He gets up and walks to the fridge behind him. It looks like the kind of fridge you usually see in a supermarket, only without the glass top. I believe it’s called a chest freezer. He takes out four cans of beer and puts them on the table, where glasses had already been set out. He opens the cans and started filling the glasses, one by one.
We talk about life and about the house. Meanwhile, mosquitoes conquer my legs. My legs, arms, and parts of my face are getting itchy. I can’t see them, but somehow they really seem to enjoy my blood. It must be the new blood in the kampung.
Grandma (Nene) joins us and starts telling us about her life. She is 87, and her energy feels like it could light up a giant city. Speaking in Iban, she talks about where she is from and her work in her younger days. Her eyes sparkle. I nod as if I understand what she was saying, listening with full attention. The way she tells her story is so captivating that I can almost picture what she is describing, while my friend translated certain parts into English.
We sit outside on a bench, and behind me, in the open air, the sky turns cobalt blue, or maybe it’s cerulean. The clouds are woven into the air like a painting you just can’t stop looking at. I get up, walk toward the open space, and look up. I hear a rooster crowing as if it were the start of a new day. It feels like a moment of meditation.
I walk back to the bench, and someone raises their glass. “Ngirup!”, which means “let’s drink” or “cheers” in Iban, and we clink our glasses with every single individual. I’ve learned that when you want to drink from your glass, you first have to cheers with everyone.
We sing karaoke songs, drink more beer, and sausages are prepared. Cigarette and vape smoke mixed with the smell of the evening and the beer. Different family members come out of the house; sometimes they join the table, but most of the time, they go back inside. We talk about traditional Borneo tattoos. Nene mentions a pole inside the house. “You want to see the house?” I nod and get up.
Via the kitchen, we walk into the living room. The walls are covered in old photos—marriages, graduations, special milestones of a life. A photo of a 17-year-old Nene in traditional Iban clothes catches my attention. I can’t quite describe how this woman makes me feel. She explains to my friend that she actually understands English.
The pole had been painted by her son-in-law. My friend translates that the pole and its paintings ensure protection for the house, and when it was installed, two chickens had to be offered. I have been intrigued by all the superstitions people have in Sarawak. I love hearing the stories, understanding where they come from, and seeing how they influence people’s lives.
It’s such a different way of living life, compared to where I’m from.
Right in the middle of the living room stands a giant TV screen, almost the size of a cinema screen. The living room is a perfect integration of the old world and the current one.
We walk back outside and drink more beer. We drink a glass of Tuak and sing more songs. A gecko without a tail hunts for mosquitoes, and a cat jumps onto the bench when it notices the food, nudging me with its head. I lost count of the number of beer cans that were opened. I am not tipsy, but I feel a pleasant warmth in my head and body. One last “Ngirup” and an “Ila betemu baru” (see you next time) before we leave the kampung and head back to the city.