 |
 |
|
 |
World & I School | World & I Homeschool | World & I College | World & I Library | |
 |
||
|
|
||
|
|
|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
|
|
|
|
|
World & I School | World & I Homeschool | World & I College | World & I Library | |
|
|
||
|
|
||
|
|
|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
 |
 |
 o the ears of an untutored Westerner, the din of the rain forest in Sabah is chaotic. But savvy locals can discern each cry with dead reckoning: the screech of the proboscis monkey, the call of the Sunda ground cuckoo, the trill of a cell phone?
The notion of electronic communication in this remote tract of jungle on the northern tip of Malaysian Borneo is not as odd as it may seem. The state of Sabah has been a trading center for more than a thousand years. In the ninth century, camphorwood, cowries, pepper, and bird's nests were shipped from here to imperial China. The nineteenth century brought American, German, and English merchant-adventurers, as well as out-and-out pirates. Wood exported from the eastern city of Sandakan in 1885 was used to build Beijing's Temple of Heaven. At the height of the timber boom, this now-dusty town was said to have the world's greatest concentration of millionaires. Foreign colonials were not the only people attracted to Sabah. Seafarers from the Philippines and Indonesia have been mixing with the local population for more than five thousand years. As a result, thirty-two ethnic communities speak more than fifty languages and one hundred dialects within a population of two million. Each sojourner took away a little of Sabah's natural riches while also adding to the state's infrastructure. Sandakan had the latest in medical and communications technology in the first decades of the twentieth century, until this cultivated outpost was flattened by Allied bombing during the Japanese occupation. In many ways, the city is still in recovery. In Sabah generally, one encounters a primeval world wrestling with the onrush of the twenty-first century. Slipping away  y this time, it would seem, Sabah should be inured to the intrusions of immigration and commerce. Indeed, in larger cities, outside influences are taken in stride. In Kota Kinabalu, for example, it is quite common to see a modestly draped Muslim woman pulling a motorcycle helmet over her headdress, or to observe men in food stalls eating with the right hand as dictated by custom--while pressing a cell phone to their ear with the left. Though the people of Malaysian Borneo have avidly embraced twenty-first century technology, they are still working to reconcile a modern lifestyle with their closest companion--and meal ticket--the natural world.
"The idea of conservation is relatively new in this part of the world," notes Adrian Vekic, general manager of Shangri-La's Tanjung Aru Resort in Kota Kinabalu, a sumptuous spot whose drawing card is the region's dazzling flora and fauna. "We don't realize what we have until we see it slowly slipping away," agrees Tulip Noorazyze, the resort's director of communications.
The conflict between Westerners' passion for green laws and the needs of local people is dramatized at the bustling waterfront market in Sandakan. Here a motherly looking vendor plucks a lively chicken from its pen. She proudly holds the hen aloft for my perusal. Then, in one swift motion, she wrings its neck and plunges the still writhing bird into a vat of scalding water. Life is a hand-to-mouth existence here and allows little room for urban Western sentiments about animal rights. "Welcome to the food chain," a companion murmurs. The plight of Borneo's orangutans throws this problem into sharp relief. Sixty years ago, the orangs' natural habitat stretched from China to the tip of the Malaysian peninsula. When industry and palm oil plantations shrank the rain forest, the orangs were pressed for food and living space. As they invaded cultivated areas, farmers retaliated by culling. Adult females were shot and infants left orphaned, throwing nature's delicate balance into disarray. Even the seemingly kindhearted act of caring for orphaned baby orangs exacerbated the problem. By age three or four these animals were stronger than their human owners and became rivalrous. Adult males weigh in at more than two hundred pounds and have no trouble tearing off a human limb. The orangs' extraordinary powers of imitation--it is said some learned to put a kettle on the stove and fix themselves a pot of tea--became a dilemma. Those raised in captivity were now far more at home in suburbia than in the rain forest. In an attempt to appease farmers and bring the orangs safely back to their natural habitat, the Sepilok Orangutan Rehabilitation Centre was established in 1964. But when rangers tried to reintroduce orangs to the forest, the problems were manifold. Everyday jungle noises frightened the apes, just as they would you or me. Ignorant of natural predators, the orangs were vulnerable. They were afraid to climb trees or swing from branch to branch. They even had to be taught how to use their natural gait, walking on arms and legs, as they had been imitating their human companions by standing upright. Rightful territory  or urban dwellers, these semiwild creatures are a mesmerizing sight. This fact did not go unnoticed by the founders of Sepilok, whose financial plan depends upon thousands of people a year paying for the privilege of watching an orang mother and child swing onto a feeding platform to devour bananas and milk.
Multinational corporations in Borneo also see the value of preservation efforts to aid the national good. And if bewitching animal toddlers are involved, this act of charity can also be very helpful to business. In 1996, the Shangri-La Rasa Ria Resort set up a sixty-four-acre nature reserve on its property in conjunction with the State Wildlife Department. Without leaving the hotel grounds, guests can walk into the perimeters of Borneo's jungle to observe long-tailed macaques, pheasants, bear cats, porcupines, fruit bats, and twenty-three species of birds, as well as flamboyant flora like pitcher plants and rare orchids. The resort is also raising five orphaned orangs. Since its reserve is smaller than Sepilok and the rangers are fluent in English, it's easier here for a foreigner to gain insight into the problems of wildlife preservation in Sabah. Vekic, the ranger on duty when we arrived, is a bit like a doting uncle, as protective of his orang charges as he is eager to show
But Vekic's genial manner cannot hide his concern. "When they arrived as infants they were very weak," he recalls. "We put them on the feeding platform and they looked lost. They wouldn't eat 'jungle' food because they were used to a diet of pizza and McDonald's. When we tried to teach them to climb a rope to get their meals, they would just sit there and cry. They were frightened and spoiled. See how they clutch at one another?" The two manage to do everything-- eat, play, make mischief--in a full hugging position. "It's because as orphans they miss their mother's touch. When they gain confidence, they'll let go. That's when we can release them to Sepilok." Despite this issue's high profile, many people hinder wildlife preservation because they are ignorant of the powerful forces that drive animals in the bush. While orangs are generally docile, they are extremely possessive. The moment they touch something, they think they own it. Sepilok administrators tell a cautionary tale of a luckless tourist who may have gotten a bit too close. By the time rangers found him cowering behind dense foliage, he had been methodically stripped of every piece of clothing. Even more distressing was an incident I witnessed during a Sepilok feeding session. A large male had pushed his way through a group of human spectators and was hissing and spitting at the crowd--clear signs of aggression. Suddenly, a man darted forward to poke him. Touching this regal creature's auburn mane may have been an irresistible urge, but the orang's violent response made it clear that this man had trespassed the animal's rightful territory and endangered those around him. Changing priorities  aintaining the balance of nature is not Borneo's only problem. Even in a place as ethnically diverse as Sabah, the current wave of electronic communication, global trade, and tourism has brought social conflicts.
For centuries Sabah's cultural groups have been isolated by the region's mountains and rivers. This has allowed ethnic groups to keep their traditions intact. Indeed, when tribal people have embraced Christianity or Islam, they have not left their animistic beliefs behind. Farmers on the interior plains still entrust a female spirit medium known as a bobolian with exorcisms and preservation of the bambarayon, or rice spirit. The Murut peoples of southern Sabah, once feared headhunters who collected enemy skulls as if they were Olympic gold medals, continue to live in longhouses and are renowned for weddings that feature resplendent gowns, dancing, and feasts. In some places dead are still arranged in a fetal position and laid in earthenware jars. The vessels are not buried but are placed on an open platform. Eventually a hut is built over the grave, but not before dear ones have had a chance to visit and converse with the newly departed. Traditional medicine is also practiced in Sabah, and lately Western scientists have come to appreciate the leaves, berries, and roots that treat such maladies as malaria, hypertension, even the common cold. In recent decades, a concerted road-building program has brought the outside world to Sabah's interior. Forty years ago, only single-engine planes could transport people from Ranau, a small town near Mount Kinabalu, to the coast. Now that road journey takes less than two hours. Five years ago, new roads allowed tourists access to the rain forest on the Kinabatangan River. Tour operators are not the first entrepreneurs to appear in this precinct, however. The area has been an important source of beeswax, rattan, and ivory for centuries, and logging has been practiced here for decades. But while logging and large-scale agriculture have destroyed the upper reaches of the Kinabatangan, the coastal forest has actually been preserved by the invading palm oil plantations, which have kept the region isolated. Today the area is considered one of the world's most spectacular spots to view wildlife. In late afternoon, visitors take longboats down tiny tributaries to marvel at trees bent double under the weight of Jimmy Durante--nosed proboscis monkeys, one of ten types of primate in the Kinabatangan Wildlife Sanctuary. The jungle river also harbors such little-seen species as
"When the hotels arrived, the local people were terrified that their traditional way of life would be disturbed," admits manager Leonard Henry. "So we try to help them. We buy their fish, and we use them as local contractors to repair the lodge and build wooden boats. When youngsters here finish school there's very little for them to do, so we hire some of them. But," he acknowledges, "we only have work for a few." Sometimes, because of cultural differences, even this well-intentioned employment is not entirely successful. "Local people are not used to working on a schedule," Henry notes. "In their traditional lifestyle, they work when they like. They also have trouble with the concept of changing priorities. They get frustrated when told to do one thing, then are asked to change course and do another. Jamil, our assistant chef, has quit and come back several times." Mixed feelings  lthough 27-year-old Jamil Amad is gifted at spotting wildlife, having worked for years on a team that collects prized swiftlet nests--the key ingredient for the delicacy bird's nest soup-- he took a job at the Sukau Rainforest Lodge for better pay and fewer risks. While top-grade swiftlet nests made of pure saliva often fetch from U.S. $500 to $4,000 per kilogram in Hong Kong, each member of the gathering team receives only about $6 per day for climbing a sixty-foot ladder to retrieve them from cave tops.
Amad has mixed feelings about the effects of tourism on his people, but he finds some of the changes to be positive. "Even though I'm local, I learn a lot about birds from professional bird-watchers who come here. And I'm pleased to be picking up a little English," he grins. Indeed, Amad is learning to tolerate some things he once found distasteful. "Bare shoulders, bikinis," he comments. I glance guiltily down at my own tank top. Well, it's hot here. "In terms of our culture, it looks too sexy. But we see it on TV, so it's easier to accept." There are things that Amad still finds offensive, however, such as unmarried men and women sharing a room at the lodge. "But then," he reconsiders with the detachment of a cultural anthropologist, "who am I to say what's morally right for other people? I don't really know how their culture works." In the same way that managers of the multinational five-star Shangri-La chain are trying to dovetail efforts to lure tourists and save baby orangutans, proprietors of the Sukau Rainforest Lodge are trying to involve visitors and locals in rehabilitating the riverine land around their hotel. Beginning on January 1, 2000, the lodge began dedicating U.S. $1 for each international guest to the purchase of tree seedlings. Local people can collect shoots from the surrounding forest for income, and students and visitors may volunteer to plant them. The Malaysian government is trying to protect and reward local customs in other parts of Sabah as well. Borneo Eco Tours guide Fernando Rulloda tells of a woman over fifty who has been hired to traverse Mount Kinabalu four times a day carrying nearly forty pounds of food on her upward journey and an equal amount of trash on her way down. Western tourists generally take two to three days to complete one round-trip. Will the government succeed in integrating the ways of indigenous people with a modern economy? Or will Amad and his neighbors ultimately trade their traditional life for Western-style prosperity? "We can make changes like getting haircuts and maybe learning to accept things like nude bathing," Amad hedges. "But do you think your culture will change?" I press. His response is ambivalent: "One has to be very strong not to be influenced," he answers with an enigmatic smile. 
Additional Information Borneo Eco Tours Shoplot 12A, 2nd floor Lorong Bemam 3 Taman Soon Kiong 88300 Kota Kinabalu Sabah, Malaysia Tel.: 60 88 234-009 Fax: 60 88 233-688 e-mail: susanecotours.com Shangri-La's Rasa Ria Resort Pantai Dalit PO Box 600 89208 Tuaran Sabah, Malaysia Tel.: 60 88 792-888 Fax: 60 88 792-777 Regina Sulit-Lain rsulit@shangri-la.com Malaysia Tourism 1-800-558-6787 Mary Scully, mtpbm.gov.my Janet Forman is a freelance writer based in California and New York. |
| Copyright © 2003 The World & I. All rights reserved. Terms of Use | Privacy Policy |
