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Hunting heads in Borneo

Regard for spirit world remains ingrained in local tribes
borneo
Travelling down the Lemanak River in Borneo.

The human skull looking down balefully at me through a wicker framework suspended from the rafters of the Serubah Longhouse in Sarawak is unsettling, but according to our guide, Bong, it embodies a benevolent spirit who protects those who live here.

“They are hospitable towards visitors,” Bong adds, catching my apprehensive upward glance. “So don’t worry!”

The practice of decapitating enemies has long vanished in tribal Borneo in the wake of widespread Christianity. Nonetheless, ancient taboos, rituals and a regard for the spirit world remain ingrained in the minds and hearts of the Iban, the Kadazan and other Dyak tribes that live in the jungles of Sabah and Sarawak.

“When a warrior brought home the head of his enemy,” says Bong, “it was displayed on a pole while everyone celebrated the victory with feasting and dancing. The shaman would then perform special rituals of appeasement to make sure that the skull’s previous inhabitant had no vengeful hang-ups, and would instead act as a guardian of the longhouse by warding off evil influences.”

In keeping with this idea, wicker baskets surrounding the skulls above us have a collection of small offerings to make the spirits happy, including a few cigarette butts. Nicotine addiction evidently still persists in the afterlife.

I drain the proffered glass of fiery tuak as I raise a toast to the shrunken heads, which have now actually begun to look quite friendly.

The Serubah Longhouse at Nanga Sampa lies deep in the jungles of Sarawak. Travelling the rushing waters of the Lemanak River, our dug-out canoes looked as frail as peanut shells.

As I stand now at the entrance of the longhouse, the communal gallery seems to stretch a long, long way to the far end. The slatted wooden floor is perched on stilts and the area below, glimpsed between the planks, boasts a clutch of hens and a vociferously crowing cockerel.

The 25 rooms leading off the hallway are family units that accommodate anywhere from four to 14 members and while families prepare meals in the privacy of their own rooms and manage their own farmland plots independent of one another, they all get together here on the ruai hallway to socialize, attend council meetings and celebrate festivals.

In this closely-knit tribal society, the longhouse functions like a village under one roof and affords security and a comforting sense of unity.

As we walk along the vast hallway, women smile or nod as they carry out their daily chores, a granny flashes us a toothless grin, mothers rock their babies in little bamboo cradles and a small boy, absorbed in whittling a stick, ignores us as he frowns in concentration.

We sit cross-legged on the floor, while watching the Ngajat, a traditional Iban dance of welcome. The ancient ex-headman, Budit, appears wearing a slit loincloth, several bead necklaces and a feathered headdress that all but sweeps the ceiling.

A couple of young women wearing coronets as delicate as spun sugar, beaded necklaces trimmed with red pom-poms and aprons of silver coins, take centre stage. They smile and beckon us to join them. We circle the floor in a gleeful performance that owes more to tuak inspired confidence than talent.

The time has come to say farewell and we present the tuai rumah (headman) with boxes of candies and cookies in appreciation of their Iban hospitality. The kids hop up and down in excited anticipation while the women lay out equal portions for each family on the hallway mats.

No doubt the bony, hollow-eyed amicably grinning “guardians” at the entrance to the hallway received their fair share as well.

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