Vanishing Tattoo --
Trip Updates
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| At three in the morning I had to answer the call of nature. The Longhouse at Entalang has indoor and out door plumbing. Wanting to be a good guest I elected to venture outside in the pitch black of night. Despite a full moon and the flickering light of glow-flies I couldn't see my hand in front of my face.
I of course forgot that the longhouse was sitting on stilts at least eight feet off the ground. When one foot ventured out into space and found nothing there, I made like a Romanian gymnast and did a one and a half gainer to the ground. Amazingly I actually landed on my feet, which sounds great until you realize they were covered with blisters and sun burnt from the day before. I bit down on the knuckles of one hand to keep from screaming like a school-girl and waking the entire village. I had my pride to think of... I clambered back up the stairs, which is a whimsical description of a long log with notches cut into it. Of course it was slick with dew. My next fear was that once I assumed the position, ie, the longhouse squat, I'd never be able to get out of it and I'd be discovered in the morning by the grandmother who was worried about whether or not I was going to crush her house. She had nothing to worry about yet. So far it was the House 2, Vince 0. Fortunately I made it back to bed, or more accurately, my allocated spot on the floor. I could see that my bruises would soon have bruises. At 6:00 am we roused ourselves from our slumbers. We intended to visit two more important longhouses on the Skrang that had a reputation for tattooing, Entalau and then onto Rumahdau. The Iban drink their own version of a morning cup of coffee, it's heavily sweetened Nescafe. I didn't know it was pre-sweetened and having experienced the joys of Nescafe before in England added a heaping tablespoon of sugar. Simon David looked at me and asked, "What are you, an ant?". I had no idea what he was talking about until I sipped my Nescafe and realized I was drinking invert sugar syrup. I was still licking it off my moustache an hour later. We went down to the river to wait for our boat driver. Like the previous day, he was no where to be found. I was beginning to think that perhaps they had something against Thomas and I. I sat next to David Kalum and asked him what the trouble was. He said it was just tough to get boat drivers at the last moment. Tom still wanted to buy his own boat and launched into his story about making a special trip to Africa just to run the rapids of the Zambezi River and he wasn't worried about the Skrang rapids and... yada, yada, yada. Alice just smiled enigmatically and told Tom to wait and see. Now I was worried. David is a very well educated Iban in his late 50's, who unlike most men of his generation, has no tattoos. He was sent to Boarding School at an early age and I couldn't help coming away with the impression that the Iban were discouraged from the practice of traditional tattooing in order that they might better be assimilated into a "modern world". Ed had said that his father was not "wild about the idea of us tattooing at first", but David said he was proud of the interest his sons took in their heritage. This was one of the reasons he wanted them to see the longhouse where he was born. David said that in order for his sons to improve as tattooists, they had to improve their knowledge of Iban culture, history and traditions. Edward in particular, at 31, was eager to learn all about Iban traditional tattooing. He wanted to meet and copy the tattoo designs of his Great Uncle, Mingad Ak Kasa, who was 86 and the former Headman of his Longhouse. "Aki basai" or "the big grandfather" as he was known was the brother of David's father and Edward and Simon's Grandfather. He was their favorite relative, a larger than life figure known up and down the river. And now Ed was going to meet him in his own longhouse for the first time. Monday, November 13th to be continued.... Monday, November 13th on the Skrang... Now Tourists must hire boat drivers through an official Gov't agency and the agency supplies the tourists with the requisite life-jackets... But Iban boat drivers can carry any Iban they want. David says the drivers are worried about carrying us without any official sanction. Because it's the Tourist Agency that issues the life-jackets, we don't have any life-jackets. I feel like I'm in a Joseph Heller novel... But David saves the day and placates the boat driver by telling him that he has seen both Thomas and I swim across the river several times against the strong current just the night before. David says Tom and I are both strong swimmers. The best part of this story is that it's true. I'm sure the Magistrate will believe David when it's his turn to testify at the coroner's inquest... Praise be to the forest spirits. Thomas and I are to be treated like locals. We are considered part of David's family. Someone, out of somewhere, dredges up a life-jacket for Jamie. Hurrah, we are under way. And Thomas doesn't have to buy a boat. (having sailed with Thomas many times, this may be a small miracle in itself) We're happy and the boat driver is happy. Everyone is happy. Dilemma solved. The Iban will go to great lengths not to offend anyone or anything. If something bad happens to you, it must be because of something you have said or done. Their culture is full of elaborate rituals to appease and placate the spirits that surround them. Everything that happens in their world, happens for a reason. For example, the night before I had asked Ed where it was acceptable to commune with nature. He looked around and then asked what my belief system was. When in Rome... So Ed told me I could commune anywhere I wanted as long as I asked the forest first. I said I would be happy to, and would a tree be ok? An aghast Ed said that was the last place I should go. Intrigued I asked why? Ed patiently explained that the jungle was filled with spirits, many of them invisible to us. You asked the forest permission to pee in order to give the spirits an opportunity to move. Otherwise you might pee on a spirit that was invisible and sitting right in front of you and that was pretty much tantamount to the ultimate insult. And as for trees, well, you never whose house the tree might be. I certainly didn't want to pee on anyone's house. To be continued.... |
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