dinner. The rest of the people watched on in silence while we learned about things like religion (Animism), history, and hunting techniques. I was dying of discomfort from sitting on the hard wooden sticks that were laid down as flooring, and I have never been able to properly sit cross-legged (it is disrespectful to spread your legs as they may point in some one's direction) so my back was aching.

Things got a little better after we finished a bottle of brandy and smoked tobacco from dried leaves, but I was happy to retire for the night with Mick and Roger. We climbed into our small shack and the night's fun really began. There was no way three grown men could properly sleep in the 5'x5' "dog house." Fortunately, both Mick and Roger have some of the wittiest humor and kept our spirits up as best as possible.

Roger summed it up best when he remarked, "They're no more than a bunch of f***ing gypos on the side of a logging track!" I still crack up when I think of this because he hit the nail directly on the head: the Penan we met are either not bright enough to improve their lives or so set in their ways that they don't see the need to improve. Either way, we felt like there was very little for us to learn from them.

The night was a test of pure endurance. There was no room for us to turn over, and sleeping on sticks 1 inch in diameter is hardly conducive for sleep - it was literally impossible to get comfortable, especially with legs curled up to stay inside the mosquito nets. All I could think was: "Just make it to 6am and you will have survived the worst night of your life."