by Di Morrissey
As they drove from the airport, Julie saw that the broad river that dissected the city, was bordered by a landscaped esplanade, and ships and long flat freighters crowded the main wharf. Several streets were lined with highrise buildings, shops and hotels, but a glimpse of old shophouses and a few white colonial buildings hinted at the past, while an urban sprawl fanned away from the city centre. The city was small but scenic with the jungle at its back door. Julie immediately fell in love with it.
‘It looks beautiful. Very clean, too,’ said Julie to David.
‘One of my favourite places,’ he agreed. ‘The White Rajahs, the Brooke family, ruled it as their personal kingdom for a hundred years, until the Japanese invaded. The first rajah, Sir James Brooke, was ceded Sarawak and his family ruled it as absolute monarchs. They had their own money, stamps and flag and even the power of life and death over their subjects. After the war, the third rajah, Charles Vyner Brooke, gave Sarawak to the British and after independence it became part of Malaysia. Many of the imposing colonial buildings were built by the second rajah, Sir Charles Brooke.’
Julie couldn’t wait to explore the quaint city as they drove past the imposing white courthouse, where the white arched colonnade shaded a mosaic tiled footpath. Interesting shops, the smell of spices and the waterfront promenade were all utterly enticing.
‘Oh, look at the cats!’ she exclaimed as their taxi rounded the spectacular statue and fountain.
‘Kuching means cat in Malay,’ said Matthew. ‘Every souvenir in this place is either a picture or a toy of a cat or an orangutan.’
‘Back in Brisbane, you said that you could arrange for me to see some orangutans, David. Are they still out there in the jungle?’ asked Julie.
‘You saw the logging as we flew in,’ said Matthew. ‘And oil palm plantations over the border in Indonesian Kalimantan are also gobbling up their space. Orangutans are vegetarians and need a lot of ripe fruit, seeds, nuts and bark. In other words, they need to have a lot of trees to survive, and the forests they live in are being destroyed, fast. Poachers and illegal logging don’t help, either.’
‘But they’re still around,’ said Julie. She hadn’t expected to see the great apes on this trip, but now the opportunity seemed to present itself and she couldn’t wait.
‘Thanks to the breeding programs and sanctuaries and rehabilitation sites that were started in the 1980s. Now orangutans are a big tourist attraction in both Borneo and Sumatra.’
‘There’s a good sanctuary not far from here. I’ve filmed there,’ said Barry. ‘You could go there,’ he said to Julie.
Julie shook her head. ‘It’s incredible. I just love Kuching. I suppose my Great Aunt Bette must have come here?’
‘She must have. It’s the gateway to Iban country – up in the hill country,’ said Matthew.
‘How do we get to the Iban?’
‘I’m arranging a boat and a friend to take us upriver,’ said David. ‘But we’ll enjoy a day or so here first. Kuching is very pleasant.’
That evening the four of them headed out to where it was lively. Families were walking, children played on the public lawns and people were eating in the cafés and restaurants that faced the water. They ate in a small, smart bistro decorated with pictures from the era of the White Rajahs. The rattan furniture was covered in batik, fans and a Dayak headdress were hung on the walls and the menu was a mixture of local cuisine and colonial excess. While it was humid, the weather was bearable and later, they enjoyed strolling along the esplanade. The lights which were strung along its length twinkled in the Sarawak River. Food stalls were busy and couples and a few tourists sat on the benches, enjoying the views of the modern legislative assembly building, the rajah’s palace, and the old fort.
‘Rajah Sir Charles Brooke called most of the forts in Sarawak after female members of his family. That one over there is Fort Margherita. Then there’s Fort Alice and Fort Sylvia and I can’t remember the others,’ David said with a smile.
The little shops and markets of the old town opposite the esplanade were busy and while the three men ordered a beer at a café in the park, Julie meandered through some of the shops, instantly finding examples of the tourist culture. Most shops had, laid out in front of them, tables covered with T-shirts with pictures of headhunters and orangutans. There were also toy orangutans of every description, fake blowpipes, sarongs, imitation lengths of the fine woven fabric made by Iban women, paintings of longhouses, and picture books on the jungles of Sarawak and the “Wild Men of Borneo”. It was sensory overload.
The following day Julie decided to go to the museum while the others were finalising the details of their trip upriver. The gracious colonial museum was set back amongst lawns on a slight rise, and was another building constructed by Sir Charles, the second of the White Rajahs. The moment Julie walked inside and saw the cluttered rooms and the sweeping wooden staircase to the upper floor, lit by glass domes, she wished she had days to explore.
A friendly staff member explained to her that the ground floor held the natural history collection of local fauna, while upstairs were exhibits of ethnographic items such as models of longhouses of the various ethnic groups of Sarawak, musical instruments, fish and animal traps, handicrafts, models of boats, and ceremonial clothing and artifacts. Clearly, it was too much to take in for one visit.
Julie sat inside the model of a longhouse, or a rumah panjai, on a woven mat, looking at a set of photographs that showed how the interior was arranged. Essentially one long wall ran along the length of the building and served as a sort of corridor and communal verandah. Partitioned sections served as spaces for family units. Cooking fires were either in the corridor or in an adjoining area at the end of a suspended walkway. The photos gave only a sketchy sense of what a longhouse might be like, but now Julie’s interest in the life of tribes like the Iban was really piqued.
Had her great aunt sat in a smoky longhouse somewhere in Sarawak, talking with these people who were once known as sea Dayaks and had been pirates and head-hunters? Julie wished she’d had the time to retrieve Bette’s book from her mother and read it before she came away.
Finally she found her way to the museum bookshop. This too, was a treasure trove of information, history and art. The woman behind the counter, who looked to be in her late forties, was a mixture of Malay and possibly Iban, judging by her deep olive skin, dark button eyes, small flat nose and straight dark hair. She was keenly attentive, which was not surprising as Julie was the only customer browsing among the bookshelves, carvings, artifacts and souvenirs.
‘Are you looking for anything special?’ asked the woman.
Julie shook her head. ‘Not really. Everything is so interesting.’
‘Your first time in Sarawak? Are you staying long? Where are you going?’
‘I’m with friends who are taking me upriver to meet some Iban. I was hoping to learn a little bit about them before I went,’ said Julie.
‘You are a tourist? An academic or business person?’
‘Tourist, I suppose. Except my family spent a lot of time in Malaya in the old days so I’m sort of retracing a bit of family history.’
‘Your grandfather was in the war? You are Australian. I know the accent.’
‘My grandfather was English. He ran a plantation at Slim River and I’m visiting here for the first time,’ said Julie.
‘Tracing family roots, eh? We have quite a lot of family histories recorded here. I run the library as well,’ said the woman.
‘This is a brilliant museum. I mean, really impressive when you consider the collections,’ said Julie.
‘We had a very wonderful curator after the war until the sixties. A true eccentric Englishman, a most interesting character. I am Mrs Ping. If I can be of any assistance . . .’
‘Thank you. Actually, I wonder if you might know about my great aunt. She wrote a book about her time here in the early ’70’s . . .’
‘As so many did, mostly the men, as they undertook more adv
enturous exploits. What was your auntie’s name?’
‘Bette Oldham. She wrote about spending some time with the Iban people.’
‘Yes, of course, I know it. We had a copy here some months back. Quite a rare publication. I believe we sold it. She was interested in the orangutans, too, was she not?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know. I only know about her book about visiting Borneo and her time staying with the Iban. Did she write about orangutans?’
Mrs Ping squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed the bridge of her nose. ‘I’m trying to think. I’m fairly sure she wrote a pamphlet of some kind. It was early days then. Logging wasn’t at the level it is now, which has caused such problems for the animals. The 1970s was the start of what is happening. Perhaps your relative saw the problem before anyone else.’
‘I do wish I could have met her or known more about her,’ said Julie.
‘There could well be people still alive who knew her,’ suggested Mrs Ping.
‘Really, do you think anyone might remember her? My aunt would have been in her late eighties now, if she were still alive.’ The thought that she might be able to meet someone who had known Bette thrilled Julie.
‘I’ll make it my personal challenge to find out something for you. Where are you staying? Do you have a mobile phone number?’
‘Yes. This is so kind of you. We’re going upriver in a day or so, where I doubt there’s any reception. I’ll check in with you when we get back.’
‘If you have some time before you go, perhaps you’d like to go out to the wildlife sanctuary. I’d be happy to take you. I work there as a volunteer. Here’s my number. Give me a call if you find that you have time,’ said Mrs Ping.
‘You mean to take me to where the orangutans are? That’d be fantastic. I’ll have to check with my friend arranging my trip to see the Iban. He’s an anthropologist and he has a small team with him. I’m tagging along.’
‘Lucky you. What’s your name, by the way?’
‘I’m sorry. I’m Julie. Julie Reagan.’
‘I’m Angie Ping. We shall see each other again, soon.’
When Julie told David of her meeting with Angie Ping at the museum bookshop, he was pleased for her.
‘There you go! See, I knew you’d enjoy it here. There’s so much to see.’ He hugged her. ‘We’re going to have an amazing time.’
Julie found herself, unusually for her, taking a step backwards. David’s enthusiasm was a bit smothering and, while she found his company enjoyable and his help invaluable, she thought he could be a bit over the top at times.
‘How are Matthew and Barry going with the preparations?’ she asked.
David frowned and sighed. ‘The usual hold ups and delays. The men bringing the boat downriver on the last jungle leg of the trip had to attend some ceremony. A burial, I think. So they’ve gone to the Ruming long-house, which will delay us a few days. But transport from Kuching to the first-stage landing is all on schedule. Unfortunately, I have to catch up on paperwork. Getting expeditions up into the backblocks requires a lot of form filling and discussions with the authorities. Just when you think you’ve given them everything they want, they think of something else.’
‘I see. That sounds frustrating,’ said Julie.
‘It is, but it will all work out. I’m sorry for the delay. I’ll try and keep you entertained while we’re stuck in Kuching,’ said David.
‘Please, you have enough to do. Actually, this delay is great as I’ve had an invitation to go out to the wildlife sanctuary with Angie from the museum, and I’d like to do that.’
He gave her a quizzical look. ‘You move fast! A stroll in the jungle with the men of the forest . . . go for it. I had hoped to take you myself, but I don’t want to leave Kuching in case the authorities think of something else they want me to do. You can tell me all about it over dinner tomorrow night.’
Julie was tempted to say she might have other arrangements. She’d been thinking of having dinner with Angie Ping, she seemed such a nice woman, but Julie didn’t want to offend David – he had arranged the trip and was looking after her. Instead she said, ‘Sounds good. I’ll be in touch. Now this afternoon I’m off to see the rest of the city. Kuching is really delightful.’
6
ANGIE WAS DRIVING JULIE out of Kuching on a good road but within minutes the jungle asserted itself. A deep green presence on the periphery of towns and villages, it was a living wall between those who lived on its edge and those creatures who lived within its heart.
‘This is so kind of you to take me to see the orangutan sanctuary. I’m really looking forward to it,’ said Julie.
‘It’s my pleasure. I just love going there and seeing my friends,’ replied Angie.
‘You mean the people working there?’
‘Well, yes. But the orangutans are also my friends. Wait until you see them, then you’ll know what I mean. Most times several of them show up at feeding time.’
‘What kind of animals are out there?’ said Julie, pointing into the jungle.
Angie glanced at her quickly before returning her attention to the road ahead. ‘Sun bears, monkeys, small nocturnal creatures, the slow loris and birds, not to mention insects, bats and reptiles. But, you know, the numbers are declining because of the loss of trees due mainly to logging, and poachers have always been a problem, too. The illegal trade in wildlife is appalling.’
‘That’s terrible. Are the sanctuaries helping?’ asked Julie.
‘Certainly. Some orangutans can’t look after themselves in the wild, and some mothers haven’t learned how to rear their babies, so many of them rely on the feeding stations in the sanctuaries to survive. These, of course, attract tourists because this is where they can watch the apes up close. But, if it’s a good season, the orangutans stay in the jungle to feed and, because they forage over a vast area, visitors to the sanctuary might not see them. It can be a bit of pot luck.’
‘And you’ve been coming out here for a while? You must know the animals pretty well.’
Angie smiled. ‘Yes, I have my favourites and I like to think I’ve established a bond with several of them. I’m looking forward to introducing you.’
Julie nodded.
Upon arrival Julie thought that the sanctuary looked rather touristy with its fancy entrance, administrative buildings, small cafeteria, information centre and souvenir shop. Painted signs and paths led through the grounds from the parking area, but once she lifted her gaze, Julie saw that they were surrounded by a solid wall of forest. She found it was hard to believe that a short distance from her modern world was a world older than humankind.
A small coach had disgorged a tour group. The tourists were now filing after their leader to a fenced area, where there was a wooden platform several metres from the ground, encircling a tree. Ropes and cables looped between the platform and the tree, and as Julie looked around she saw that there was more of the same maze of wires strung between the trees in the deeper parts of the forest. A game-keeper in a smart khaki uniform brought a bucket filled with pieces of jackfruit, pineapple and banana and spread them on the platform. The tourists crowded at the fence, jockeying for good positions, cameras ready.
‘Don’t worry about this. Come with me,’ said Angie, leading Julie past a small building, through a short tunnel and across a bridge. Suddenly they were on a narrow track leading into the thick forest. The trees towered above them, tangled vines seemed to lash the trees together, and the dense canopy above them blocked patches of the sky. They’d stepped into a different world.
All was quiet. It was very humid in here and Julie felt perspiration begin to run down her face and between her breasts, soaking her shirt. The sudden shriek of a bird made her jump. Angie walked slowly, silently pointing out the roots jutting across the path so that Julie wouldn’t trip. Julie paused every few steps to look around. The jungle was overwhelming. Then Angie stopped and pointed up. A large bird flew from a tree, the branches of which began to quiver.
; ‘They’re coming,’ she whispered.
The women stood, peering upwards. The trees shook, a few small branches fell. Then suddenly a dark shape was discernible through the leaves, and Julie was amazed to see an orangutan become visible in the tree above them, swinging from one tree branch to the next, using its feet, arms and tail.
‘That’s Carla. She’s a young female, about three years old,’ said Angie softly. ‘So her mother should be close by, too. The young stay near their mothers for the first four or five years.’
‘There she is,’ said Julie feeling excited. She could hardly believe she was seeing these great shaggy, ginger primates in the wild. She watched the mother move easily, a bright-eyed baby clinging to her side. The apes stopped and began pulling seeds from the branch above them. Suddenly there was a high-pitched shriek and another, slightly bigger, orangutan came closer, flinging itself from branch to branch. Then it stopped and began to break off leaves.
Julie reached for her camera, zooming in on the orang utans who were now busy eating, preening and ignoring their audience. She had no idea how long the two of them stood and watched. Julie was so fascinated that she stopped taking photos until Angie offered to take one of her with the orangutans in the background. Before she had a chance to do so, the two of them were interrupted by jarringly loud voices as a small group of tourists, red-faced with the heat and exertion, hurried towards them along the track, stopping when they saw Julie and Angie.