The Land Beneath the Winds

No, it's not a corny Bette Midler song.

It refers to Sabah, one of two East Malaysian states situated on the Borneo island, separated from the peninsular West Malaysia by the South China Seas.  It is home to Malaysia's highest peak, Mount Kinabalu (4,095 metres), and the Kinabalu National Park at its foothills is a World Heritage Site, due to the richness of its plant diversity and unique geological conditions.

It's that nipple in the horizon... 

(seen from our Air Asia flight, just minutes before landing)

We did not spend any time near any of that during our short trip over the Vesak Day weekend.  There is much to see and do in this part of Malaysia that seems so familiar, and just yet so different.  We will return another time to explore more.  

It is regrettable that us Peninsularians (I made that word up) know so little of our compatriots over there.  Or maybe it is just me?  I only recall vague notions of the main ethnic groups - Kadazan-Duzun, Bajau, Murut - and that those who maintained their traditional lifestyles in the jungles live in rumah panjang (longhouses), and some of them are were headhunters.  

So with the best intentions to learn more about my fellow Malaysians, I signed the family up for a visit to a cultural village near Kota Kinabalu, despite YL's protests that we should just have a non-productive relaxing holiday.

The Mari Mari Cultural Village showcases the lifestyles of the five largest ethnic groups in Sabah - Dusun, Lundayeh, Rungus, Bajau, Murut.  The Bajau are seafarers, so their houses were built high up on stilts.  In this example of a typical Bajau dwelling, a wedding is in the cards for the daughter of the family, as the long colourful cloth hung along the verandah indicates.  

Speaking of daughters, it was interesting to see the importance every tribe placed in the protection of their daughters.  In every dwelling, except the Murut's, the girls in the family slept high up on an alcove.  The ladders are withdrawn every night after the girls are in their rooms, to prevent unwelcomed visitors in the middle of the night.  The boys slept on a low platform on the other side of the hut, while parents typically sleep underneath the girls' alcove.  

I am guessing the Murut people did not need to do this as they are known ferocious headhunters, their collection of skulls prominently displayed at the entrance to their villages and in homes.

 Don't mess with them or you will be given a place of honour in their home.

After being "welcomed" with an ambush of the Murut warriors as we neared the entrance of the Murut village, we were questioned as to the reason of our visit in a tongue I did not recognise (each tribe have their own language, quite distinct from the Malay language).  After they were satisfied that we were not there to steal their chickens or women, we were allowed in.

They even allowed YL a go at poisoned darts.  If I were them, I'd be afraid of this benign-looking man who hit the coconut 10 metres away at first try.  He is definitely after the chickens, this one.

Poisoned darts and skulls aside, we were also shown many harmless day-to-day practices of the tribes, such as the making of rice-wine, snacks, ropes, vests, cooking methods, and games they played.  

Rice wine

Roti jala, simply made from eggs, flour and sugar.  I like!

Typical meal cooked in bamboo.  Ours had potatoes and chicken flavoured with salt, basil and ginger.  I like!

The guide explaining the clothing of the Rungus ladies indicated their marital statuses.  Sleeves down - single.  Sleeves up - taken.

Here is the longhouse of the Rungus tribe.  Some 20 families live in a typical one.  On the left are the private rooms for the parents and girls.  On the right is a low platform used as sleeping quarters at night by the boys. 

Each room is occupied by one family. 

Longhouse of the Rungus tribe

Somewhere in the middle of a Murut longhouse is a lowered platform made from bamboo. It is held in place loosely by, well, more bamboo, giving it a bounce.  Think of it as a trampoline.  

The men take turns at night to jump on this platform to try to hit the object hung high up on the ceiling. 

I was most impressed by the fact that the whole place was ran by young people.  They were performing, guiding, and sharing their culture, keeping it alive and making it come alive.  Syabas!

The aboriginal boy-band.  They were good.  And good-looking.  I was mesmerised. (Don't tell the chicken thief with the poisonous darts)

Tribal dancers flexing their muscles.  

Speaking of young people, the young Dusun gentleman who drove us to the village told us some fantastical stories about black magic and its modern day applications (think the recent Sulu invasion in Sabah).  He was a young educated man, soft-spoken and well-mannered.  He assured us that black magic is alive and well in Borneo, obliging my fast and furious questions with stories and personal anecdotes about orang jin (genies working for men in exchange for food), penanggal (disembodied flying heads surviving on the blood of pregnant women), curses, witch doctors, and the impenetrable bodies of the Sulu soldiers who recently tried to claim Sabah for their own (the Malaysian army apparently had to recruit soldiers from Sarawak who are skilled in the dark arts to fight them when their bullets and bombs had no effect.  Of course you won't find any of these in the official media.  Ask me for more juicy details).  

I found all this fascinating, just like my kids did...

OK, so the kids did not thank me profusely after the outing, but they did enjoy our stay at the resort, where they mucked around on the beach (a REAL one....not like the ones here in Singapore), enjoying the sunset,

oogled at two of the four orang utan being rehabilitated by the resort's nature reserve,

became ranger for the day, preparing food for the orang utan, and feeding other animals, 

but mostly just demanding to be brought to the Kids' Club

to see Thomas & Friends.

Sigh, so much for education.  But they will thank me and the dart-shooter one day.