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HIS name was Niba Gibap. It wasn’t his real name, just a nickname his friends gave him that stuck for life.
Niba loved school. Back in the early 1950s, he was called Raham, short for Abraham. Unfortunately, his parents were too poor to afford notebooks and pencils. One of his teachers, Mr Abel, saw his potential and tried to help, but it only lasted until Raham was in Primary 3. When his parents took him out of school to work on their paddy farm in the jungle, he cried, heartbroken that he had to leave both school and Mr Abel, who had been transferred to another school.
Mr Abel always told Raham, “Never give up.” Determined to remember this, Raham would repeat it out loud, but he had a lisp. All he could manage was “niba gib ap.” Despite the teasing from other kids and some adults, he held onto those words and never gave up. Eventually, his nickname became Niba Gibap, which was meant to mock him but ended up empowering him. Over time, it was shortened to just Niba.
When I first met Niba, I noticed his right leg was shorter than the left, causing him to limp. He adapted by favouring his longer leg whenever he became tired or using a walking stick on the shorter side when carrying heavy loads. Around his farm, he took shorter strides to stay stable on the uneven ground.
Despite his disability, Niba had a wife, Diya. She was named after a flower that most of the Bidayuh of Serian District called “sidiya” (scientific name: lantana, a genus of about 150 species of perennial flowering plants in the verbena family). Sadly, she looked nothing like her namesake.
By the normal standard of beauty, she was considered unattractive, a leftover woman that none of the men in the village was willing to marry. She was certainly not much to look at and some nasty villagers were heard to have commented that she would not have won any beauty pageant in a million years.
Her face was characterised by her distinctive buck teeth, with a noticeable gap between her front incisors. As a child, she was mercilessly teased for this, but she grew to embrace them as a part of her individuality although the protruding teeth made it difficult for her to pronounce certain words.
The story of how Niba and Diya got married is one I heard from my mother and other elders, though it might have been embellished over time.
Niba, a friend of my Uncle Jol, often visited our farmhouse. One day, during an impromptu lunch gathering at our farmhouse several kilometres from the village, someone teased him about getting married. As he was wont to do, a bitter-sweet smile formed on his lips and he humbly said, “Me getting married would be a miracle.”
To lift his spirit, Uncle Jol reminded him not to give up. “I suspect you’re too choosy,” he said. “Or perhaps you’ve been looking in the wrong places.”
One of the men smoking under a mango tree outside the farmhouse shouted, “What about Diya? Don’t forget her!”
That provoked a lot of laughter mixed with words of agreement, and Niba was properly encouraged to make his moves, to which Niba merely chuckled as others nearest to him slapped him playfully in the back.
“You people talk as if getting a wife is like going to a shop to buy something,” he said.
“It can be that simple or difficult,” said Uncle Jol.
“How can I find a wife when I don’t even know how to talk to a woman,” he said. And that was that.
A few weeks later, though, and to everyone’s surprise, Niba asked Uncle Jol to help him propose to Diya, and after going through the necessary social and cultural rituals, they got married.
They were childless when I came to know them in the early 1960s. I heard they eventually had kids, but by then I had left our village to attend a boarding secondary school followed by a move to Kuching for work.
I suspected that because of their desire to have children, they were always extremely kind to me and my little brother, Little B. They always gave us something to eat or drink whenever we stopped at their farmhouse during our fishing escapades. As children, we were always hungry and grateful for whatever food we found.
Just like his name suggests, Niba worked like a man possessed. Despite his disability, he could outwork many men within our farming community.
I remember one season when a flood inundated the wetland where their paddy farm was. The paddy was already ripe and if the flood had persisted for several days, the whole year’s crops would have been wiped out, and famine would surely have followed.
Niba did not hesitate. After assessing the situation quickly, he and his wife agreed on a simple action plan. Roughly between the field and a “tanju” (drying platform) in front of his farmhouse on a little knoll, he quickly made a crude half-way platform for placing the paddy stalks he had cut. That saved him the longer trips to the drying platform.
Diya’s part was picking up the paddy on the stalks and carried them to the “tanju” where she spread them to drip dry. Niba started where the paddy was already underwater and worked his way to relatively higher ground. There was no point in asking for help because all the neighbours were also in trouble. With that in mind, the couple worked the whole day and part of the night in the light of bonfires, stopping only when they had to eat and drink.
It was hard to walk fast on the soggy soil and Niba’s limp made it even more difficult. Still, Niba stubbornly refused to slow down. When he felt so tired that he felt like lying down, he repeated his life’s mantra.
“Niba gibap! Niba gibap” he droned under his breath.
In contrast, my family was luckier because we finished our harvest before the flood came, and in any case, our farm was on slightly higher ground.
With nothing much to do, Little B and I went to check on Niba and Diya and tried to help. However, as the water was too deep for us to be of much help, we assisted by spreading the cut stalks to dry in the wind and sun. When evening came and we were too exhausted to continue, our father came and did whatever he could.
Lesser people might have given up, but not Niba and Diya. After three days and two half-nights, the farm was completely harvested.
Two weeks after drying and storing their paddy, Niba and Diya visited our farmhouse, bringing a few bottles of “tuak” (wine made by fermenting sticky rice) and several yummy dishes to show their gratitude.
As we sat on a big rattan mat, my father chuckled and said, “I’ve never seen anyone work as hard as you two!”
Niba sighed and said, “We’ve never worked that hard before. It’s an experience I’ll never forget.”
“And we’re thankful for everything,” said Diya.
“Let’s drink to that!” said my father, raising his cup.
Niba joined in, saying, “As Mr Abel always said, ‘niba gib ap!’”
To this day, Niba and Diya have been in my memory for over sixty years. Niba’s life shows the power of perseverance, a thought that comes to mind whenever I think of him.
Niba faced many challenges — poverty, disability, and no formal education — but he never gave up. His teacher, Mr Abel, gave him advice that became a guiding force, making him resilient in tough times.
This resilience influenced Diya, and together they overcame personal, physical, and societal obstacles. Their resourcefulness, like during the flood that threatened their paddy crop, highlights their adaptability and determination.
Niba’s way of managing his physical limitations, by using a walking stick and taking shorter strides, symbolises the broader theme of adaptability. It reminds us that adjusting to circumstances, rather than being defeated by them, is key to overcoming life’s challenges.
Support from others, like Mr Abel’s encouragement or Uncle Jol’s help in proposing to Diya, was crucial in Niba’s life. This shows how community support and encouragement can positively impact an individual’s journey.
The story challenges conventional ideas of success and beauty. Diya, considered unattractive and a “leftover” woman, finds love and partnership with Niba. Their story suggests that true beauty and worth are found in character, kindness, and resilience rather than physical appearance.
Niba’s nickname, initially a source of mockery, turns into a powerful personal mantra. This illustrates how words and labels, even if meant as insults, can be reclaimed and turned into sources of strength and identity.
The story highlights the value of hard work and ingenuity, shown through Niba’s and Diya’s efforts to save their crop during the flood. It demonstrates that success often requires creativity and relentless effort, especially in difficult situations.
Despite their hardships, Niba and Diya remain generous and grateful. Their visit to our farmhouse with gifts of food and drink as a token of gratitude shows their appreciation and the importance of reciprocating kindness.
Through this story, I aim to illustrate a life lived with determination, resilience, and a strong sense of community, offering inspiration and valuable life lessons to the reader.
Bear Grylls
‘Survival can be summed up in three words: never give up.’
– Bear Grylls (1974 – Present). A British adventurer, writer, television presenter, and former SAS (Special Air Service) serviceman, he is best known for his television series “Man vs. Wild” (also known as “Born Survivor: Bear Grylls” in the UK), where he demonstrates survival techniques in various challenging environments, often in remote wilderness locations.
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of the New Sarawak Tribune.
