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In the morning, when an aging warrior tells of his achievements in battle in a melancholy voice, demonstrating how he twisted the hair of his victims around his fist and with two strong blows of the mandau, a type of machete, removed their heads, I have reason to doubt if the panjamon procedure has really fallen into disuse. In order to gain trust and favor, from the very beginning we keep in mind the canon of savoir vivre among the natives. I want to believe that the bag of gifts will assist us in winning their hearts. Missionaries agree that this age old practice was abandoned long ago, but nonetheless…supposedly various things happen during intertribal wars. Either way, I, a seasoned adventurer, after returning to civilization, was truly grateful to be alive.
It was here, not far from the source of the Kapuas in 1824 that Major George Muller, leader of a Dutch government mission, was murdered by fearsome Dayaks. Eleven of the Javan soldiers who accompanied him also lost their lives. Today his name lives on in one of the local mountain chains, whose highest peak is Longnawan at nearly 3,000 m above sea level. This was also the final resting place for British inspector Bruce Sandilands in 1975 after he was abandoned by porters.
The media remembered the existence of the Dayaks in January 1997 when an ethnic war broke out in Borneo with immigrants from the Madura island. After the murder of two Dayaks, the angered decedents of the headhunters returned to this cruel tradition, killing more than a thousand Islamic residents who threatened their traditional cultural values. Ritual murder, an endemic tradition among animists, is proof of bravery and courage. It wins the warrior praise and nobility in autochthonous structures, allows him to absorb the vital strength of his enemy and achieve adulthood. According to years of tradition, these trophies also contribute to a fruitful rice harvest; ensure health, female fertility and rich hunting. As it turns out, the missionary influence and the work of the national administration have failed in eradicating this time-honored practice completely. The instinct remains.
Borneo. The name itself intrigues and awakens the imagination. The third largest island in the world, it is known as one of the wildest corners of the globe, dominated by a deadly climate, an endless jungle, virgin and uncharted terrains, dangerous animals, nearly inaccessible mountain chains and numerous tropical diseases. Moreover, it is inhabited by several dozen species of poisonous snakes, insects, leaches and treacherous mountain rivers.
Discovered by Magellan in 1521, the island also calls to mind the fascinating history of Malaysian pirates and the infamous local Dayak inhabitants, including the mysterious headhunters. More than a hundred years ago, Joseph Conrad sailed these waters and many of his literary heroes originate in the area. Tomek of Alfred Szklarski also traveled through these parts. Borneo was also an inspiration for another writer enchanted by the mysterious magic of the East, Somerset Maugham, and the guest of Raja Brokke in Sawarak, the young naturist Alfred Russel Wallach, developed the theory of natural selection here.
Twenty years ago I completed the “trip of a lifetime” through Borneo along the Equator. In the face of enormous difficulty, I was forced to display an iron condition, the ability to adapt and unstoppable determination. I vowed at the time that no earthly treasure could make me repeat that trip. However, in recent years, I was haunted by one thought: I have to go back. The hunger for adventure among local tribes on the island, a guiding star for me as a child, would not allow me to sit comfortably at home.
Supported by the Indonesian government, I set out with a group of friends on a cross-country trip through Borneo using local canoes and on foot. The very experienced Nova Tejaksuma from the “Across Indonesia” agency was one of my partners. We wanted to reach the isolated Dayak tribe in the interior of the island, people who have a foggy idea of the fact that they are living in a place called Indonesia. This murderous excursion is described as Challenging by the British and represents a test of strength and a daunting challenge.
We left Pontianak, located on the Equator, sailing on the majestic Kapuas whose upper course meanders through a series of treacherous cataracts with exotic names: Pangin, Horirap, and Batu Lintang. In the jungle, communication is limited to the river and transport depends on the state of the water. Shallow water causes goose bumps when the hull of the boat grates alarmingly on the rocky bottom. After carrying the baggage over rocks slippery with algae, we use our remaining reserves of energy to pull the massive canoe 50 meters and load it up again. Around the next bend, we face another series of shelves and thresholds and the same exertion – many, many times in the course of one day.
However, narrow gorges, dominated by the frothy and noisy eddies of whirlpools, are even more dangerous and difficult to overcome. Our nerves are put to a hard test. The slightest mistake of the rudder or a moment of carelessness from the man at the prow, whose task is to push the boat out of the path of sudden dangers, could be the beginning of catastrophe. So, with the engine running on high, the boat winds among the rocks in search of a break that would allow us to forge through the cataract terrace. Crossing these thresholds is one of those situations that we are not fully able to control. American writer Ed Abbey compared the moment to sex: “One-third of the pleasure is in expectation. Half of the thrills accompany anticipation. The rest is either ecstasy or darkness.”
In the Muller Mountains of Borneo, we are faced with one other barrier. We are embraced within a monolith of green and musty air saturated with a stifling, all-pervading humidity and surrounded by the claustrophobic half-light of the forest. The lowest layer is a tangle of liana vines, epiphites, ferns, vines and mushrooms. Without an exact map, we wander for 10 days over a slippery carpet of rotting leaves with the consistency of sticky mud. To keep from falling, we cling to everything in reach, most often to thorny palms that wound the hands. Every time this happens we let out a series of curses. I see my team suffering and some of the barefoot porters fall down. Crotches are rubbed raw and feet are covered in sores and painful wounds. I move forward on all fours under a tree trunk that blocks the way ahead. The weight on my back pushes me to my knees and I gather my strength to pick up my exhausted legs to avoid becoming entangled in the maze of roots. An annoying cloud of insects delivers painful bites, even through our clothes, and rivulets of sweat pour off of our bodies and into the eyes.
Heavy exertion in hot, humid air leads straight to overheating. The organism is unable to release heat through sweat, which in these conditions runs off the skin like liquid. Therefore sweating does not cool but dehydrates the body. Energy depleted, my heart thudding and on the edge of heat exhaustion, without removing my backpack I fall into the water. What a relief!
After steep inclines and seated descents along the sides of the canyon we take advantage of the river corridor, wading up to our knees and waists, trying not to be carried away by the clever current. There are signs of an imminent downpour, an event able to ruin the moods of even experienced jungle veterans. “Now I know why the Americans lost the war in Vietnam,” I hear from the usually talkative Alex.
There is no protection from the disgusting leaches that attack every inch of exposed flesh. They get to us from the ground, bushes and trees, crawling into our clothes, even through the lace holes in our shoes. Thinner than toothpicks, after feeding they are the size of cigarettes and fall off of their own accord. Looking at the ghastly mouth of this creature, with three jaws of 270 sharp teeth worthy of a man-eating shark, is a chilling experience. The consequences of their bites can be dangerous because the wounds heal with difficulty, itch and can lead to infection. The only cure is...another leach to clean the wound.
Two weeks after our departure from Pontianak, we have arrived at a forgotten corner of the world in the heart of Borneo, the home of the legendary Dayaks who live outside the arm of the law. The French encyclopedia “Customs of Peoples around the World” wrote about these people 130 years ago: "They are closed, deceptive and cruel. Throughout the world there are no more predatory and fierce headhunters. Anyone who is not a member of their tribes is an enemy whose skull should adorn their homes. Their men are respected in proportion to the number of heads they collect."
The community we have encountered consists of more than a dozen families living in the traditional longhouse, a structure built on poles. Their dignified leader’s emotionless face examines us inquisitively and then gives us permission to stay. Tattoos cover his entire body and he smokes a cigar made from the leaves of the wild banana. We offer him practical gifts: salt, knives, pots, tobacco and quinine. The men of this group carry themselves proudly. All carry the mandau at their belts and have muscled torsos, brown skin, black eyes and plucked eyebrows and eyelashes. The women are quite thin and surprisingly pretty. They have round faces, tiny noses and stretched earlobes adorned with heavy copper rings. They are also decorated with tattoos of various kinds. Some display crimson lips and stained teeth – signs of the invigorating and disinfecting betel.
Christian colonization did not reach these areas and their inhabitants remained animists as can be seen by the statues carved into the wood. Gentle and peaceful, they live in perfect symbiosis with the forest, which provides everything they need: food, firewood, building material and medicine. These people do not intend to accept the expropriation of their lands. They lead a primitive and poor existence but do not dream of a more stable life, a better home, electricity, schools, clothing or even TVs.
Borneo was recently in the news as the home to a true “medicinal treasure chest” following the discovery of a plant that in laboratory tests was proven helpful in the treatment of serious illnesses like cancer, AIDS and malaria. Optimistic perspectives. It’s a shame that the forest economy of exploitation has caused the irreparable destruction of habitats rich in plants that can save many human lives. Representatives of the WWF have also taken pictures of a mysterious predator that most likely represents a new mammal species. This strange animal is more or less the size of a housecat, has a dark red coat and a long bushy tail. Ecologists say that the systematic, well planned and scientifically organized exploitation of the environment has led to an imbalance in the 15-million-year-old ecology of Borneo, which the current generation inherited in an unspoiled form. The most recent discoveries should strengthen our efforts to protect the rain forest along with all the creatures that make it their home.
We cross the spine of the watershed in the island interior and the rest is downhill from here. The thermometer does not fall below 30 degrees, even at night which brings some small respite. For a moment I spy the Southern Cross, a guide to ancient sailors, but the constellation is soon hidden by storm clouds advertising another impending downpour. The deafening sound of rainfall approaches, accompanied by a group of screaming gibbons. There is nothing worse on this earth than yet another day of wearing wet clothing and shoes. Once again I dream of dry clothes and air conditioning, not to mention a meal served on a table and a comfortable bed.
Yesterday some saw a flying lizard with wide membranes between its fingers that glided softly to the ground. Our paths also crossed those of a few poisonous snakes bearing perfect camouflage, including the all-time record holder among snakes – the bungaro with its characteristic red head. Now we have encountered the pink, succulent Rafflesia, the largest flower in the world at nearly one meter in diameter. Because of its intense scent, akin to the smell of rotting meat, the English call this spectacular parasitic plant “the corpse lily.”
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