Iban New Year

Tahun Baru.

“Sir…., Iban tahun baru….bulan depan (Iban new year is next month)”

When one of the expat tribal workers in Brunei told me in a euphoric mood, I retorted with an equally vibrant mood.

“ Boleh saya datang (can I come)”

For sometime, I was dreaming of an adventure within the jungles of Borneo amongst friendly tribal community of Ibans, the head hunters.

I never guessed that my impulsive reaction would create a wave of incidents that would leave a permanent mark in my life. Ibans are a tribal community of headhunters living mainly in Sarawak, Malaysia.

“Boleh.. Selamat datang…Parti besar..(can...you are welcome….big party...)”

He was so elated, within the next hour I had to answer so many questions from my team of Ibans who already had jointly started planning my trip to their kampong (village).

A few days later I was on my way in a rattling bus from Seria, a petroleum town in Brunei, towards Kuala

aram (river baram) bordering Sarawak in Malaysia.

After a long arduous journey of around 6 hours by a speed boat, the only mode of transport to reach the village of my worker Ibans, I was forced to spend a night in a nearby lodge by the side of the river as night fell.

Speed boats do not operate in darkness due to safety precautions. Heavy logging is rampant along Kuala Baram and they use the river as a means of transporting logs. Boats frequently crash on logs and serious accidents are caused with heavy casualties.

The lodge was quite inexpensive but with bunker beds arranged in rows within a single hall and toilet facilities were dirty and common. I felt as if I am getting prequalified for the next few days in a longhouse amongst headhunters.

The next morning, boarding another speedboat, I spent less than an hour and reached a tiny village with only 2 shops that sold a few commodities. As promised my Iban worker was all smiles when he saw me as scheduled on the dot. From there onwards we had to walk a few kilometers according to him and just to quench my thirst, I bought 2 cans of coke, one for me and one for him.

Amidst gigantic trees that rose almost to heaven we walked through a jungle trek, at times cleared by him with his long parang. Parang is a large sword like razor sharp knife Ibans always wear on their waists. They hunt with it, chop meat and apart from clearing pathways, most of the household chores are done with it.

I tried to estimate the girth of one of those trees assuming the diameter to be 6 feet. It could be a massive 18 feet. No wonder, we are travelling through a virgin rainforest. After what I thought would have been a few kilometers, I gave him a can of coke and drank mine to proceed along the track often cleared by his razor sharp parang.

“Berapah jauh (how far)”

I inquired hunting for words in my limited vocabulary of Bahasa Melayu. Ibans speak a dialect of Melayu and my knowledge of Malay is ample to communicate with them on any topic.  

“Tidah jauh (not far)”

He retorted with a smile on his face.

Having already consumed the coke we walked through the jungle for the next 4 hrs once quenching my thirst from a stream with crystal clear water. Apparently the streams are totally devoid of any pollution except probably the faeces of orangutan the jungle man. Orang means man and utang means jungle in Malay.

When I came across another stream I was craving for a face wash. When I saw a few girls collecting something in the shallow waters I retreated on my steps. They were topless and did not try to hide their breasts and were at ease almost inviting me to join them. Sensing the uneasiness growing inside me when I paused and looked at him he became all smiles.

“Boleh saya cuci..(can I wash)”

“Boleh….tidakh masalah….(can...no problem)..”

So I entered the stream without even a glance at their breasts probably giving them the impression that I am a pondang. Pondang is a person who cannot have sex with a woman. The village was just a few meters away from the stream that fell on to a larger stream.

Almost the whole village was there to greet me along with the kampong ketua (village chief) who was the ultimate authority within the village. The village consisted of a single large row of rooms built on stilts with a common verandah running from one end to the other end and thus it is called a rumah panjang or a longhouse. Each family owned a single room and all the families shared the common verandah. All the rooms were identical with only one difference. At the entrance to each room a bag woven out of what looked like coconut leaves hung on a hook. The bag reminded me of the piriwessa in which our elders brought fish home during the fifties from the market. Instead of fish this bag contained the proud possession of the head of the family. The hunted skulls of human beings. They were real and looking at my amazed face and the motionless body he settled my fears.

“Jangan takut... Itu tidah baru. (Do not fear. They are not new)

“Lu bunuh itu…..(you killed them)?”

“La….bapa besar…(no ….. my grand fathers)”

New or old they are real human skulls of intruders hunted down by my friend. Or at least by his ancestors according to his explanation. My fears started to grow despite  the hospitality these people showed towards me. Yet what transpired during the next three days is totally remarkable and out of this world.

It did not take much time for the topless girls to arrive at the longhouse. They demanded that I join them to the river for a bath. It was not a request. By this time I have already been warned of some customs prevalent within the community. No one shall refuse the request of girls in a group. If refused they have the right to force you to do it. It does not apply to any request made by a single girl and that eased my worst doubts.

So I joined them. The most important thing is that, by this time a bare breasted young teenage girl did not make any difference to me. Seeing all the women bare breasted had totally made me immune to this surrounding.

Astonishingly the bath was so quick. At home they would have called it a crow’s bath.

On arrival at the long house escorted majestically by a group of young topless girls, I was presented with a bowl of cooked tiny black snails while seated on the wooden floor. Here starts the fun I thought. A bowl of snails. A group of girls standing around me looking ever so enthusiastically at this creature from another planet eating the snails. No choice of refusal. I have seen these snails around 19 mm in diameter with an almost flat back clinging onto rocks in Sri Lankan water streams. Just boiled in salted water alive after making a tiny hole on its back. You only have to suck it out into your mouth. The hole on its back makes it easy to suck. Trust me guys, it was juicy and fantastic.

New year was on the following day but unlike ours not much preparation was evident. After dinner which comprised rice and chicken in a fairly palatable form although, I missed my spices that would have given much flavour. Kamong ketua joined us for a little chat over dinner and since I was tired they suggested that I go to sleep. No beds were visible and neither did I worry much about that.

“Di mana saya tidur….(where do I sleep)”

I asked the question knowing that there is only one room and I was ready to accept the verandah. But they were not ready to give me the verandah.

“ Dalam bilik…dengan isteri saya.(inside the room...with my wife)”

It took me a few seconds to regain my senses but, gathered enough courage and with the intention of cushioning the situation resorted to a different approach.

“Bagus….kita tidur bersama. (Good...we all sleep together)

“La...itu tradisi...anda tidur dengan isteri (no...this is tradition. You sleep with my wife)”

Upon my strong objections the kampong ketua (village headman) was summoned to settle this matter. After a brief discussion and when I said that my respect for Iban traditions are unstinted and I expect you all to respect my traditions too, the matter came to an end.

Even though my Iban friend felt rejected, I was certain he and his wife were happy to have respected our traditions. For these tribal men who possessed the genes of cannibalistic ancestors, offering your own wife to distinguished visitors is respect earned with pride. I later on came to know that this is not the case with every visitor. I was treated as majesty and they do that with great respect.

The next day all the men prepared to go out to gather food. Some armed with blowpipes and some with parangs. Blowpipe is a tool used for hunting with poisoned darts ejected with the force of ones blow aimed at animals. I joined the team with parangs and wore a parang in a scabbard made out of animal skin. The group with blowpipes went hunting while the parang gang went looking for edible trees.

We were going on a predetermined course until we reached some trees that looked like palm and started working on them with our parangs. The trees were sago palm used to make sago by crushing and extracting starch from the soft pith. I stopped trying to help them when I saw fleets of tarantulas disturbed by the activity running around. I was so scared I ran to a small clearing amidst their laughter.

“Itu labah labah racun ….(Are these spiders poisonous)

“Sikit….(little….)

But the expressions of deceit that crossed their smiling faces told me otherwise. Yet they were not at all bothered. Probably immune to tarantula poison the same way air Lankans are immune to mosquitoes.

After cutting down three trees we took out the edible pith and came back to the long house. We waited for the hunting group who came back with a large wild boar hung on a pole, carried by two strong men.

The total collection of food including the wild boar was  placed in front of the kampong ketua and cut into small pieces for cooking. He then made 14 equal portions and distributed among the 14 families. Even the families who did not participate in the hunt due to unavoidable reasons were given their share. Nobody questioned or worried about anything and no signs of ambiguity. Food collected or harvested belongs to kampong ketua who distributes equally amongst the community.

Celebrations started at dusk while all the men were seated on the floor. I was made to sit with the kampong ketua who proudly flashed his ceremonial dress. Women started pouring drinks to the men seated around. It was a rice wine called tuak and contained a high percentage of alcohol. I was pre warned never to refuse and never to go too slow which either case could instigate the girls to make you drink forcibly. That is the custom.

Ketua took the floor to the beat of drums and all men joined. Their traditional dance clad in ceremonial dresses depicted hunting and when I was invited to the floor by a very young topless girl I joined with ease. She depicted the hunted and I acted the hunter. It was absolute fun until the end of the party when the kampong ketua announced that I could pick her as my night’s partner. I used all my diplomacy not to hurt the girl but refused the offer.

The following day, I spent most of the time studying their traditions which fascinates me to this day.

Marriage customs:

Every family with a young girl ready for marriage keeps a lantern lit throughout the night as a signal for eligible bachelors. The boy is free to come at night and ask the girl very politely to marry him. If she refuses the boy shall go back in peace. If the girl consents, he puts off the lantern and gets the opportunity to have sex with her. Rape is never heard of.

The next day the couple appears at the doorstep of the kampong ketua who then pronounces the couple husband and wife. The whole village gets together at a party hosted by the kampong ketua at his expense. The next day they build a new room adjoining the long house and the couple starts their new life.

Divorce customs:

Divorce is totally decided by the kampong ketua after hearing both sides and after giving them plenty of time to reconsider their decision. Once divorced both parties are free to look for new partners and the female partner is always given her equal share in all the produce by the community.

Disputes:

When I asked the question kampong ketua seemed speechless for a moment. I thought maybe I used the wrong word and emphasized on it.

“pertikaian….(dispute)”

He still seemed lost and I used another word after scavenging through my small vocabulary of malay.

“melawan…..(fight)”

“siapa melawan…..(who fight) sini tiada siapa melawan…..(here nobody fights)

What a community I thought and asked the next stupid question.

“curi……?  (Steal..)

“kenapa curi? (Why steal?)

I stopped asking questions for fear of spoiling their innocent minds and remembered the normal belief in Brunei about Ibans.

“Never suspect an Iban for a theft. They do not know how to steal”

The following day I took the same route back to Brunei with the happy feeling of the only Sri Lankan to have spent 3 days in an Iban kampong panjang.