What do peppercorns, a river journey and headhunters have in common?
In Issue 85 (Winter 2012), we wrote about Malaysia for CSANews. Years later, we returned to Malaysia and discovered that we had missed its most astonishing state – Sarawak.
To get to the largest of Malaysia’s 13 states – located on the northwest coast of Borneo, the world’s third-largest island – we flew for 100 minutes from Malaysia’s capital Kuala Lumpur to Sarawak’s modern capital city, Kuching. From here, we joined a guided cultural tour that was punctuated with surprises.
We knew that we’d spend a night in a former headhunter’s longhouse, but we didn’t expect to see a bundle of severed human skulls hanging from the rafters when we arrived. Cobwebs spanned the lifeless eye sockets of the purloined heads, so we realized with relief that they weren’t fresh.
Our tour guide Joseph was Bidayuh – one of 27 ethnic groups in Sarawak. “We’re also called Land Dayaks,” he explained, “because years ago, the Ibans drove us inland. Ibans are the largest group, comprising 30% of the population. They had the reputation of being the most fearsome of Borneo’s headhunters. The longhouse where we’re staying is Iban. I also grew up in a longhouse, and I speak Iban as well as Bidayuh.”
Honey, we’re not in Toronto, anymore…
Our journey to the longhouse also had its share of unexpected encounters. It began with a four-hour drive on the Trans-Borneo Highway. The 235-kilometre trip flew by quickly thanks to numerous distractions, ranging from rice paddies and cocoa plantations to beautiful purple-and-white wild orchids bordering our route.
We visited a pepper plantation which resembled a vineyard, with vines growing up stakes. “Did you know that green, red, white and black peppercorns all come from the same plant?” asked the owner, who held out a grape-like cluster for us to examine.
“They change from green to yellow and then red. Dried green berries turn black. To make white peppercorns, we soak red berries in sacks in the river for two weeks and then we wash away the skins and dry them.”
When we stopped in Serian for lunch, we were stunned to see a man tie the sharp-clawed feet of a slaughtered monitor lizard to a pole for easy transport. He uttered something to Joseph, who translated: “Good meat. Tastes like chicken.” We should’ve seen that one coming.
After lunch, we strolled through the market, viewing stacks of vegetables, baskets of fresh fish and bags of dried fish, as well as plastic containers, straw hats and brooms. According to Joseph, visitors traditionally bring gifts to the longhouse headman. “What do you buy as a house gift for a headman?” we asked.
“Tuak,” advised Joseph. “It’s fermented rice wine.” We also bought gifts for the children – candy and small toys. Joseph suggested cigarettes for the adults. We hesitated, considering the health hazards. “Cigarettes are ideal for detaching leaches that cling to your skin,” he said.
“Leaches?” We shuddered, recalling that our trip included a jungle walk. We bought a few packs.
Nearby, we met our boatman and motorized longboat for the one-hour journey on the Skrang River to the longhouse. A refreshing breeze wafted over us as we skimmed the café au lait-coloured river bordered by dense emerald foliage. We watched fishermen casting bamboo traps and longboats transporting sacks of peppercorns.
Rounding a bend, we glimpsed a long, wooden structure. “It’s on stilts to prevent animals from entering,” explained Joseph, as we docked beside other longboats.
“This longhouse has 23 families. Some are much larger, with up to 100 households under one roof. There are thousands of longhouses in Sarawak, especially along the Skrang, Lemanak, Batang Ai and Rejang Rivers.”
Children greeted us as we climbed the notched log ladder at the entrance. Joseph introduced us to Headman Bansing, who warmly welcomed us inside.
“How was your harvest?” we asked, with Joseph translating. Delighted that we knew the traditional greeting, he smiled and responded that it was good. “Iban people believe that visitors bring good luck,” said Joseph.
We removed our shoes to tour the premises. A covered veranda, with rows of support posts, extended along the length of the house. Doors opened into family quarters.
Longhouses are renowned for their hospitality, and this one was no exception. A petite grandmother greeted us and told Joseph: “It’s been too long since you’ve been here.”
One family invited us into their home and proudly showed us their ceramic heirloom jars. Used for storing tuak, rice and other staples, they were obtained from trade hundreds of years ago and passed from one generation to the next.
The kitchen had a propane stove and a wood-fuelled fireplace. Family members sat in a circle on the floor eating dinner from several small communal dishes. “Their main dish is barking deer,” said Joseph. “It tastes like pork.”
“While I cook dinner, you can visit the families,” he said. In the waning light on the veranda, grandparents sat on woven mats, playing with their grandchildren. Women and men wove baskets by flickering candlelight.
Poison darts
One man made darts for his blowpipe. After attaching a chunk of pith to one end of the shaft for stability, he notched the opposite pointed tip so that it would break upon hitting its target, leaving the poisoned tip inside.
Older people spoke only Iban. The younger generations also spoke Malay and English learned in boarding schools, which they attended on weekdays. We communicated surprisingly well with a smattering of Malay, English and sign language.
Joseph called us to a delicious dinner of stir-fried chicken and vegetables, deep-fried fish, rice and steamed jungle fern, which reminded us of asparagus. We used the family’s dishes and cutlery and, like them, sat on the floor to eat.
After dinner, the warm glow of kerosene lamps and candles illuminated the veranda. Families displayed their handicrafts – baskets, mats, beaded bracelets, wooden carvings and woven wall hangings. There was no pressure to buy, although the low prices almost guaranteed a sale.
We completed our shopping and gave the headman the tuak and gifts. He graciously accepted them, opened the packages and divided them into 23 equal mounds.
Our host opened the bottle of tuak and poured some against the longhouse pillar for the ground spirits, before filling a glass. He took the first sip (as is customary, to prove that it wasn’t poisoned) and then offered us each a drink. The tuak was cloudy and sweet, with a kick that we didn’t feel until we tried to stand up.
Musicians began playing drums and gongs. The women – some wearing special-occasion beaded collars and traditional silver headpieces, and others wearing everyday sarongs – performed graceful welcome dances.
We applauded in appreciation. The dancers each shook our hands and then stopped by the headman to pick up their gifts.
The Iban men, now dressed as warriors with loincloths and hornbill-feathered headdresses, performed a combat dance. Armed with long swords and colourful shields, they pierced the air with battle cries.
Lulled into a comfortable stupor by the tuak, we enjoyed the show until one of the men, with an outstretched tattooed arm, invited us up to dance. Suddenly, we realized that we were part of the entertainment.
You don’t say no to someone carrying an arm’s-length sword, decorated with strands of human hair – even if it was only his great-grandfather who was the headhunter.
We didn’t do a perfect rendition of the dance, but everyone clapped politely, nonetheless. Afterwards, our hosts served tea and biscuits.
Pierced ears & body art
Using our guide as a translator, we asked an elderly man about his age. “I’m 70 times the harvest,” he replied. We noted that his pierced ears drooped from large earrings that once enlarged the holes. “Younger men have surgery to remove the dangling lobes to look more modern,” explained Joseph.
Likewise, only older men had tattoos. “They punctured the skin with a mixture of honey and charcoal,” said Joseph. “In the old days, tattoos indicated that a man was brave in war or had taken heads.” Headman Bansing pointed to his arms. “Each tattoo is from a different trip,” he said.
As families retired to their quarters for the night, our host brought out a foam mattress, clean sheets and pillows and laid them on the veranda for our bed. We drifted off to sleep, serenaded by a jungle chorus of screeches, squawks and chirps.
Suddenly, we both woke up. Something was moving in the darkness near the skulls.
“Did I drink too much tuak last night, or did you see what I saw?”
“I saw it too. What is it?”
“I don’t know, but it’s sliding along the floor towards us.”
Fumbling for our flashlight, we focused the beam on a burlap bag. It squealed.
Relieved to learn that it was only a piglet destined for the morning market, we tried to fall asleep. No success. A group of hunters returned from their jungle hunt. Pigs snuffled on the ground below the floorboards. Roosters crowed. Chickens clucked.
By dawn, the women were up preparing breakfast. The men needed a hearty meal before their three-hour walk to the rice paddies for a full day of work.
As Joseph cooked eggs for our breakfast, we watched a woman on the balcony winnow rice. She repeatedly flipped the grains from a handwoven tray into the air, to allow the wind to blow away the chaff.
Whatever you do, don’t inhale
After breakfast, a hunter offered to show us how to use a blowpipe. “The trick,” he said, “is to blow from your chest, not your mouth.”
We, each in turn, grasped the pole and discovered that it wasn’t as easy as it looked. It swayed. Thwup! Our darts failed to reach the target.
Iban hunters can hit a target 25 metres away. “If we want deer for dinner, we aim for the leg, so that we can cut out the poison before it taints the meat,” he explained. “The poison is ipoh tree sap. It can kill in three minutes. We know which jungle plants are antidotes.”
Joseph introduced us to other medicinal plants during a jungle walk. With pants tucked into our socks, to protect our shins from leaches, we discovered that the jungle was not only a pharmacy, it was also a grocery and hardware store.
“We use this rough leaf like sandpaper to smooth blowpipes. And see this large leaf? When hunters are in the jungle, they wrap rice inside and steam it. They also use the leaf as a plate.”
Returning to the longhouse before our return trip to Kuching, we had to satisfy our curiosity about the skulls. “Who were they?” we asked. “Enemies,” replied Joseph.
“The Ibans were headhunters until 1839. James Brooke – a British adventurer who became Rajah of Sarawak after quelling a tribal rebellion – put an end to headhunting. When the Japanese invaded during the Second World War, the practice resumed.”
“Why did they sever the heads?” we asked.
“They weren’t just trophies. Ibans believed that if they killed the enemy leader, they would capture his spirit and control it. By giving it offerings, the spirit would be happy and do what they wanted it to do.” Small baskets containing rice, eggs and meat hung from the longhouse ceiling like palm leaf-wrapped smoke detectors.
“Why are some of the skulls black?” we inquired.
“They smoked the skulls to dry them after removing the flesh,” replied Joseph. “Nowadays, we still light fires below the skulls to keep them warm. You must never let them get wet and shiver. I remember, as a boy, hearing the skulls grind their teeth when they got wet. It was scary!”
Nor must you ever let the skulls go hungry. Judging by the numerous offering baskets in this longhouse, the Iban occupants extend their traditional hospitality to the severed heads, as well as to guests.
By Barb & Ron Kroll
Resources
For more information, visit https://sarawaktourism.com and https://www.malaysia.travel or phone Tourism Malaysia in Vancouver at 604-689-8899.
Barb & Ron Kroll publish the trip-planning website www.KrollTravel.com