On the jungle-covered banks of Sarawak’s rivers lives one of the last indigenous peoples on Earth: the headhunters of the Iban tribe. But just how “wild” are these “savages” really? Anyone who wants to find out must embark on an adventurous journey—to the northwest of the island of Borneo.
The jungle is steaming. The air is thick with hot, humid mugginess; it’s hard to breathe. The longboat glides quietly across the river. Only the breeze from the current provides a little relief from the heat. The eyes of a small crocodile flash from the riverbank. It then disappears silently among the mangrove roots. The roar of the diesel engine blends with the shrill chirping of the cicadas to create a dense soundscape, much like the impenetrable thicket along the riverbank. A hornbill, with its characteristic curved beak, also darts across the water. Combined with the musty smell wafting from the primeval forest that stretches right up to the shore, the entire atmosphere is a challenge for the senses.
Here, in the Malaysian part of Borneo, the headhunters of Sarawak live in the last untouched areas of the tropical rainforest. Two travelers from the Netherlands are sitting with me in a prau, as the natives call their only means of transportation. Our journey takes us upstream to a small settlement of the Iban tribe. Paul Mathew, the 40-year-old tour guide for our small group, is also a member of the tribe. Tall, burly, and with a permanent grin on his caramel-colored face, he has been guiding adventurous tourists into the most remote regions of Malaysia for ten years. Not a single movement escapes his notice in the green tangle that closes in over us like a roof at the narrowest points of the river. It seems as though this natural tunnel leads the way into a completely different world.
The Savages of the Iban Tribe
The Iban, also known as the Sea Dayak, make up 30 percent of the total population of Malaysian Borneo and live largely along the rivers of Sarawak. As recently as 70 years ago, foreign intruders would have had to fear for their lives. After all, these “savages” were considered headhunters. In the 19th century, this led to violent clashes with European colonial powers, particularly with the British adventurer James Brook, who became known as the “White Raja” and Sultan of Sarawak. He put an end to headhunting by having the hunters themselves beheaded. By the end of the 19th century, this brutal practice of decapitation was considered completely abolished. Nevertheless, a few last Japanese skulls still rolled during World War II. Today, however, guests are welcomed more warmly.
A Guest at the Langhaus
After a two-hour drive from the small village of Lubuk Subong, a naja—a longhouse—comes into view. Thirty Iban families live here together under one roof. From the ruai, a kind of veranda, numerous doors lead off to the families’ living quarters. Once your eyes have adjusted to the dim light, the objects dangling from the ceiling catch your eye. Carved shrunken heads with straw hair, blowguns, woven baskets, necklaces made of all kinds of dried berries, machetes, and pointed hats bear witness to spirit rituals and ancient traditions.
But the fascination with these remnants of ancient customs fades when confronted suddenly with one’s own Western world. Postcards from all over the world adorn the walls alongside photos of movie stars, famous soccer players, and even the Pope. An Adidas shirt with the Bayern Munich logo hangs next to a traditional pua kumbu, a type of wrap skirt, while chainsaws and broad axes dangle from the ceiling.
Chief Alo Kanyan
Small, with bronze-colored skin, jet-black hair, and angular cheekbones, the villagers then stream out of every doorway. Cinta Kanyan, the tribal chief’s wife, begins by serving tea. The room falls silent as her husband, the tuai rumah, enters. Alo Kanyan, barely five feet tall, slender and wiry, dressed in a blue tracksuit with a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, calmly settles down cross-legged on the floor. The tattoos on his neck and arms, which mark him as a powerful man, have, however, become indistinguishable on his wrinkled skin.
The head of the community is also consulted on all important family matters. He mediates disputes and manages food and everyday necessities. In an effort to establish a kind of administrative system among the Iban, James Brook had already strengthened the position of the chief to the point where he served as a mediator between the tribe and the government of Sarawak. Even today, the tuai rumah holds a seat in Parliament.
Nights in the Nave
Paul translates the friendly words of welcome, and then we’re served tuak, a strong, homemade rice liquor, which is generously poured into plastic cups. In fact, the Iban seem to be quite heavy drinkers, while we soon stagger over to the makeshift camp at the other end of the veranda. With a mattress on the floor and a thin piece of fabric hung up to serve as a mosquito net, our hosts have made things as comfortable as possible for us.
The nighttime sounds of the rainforest penetrate even the thin wooden walls. The lazy morning—celebrated by the Iban with a first tuak and a cigarette—gives way to a bustle of activity around noon: nets are mended, baskets are woven, the generator is oiled—everyone has a task, which they carry out with typical Iban calm.
Makai, makai: Cooking with Bamboo
The downpour comes suddenly. Like a drumroll, it patters down on the corrugated-iron roof, cutting off any conversation. For the people here, daily downpours are part of everyday life. Wearing large, round pointed hats, some women come walking from the boat dock, laughing and dripping wet. On their backs, they carry long bamboo poles up to twenty centimeters thick. “Makai, makai,” they call out cheerfully when they see the questioning looks. It’s a term that refers to food, eating, and cooking all at once. Just as quickly as it came, the rain is over. Sultry air rises from the jungle, as if from a steaming pot. While some men light a fire near the river, the women carry bowls of rice and raw meat over.
Both are pressed into the tubes, while the rest is tightly wrapped in large bamboo leaves and placed directly into the fire. So no one here is in a hurry. And by now, we, too, are moving with a certain sluggishness. With this gentle, low-fat diet, it’s no wonder that the Iban enjoy a long life. “Besides, we have Tongkat Ali!” says Paul. The red berries of this plant are not only stimulating for mental and physical well-being, but also a natural Viagra. The older men nod with a wink, while the young ones bump elbows and giggle.
In the evening on the Iban's porch
The evening ritual on the veranda demonstrates the tribe’s deep roots in ancient traditions and values. The sound of a gong and a xylophone create a monotonous melody. During the ritual, the Iban regularly pray to the gods for a bountiful harvest. A young man stands up and moves to the music, walking with a stooped posture and stomping his feet. He is clad only in a loincloth and an embroidered vest. Long feathers, attached to a headband, sit atop his head. A girl in a colorful traditional costume, adorned with countless jingling coins, then joins him.
The steady drumming, the dancers’ fluid movements, and the smoke-filled air transport even the audience into a trance-like state. The fact that these traditional dances are performed more for tourists than for the spirits these days does nothing to diminish the magic of the moment. A loud “Ooha” then abruptly interrupts the mood. The Iban toast heralds yet another long evening of tuak by the bottle.
Alo Kanyan sits on the dock and looks out at the river. His cigarette glows in the dark night. Laughter and singing from the longhouse blend with the lapping of the waves and the chirping of the cicadas. A bat glides over the water as well. The speech to the guests has been given, and the gifts have been handed out. This is his life. But tomorrow, the visitors from the other world will leave again.
Farewell to the Iban
The “wild ones” aren’t as wild as they once were. They warmly welcome guests and willingly offer them a glimpse into their lives. During the few days we spend here, they make us feel like we belong. And even though the signs of Western influence are now impossible to overlook, the magic of the place remains undiminished.
If you'd like to explore Malaysia and Borneo on your own, you'll find great ideas among our private tour packages. Or simply write to us using the contact form.
©Susanne Pinn
