Beautiful Dam

Let me ask you this - Can a dam be beautiful?

Well, apparently yes, it can. At least that's according to this certain person I read in the paper this morning. On the front page. He was commenting on the states huge dam which apparently will be up and running a couple of years from now. The Singapore size reservoir will not only produce and transmit mega watt-ness power state side but also to the west.

We also can be proud of this beautiful man made marvel because it stands now as the second highest rockfill dam in the world next to that one somewhere in China. China, on the other hand has many, many more beautiful dams.

And the same person happily added...but ours will be the most beautiful dam EVAAAA!!!

How about that?

The Damn Community

Last October, I was invited by my kanid Kelvin to visit four villages located somewhere in the Bengoh mountain range. Robert from Kampung Danu and this beautiful woman from Norway came along. Kelvin's been to all four villages months before this trip and he was curious in the prospect of meeting up with the folks again. Rob on the other hand, used to teach at one of the village primary school many years ago. The villages are only accessible through jungle treks.

It was going to be my first and like all first times, you just don't know what to expect. But after hiking through the secondary forest, rubber and cocoa orchards I can safely say that it was one memorable experience. The walk along the narrow jungle treks and under the canopy of trees and bamboos, the familiar vegetation and smell and the sound of the river reminded me of my own village and at that very instant it felt like I've been to the place. The place in its entirety is beautiful and so are its people. It felt just like home.

This here is a beautiful old lady - the dude is just one insignificant bastard. I was told there are twelve of these ladies left in the entire Bengoh mountain range who are still seen adorned with traditional brass rings on their arms and legs. The black top and red bottom is also traditionally the prefered colour. I was fortunate to meet one of them on our walk and was amazed by the sheer strength she still possessed. She had an empty rattan basket which later would be filled with rice, sugar and other items on her way back to her village. It was almost midday and two hours into our journey when we met and when I asked her she told me she had started walking since 6:00am and was on her way to Bengoh to buy rations for the week.

But if there is one thing the community here can be proud of, it would be the engineering feat in the science of suspended bamboo bridges. I swear, I've never crossed so many bridges in my life. I counted more than ten. And most hangs precariously three to four storey high above the river connecting the parallel path across. I must also add here that bamboo bridges sometimes breaks on weight and this actually happened to a friend and his entourage. One of the bridges broke and well, everyone fell into the river. Villagers later reported, much to their amusement that the bridge was old and was about to be replaced. My friends were humbled by the experience although none were seriously hurt.

When it came to my turn to cross the first 'difficult' bridge I was very careful and put on a brave front. I was in fact, scared shitless but I found out that all one need to do is to get it right the first time and the rest is manageable. Its a bit like sex.

But it is easy to romanticised about the place and if you didn't know yet, a dam is going to be built here and the construction of access road to the dam site is now on going which will dramatically alter the landscape. Apparently, the dam which is aptly referred to as 'the Bengoh Dam' is to be built to supply the city at which I live, with water. It seems that there's not enough water to go around in my city. It seems us urbanites are water deprived. The reservoir will trap water from the Bengoh river and create a huge freshwater lake covering some 1,500 hectres of land. Yes, we urbanites are that thirsty.

But I digress.

The trail starts from Bengoh, a village about an hour drive from the city and where the excess road to the proposed dam site is.

Four villages namely, Taba Sait, Rejoi, SembanTeleg and Pain Bojong are directly affected by this dam. At least 200 families will be relocated to a new settlement proposed by the government. We arrived at Kampung Taba Sait after two hours of easy walking and this village lies on the lowest point and when the water rises, Kampung Taba Sait, its farms, orchards and all will be no more.

We spoke to a few villagers and while some were vocal at expressing their displeasure at the prospect of being displaced to a government proposed settlement, some kept to themselves assuming the wait and see stance. Some eyed us suspiciously asking if we were from any government agency. We pointed to our Norwegian friend and told them we were tourist guides. Government representatives are looked upon with some suspicion here.

We arrived in Kampung Rejoi late in the evening. Late because it rained and we had to stop at one of the few sheds cum pit stops along the trail. Two young men were already there. They had each a gas cylinder in their rattan baskets. They told us they were from Kampung Semban Teleg and when I asked how many hours it takes them to walk from their village to Bengoh, both smiled and said, "Faster than you". I later found out that it takes the locals about four to five hours or so. Urbanites like me adds two or three hours to that.

That night we were invited to one of the elders house where we heard the people talk about their fears and anxiety about the dam project. And we listened.

I was already overwhelmed by what I experienced earlier that day and was also very tired at the end of the night. I had mixed feelings. Months before this my kanid Kelvin had given me an insight on communities affected by dams in another part of the state having studied and lived with that community. It is disheartening having to listen from a friend on how peoples lives, culture and communities social fabric is affected or destroyed in the name of development but having to listen to the very people affected is another thing.

I didn't sleep very well that night although the rest lying next to me would protest to this admission.

We woke up early the next morning and a slight change was made to our original plan. Rob decided that we forgo Kampung Semban Teleg mostly on account of our physical and mental state. So we walked to Kampung Pain Bojong which was nearer. Kampung Semban Teleg is about three hours from Kampung Rejoi negotiating steep hills, I was told. I was glad the change was made.

Along the way, we saw the building of new huts, new fish ponds and just planted pepper farms. I was told that it was the peoples reaction and response to the situation. A message to the government on their resistance to the dam.

Back in the city, much of the conversation with my friends down at the coffeeshop during breakfast every morning these days are focused on the dam. Its truly amazing how people who have never been to the place, let alone know where Bengoh is, can be so caught up with the issue. And most of the time none at the table are experts on legal issues, the environment and sociology.

But all are able to skilfully ‘argue their case’ as any seasoned lawyer or researcher with years of litigation and research experience. Coffeeshop arguments are best left as just that, coffeeshop arguments. But have we not overheard and scoffed at many an experts at the next table offering their prognosis to all and sundry who would care to listen? Opinions are like assholes and everybody has one. We all have opinions and like assholes, not two are alike. And at the end of it when asked if they were willing to contribute and put into action their opinions and views, their reaction was obvious. None was committed.

Me? I don't know.

I've been to and have seen the place. I've also heard the people and it is not going to be easy for them. They are the ones that will suffer resettlement and as much as I want to, I won't be able to fully understand their situation or feel what these people are going through. After all, I'm just an urbanite.

I don't know.

Oh, by the way, the new settlement is going to be called Kampung Tun Abdul Razak?

Cool name for a village, right?

The Long

Long_Semado might not be heaven,

but it must be on its way,

where the eagles in the tall trees,

in the highlands seem to say.

Come to where the cool streams are,

flowing smoothly,

that gives the fish a place to play.

Long Semado might not be heaven,

but it must be on the way.

There's a subtle beauty about the mountains...

Hairy ferns growing on the hills...

Open valley and it's charm...
Golden fields of rice...

Early calves mooing...

Country kids competeing in the mud...

And oh yes, I've been there.

I am from there.

Picture Story IV

I-dont-know-what-flower-this-is (Series I)

I-don't-know-what-flower-this -is (Series I)

I-don't-know-what-flower-this-is (Series I)

This is an orchid I think

Faithful

I have always been fascinated with tattoo's. Ever since I was a kid, I think. Why, my dear great grand mother, bless her merry soul, was adorned with fine lines on her arms, back of her hands and feet. I remember asking her why lines and she jokingly said 'lines' were the in thing then. I remember her telling me that it really hurt and she had them made progressively through her teens. Rites of passage and all that jazz, I think. Obviously, she had them old-school style - painfully hand tapped with sharpened bamboo needles.

And so, I was with this beautiful lady friend of mine down at the pub last Sunday night and apart from maliciously pinching my protruding nipples, she also bit me on my shoulder. Hardcore biting, I tell you. Fucking painful and now these tooth marks, mostly on my shoulders and arms are testament to that painful evening. But for some reason, I must say I enjoyed every bit of it. Oh, she wasn't even near to being drunk.

She told me she was going to get another tattoo. She already has a few; piercing included and I guess it is true that these tattoo-ing and pierce-ing business can be addictive.

"Somewhere discreet this time", she said. And asked me if I wanted to watch.

So, on Monday afternoon I drove over to this tattoo establishment and watched as the artist delicately did his work on her soft and what was virgin beautiful skin.

That's the Chinese character 'faithful' right there and I asked her why not 'fruitful' which I thought was more appropriate since she wanted it done just above her baby pouch. But its her skin and if I'd ever be so crazy to ever get inked, I'll have the Hebrew character for 'fruitful' aptly done on my moan maker. But why stop there when I could also get my balls pierced. Just for the heck of it.

And here's the finished piece. Nice job. I like.

'Faithful' or is that 'loyalty'?

Momento Mori

Its only Wednesday and already the load of work and happenings around me is taking its toll on my general disposition.

Two death this week.

A relative and a friend. I know one thing. Both are at a better place.

"Vita brevis breviter in brevi finietur,
Mors venit velociter quae neminem veretur,
Omnia mors perimit et nulli miseretur.
Ad mortem festinamus peccare desistamus."

The Sign

While on my way to the salt mine this morning, I was tailing one of those small little vehicle. It had a very loud yellow sign stuck to its rear window that read :

"If you think the car is cute, wait till you see the driver"

I know you've seen this one before and many more of the same variety. But because I am a mindful, civilise and careful driver like you, I refuse to subject myself to reading all these stupid yellow signs (they now come in many shades and hues for that added attraction) unless of course one was in front of me. Like this morning.

I must confess I too once had a stupid yellow sign. I only realised last May that it was stupid and quickly had it removed. Mine read - "I.Have.A.Big.Dick". I know. Stupid me.

On normal days, I'd just ignore them stupid signs but this one little car this morning caught my attention. It's one of those decorated with cute little pink things arranged neatly on the rear speaker panel. And everywhere else. I could have sworn noticing a Barbie doll tucked in between what looked like cute little Barney dinos. Yes, the driver was definitely a woman and she had long flowing hair. Every movement she made - the way her hand handled the steering wheel, how she turned her head, her sitting posture - was just beautiful.

I was intrigue. I was anxious. "Could this stupid yellow sign be true?", I asked myself. But most of all, I wondered if she likes Tiger beer and karaoke because I think there's nothing sexier than a woman who can actually drink me under the table and sing at the same time.

I continued to tail the little car and because I am an individual of good standing in my community and is respected, the thought of stalking the driver never crossed my mind. If I lost her, so be it. I wish her all the good things life has to offer and may she continue to be cute all the time.

But she so happened to be driving in front of me and at each turn I wanted to go, she was still in front.

And when I was almost near my office building, she too entered and parked. And lo and behold there was an empty space next to hers of which I conveniently took.

I killed the engine, braced myself, adjusted my tie and opened the door. The other driver got out and then she turned. Our eyes met. The person was surprised. I was greatly shocked. Shit, I almost crapped in my pants. For what I saw was horrid-ness personified in its most extreme form. I swear. There were striking colours of different hues on her face which I presumed to be of conventional make-up things but looked more like war paint. Everything about her was wrong on so many levels. She wore leotards.

And then it smiled!!! It fucking smiled!!! It actually did. Thats when I tried to run but my feet wouldn't let me. I felt weak. Sick. I wobbled.

The thing spoke. It uttered my name. The voice was soft. Almost feminine. I shuddered.

"Errrr...Jeffrey?", I asked. And the thing continued on but I could hardly make what it tried to say. I could tell it was happy.

It, I mean she. No. He.

Fuck!!!

And right there standing in front of me was my old school mate. Back from the days when we were in St Thomas Secondary. An all boys school.

My day is ruined.

The above story is true and the name of the person has been changed to protect the innocent. My description of the person is also true but I left out a lot of gory details in the interest of protecting the good repute of other person's of the same kind as Jeffrey, some who are good acquaintance of mine and more beautiful. That’s my story and I am sticking to it. If I am sued, it is my hope that the court case will drag on for years and by then, God willing, I will be dead before any money exchanges hands.

Picture Story III

"Mother"

"Forgotten Wok"

"This is my kitty"

"And so my kettle overfloweth"

"Slowly does it..."

Two Squirrels

Two Saturdays ago, I took out my axe to cut some logs I left out to dry behind my hut. I grabbed one and found it was already brittle and after the first cut, the bloody thing split in half exposing what looked like a nest. A squirrel's nest and in it were these two lovely babies. Curled up and sleeping. Taking pity and suddenly overwhelmed by guilt at my intrusion of what was their humble abode, I took the two little ones into my care and arranged for a new home. It wasn't much except it had special features like security grilles and plastic flooring.

I gave them milk and food. Bananas but mostly fruits. They looked weak and were barely moving the first few days. One played dead for two days straight and when I was just about to give up on the little guy, it actually moved and both were soon displaying antics common amongst their kind like shitting and making noises like this - YIK! YIK! YIK!. I have already thought of future plans for the two, one of which was to transfer them into a bigger and more comfortable dwelling complete with those spinning wheels and stairs and maybe separate rooms if they felt like it. The other was to fatten them up so that...they will be fat.

But last Saturday night while sleeping, The One Who Sends delivered to me in my dreams a screaming tortoise tied with a yellow ribbon on its neck. In bold and loud voice, it reprimanded me for my inconsiderate act and said that there was an ongoing SAR-Ops (Search And Rescue Operations) on the two missing member. It commended me though, for not being as heartless and for actually feeding them and making sure their well being were taken care of. However, I was given clear instructions to release the two immediately lest the 'wrath of a thousand squirrels' were to be set on me.

I remember later waking up in the middle of the night covered in sweat and got up headed to the bathroom. I brushed aside what I thought at the time was just a dream but when I saw two very small prints of squirrels on the top right side of the small pocket of my made-in-Indonesia T shirt, I got worried. Okay, maybe they were crocodiles or maybe even two parrots but that's not the issue. The point is, there were two animals printed on my shirt pocket. I took that as a sign.

So yesterday morning after church, I fed the two little fellows for the last time and bade them well. Told them of the dangers outside and about my neighbour's cat, Jazzy and how one afternoon I saw him proudly carrying one of their kind, very dead, in his mouth. I wished them luck and hope they get reunited with their parents.

It really is a jungle out there behind my hut and they really need to be careful.

April Crap's Crap

If you ask me, I'm actually really sick of all this 1st of April crap. I despise it and that statement is not meant to be exaggerayedly thespian or histrionic. It is a statement of fact and the same as I like blow jobs, you have nice tits, tiger beer is the best in the world or the colour of my underwear today is red. I just fail to understand the fascination some people have with this day when they actually don't even know what's it all about. And the why. I shall not tell you because you can google it, bitch!!!

My take on this day - This is the one day of the year that people with no fucking sense of humour try to be fucking funny. Period.

And its no wonder the results almost always is not actually pretty. I mean, for the rest of us who act like fools on the other 364 days a year, it just seems pretty sad for these poor suckers who can't be funny to save their fucking ass.

The people who get all worked up into this day are, in my humble opinion (I was really tempted to type IMHO but that would be stupid) are like those who are seen in church only on Christmas and Easter. For these ones, this is all the spiritual link to whatever is spirtitual in their lives. The spiritual pinacle of their lives, sort to speak. The rest of the year, they are just like all the heathens. But on Christmas and Easter...whhhoooaaahhh!!! Look out, make fucking way! Them is church-going, godly folks. Ah-men!

Well, it's just the same for the people who dig this day. These people don't have no humor in their lives throughout the year and then all of a sudden, they think they can just be fucking funny for one day. Some people, I was told, even make early preparations for the day. Can you believe this shit???

Ha-fucking-har!!!

Look, fuckers, it just doesn't work that way. Humor, IMHO (fuck, I cannot believe I just tyoed that) is like Christianity. It is something you need to work at, practice, nurture. You can't just wake up on the 1st of April and decide you can be funny. Like you can't just be a Christian for one day of the year. You just end up looking stupid. No. I think, pathetic and sad.

Consider this. The phone rings and the secretary walks to your room and tells you that big bossman wants to see you for a ciggy break at the toilet. You go and find no one there. You walk back to the office and before you could ask, the secretary is all smiles and fucking scream "You got punked!" and think that was the most hilarious thing to happen since that monkey who plays the cymbals.

I mean, but really, "You got punked???".

I was like, what the flying fuck? "You got punked" didn't even sound right.

And thats exactly what this lady did to me at work today. I wasn't at all amused. For her sake, I tried my utmost best to feel stupid.

I mean, you want something remotely funny? Just listen to that two dudes on Hitz FM in the morning and you'll know that these dudes are friggin funny. Now, they're funny, funny. Period.

Here's the bottom line - you need to practice humor in your daily lives. Study it, live it, read it, be it. Fucking go grab that Complete Idiot's Guide To Be An Ass or get it somewhere else. Just get that fucking humor.

Your colleagues will thank you for it.

I shall end this with a quote by the great St. Stupid - "The stupidity that can be spoken is dumb"

Best regards and terima kaseh.