A child who is carried on the back will not know how far the journey is.
– Nigerian proverb
The daily walks to and from school by my father may have been much less by distance if compared to what he normally did, trekking over the mountains and valleys of the Kelabit highlands on his hunting trips, or in pursuit of some other urgent errands, but they were, in hindsight, among his most purposeful. The narrative and explanation follows.
You see, he was carrying me on his back on those walks for about two weeks. The reason being because I just got myself cut in the left foot with an axe whilst following him on a trip to the nearby forest to collect some firewood. I still have the scars to prove it from the seven stitches that the upriver dresser put on the wound on my toe in order to cover it up. The accident was not his fault. It was not his fault that I got injured. My curiosity got the better of me as I got hold of the axe when it was left unattended for a fraction of a moment as he was preoccupied with binding the firewood to carry home. Needless to say, a small boy with an axe designed for an adult is a mismatch of severe proportions.
After I got the injury, I thought I would have a great time relaxing at home and not needing to go to school until my foot healed. But my father had a different idea. “I can carry you. You won’t need to walk. It will give me an excuse to keep you glued to your desk so that you will not miss your classes and be left behind the other kids”, he insisted.
There was no way that his son would miss a single day in school. He had that burning ambition and powerful vision that despite being an illiterate, he was determined that his son would never be one. He had a vision which went beyond his pre-existing circumstance. Having missed the opportunity to go to school, he was adamant that his own son would not repeat his steps and should get the education that he has failed to realise.
And so that was how I ended up there. On his back. Every morning and evening my dad would carry me to and from school. In the early morning after ensuring I have had my breakfast, he would help me change into my school uniform and then lift me onto his back as he started his walk to the local school. It was an enjoyable ride for a small boy but that must have been one tough, long journey for a father. But certainly, a labour of love, sacrifice and aspiration. Upon arrival at the classroom, he would set me at my desk and leave. In the evening, he would return to fetch me back home. The routine was repeated every school day until my foot healed well enough to enable me to walk to school on my own.
I admire my father’s sense of foresight. He could see ahead. In fact, many years earlier, maybe before I was born he had walked all the way from our village in Pa Mein to Ba Kelalan, a considerable distance traversed on foot – over valleys, mountains and fast flowing streams. To what end but to buy a buffalo to take home. Well, it was not just any buffalo but a specific and specially selected one which he brought back to our village. He selected a young female buffalo almost of an age which would be ready to breed. He would have paid quite a sum for a buffalo that size. He knew that back in his village in Pa Mein there were many other free roaming buffaloes, males and females, and he had a clear but simple plan. Once he got his female buffalo he would release it to join the rest of the herd.
In the village everyone knows which buffaloes belonged to whom. They have an ownership and traditional marking system. There is no chance for mistaken identities or uncertainty of ownership of the animals in the herd. The secret to this ingenious system is a protocol of markings on the ears of the buffaloes. The special marking of each owner on his animals would show to everyone that those animals are his.
Everyone would be able to identify which particular animal belongs to whom. Very smart and ingenious way to avoid potential conflicts due to overlapping and conflicting claims.
After being released into the herds my father’s female buffalo, named “Duie” (lit., mine or my own) soon began to produce many offspring over the years. From that single buffalo bought on his trip to Ba Kelalan, my father’s buffaloes grew into a herd of its own. “Duie” became the matriarch of the new herd. To this day, the descendants and remnants of that herd can still be found roaming in the Pa Mein plains – now more wild and carefree since no one goes there to do herding anymore. Occasionally, we would take one by shooting it down after tracking the herd in the forests. For example, when a buffalo is needed for some big feast or celebration in the community.
Throughout my education and especially when I went to Forms 4 and 5 secondary school in Marudi and onwards to Form 6 in Kolej Tun Datu Patinggi Tuanku Haji Bujang in Miri, I never had any form of scholarships or financial assistance from anywhere. My scholarship fund or rather source of sponsorship came from my father who would sell one of the animals from his herd as and when he needed money to pay for my education and expenses. Such foresight and determination to be self-sufficient and independent are useful reminders and cross generational lessons I will remind my own children about. And part of the motivation to consign this story into writing. Secondly, it’s a way to record my sincerest gratitude to my father, thus:
“Dad, I am where I am today because you took that walk. That walk with me clinging on your back everyday, just like those African kids one sees in a National Geographic photo or documentary. I didn’t know how long that journey felt for you. But I know now that it was a walk of vision. A walk of purpose. And dad, I can’t say thank you enough to you. All I can say is ‘Thank you dad. To me, you were the greatest dad in the world!’
“You would be proud that your small boy did make it further from your green paradise in the middle of Borneo, and I have been to many corners of the globe you would not even dream of. This was possible for me because of your walks in the first place. In particular, those walks you did everyday to carry me to and from school after I had that cut on my left foot. But even earlier than that, you have actually been part of a brave group of people who did many a walk criss-crossing the Bario Highlands as part of Operation Semut in WW2 to liberate your homeland from the Japanese occupation.
“Your lifelong lesson on making the necessary walk has been etched deeply in my mind. It seems like walking and journeying to achieve your objectives were always a part of you. I recall your stories about the Second World War which you and the locals called “Perang Gipun” or literally “the Japanese War”. You were one of those young native men hired as part of Operation Semut to conduct intelligence and sabotage operations behind the Japanese lines and to prepare for the recapture of Borneo from Japanese Occupation. Specifically, you mentioned the involvement and leadership of British Major Thomas Harrisson, who was fond of practical jokes and had an excellent rapport with the local people. “You told me you were tasked with carrying the wireless communication set and was well armed with two guns, one on each arm, and with a pistol on your waist as well. Not forgetting the Tungul parang or native machete that no self-respecting native would leave home without. This is amongst what I can recall now of what you have told me. After the war, you and your comrades were duly recognised and awarded medals for your gallant roles in those war days. Obviously, an important and sentimental keepsake which we treasure as it reminds us of you.”
Metaphorically, and within the context of the preceding narratives about the walks and endeavours of my father, I view myself as still being carried on his shoulders and being so carried, I will never know how far really the journey was that he took. Just as what the Nigerian proverbs first quoted sought to affirm. Maybe, all the mileage traversed and recorded in my own travels around the world, to virtually every continent of the world, except Antarctica, would still not measure up to the distance that he has traversed. Even though, it was just in the mountainous jungle terrains of Borneo. And for sure, since his journeys were being done mainly on foot it would have taken much longer and demanded more grit, energy and sheer determination to achieve. Mine was mainly on the wings of jumbo jets, all manner of land transportation and the occasional helicopters and sea-going vessels. All in relative comfort compared to what he had to endure.
Talking about endurance, to my dad the physical endurance was the lighter burden to bear. After all, walking as a means to get around was the only thing to do, and virtually everyone had to do it anyway. I did a lot of walking too as a boy growing up. So did my friends. But the heavier burden he had on his back was ensuring that I got an education. He did not want me to miss a single day in school and he ensured that he would be able to support me all the way in my educational journey. He did that long, and lonesome walk to Ba Kelalan to buy a she buffalo and to bring it back home to the Kelabit Highlands. That single effort spoke volumes to me. A lesson in goal setting, astute execution and a determined spirit to realise the vision.
I have since learnt that all walks must be purposeful. Walking with a purpose in mind obviously has an positive effect on the health, but more so, it means achieving the objectives, and arriving at the destination, of the journey embarked upon. Researchers have also noted that when you have a purpose, you may walk faster and for a longer duration. That is why these days, in order to ensure walks are more productive, physical trainers suggest the setting of goals and progressing the walk programme and activity based on the goals set. Nowadays, my own goal is pretty straight forward, namely to keep fit, maintain my agility and keep the fat slabs away from the obvious places on the body. Simple and clearly set goals but easier said than done. My first attempt at walking competitively and with an intent to win was when I took part in the 5th Residential College big walk event when I was an undergraduate at the University of Malaya circa 1978. I knew I could walk, since I have walked everywhere for the most part of my life. But to take part in a competition where proven athletes were participating was something new and different altogether.
Participating in that big walk event was a first for me. Despite that, I have managed to come in third on the heels of my Indian, and Malay collegemates. Both of them were active in sports and games even at the varsity level. Even though I was part of the college hockey team, I found out that sans the necessary preparation and training, I couldn’t walk fast enough, especially on the concrete road around the campus which made up a major part of the walk tract. If we were to have walked in the jungle, I would have easily won first place because then I would be in my elements.
In conclusion, whatever I have achieved was inspired by those walks in the rainforests and being perched on my father’s shoulders on the long walk from our village to and fro the village school. As in the paraphrased words of the famous song, You Raised Me Up, “I am strong because I am on his shoulders; and because my father helped raise me up to where I can be!”. It is easy for me to recall and make an account of what my father did, but I will never be able to explain the weight of the burden that he carried.
Only he knows the weight of that burden and he carried it well and proudly. As in the words of author Ella Wheeler Wilcox: “It is easy to tell the toiler How best he can carry his pack But no one can rate a burden’s weight Until it has been on his back”.
