It Was What She Knew
Tropical scents mingled with the pungent smell of dried and freshly caught fish coming from the busy waterfront, where Chinese junks and Malay payangs were offloading their catches of the day, and where the vibrant fish market bustled with the activity of men doing business and women doing the lifting. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the urgency complete their work intensified, knowing that the sun would rise again to signal the start of another day in the relentless pursuit of earning a living by their sweat, which highlighted the relationship between the rhythms of nature and the human effort to thrive amidst the ever-turning wheel of time that God Himself gave control to British colonizers.
The colorful lanterns of orange and yellow lights adorning the traditional junks and payangs along the waterfront created a warm, soothing glow that brought a sense of peace and happiness among the people, home to hornbills, headhunters, and now foreigners of white skin. The display of lights served as a heart felt reminder of the diverse culture that shapes this land of the hornbill, who knew its freedom came with its birth.
As the gentle light dances on the water's surface, it hints at the harmonious existence of a lurking crocodile presence hidden below. A creature that defines the intricate layers of survival. This calm yet misleading scene acts as a metaphor for the complexities of past engagements and power relations between man and nature, where the peaceful exterior conceals the tumultuous narratives that have shaped the country and its people, while inviting everyone to appreciate the time that was left to them on God's given earth that colonizers of white skin enjoyed.
By embodying these overlooked realities, the crocodile acts as a quiet witness to the complexities of colonial history, suggesting the frequently ignored truths linked to the legacies of colonialism in the land of headhunters. Its existence is a reminder of the intricate relationship between nature, man, and history, where the wounds of previous injustices remain hidden beneath the surface and only come to life when man meets man, regardless of the color of skin.
The lavender scent of a young Chinese woman out for an evening stroll from Madam Lou's sporting house, where mahjong was played nonstop, opium smoked, and young females amused clients without a spoken word. She protected her delicate porcelain skin from the setting sun with a rice paper umbrella featuring a printed scene of intertwining dragons, a present from Madam Lou. Near the fish market, the air had turned stagnant with the acrid stench of a decomposing Telomian dog that had outlived its use and dumped when natives were returning upriver to their kampong ... but nobody paid attention except the white skin. The sight of the lifeless animal, partially hidden among the fish boxes, only emphasized the grim reality of the scene, with young children poking sticks, encouraging the dead dog to stand or sprint.
Avoiding the stench and flies and the twisting yellowish maggots that squabble over the decomposing body for their survival in a macabre dance of death and decay amongst the living of a busy waterfront, the young Chinese woman maneuvered herself gently around a series of stacked wooden boxes with red Hanzi characters hand-painted on the sides, which stood out vividly against the weathered brown stained wood and her silk Cheongsam. Fishermen, both old and young, were calling out to the young Chinese women in a local impertinent dialect from the boats. She acknowledged all with a smile. Old women frowned at her. She walked quickly by.
With small calculated steps, she kept her pace, her focus unwavering des
An old Hainanese Chicken Rice seller had a recognizable smile and wink for the young Chinese woman smelling of lavender. She smiled back. The weathered faces
of Malay men returning from the old mosque bore expressions that conveyed a deep-seated belief in traditional values,
giving the young Chinese woman grungy stares
that conveyed that women should be hidden and covered. The lines that were etched into their faces told stories of years spent navigating
the complexities of faith, and their dark brown eyes
reflected a mixture of reverence for their beliefs and a rigid adherence
to the roles defined for male and female by their Quran ... but infidels of white skin were tolerated ... for now. Her eyes looked towards the waterfront, where the influential Ong Clan junks were mooring with their goods from Singapore.
She remained undeterred by the expressions of the mix of curiosity and contempt that she knew she was attracting. She thrived on the attention because she knew that in time her looks would abandon her to the street with no roof unless fate was to smile on her. But for now, she was undistracted by the day-to-day life and judgments of the people who surrounded her.
She made her way back to Madam Lou's sporting house and massage parlor on Tua-Che hang [Big Sister Lane]. It was what she knew to be.
The sun paints the sky with God's brush.
A life...
The young Chinese woman, of mixed heritage, faced a tragic childhood fraught with sadness and hardship, being of mixed blood but very Chinese in appearance and manner. Each day, she confronted not only the external hardships of her surroundings but also the internal conflicts stemming from her identity, making her journey through youth particularly difficult. Her father, a British officer stationed at Fort Alice in Sri Aman, died from his injuries while defending the fort against an attack by Dayak warriors. These warriors were making their way up the Lupar River, intent on uniting with other Dayak and Malay groups to form a raiding party, driven by shared grievances against colonial forces.
Her mother, a first-generation Chinese immigrant in Sarawak, passed away from cholera when she was just four years old. With both parents gone, the burden of her upbringing fell to her mother's sister, Madam Lou, who had no children of her own and took on the responsibility of raising her within the confines of her well-known establishment. A place in the city notorious for its offerings of young women, alcohol, and opium, all available to those who had the hard currency. This sporting house, as the British officers referred to it, was steeped in vice and temptation, where the complexities of life unfolded amidst the shadows of indulgence and the stark realities of what money could buy. It became the backdrop of the young girl's formative years.
She stood with her back to the busy Sarawak River, twirling her rice paper umbrella over her left shoulder with painted dragons coming alive to the amusement of waterfront children who would tease her for who she was, one of Madam Lou's girls. Behind her was the river and what remained of her childhood in Sri Aman. To the right, the courthouse, the magistrate, the monkey, the land deal, the handshake, and the Foochow's new land. To the left, the post office and the church, the band playing in the square to white and brown skin. Beyond it all, Sarawak's history is moving forward.
These waterfront children often find themselves trapped in a cycle of poverty, with little to no access to formal education, though it was offered by some do-gooders in exchange for converting to Christianity. Or, they end up in low-skilled jobs, like manual labour on the waterfront or running errands for local business owners, particularly the Chinese towkays. Their potential largely goes unrealized, and they have to navigate a tough reality that limits their opportunities and keeps the cycle of disadvantage going. Without educational resources and support systems, these kids become easy targets for exploitation by gangs and other harmful influences. There was no angel of mercy hovering over them.
She looked to her right, where the chalky-white colonial British courthouse was, where the magistrate and his pet monkey Vikki, sat in daily session. She also noticed the young Malay and the old Dayak in the shadow of the courthouse in a coffee house closing their deal in losing their land to the Foochow towkay, whom she knew by name, and his generosity to her when she made him feel 'saiyang' in Madam Lou's establishment. She witnessed from the waterfront their smiling faces and handshakes all around, knowing that the Foochow would visit her that night. That handshake that signifies their mutual trust and respect at the moment of agreeing on the price will mark their final interaction. Little did they know that this seemingly simple act would carry the weight of finality and shame to the next generation, where boundaries would be disputed and confiscated by the government.
To her left, she could see the British colonial General Post Office, a lifeline to the outside world where all written words of love, sad news, and secret messages
are poured out in human emotions onto paper, sorted, and sent out on their lonely way with the assumption that each letter will reach its intended destination some on the other side of the world where King and Country bully on. On a gentle rise beyond the Post Office, she caught a glimpse of the wooden Christian church,
where
diplomacy in religion and culture was
striving to win the hearts of the local people, with God winning some and others staying with their pagan beliefs because it was more human. This Christian church stood guardian over souls and the grassy square in front of it, where the colonial brass band performed lively Sunday afternoon recitals in boosting white skin morale and the presence of a foreign power to the local brown skin dismay. Though some will look to change the color of their skin because of the advantages it would bring them and their families.
The story of the wooden church and its builder, a carpenter from Central Europe who was shipwrecked off the coast of Sarawak and who survived his ordeal, was commissioned to build the wooden church by the local Bishop. He was assisted by local carpenters, both Malay and Dayak, who constructed the church in a blend of local cultural craftsmanship that was completed in three years. The search for a bronze bell suitable for the church proved to be an impossible challenge, as no bells were available for purchase or to be found within the state, but plenty of ship bells that were deemed inadequate due to their small size, rendering them unsuitable for the intended purpose of calling the faithful. This predicament highlighted the difficulty of sourcing a suitable bell, so the Dayaks found themselves compelled to relinquish their cherished damaged gongs, and those that were not-so-damaged, which had long been esteemed symbols within the communal longhouse upriver. These gongs, integral to their cultural identity and traditions, were not merely musical instruments but held significant spiritual value for the Dayak people in representing the voices of their ancestors and the community's collective history. They lived.
The Christian bell was cast to sound the coming of a new god for the Dayaks. Gongs that were used in Animism and Shamanism to connect to their spirit world were now cast into a bell to connect to the the Christain God who gave out punishment and forgiveness in equal doses. This marked a significant cultural shift in the Dayaks, as the gongs, symbols of their heritage and communal identity, were replaced by an object that represented the influence of white man's religious rituals. The call to prayer, along with expressions of joy, sorrow, and caution, serves as a poignant reminder for the Dayak people of their ancestral traditions, while simultaneously conveying to the Malays the notion that a Christian deity seeks a place among them in suggesting that a divine presence transcends cultural and land boundaries. That wooden church of its mixed native woods that were once standing on their proud hills are now silent and no longer alive, cut down in the name of God Himself, to be seen but not heard.
The young Chinese woman, when passing the coffee shop, gave a slight bow of her porcelain head to the Foochow.
That deal between the young Malay and the old Dayak, accomplished on a hard-earned handshake, would later be viewed with utter contempt by the subsequent generation of both families ... serving as a reminder of the consequences and repercussions of dealing in handshakes with cash-in-hand deals with a Foochow when it came to land. On that day outside the courthouse, the actions of the Malay and the old Dayak initiated a series of events that would create a turbulent legacy for both families, fraught with turmoil and the loss of life. This event ensured that the repercussions of their choices would resonate through future generations, saddling them with unresolved conflicts and the painful recollections of being cheated ... ensuring that their disputes would be inherited, perpetuating a cycle of pain with unresolved issues.
However, it served as a reminder to others who came to hear about the land exchange for hard cash that every action ... no matter how important it may seem at the time, carries the potential to shape the course of history, or a family’s legacy. Nonetheless, the Foochow family still holds the titles to the land ... for now.
And a young Chinese woman had forgotten what she had seen that afternoon outside of the courthouse when she would return to Madam Lou’s establishment … but she did remember hearing something about the magistrate and his pet monkey.
The magistrate’s ear swelled like a puffer fish within hours of it being nipped by Vikki. It oozed out a thick yellowish pus that emitted a foul odor ... reminiscent in color and smell of a decomposing durian. The doctor, Old Man Wollos, as he was known in the clubhouse, and White Devil in the longhouse, had left the day before Vikki bit the magistrate’s good ear. He and his Malay companion boy were on an expedition upriver for a week of collecting butterflies and hunting wild boar that liked to eat the fallen fruit after the rains, and calling on longhouses as the White Devil. Old Man Wollos liked to remark, for the benefit of his Malay companion, that...
''The boars were like the naked Eve running through the forbidden apple orchard ... indulging herself in the sweet temptation that surrounded her, seducing herself closer to the very essence of passion in gormandizing herself, in defiance against the one rule laid down by the very God Himself that made her, and who aimed to confine her to Eden … no less for the benefit of his own personal entertainment.''
The Malay boy smiled, knowing the White Devil was on one of his missionary talks. But that was Wollos being Old Man Wollos.
The magistrate found himself with no choice now that Wollos had departed on his expedition. The situation with his ear grew so bad that it necessitated the immediate attention of the local Dayak shaman, Rentap. Late that night, a critical decision was made regarding the magistrate’s deteriorating condition, which necessitated the removal of his ear to prevent the further spread of infection. This urgent condition called for immediate action … and more gin.
The responsibility for determining the appropriate course of treatment fell to Shaman Rentap ... way past midnight when he saw the magistrate’s ear, which was not a pretty sight. The seriousness of the situation highlighted the fragile interplay between Old Man Wollos’s medical expertise and his absence, alongside Shaman Rentap’s deeply rooted spiritual convictions, his hatred of the white man, and his willingness to remove the badly infected ear, which, if Old Man Wollos had been about the good ear, would have been saved.
Shaman Rentap was prepared to take the necessary actions for certain favors. And that was the worry of the magistrate, that it created a complex dilemma. Magistrate Sexstain was not at all happy regarding Rentap’s decision to amputate his one good hearing ear. But he had no say in the matter if he wanted to stop gangrene from spreading and transforming his face into a permanent mask that even Victoria might not recognize her husband when he returned to Surrogātus in the land of King and Country.
Despite the emotional upheaval and the likely loss of his good ear, the magistrate was determined to get intoxicated with Old Tom in numbing his pain and loss. In one day, he had lost a sizable wager, his good hearing ear, and his pet monkey Vikki … who now had performed a vanishing act. The gravity of the situation was not lost on the magistrate. Nor on Shaman Rentap.
On the eve of Gawai Antu ... the Dayak Soul Festival ... Shaman Rentap took his time in performing the ritual to remove the left ear of the now heavily intoxicated magistrate. All the while reciting shamanic Iban prayers in a low murmur, with the smell of Old Tom and ganja filling up the room. His voice wove through the air like a sacred incantation, honoring his ancestors and seeking guidance from the spirits who departed from the longhouses ... only to return and speak through the gongs.
Each word resonated with the spirits in understanding that this act was infused with cultural significance and had the potential to alter the course of destiny itself. In Shaman Rentap's thinking, that it might have more of an effect than decapitating the magistrate’s head, the opportunity that fate offered him. It was a scarce sacrifice for the loss of a country. But it was better than nothing.
Despite numerous efforts to locate the evasive Proboscis pet monkey Vikki, who continued to evade capture, speculation and theories sprang up among those familiar with the mystical practices associated with shamanism, and the influential Rentap and his hatred for the White Devils. The intrigue surrounding Vikki was heightened by the rumor that a pertickler male monkey skull, going by the name Vikki, could hold significant power in the hands of Shaman Rentap.
Vikki was never to be seen again, nor mentioned in the presence of Magistrate Sexstain or Shaman Rentap. Though the incident remained etched in the memory of the magistrate till his dying day, recalled and retold while sitting in the greenhouse in Surrogātus with Victoria. She in her favorite chair, and Old Tom in her hand. The magistrate would tell her that he could still hear Rentap whispering to him ... where his good ear once was, in telling him that he had Vikki, who was going to save the country from the British White Devils.
Shaman Rentap emerged as a prominent leader in the resistance against colonial rule in Sarawak, a fact well recognized within the local community, for having Magistrate Sexstain’s one good ear, and for incorporating Vikki’s skull into his spiritual rituals. The skull served as a powerful symbol in his efforts to resist colonial sovereignty and to safeguard the cultural identity of the Dayak people in expelling the foreign white devils from his ancestral lands.
The pursuit of freedom is a cause for which any sacrifice ... be it the loss of a magistrate’s good ear, or a Proboscis pet monkey’s skull, is deemed worthwhile in ancestral lands.