One way to get the most out of life is to look upon it as an adventure.
– WILLIAM FEATHER, AMERICAN AUTHOR
Before the World War II, Belaga was the domain of two powerful Kayan aristocrats who controlled the lower and upper Balui tributaries, the most powerful being Oyong Hang and Hang Nyipa.
Forty years later, I had the good fortune of meeting their successors — Temenggong Datuk Nyipa Bato — and Datuk Tajang Laing, the first local trained teacher from Batu Lintang College in Kuching.
Both had been powerbrokers since the government of Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamad approved the construction of the multi-billion-ringgit Bakun dam, Malaysia’s largest hydroelectric project in 1994.
I first met Tajang in 1983 through his son-in-law Justine Jinggut, the MP for Hulu Rajang, at the former’s palatial home at the top of Bukit Antu in Kuching.
I was introduced to his happy-go-lucky brother-in law Pulo Imang at his house and spent a lot of time taking “borak” rice beer at Bukit Antu, aptly named “Devil’s Hill” because I knew it was haunted.
Pulo Imang — he changed his name according to custom to Taman Bulan when Bulan was born — and we became soulmates, because we were both adventurers.
In July 1995, I challenged Pulo, fondly called “Lake Pulo” the venerable Lahanan chief, to accompany me on a trip up the upper Balui and he agreed.
In those days, passengers had to use the now obsolete “flying coffin” express boat from Sibu to Kapit, followed by a second boat on a rollercoaster ride, especially through the treacherous Pelagus rapids, which had taken many lives since the days of the Brookes.
Shaped like an enclosed floating Boeing aircraft with air-tight windows, the “flying coffin” if it were to sink, the passengers were as good as dead.
As a precaution, I stripped down to my underpants and after 30 minutes of avoiding jutting rocks and whirlpools, we arrived safely.
Six hours after we left Kapit, we passed Punan Bah-Biau-Lawang longhouses as we reached Belaga town.
Our journey was going be a long haul as we were going to pass 13 “Uma” (longhouses) of Belaga’s two dozen Orang Ulu minorities — Sekapan Puso, Sekapan Piit, Balo’ Kasing, Aging, Kejaman Neh, Kahe, Kejaman Lasah, Levou Lahanan, Apan and Nyaving Long Mejawah and Long Linau, Lake Pulo’s village where we stayed the night.
Born into an aristocratic Lahanan family, the 80-year-old Lake Pulo, who was the headman of Uma Nyaving in the 1950s, told me stories of how he ventured far into the interior to educate the semi-nomadic Penan.
From there we went to Bato Kalo where headman Lating Avun organised an impromptu “Parap” session where the women recited proses praising Lake Pulo and the bearded companion.
At Uma Belor, the village of Tajang’s Kenyah wife Datin Debong Anyie, Saging Bit, 40, explained that even though Belaga was not anti-Bakun, he feared the government would not keep its promise to build a proper settlement at the nearby Sungei Asap.
“The government promised to hold dialogues to listen to our woes because once they inundate our villages, we will not able to hunt in the forests. We want to know the facts so that we will not be cheated,” the father of two young children said!
When I told him that a 37-member Bakun Development Committee had been established a year earlier to look into the matter, he was pacified.
The last leg was “Uma” Balui Long Liko, Juman, Daro, Lesong and Uma Baka Long Bulan before reaching our destination Long Jawe of the Lepo Kulit Kenyah.
At Long Jawe, headman Ibau Ipak related the tragic story of when 200 Indonesian soldiers attacked their village on September 27, 1963 — torturing nine Kenyah Border Scouts before killing them.
I met Greece (sic) Laing Lirong, one of three scouts who managed to escape, floating down by raft to Belaga and reporting to the British army.
After Bakun was constructed, Laing ventured into business and by 2010, four of his children graduated in architectural engineering, accountancy, agricultural business and quantity surveying.
On my return trip, I recalled an embarrassing incident at Uma Belor when, inebriated by the powerful effect of “borak”, I fell into the Balui and lost my glasses.
Rescued by our boatman, the kind Datin Debong had a good laugh and as a punishment for getting drunk, I was forced to sleep on the concrete floor of her rice storehouse.
Looking back, travelling with the venerable Lake Pulo was an experience of a lifetime.
The “saviour” of the semi-nomadic Penan of Belaga, he reminisced: “I taught the Penan how to build simple village huts and grow rice which is now their staple food. I taught them how to make boats, make handicrafts and encouraged them to attend school to improve themselves.”
Today he can be proud that Awie Abang is the first Penan graduate from Belaga.
I still remember using my car to help him sell Penan rattan baskets which he had bought, to help them makes ends meet.
Two decades after Lake Pulo passed away his only grandson Billy Pela Tinggom became a lawyer.
The views expressed here are those of the columnist and do not necessarily represent the views of New Sarawak Tribune.
