SEPTEMBER 5 — It was tough being the only Kayan in class and one who is half Hokkien at that. It also did not help that my name sounds like a thick-skinned one horn animal with a surname that you could easily rhyme to.
Not a day passed when I didn’t get picked on but my last years in those ugly olive green slacks were the ones I couldn’t forget.
Geography lessons were particularly sickening. The class would be in stitches when the teacher taught about the “kayu-kayan” or timber in some countries or that their fishing industry consisted of “ikan hering”.
Then there would be those jokers who just can’t resist it when the class is silent with everyone focused on their books. “Mering, Mering ... Raynore your phone!”
But the one that really stuck with me was “badak” (rhinoceros). I won’t deny it, there were fights when some jokes went too far but not many, not after I show them what a “badak” is capable of.
You are probably wondering by now where I am going with this — I am too.
I just figured that this being my first article for this column, which has been thrust upon me when I am still coming to grips with life in the big valley, it is only appropriate that I introduced myself .
The Kayans are among some 30 ethnic groups in Sarawak called the Orang Ulu. They do not include the Iban or Bidayuh. And for the information of some of my ill-informed friends in the peninsula, we do not live on trees or caves.
Now to be honest, I speak very little Kayan.
The first words I learn in Kayan were “atak nyingam” which means “cold water”. Those two words kept me alive during my first visit as a boy to my longhouse, Long Panai, which is along the Tutoh-Apoh river in Baram, in northern Sarawak. (Find that on a map and I will reward you with a hering),
You see, my longhouse does not have electricity supply like in my hometown of Kuching. To this day, whatever electricity we have in the longhouse comes from a shared generator that rumbles to life in the evening and ends before midnight, except on some festive occasions.
At this juncture, I think I need to explain that a longhouse is essentially a row of houses all joined together and they share a common balcony.
In Sarawak, the commonly accepted term to call each house or unit is “bilik” (room) or “pintu” (door).
And so in my longhouse, a few units belonging to enterprising families, who turned their houses into tuck shops, would have their own generator sets to keep their all important refrigerators working.
Fortunately, one of those enterprising families are close to mine and when the days got too hot, I will pop by their shop, stick my head in their fridge and take long deep breaths of the cold air before asking: “Atak nyingam?”
The water in my longhouse taste nothing like that supplied by your utility company. Ours come gravity-fed from a stream on a mountain behind the longhouse and while some might say it’s gritty, I say it’s unadulterated H2O packed with minerals — best served after its boiled.
An aerial view of Long Panai, which is along the Tutoh-Apoh River in Baram, northern Sarawak. — Malay Mail pic
An aerial view of Long Panai, which is along the Tutoh-Apoh River in Baram, northern Sarawak. — Malay Mail pic
But it’s a long way back to Long Panai for that fresh-tasting water. Travelling in the basic conveyances takes two full days. A journey by car to Miri, then by express boat to Marudi and another express boat to my longhouse. And if you have never been in an express boat in Sarawak, think coffin with windows and that’s partly the reason, I rarely return to my longhouse.
Nonetheless, over the years, I managed to pick up more words in Kayan but I still can’t string a proper sentence together for lack of practise. There just aren’t many of us in Kuching.
I believe there are about 30,000 Kayans in Sarawak and they live mostly in Baram or in Belaga, and I don’t think there’s more than 5,000 Kayans among the 700,000 or so people living in Kuching.
I would certainly like to speak Kayan fluently one day. The fact that Kayan women, with their exotic features, are among the most beautiful women in Sarawak has nothing to do with it at all.
I am just proud to be part of a community with such a rich and unique culture and heritage.
It amazes me that my late grandmother had earlobes that stretched so long that it snapped, that our traditional motifs with its dragons and intertwining branches are so magical, that the sound of our “sape” (a four-string lute) can be found nowhere else in this world, that we dance with hornbill feathers with such grace, that we have such intricate beadwork — there’s just so much about being a Kayan that I am proud of.
But here I am again today, far from home, getting re-acquainted with the mad traffic and eating at the mamak’s. It has been an interesting six months so far and I am looking forward to the adventure ahead.
Now I’m not one for grand words or intellectual dissertations. I like keeping things simple. So if you would allow me, I would like to share my thoughts with you every Friday (fingers crossed) and hopefully, elicit some reaction from you which will make this all worth while.
- See more at: http://www.themalaymailonline.com/what-you-think/article/im-kayan-and-i-dont-live-on-a-tree-raynore-mering#sthash.pIwXTDKP.vuLc6q3T.dpuf
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