Early August in Sabah was a wild and frenzied blur of working, dancing, eating and celebrating. Tonibung was part of the team organizing the Indigenous Peoples Day program from August 6-10th in Kampung Rantai, Keningau. My coworkers single-handedly constructed a temporary solar setup that powered an event for 200+ people while also using solar power to filter drinking water. When I arrived midday on the 7th with CAPI supervisor Robyn and my boss Madame Alice, the program was already in full swing. Children darted between handicraft tents laden with beaded jewlery and food stalls selling cold bubble tea to the masses. The blaring sun and sticky air that sapped everyone else of any remaining energy seemed to electrify the kids. Gong patterns from Penampang, Sarawak, Keningau and Tambunan emanated from refrigerator-sized speakers on either side of the stage and from groups playing the row of gongs on the right side of the stage. Youth joked and teased in their Indigenous mother tongues, arms slung comfortably over shoulders. Old and new friends greeted each other by shaking hands lightly and bringing their right hands to their hearts. A toddler slept in her mother’s arms behind the COAC table, her soft face in a sweet pout and her hair gathered into a ponytail right on the top of her head. A small crew of aunties with hair wrapped up in colourful bandanas hauled mountains of chicken curry, rice, sautéed tutan and bright purple dragonfruit from the kitchen in the back of the community center to the lines of tables for lunch. Attendees swarmed and hungrily descended on the food after a morning of speakers and roundtable discussions.
Following lunch, after filling their tummies discussions on Indigenous self-governance ensued in Malay. Understanding little and not wanting to burden anyone with translating, I meandered to the kitchen to meet the aunties and ask to help. Mia, Claurice, a past PACOS volunteer, and I sat on logs with Auntie Amy, Auntie Oline, Auntie Ann, Auntie Raimah and Auntie Juitah and separated the edible tutan leaves from their stems. An impromptu Dusun/Malay lesson began, punctuated with giggles and words of encouragement from our new teachers. Aunties chattered over each other, pointing at the piles of vegetables awaiting us on a nearby table as we frantically attempted commit new words to memory.
As the sun drifted west and the heat finally broke, Titus, Ned, Noel and Anthony, young people from Rantai, calmly corralled participants into traditional games like stilt walking, archery, slingshot and blow darts. The blow dart gun was roughly a meter and a half long with a black spear tip on the end. I watched kids of barely 10 years old hit bullseyes without batting an eye. My coworker Joshua displayed a natural talent for the stilts, self-assured and laughing easily even four feet off the ground. The racket drew adults just finished the afternoon session. Generations separated by 20-40 years easily melded and joked together, teasing any unfortunate archer who missed the target completely. I was the unfortunate archer who missed a wayward dog by about 2 inches. Any ridicule I received was deserved.
The following days began at 6am and revolved around helping the aunties prepare meals, documenting the Tonibung session on renewable energy and community health, losing to the Sarawak team despite our best efforts in tug-of-war and washing and drying dishes. After dinner, Mia and I played round after round of cards with Titus, Ned and Noel. These card games concentrated extreme competition, rapid-fire Malay and a healthy dose of friendly taunting. Titus, Ned and Noel showed immense pride in their community through long, long hours of hard work during the 5 day program. In the evenings when the day’s work was done, they teased me like any brothers would, welcoming an outsider like a sibling. Losing a round of Big-Two meant enduring Titus, the winner, towering over the table and dancing about, gloating, before stubbornly attempting to claw my way back to the top the next round.
August 9th was the peak of the program where even more people descended on the community center in full traditional dress, animal bones dangling from the necks of Dusun Lobu men and delicate bells adorning the ankles of the Murut women. Vibrant beading, woven palm crowns, lovingly embroidered vests and handmade traditional wakids were proudly on full display. Community members from different ethnic groups took selfies together, joy emanating from them.
It was all hands on deck to prepare the feast that would provide the masses energy for an evening of traditional dancing, singing and storytelling. Gotong royong – everyone helping together, mutual cooperation or work party originates from the Indigenous People of Java, Indonesia and is deeply embedded in everyday Sabah life. Uncles from different ethnic groups expertly wielded parangs – heavy, intimidating knives – to carve bamboo into vessels that would later hold python, snails, monitor lizard, squirrel, and other jungle dwellers. Teenage boys looked on enviously. Traditional rice wine was generously passed from young hands to wrinkled hands and back to young hands again. The masses descended again and we ate, sang and danced together, over 200 strong, late into the night.
To be invited to this program was a huge privilege. To wrap rice with the aunties, hear the pride in the voice of a Murut singer and to witness the community and organizations supporting this program bustling with energy and a singular mission was a huge privilege. Marking three months into my internship, this program blurred and abstracted the technical details of the day to day at Tonibung and zeroed in on the heart of my learning and my gratitude. In a voice memo sent after we departed, Noel hit the bullseye when he said ‘we are different but we are still community.’
