A woman of age. Her years likely approaching sixty. She walked barefoot along a path on the damp ground. Each step left an imprint of her foot.
Rows of forest with towering trees reaching dozens of meters high. Thousands of giant tree trunks stood side by side like a natural fence protecting the forest's inhabitants. The chirping of birds and the buzzing of insects echoed through the wet tropical forest. In this forest, there was no heat, only the cool and beautiful air before one's eyes. Small ponds, remnants of rainwater trapped in swampy depressions, rippled with small fish unique to the interior of Kalimantan. Amid the dense meranti forest, reptiles hid behind the tall, wild, beautiful grasses.
The old woman walking alone did not appear tired in the slightest. She walked with great enthusiasm, despite her shoulders bearing a heavy load.
Cigarette smoke accompanied her throughout her journey. When she felt thirsty, she stopped briefly by a small lake to drink the water provided by the forest as a source of life within it.
Clean, clear, fresh was the taste of drinking forest water. It was truly very comfortable. Its refreshing taste could not be compared to any bottled water processed by city folks.
The old woman was named Lahei. The name was given by her grandfather, who was a Damang (Tribal Chief). Though she was indeed the granddaughter of the tribal chief, in her daily life, she remained an ordinary person who did everything alone.
Lahei had walked more than five kilometers. Her face beamed not because she was happy, but because of a cup of coffee she had longed for.
Her old shoulders burdened with the load felt no pain at all, even though the items she carried were quite heavy.
Lahei carried a lanjung filled with several essential needs such as vegetables, rice, fish she caught in the river, and a piece of deer leg.
Tok! Tok! Tok!
( A lanjung is similar to a backpack, but made from plant materials such as rattan and bamboo. )
The old woman, walking slowly, came upon a wooden house with quite high stilts. Despite her advanced age, her legs were still sturdy enough to climb the stairs of the house.
The large wooden house belonged to Marna. It was so big that it used to accommodate ten families, including her brothers, uncles, and her mother's relatives. However, a rare disease had taken the lives of all her family members, leaving Marna the sole occupant of the house.
Lahei had set out from her village before sunrise. Her destination was this house, as she had heard that its owner had just returned from the city. She was sure that anyone coming from the city would have a stock of coffee and sugar.
Knock! Knock! Knock! The old woman repeated her knocks on the door.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
At the third knock, a voice was heard asking.
"Aweh?" Who's there?
The voice sounded distant at first but gradually grew closer.
Hearing the voice, Lahei immediately put on a sweet smile.
"Tege kupi lah?" she asked. When the door opened, she inquired if there was any coffee in the house.
The woman who opened the door replied, "Yes, come in! I'll make some coffee for you!"
"No need, Cu. I'll wait outside," Lahei said, using the Dayak language. "I prefer sitting out here to being inside."
"But, Nini (an affectionate term for grandmother), wait a moment. I need to boil some water first."
"Iih," okay.
Marna poured kerosene on the indoor stove. With a single strike of a match, the fire burst forth, igniting the neatly stacked wooden twigs.
For some, having and lighting a stove inside a wooden house is considered very dangerous. It is highly flammable and hazardous, but this theory does not hold for many in Kalimantan.
In Kalimantan, where people live in remote areas, 100 percent of their houses are typically made of wood. The roofs are crafted from intricately woven coconut leaves. As a result, these wooden houses are often built on stilts, with nearly all the materials being wood, except for the roofs and nails, which are made of metal.
Marna took a small one-liter kettle. Its exterior was blackened by soot and charcoal. Since she cooked with a stove, it was no surprise that her kitchen utensils were in such condition.
She poured a glass of water and took one spoonful of coffee powder and one spoonful of sugar. While waiting for the water to boil, she grabbed some Gabin biscuits, a square-shaped wheat biscuit in orange packaging with the GABIN ARROW logo.
**"Wait a moment, Ni. I'm still boiling the water, it hasn't boiled yet,"** said Marna, while setting down the wheat biscuits.
"Wadai Gabin," the old woman said, taking a piece of biscuit and eating it.
Marna, having just brought the biscuits, returned to the kitchen. She checked the kettle to see if the water was boiling.
"It's boiling already!" Marna said to herself. Her fair arms searched for a small cloth to lift the kettle, avoiding direct contact with the metal.
From outside, a faint melody could be heard. The music came from a traditional Borneo musical instrument called the sapeq, which is somewhat like a guitar but very different in form and playing technique. While a guitar is typically played by plucking with one finger, the sapeq is played using almost all fingers. For those unfamiliar with the sound of the sapeq, the music can evoke a unique aura. People hearing it for the first time often feel a chill, as if the music gently touches their bones and emotions.
When the sapeq is played during traditional ceremonies, it usually captivates the entire audience. Softly, prayers and chants can be heard being recited together. In such an atmosphere, it is not uncommon for some to become possessed by spirits or ancestral ghosts.
Marna heard the sound of the sapeq. For some reason, it made her suddenly happy. She was still holding the freshly brewed coffee. Instead of immediately going out to serve the old woman, Marna peeked through a small hole in her wooden house, enjoying how the old woman's fingers skillfully played the melodies.
The sound produced by this instrument is very unique. When listened to during the day, it brings feelings of happiness and comfort. However, when heard at night, the delicate plucking of its strings can send shivers down one's spine. Its melody seems to make all the creatures of the forest fall silent and feel a gentle shudder.
Marna had been watching the woman play the sapeq for quite some time. It dawned on her that the coffee she had prepared might get cold if she didn't bring it out soon.
The elderly woman stopped playing the sapeq and greeted Marna warmly with a genuine smile.
"Ah, it smells so good," the old woman said, inhaling the fresh aroma of the brewed coffee.
Marna handed her the cup of coffee and sat down beside her.
The two women sat facing the forest. Their feet dangled over the edge, as the house was on high stilts. The elevated design of the house made the breeze feel wonderfully refreshing.
"How high is your house?" asked the woman.
"One and a half meters," Marna replied.
"Do you have a dog?"
Marna shook her head. "No, I'm a Muslim. I don't keep dogs anymore."
"You're like my son, Agau. After he became a Muslim, he didn't want to keep dogs anymore. He said Muslims aren't allowed to keep dogs. When he was little, he went everywhere with his dog, even ate from the same plate."
"Where is your son now?"
"He's dead, turned into a kambe!" she said, laughing heartily. Kambe means ghost.
The coffee Marna had made was half gone, and it seemed the old woman couldn't get enough of it. She appeared to be a heavy coffee drinker.
"What did you bring, Ni?"
"I brought vegetables and deer meat."
"Where did you get the deer meat, Ni?"
"Yesterday, I set a trap and caught a deer that big," she said, pointing to an old oil drum. "On my way here, I shared some with the neighbors. But when I asked them for coffee, no one had any." The old woman laughed to herself. In the interior of Kalimantan, people are used to living in small, self-sustaining communities. Each community usually consists of only four or five families, scattered throughout the vast forest. It's common to come across small Dayak communities even in the deepest parts of the forest.
Coffee is the favorite drink of the Dayak people. Almost all of them drink it daily, from the elderly to children, and women too. Despite their love for coffee, none of the Dayak people in these remote areas grow coffee. They prefer to buy it.
For those living in isolated regions, the nearest town can be hundreds of kilometers away. If no company trucks or vehicles pass by, they can run out of essential supplies like coffee, sugar, noodles, and eggs.
After eating and drinking, the old woman unpacked everything she had brought in her lanjung. Inside, she had kelakai (a vegetable similar to ferns), river fish, bamboo shoots, jackfruit, and a large deer leg.
"This is all for you!" the old woman said, turning to Marna. As she turned, her earrings, which had about seven rings, jingled. Her shoulder-length ears chimed loudly.
"That's a lot, Ni!"
"I was going to give this to my son in the village over there," she said, pointing to the village to the southeast. "But I met you here. So, it's yours instead."