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The following is the script for Macam Jakun. [link to listen]
MACAM JAKUN
Written by Honey Ahmad for Audio Stories
From an idea from Sherry Vivvey
“There have always been trees even before there was us,” Sherry’s grandmother, Nek Siya gave one of her profound proclamations as they went on their forest walk. They were in Hutan Lantai Datuk near the village of Simpai. Sherry herself lived in the town of Pekan but visited her grandmother every school holidays.
Nek Siya was a respected elder and a bomo (medicine woman) of the Jakun tribe that lived in the village. When Sherry came to stay, she would follow her into the forest, the smell of loam and wet leaves in her nostrils- always excited for a day of exploring. Her grandmother would show her the tall overstorey trees with the ash-white trunks of the Tualang jutting out like sentinels. Sherry knew that honey was harvested from there. While the understorey had smaller squat trees and vegetation living in the moist shadows like Endau palms whose fronds spread out like giant forest fans.
There were the smaller brush at ground level, and from this Nek Siya would carefully cut succulent leaves, pulling some out by the roots and adding to a basket on her back. She let Sherry wander around and there was always something fascinating to see like pitcher plants, giant screwpines and orchids nudging her like heads of tiny inquisitive children.
Sherry would squat as Nek Siya peeled back leaves to show her wild mushrooms, some scattered like pockmarked sweets on the forest floor, some spiralling on jagged trunks. Her grandmother schooled her on what could be fried with garlic for a meal, what could be boiled for potent remedies and what never to touch because they were poison, “unless you wished to feed it to your enemies of course!” Sherry’s grandmother would cackle with laughter while saying something startling like this and in between harvesting the medicines of the forest she would sing in a warbling voice old Jakun songs of foolish men and clever animals.
She taught Sherry how to recognise camphor trees. “Your great grandfather used to collect sap and resin from these trees and sell them to traders. This is a wonderful tree Sherry, you must respect it. Its bounty can repel mosquitos, have curative properties and many people all over the world pray with the scent of camphor giving them communion with their gods.”
“Do you do this grandmother?” Asked Sherry.
“We pray to nature and its spirits dear, it’s Jakun belief that everything here on this earth, in this jungle has a soul and spirit. This is why we must treat everything with respect. Each time I take a leaf or fruit or root, I say a little prayer and thank them for helping us. Now, give respect to Bisaan.”
Bisaan, Sherri knew was a female nature spirit. Sometimes it took form of a cicada and she was very careful to make sure where she stepped in the forest when camphor trees were nearby. She would take out tapioca steamed and wrapped in banana leaves from her haversack and laid it at the foot of the tree. This was to appease Bisaan and ask permission to harvest her trees.
Back at her grandmother’s house,every day Sherry was always fascinated by her healing ceremonies. Many people came to see her grandmother to cure their ailments, even some from other villages. She made poultices, medicinal broths and charms. Nek Siya would tell Sherry how she had learnt from the knees of her own elders, and of rituals done during full moons. She wrote nothing down and did not learn from books. “You have to learn this ilmu by heart,” said her grandmother. “Our people live it everyday, and with constant practice, it becomes a part of us.”
Sherry watched wide-eyed as her grandmother sang and chanted to her many patients. Sometimes she would massage their backs with a special oil to get rid of sprains and pains. In a corner of her house there was always tapioca steaming and if her patient was hungry after a vigorous session, Sherri made them a cup of tea and gave them tapioca with salted fish. This was her task when she stayed with her grandmother, to greet the patients and make sure that they felt welcomed.
Sherry took this task very, very seriously.
After a session, patients would leave her grandmother rice, sugar, sometimes biscuits and snacks. A healer who drew upon power from the natural world must not take money for their services. Once, someone left a whole cake filled with cream. Sherry was more than happy to help Nek Siya finish that.
At night she cuddled up to her grandmother, smelling rokok daun- smoked to keep mosquitos at bay and Nek Siya would swaddle her up in a thin blanket and pat her back until she fell asleep. Well more like, until she fell asleep. Often Sherry would lay drowsily listening to Nek Siya’s gentle snores before she herself dozed off, safe and loved.
She thought her grandmother was primitive the cleverest woman in the world. An earth mother and fairy queen and wise witch all rolled into one. There was nothing she did not know and if Nek Siya wasn’t sure she would find the answer for Sherry. “We cannot know everything there is in this Alam, dear. So we must never stop asking.” She always said, eyes dark and mysterious.
*
“Janganlah diri situ macam Jakun!” Sherry looked up with a start. This had been happening lately since she started going to school. Ever so often the word Jakun would pop up. And it carried with it a negative meaning- uncivilised, dirty, stupid.
This expression, ‘macam Jakun’ slipped out naturally from people’s lips. Once she went shopping with her mother and heard a woman admonished her child who was pulling shirts from a pile of stuff manically, “eh baik-baik lah sikit, janganlah macam Jakun.”
Macam Jakun. Like a Jakun.
Janganlah macam Jakun. Don’t be like a Jakun.
Eee excitednya, macam Jakun lah. Gosh so excited like a Jakun.
This last one was spoken by a boy named Timi. He had a glorious new box of colour pencils and when everyone crowded to see it, he laughed at their awe. It implied that they, like a Jakun was unused to nice things. Sherry frowned when she heard this but said nothing. Being mixed, she did not look like an orang asli and though she was never embarrassed being half Jakun, she never spoke up against the slurs either. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that the words were unkind and careless, not to mention degrading but she disconnected it from her grandmother and her village. Surely they meant some other people? Maybe Jakun was not just special to her heritage? Maybe there was another village where people were more primative and savage.
And even then, as she comforted herself with these thoughts, her cowardliness burned inside. Speak up. Something said in her but she did not know how to even begin. It did not help that as she grew up, she had less and less time for her grandmother. And so when she heard this comparison bandied about from time to time, she convinced herself that it had nothing to do with her.
*
Sherry started working and kept her Jakun side quiet. She made a friend, Raisya who was smart and funny. They started going out together, drunk on youth and the sudden independenceAfter all of having money of one’s own to spend. There were other orang asli working in their company and Sherry heard through the grapevine of discrimination against them- how orang asli workers had difficulty asking for pay raise or given flak for keeping to themselves, or told off for their animistic beliefs. Sherry herself was doing well and did not think too much of this. Perhaps some instinct told her to distance herself from them, hanging out instead with Raisya and her friends. Soon she was up for a promotion- a managerial role in another department, a step up from the admin work she was doing.
On the day of her interview, Sherry was nervous. The manager from the department she wanted to go to flipped through her particulars, nodding while reading when he suddenly stopped.
“You ticked here lain-lain for religion,” he said.
“Yes.”
“But you are Bumiputera right?” Sherry swallowed and said.
“I am half orang asli, my father is orang Jakun.”
“Really?” Said the manager. “I can’t tell, you look Melayu. So you’re not Muslim? You don’t believe in god?”
Something bristled in Sherry. She was afraid of questions like this, that made her out as an ‘other’, and not part of the desired tribe.
“My mother is Buddhist but my father’s family have their own beliefs. They believe in ancestral knowledge and worship the natural world.” Sherry did not know why she had to explain this. Afterall her ability to do the job had nothing to do with religion. Or did it? She continued, “anyway… I am a good worker and learn fast, I think moving to your department would open new opportunities for me…”
The manager was no longer listening to her. He interrupted. “This is a great opportunity for the right young person who one day wants to climb the corporate ladder. But…” he smiled not unkindly. “I don’t think you are quite ready yet, try again next year.”
Sherry did not quite know what happened. Was it because she was half Jakun that made the manager dismiss her? Was it because she wasn’t a Muslim?
Outside, Raisya was waiting for her. She wanted to turn away and run off.
“So how was it?” Her friend asked, draping an arm around her shoulders. “I bet you nailed it! Imagine if we joined the same department, we can start a badminton club…”
“I don’t think I’m going to get it,” mumbled Sherry. Raisya was indignant.
“But why not? You’re good at your job! You saved my ass so many times…”
“I… don’t think I’m what they’re looking for,” she did not know why she felt sick in her stomach. Sherry had lived her life very reasonably, not sticking her neck out unnecessarily, getting on with people. She was nice goddamnit. And now she felt discriminated, the world she made for herself tilting over into something out of her control.
“Come on. I belanja you lunch,” Raisya led her to the canteen, already on a different topic. Sherry did not want to be around people but followed her in regardless.
As she walked into the canteen she suddenly saw the world anew. People kept to their groups. Not just by profession but by race, even gender. Accounting and marketing, mainly Chinese hung together as did the Malay runners all male who joshed at another table. There was another table of Indian admins and technicians. In the far corner was a table of orang asli janitors. She wondered if she should join them today. Maybe she could sit with them and ask them how they coped with working here.
“Sherry! Over there!” Raisya pointed with her tray at a table of admin staff and managers, all Malay. Sherri always ate with them. Was that why the head of department automatically thought her Malay? She turned away from the orang asli table, grabbing a plate of meehoon and a karipap. Bits of conversation from Raisya’s table reached her ears.
“You know, that woman was starring at the buffet like she never saw food before!” said one of the women at the table, laughing. “So I said, Jakun lah awak ni, don’t you know what a buffet is? So kesian…” the peals of laughter burned her ears.
“What are you talking about?” She asked.
“Oh, Mel is just telling us about this very kampung girl that just got a job in her department. Her boss treated them to a buffet and she did not know that you can get food as many times as you like. Macam Jakun lah.” And maybe because the insult was so nonchalant or because she suspected she just lost a promotion without really understanding why, Nek Siya’s face suddenly came into her mind. Her wonderful, funny, clever grandmother who she had buried deep in her heart. Who knew how to talk to trees and cured people’s worries and ailments from her vast knowledge of plants. Her grandmother, who taught her to look to the stars for navigation but reminded her to keep her feet on the ground because it was the source of all life. Sherri felt her temper simmer.
Calm down. A voice inside her said.
“You know that I am half Jakun,” she blurted. Everyone at the table stared at her.
“What? No lah, you are Melayu-Cina right?” Mel asked.
“My mother is chinese and my father is Jakun. Do you know that Jakun is an orang asli tribe? One of the oldest tribes in Malaysia? Older than your ancestors who came here from somewhere else?”
Raisya looked at Sherri curiously. “You never told me this, but you’re educated and live in town.”
“So? Do you think that Jakun people are so primitive? Have any of you ever tried to find out? Talk to the other orang asli in this company?”
“Hey we don’t mean anything by it. Everyone says it. It’s just a figure of speech, chill lah,” a guy piped up. Somehow, now that Sherry had spoken this truth out loud, she found all those years of pent up frustration bubbling out. Like a pot of porridge left too long on a stove.
“But why? Why do you say macam Jakun when you want to say someone is uncivilised or unrefined or dirty or without religion? Would you like me to say macam Melayu when you are lazy or petty or envious?
“Hold up,” someone else said. “No need to be insulting.”
“But that’s just it, by using the name of my tribe like this you are insulting all Jakun people. We have beliefs and knowledge none of you know about. We live close to the forest not because we are uncivilised, it’s because our culture is to be close to nature. We respect all living things which is more than I can say about you lot here!”
Raisya suddenly stood up. “Sherry, you can’t just say things about us like that when you have kept your orang asli side a secret. Why have you then if it’s so wonderful? It’s because you are ashamed of it aren’t you? So don’t come here and lecture us…”
Without meaning to Sherry slapped Raisya. There was a moment of shocked silence and instantly she felt that she had somehow acted exactly how people expected someone who was uncouth to act. She left the canteen, heart thundering.
*
“Sherry!” Nek Siya hugged her granddaughter like she had just came back from a grand quest. When did her formidable grandmother get so old? She noticed that Nek Siya’s back was more bent, her hands more gnarly. In the years that passed, her body seemed diminished although her eyes were still bright and twinkling.
“You should visit me more often, then you won’t be so shocked,” Nek Siya, always astute chided her. “My eyesight is not as it used to be so I have to look closer to the ground. Anyway soon I will join the earth again when my time is up, it’s good practice,” she chuckled.
“Don’t say that Nek…” The thought of a world without her grandmother made Sherry incredibly sad. She sniffed back tears.
“Oh dear,” said Nek Siya, grabbing her basket. “This is what happens when you live in stone houses, you keep everything inside and then it will burst out like a river breaking through a dam. Come let’s go pick mushrooms.” Gratefully Sherry followed her grandmother to the forest. She remembered asking her grandmother once why she never wanted to live in town. Nek Siya had waved her arms around her as if she could gather all the trees in one large gesture.
“Why would I want to do that? You need to go to school and understand how it is to live in this world. I am old and content here. The forest gives me everything, food for my belly, medicine for my pain, a roof for my head, and good company when I’m lonely. In town my lungs will be just be filled with dust and unhappiness while here I can smell the bedrock of all living things. Don’t forget that Sherry. We are of the earth.”
Sherri remembered this as she followed her grandmother like old times. They passed by a honey harvester with pails full of honeycomb who nodded with respect at Nek Siya. Sherry reached out her hands and let her fingers run through fronds and leaves and flowers. They were old friends saying hello. When she plucked things for her grandmother, she remembered to ask permission and give thanks for the bounty they were taking. And at the foot of the camphor trees she left something for Bisaan.
As she walked with her grandmother in easy silence punctuated by the whirr of cicadas and twitter of birds, she felt herself relax. Sherry did not realise how tensed she had been. Her grandmother smiled and put her wrinkled hands in Sherry’s leading her to a waterfall where they spent the afternoon swimming and sunning. Her mind quieted down and Sherry knew that part of her misery was due to the fact that Raisya spoke the truth.
That night, lying beside her grandmother, too big to be swaddled but not too old to be patted to sleep Sherri asked Nek Siya to tell her a story. Taking a drag of her rokok daun her grandmother began.
Our people as you know are hunter-gatherers. We never stayed long in one spot but one Jakun tribe decided that they wanted to settle, plant food and raise their children in one place. They found a wonderful valley and decided this was the place. They started working the land and building shelters. Soon an old women holding a black staff accosted them. “You need to ask for permission to work this land, it’s rude to assume that you can just live here without respecting those that came before you.” Realising their mistake, the Tok Sidang of the tribe begged forgiveness. The old woman granted them permission and stuck her staff in the ground, warning them not to pull it out. As they were working, their dogs started barking at a piece of log. They threw a stick at the log and it started bleeding. Fearing something supernatural, everyone started throwing their stick at this log and soon dark clouds gathered above them and heavy rain started falling. In the chaos, one of them pulled out the old woman’s staff. And it was as if a plug had been released. This eventually formed Tasik Chini and that log was a dragon called Naga Seri Gumum. This naga, a serpent-like dragon still resides in the lake, protecting it. The tribe realised that they need to always value the natural world and this became part of their beliefs. By this great lake they made their home and never forget to give thanks and offerings to those that ‘were before…’
As with most folklores it was more the sound of Nek Siya’s voice that gave it the magic. “Our people have faced many challenges Sherry and will continue to face them. Remember even if you go far away from me and your tribe, we will always be here when you need us.” Sherri realised that she needed to know more about her Jakun heritage. Only then can she change other people’s minds.
As usual her grandmother fell asleep first and Sherri took her phone from her haversack and went outside where she could get better signal. The air was fresh as she breathed it in, tinged with woodsmoke and camphor. Somewhere a dog barked. The stars were out and she felt part of something bigger, bigger than her hurts and pains. Bigger than just a word. She wanted the phrase ‘macam Jakun’ one day to mean forest knowledge and love of all living things because that was what she always knew. The other half of her.
Taking a deep breath, she called Raisya.
“Hello? Sherry…” Her friend’s voice startled her in the quiet village.
“I’m sorry for slapping you Sya. My grandmother who is Jakun is the cleverest woman I know and treated everything with respect. She knows so many things so when people just say macam Jakun to mean something bad, it hurts.”
There was a long silence as if the entire world was holding its breath and then… “I didn’t know about your grandmother or that you are half Jakun…”
“But that doesn’t mean you should just use a word like that without knowing its meaning.”
“I know, I guess until now I did not realise it. We’ve always used it and I’m sorry too Sherry.”
Let her in. Try it. Maybe she should start listening to her inner voice. Maybe it was her grandmother watching over her.
“I was wondering if you would like to come to my village sometime, meet my grandmother?” She waited. But not for long.
“I would love that.”
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