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‘The purpose of life is not to be happy. It is to be useful, to be honourable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well. – Ralph Waldo Emerson
At the end of a narrow path that branched off from the main route to our paddy farm and several others downstream resided a man known as Suntok. In our Bukar-Sadong sub-dialect spoken by the Bidayuh in the Serian District, “suntok” means lacking or deficient. He bore this nickname without objection, seemingly resigned to his perpetual state of poverty. Regardless of people’s reasons for labelling him so, he harboured no shame in it. To him, self-pity and endless complaints yielded no benefit.
During my elementary school years in the early 1960s, I grew close to Suntok. On weekends and school breaks, my younger brother (Little B), our first cousin Ratum, and I often visited his place during our fishing escapades. Just beyond his rustic little house lay a shortcut trail to our beloved fishing spot, teeming with catfish.
Suntok presented a puzzling figure to me. Unmarried and indifferent to wedlock, he appeared ill at ease in the company of women, finding solace instead in the companionship of his four dogs, two raucous geese, assorted chickens, and a flock of ducks.
His occupation remained ambiguous to me. Was he a farmer? Not in the conventional sense. While I never witnessed him tending paddy fields, his land boasted a variety of crops year-round — cassava, sweet potatoes, yams, maize, various beans, and an assortment of vegetables. While others labelled him poor, and he acknowledged it, to my young eyes, he seemed relatively prosperous for one dwelling in the jungle during those times.
Despite his circumstances, Suntok possessed a heart brimming with kindness and a spirit of generosity. Each encounter with us seemed to genuinely brighten his solitary existence. Perhaps our visits offered a welcome respite from the monotony of his daily routine.
One day, Suntok received an unexpected visitor — his old friend, Dr Lars Johan, a learned scholar who had previously stayed with him during his research on the surrounding jungle’s flora and fauna. Dr Johan’s arrival coincided with our presence at Suntok’s abode, where we were indulging in sweet potatoes and sweetened lemon juice. Suntok introduced us to Dr Johan, whom we assumed to be “a doctor who injects people” due to our limited knowledge.
We were astonished to hear Suntok conversing fluently in English with Dr Johan. Given his limited formal education, his proficiency in the language puzzled us. As we could not speak the language except for a few familiar words, we quickly excused ourselves, gesturing and showing Dr Lars our fishing rods to indicate what we were going to do. He nodded and off we went as quickly as possible lest he spoke more English to us.
After that, I didn’t see Suntok again for a few years because, as people say, “life happened”, and I had to leave our village to attend high school in Serian Town as a boarding student. I did return to the village on some weekends and during school holidays, but I wasn’t as free as when I was in elementary school.
The transition from childhood to adulthood was a tumultuous journey filled with a myriad of challenges, uncertainties, and emotions. My friends and I were growing up and struggling physically, emotionally, and socially. But it was also a time of immense growth, learning, and self-discovery through the formal education we were receiving. Even though we didn’t always understand what we were going through and what we did, there were moments of joy, triumph, and the exhilarating possibility of endless potential in the world outside the confines of our humble village.
Thankfully, during one of the mid-year school holidays circa the late 1960s, I found time to visit Suntok. I was astounded by the transformation that had taken place in the intervening years. His modest hut, which I was fond of, had been replaced by a farmhouse constructed with sturdy timber and whitewashed with lime on the exterior. Intrigued, I wasted no time asking him about Dr Johan, whom I had since learned was a scholar and researcher rather than a medical practitioner.
“I didn’t realize Dr Johan had stayed with you before we met him for the first time,” I remarked.
“He turned up one day out of the blue asking if he could stay with me. I didn’t know English, but I could guess what he said from his gestures,” he said.
“How long did he stay?” I asked.
“He stayed for three consecutive months initially, followed by two more visits, each lasting a month. After his first departure, I assumed he was gone for good,” Suntok revealed.
“I find it amazing that you learned English in a matter of months,” I said.
“I had no choice and I had to learn fast day and night,” he said.
“What about now? Still remember the language?” I asked.
“I still can’t read or write as well as you, but I can converse adequately,” he replied.
“Was Dr Johan here to study the jungle again the last time he was here?” I probed.
“No. He came to bestow upon me some gifts,” Suntok explained.
“Oh! That must have been a big surprise.”
“It was more than big. It was a shock!”
It turned out that ever since Dr Johan arrived to conduct his research, he had been observant of Suntok’s impoverished lifestyle, including his dilapidated hut and farming tools. He noticed that all Suntok had at that time were an old, rusty axe, a machete with a blunt blade, an ancient hammer, and a dilapidated handsaw. Witnessing his kind host’s struggle with such inadequate equipment pained Dr Johan deeply.
Determined to show his gratitude for Suntok’s hospitality and support, Dr Johan pondered over the perfect gifts to present to his dear friend. He wanted to provide something that would alleviate Suntok’s hardships and improve his livelihood. After careful consideration, he decided to give Suntok a set of good-quality, basic hand tools that required minimal maintenance.
Dr Johan knew that the tools would be precious to Suntok. With improved tools, Suntok could significantly enhance his productivity and yield, allowing him to overcome the limitations of his impoverished life. The gifts would not only be a token of Dr Johan’s gratitude but also a means to empower Suntok to create a better future for himself and maybe his family if he ever got married.
One day, Dr Johan took Suntok to Kuching, where they selected a variety of hand tools together, including shovels, hoes, rakes, knives, machetes, various types of saws, wire cutters, hammers, scissors, hand drills, hand planes, axes, sharpening stones, metal files, screwdrivers, and miscellaneous items. Dr Johan even bought a generous supply of nails of different sizes and lengths, as well as screws and wires, anticipating Suntok’s need for them.
Dr Johan didn’t just provide the tools; back at the hut, he meticulously taught Suntok how to properly use and maintain each one. He imparted not only basic carpentry skills but also handyman expertise. Overwhelmed with joy and gratitude, Suntok examined each tool with awe, marvelling at its sturdy construction. This experience sparked a glimmer of hope within him, inspiring him to envision a brighter future.
From that day onward, Suntok tirelessly worked with his new tools. The sharp axe effortlessly cut through thick tree trunks, the machete sliced through dense undergrowth, the hammer precisely drove nails, and the handsaw glided through timber like a whisper. These tools became his trusted companions, facilitating his crop management and the upkeep of his humble dwelling.
As the seasons passed, Suntok’s farm flourished. The enhanced efficiency provided by the improved tools led to bountiful harvests. With surplus produce, Suntok sold his crops, gradually lifting himself out of poverty. The gift had indeed transformed his life, turning his dreams into tangible reality.
Suntok never forgot the generosity of his friend, Dr Johan. He often reminisced about their time together, expressing gratitude for the scholar’s timely visit. The gift not only improved his livelihood but also served as a testament to their genuine friendship.
In the years that followed, people ceased to refer to him as Suntok, deeming it inappropriate. Instead, a group of friends decided to name him Johan after the good doctor. Although they initially found it amusing, some thought “Johan” too pretentious, so they settled on simply “Jo” in honour of the kind scholar.
As the saying goes, “A rose by any other name is still a rose,” which aptly describes Suntok, now renamed Jo. Regardless of his name, he remained the same kind-hearted man until his passing. Had he still been alive today, he would be in his 90s, nearing 100.
I’ve carried his story in my heart and mind all these years as a reminder of how simple gifts can profoundly impact recipients. It underscores the notion that the most valuable presents aren’t necessarily money or expensive possessions but rather the tools that empower us to forge a brighter future.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
‘The greatest gift is a portion of thyself.’ – Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882), an American essayist, lecturer, and poet who became one of the leading figures of the transcendentalist movement in the mid-19th century. He is known for his essays, such as ‘Self-Reliance’ and ‘Nature’, which explore themes of individualism, spirituality, and the relationship between humans and nature.
DISCLAIMER:
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of the New Sarawak Tribune.
