‘To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.’
– Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882). He was an American philosopher, essayist, and poet, best known as a central figure in the transcendentalist movement. He emphasised individualism, self-reliance, and the inherent goodness of people and nature.
Life was tough in our remote village during the 1960s, a time that remains vividly etched in my memory as I was growing up and highly impressionable.
Our community was not unique in its struggles; like many indigenous peoples of Sarawak, we relied primarily on subsistence farming, hunting, and fishing.
The absence of modern amenities was a constant, yet it hardly affected us, as we had little to compare our lives against. Our world was small, and we were accustomed to it.
In that situation, there was one man who was different from the rest. He knew all about our money problems and actively chose to live his life uniquely compared to the rest of the villagers.
He was always careful about the consequences of what he did, thinking about whether it was worth it. What made him stand out in a place where people didn’t usually do this kind of thing was his talent for finding chances to make money and making the most of them.
Much to our parents’ discomfort, my little brother and I affectionately nicknamed him Amba Tunggi. The name, derived from the Bukar-Sadung sub-dialect of the Bidayuh language in Serian District, combined the words ‘untung’ (profit) and ‘rugi’ (loss). We shortened these to ‘tung’ and ‘gi,’ which gave us ‘Tunggi.’ ‘Amba’ translates to ‘elder’ or ‘older uncle.’
While Amba Tunggi succeeded in his ventures, his methods did not endear him to others. In our culture, profit-making — especially in business dealings with family, friends, and neighbours — was generally viewed with suspicion. Most villagers were unfamiliar with commerce and the cash economy, relying instead on barter for their needs.
This tension between traditional values and modern commerce came to a head one day at a neighbour’s farmhouse. I vividly remember an incident where an annoyed woman reprimanded her younger brother.
“You, insolent ungrateful person!” she nearly screamed. “After all that I did for you since you were born, now you want to sell me something! What kind of human being are you?”
The younger brother sat silently, unable to respond as his sister continued her tirade.
“I, your eldest sister, cleaned you up and took care of you the moment our mother gave birth to you. Now that I am getting older, you should care for me, not sell me something to make a profit.”
While uncomfortable to witness, her outburst encapsulated the disdain our traditional, cashless community often harboured toward those who sought to profit from business.
Yet, Amba Tunggi remained unfazed by societal norms. From a young age, he was fascinated by how immigrant traders in town made their profits.
He loved the simplicity of exchanging goods and services for money. After closing a sale, he would count his cash with a satisfied grin, already strategizing his next move.
The thrill of selling was something he relished, and he struggled to understand why others didn’t share his enthusiasm.
Even in primary school, he began buying vegetables from others, bundling them up, and selling them door-to-door. Many villagers, too busy to harvest their vegetables, welcomed his service, allowing him to sell out quickly.
He would often trek to our vegetable garden, located several miles from the village, near our paddy farm. Initially, my father grew the vegetables for our family’s consumption, but with Tunggi’s regular purchases, we began to plant more.
On weekends, he would gather these vegetables in the morning and carry them back to the village, tying them into small bundles for easier sale.
To keep them fresh in the heat, he would submerge his large basket in the cool mountain stream behind our house — a makeshift refrigerator.
In the late afternoon, just as housewives were beginning to prepare their evening meals, he would go door-to-door to sell his wares.
Years later, as a family man, Tunggi continued to thrive. While others planted just enough rice for their families, he consistently had a surplus that he sold for cash.
Many villagers speculated that he hid his earnings in his cotton mattress, as banking was virtually unheard of then. His approach to farming was a clear reflection of his profit-minded nature.
Our village was isolated, lacking a drivable road that connected it to the old Kuching-Serian Road.
This isolation posed significant challenges for the three provision shops, making it difficult to maintain a steady stock of goods. However, Tunggi saw an opportunity in this predicament.
He struck agreements with the shop owners, making it worthwhile for him to transport supplies after conducting transactions at the Chinese shops along the old road. This way, he earned cash on both the outgoing and incoming trips.
Others might have deemed his profits per item insignificant, but Tunggi was patient. During the paddy growing season, he took orders from neighbours for goods they needed, saving them time and effort while allowing him to earn a profit. He proved that one didn’t need to own a shop to succeed in business.
Behind his back, Tunggi was often labelled “money-faced” by envious villagers, and occasionally, the title was thrown at him directly. Nonetheless, he had a thick skin and paid little mind to others’ opinions. He was firm in his belief that everyone should focus on their path.
“We only get one shot at life, so make the most of it. If you spend all your time sleeping, what would you gain?” he would say.
Amba Tunggi was a man of contradictions. While serious about making money, he also possessed a generous heart.
“When someone in need reaches out for help, it frustrates me when I can’t offer anything,” he shared once. “That’s why I work hard for extra profits. I want enough for myself and something to share with others. Is that wrong?”
His words underscored the importance of being wise with our time and resources.
One day, Amba Tunggi’s generosity was vividly evident when he learned that a neighbour’s son could not afford to attend a government boarding secondary school in town several miles away, despite having passed the necessary exam.
The boy’s parents were too impoverished to provide him with essentials like exercise books, pens, pencils, uniforms, and pocket money.
Understanding the father’s pride, Amba Tunggi took him aside and placed some money in his hands. This act was witnessed only by my father, who later shared the story with me.
“Your son must go to school!” he said, both kindly and firmly. “I heard from his teachers that he’s a bright boy.”
Noticing the man’s hesitation, Amba reassured him that repayment was unnecessary.
“And there’s no need to thank me. I believe it would be a sin not to give the good boy a chance,” he added. “Believe me, my friend, you will not regret it.”
With that, he gave the man a good-natured slap on the shoulder and walked away.
The story of Amba Tunggi illustrates how thinking differently can help one identify opportunities that others overlook. His focus on profits and willingness to take risks enabled him to succeed where others might have faltered.
Though some found him peculiar, Tunggi’s legacy reminds us that creativity and determination can help us navigate even the toughest challenges.
His success stemmed from his unique perspective and problem-solving abilities. He was unafraid to challenge the status quo and pursue opportunities ignored by others.
His long-term thinking and planning truly set him apart. By considering the future implications of his choices, he achieved more success and stability.
I admire his resourcefulness in finding creative solutions to life challenges in our isolated village. He adapted and embraced new roles, forging unexpected paths to success.
For Tunggi, pursuing profit was not merely about accumulating wealth. It was about working toward a better life for himself and his community. He believed financial success could lead to a more comfortable and fulfilling existence.
Through sharing his views on life and profits, he hoped to impart wisdom so that others could learn from his experiences and make informed decisions.
Amba Tunggi’s story reminds us that unconventional thinkers can impact their communities. Embracing new ideas can lead to progress and innovation, even in adversity.
‘Success is not the key to happiness. Happiness is the key to success. If you love what you are doing, you will be successful.’
– Albert Schweitzer (1875–1965), a renowned German theologian, philosopher, physician, and musician. Best known for his work as a missionary doctor in Africa and his philosophy of ‘Reverence for Life’, he dedicated his life to serving others and promoting the idea of universal respect for all life.
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of the Sarawak Tribune
