In Bintulu, we once again found ourselves nest searching with little success. With the swarms of swifts, we had so little luck in the city, we decided to rent a car and head out to the small villages nearby. We spent the next two days driving down the winding roads of Borneo, bordered by green jungle and palm plantations. We stopped at every bridge we came too- often accompanied by horn honks from truck drives and shouts of “where are you going?!” we would climb down under the bridges looking for swallows. More than one person thought we were looking for a bathroom.
We did find some swallow nests, but often the bridges were too high, or the nests were located right over the fast flowing muddy rivers of questionable depths. Catching in bridges is logistically difficult and time consuming, and our success rate is usually low. We needed something better if we were going to pull off our 15 swallows. And then we saw them- a whole flock of swallows wheeling overhead, so we followed them onto a narrow gravel road and they led us to a longhouse.
We did find some swallow nests, but often the bridges were too high, or the nests were located right over the fast flowing muddy rivers of questionable depths. Catching in bridges is logistically difficult and time consuming, and our success rate is usually low. We needed something better if we were going to pull off our 15 swallows. And then we saw them- a whole flock of swallows wheeling overhead, so we followed them onto a narrow gravel road and they led us to a longhouse.
Dayak is a loose term for the native peoples of Borneo that encompasses over 200 groups, many with their own dialects, culture, and customs. For hundreds of years they have lived in longhouses. Jungle people all over the world have converged on longhouse like structures as the ideal way to live in wet, hot rainforests and Liz and I have to agree. Raised on stilts above the often flooded ground it catches the breezes and circulates cool air from below. Livestock can shelter underneath and large airy public spaces are pleasant even on a hot day. The longhouse is home many related family groups, each with their own living spaces often composed of several rooms. As the extended family grows, more “units” can be added on to make the longhouse even longer. The longhouses were traditionally built of wood and woven grass and bark and are beautiful, but as with most structures built with what amounts to tinder, many have burned down. These are often replaced with modern longhouses, built with the same design, but with modern materials. This was the case for the longhouse that the swallows had brought us to.
As we approached it was clear that the swallows circling back and forth under the house. This was the first time we had seen them nesting directly on buildings instead of docks or bridges, so we were surprised. As we pulled in, we were immediately greeted by a man waving to us from the porch. We showed him the pictures of the swallows and explained that we were scientists and wanted to look under the longhouse and possibly catch the birds. If he found this an unusual request, he did not let on for more than a short pause, before smiling and telling us essentially, of course, do whatever you want- go find the birds.
And so we donned our handy yellow rubber boots and off we went, into the cool shadows under the stilts. It was the domain of chickens, spiders, and sleepy cats. It was a world of luminous green mosses and dark earth that upon disturbance, revealed itself to be a sucking calf deep mud. An old man in a low slung hammock observed the goings on with half closed eyes. And there were swallows. They had built their nests on the underside of the longhouse floor and were busy doing circuits, zooming up and down the corridors between the stilts. Liz and I were itching to put up some nets.
And so we donned our handy yellow rubber boots and off we went, into the cool shadows under the stilts. It was the domain of chickens, spiders, and sleepy cats. It was a world of luminous green mosses and dark earth that upon disturbance, revealed itself to be a sucking calf deep mud. An old man in a low slung hammock observed the goings on with half closed eyes. And there were swallows. They had built their nests on the underside of the longhouse floor and were busy doing circuits, zooming up and down the corridors between the stilts. Liz and I were itching to put up some nets.
When we emerged, we began undoing poles and pulling out nets, but were called back up to the longhouse porch for drinks and talk. The parts of us that had been shaped into western, busy, productive scientists checked our watches and worried about time and daylight. But working in places like Malaysia teaches you to slow down and listen. To recognize and be respectful of different ways of knowing and doing. We were guests in this longhouse, strangers who showing up uninvited and wanted to spend the day under their house turning up the mud and catching their birds. Sitting still, listening, talking, and forming a small connection before this work was the least we could do. Fieldwork, particularly abroad, shapes you in different ways as a scientist. The ever present concern of “time management” which fills our academic lives is replaced by quieter lessons of patience, flexibility, and reflection.
So we left our shoes on the stairs leading up to the longhouse and sat crossed legged on the floor of the long open common space. It was delightful. Our host was James Ambu, the leader of this longhouse. A position he had taken over from his father who had replaced his grandfather before him and so on. James’ own son would likely replace him someday. His mother served us fruit juice and homemade fermented rice wine. We talked about where we were from and where we had been in Malaysia to study the swallows. We listened and learned that the longhouse was 30 years old and had replaced the traditional wooden longhouse that burned down. Before the fire, it had been home to more than 100 families. After, the people divided into four different long house; the one we were in was now home to 27 families. It must have been a great loss.
When the juice and sweet rice wine were drunk, refilled, and drunk again, and a small connection had been made, we went back down and slipped into our rubber boots. The cats and the man in the hammock watched us with quiet amusement as we set up the mist nets amid the chickens. At several points we almost lost our boots in the mud.
The day will remain as one of my favorite fieldwork memories. We spent the rest of the day catching birds at a slow, but steady pace. We set up our banding station on the porch and the residents of the longhouse emerged to sit and watch us as we measured and photographed birds. They took turns releasing the birds when we were finished. Each time cheering and laughing as the birds launched off their open hands. On the insistence of our host, we paused and joined him for lunch. He served us tiny fried fish he had caught in the river that morning, fresh prawns and squid. It was wonderful. As the afternoon waned our hosts brought us fresh coconuts they had cut open and we drank the sweet water with straws and then scraped out the meat with spoons. More rice wine, stronger this time and a variety of green oranges they had picked from their trees. We discussed how the land had changed over the years, how cutting down the forests had made the animals go away, but had also given jobs and money to the people. Money for children to go to college and to live a nice life. Like many things, issues like palm oil are never simple or easy.
We caught the birds we needed and as dusk fell they urged us to stay the night, but we had to get back to the city. We packed the car, and took some final photos together. At this point, Liz and I were not sure what to do. Should we offer to pay for all the food and drinks? We had spent close to 7 hours at these people’s house. We had shown up unannounced and they had spent the whole day with us. In the end we did offer, in an awkward apologetic way. They looked at us slightly offended, insisting that they were happy to be our hosts and that we were welcome at their longhouse anytime. We left feeling humble and grateful. It was a good day.