This is a supplementary feature for the print version of ‘The School by the Sea’, as featured in Plates, Vol.3: Water. In this online exclusive, we speak to
Teluk Layan Village today is anything but postcard perfect in spite of its backdrop of the South China Sea. It appears tired, weathered, and unlike certain rural villages we’ve visited in the past, there isn’t a feeling of abundance from nature; nor does it give the impression that it is possible to live a subsistence lifestyle off the land and sea.
There are a few banana trees here and there, a papaya tree next to a clothesline and two chicken coops. Outside a house, about a kilogramme of small shrimp is left to dry on a wooden board. The children, on their day off school, play the classic ‘masak-masak’, roleplaying a food stall, cooking ‘sausages’, stirring old double-A batteries around in an old plastic container before serving it to their customers — the marble-players, who have gathered around. Their knees, forearms and bottoms marked with browns and orange from the ground.
BUT IT WASN’T ALWAYS LIKE THIS in Teluk Layan. According to headman, Abdul Rais, who grew up in this village, this place once had bountiful gardens. “This seaside, we had many gardens. We had everything–coconut, mango. There was everything.
“I was born in 1965. I came here (Sabah) in 1967. I’ve stayed in this village since 1969,” explains the former rubber tapper, logger and, for the last eight years, labourer at a scrap metal factory. “It’s a tough job. By law, the minimum wage should be RM1,200. I was only paid RM900.”
“I just follow orders. He is the boss. I am the coolie. If the boss says that, even if you want to or not, you have to work. We have no choice but to simply obey.” At 56 years of age, Rais is calling it a day. He could easily be mistaken for someone nearing 70. Once a person who was hard to catch a hold off for a chat, he now has time to spare.
“There was a mining company … They took the sand from here for another housing development. This is the road that they used,” nodding towards the dirt path between his house and the barren hill.
“If I’m not mistaken that was in the early ‘90s. That time, they already took the sand from the hills — gestures towards the reddish, earthen hills that are now covered sparsely with skinny trees.
“OUR GARDENS, OUR ORCHARDS were ruined. Because, you know, the government needs it, we couldn’t do anything. Not even a single cent of compensation.”
“They just asked us to move. Even if we moved, we couldn’t decide where we could go. So we had to stay here because they didn’t give us a place. That was before USNO. Until BERJAYA, until PBS, until BN, until now, I’m still staying in this village,” he adds, listing a string of ruling parties of the state through the years, as if mentally timestampping his years on this land.
“When we stayed here then, the place was beautiful.”
“There was a mining company … They took the sand from here for another housing development. This is the road that they used,” nodding towards the dirt path between his house and the barren hill.
“Back then, we worked as rubber tappers. We planted tapioca, vegetables for ourselves to eat. Those who went to the sea caught fish. That was easy. That time things were cheap.”
“Then, if you went out to fish, you’re guaranteed to catch fish, like one or two Ringgit’s worth. Not like now, fish is expensive.”
“Everything in life is expensive now.”
“Yes, I would fish,” replies the recent retiree, when asked about the fishing net that hangs from the beams of his verandah. “It was easy to catch fish. But then when it was easy to find fish, it was difficult to sell. Because back then, it’s not like we had vehicles.”
“But last time we couldn’t do anything because back then this was all jungle. There weren’t even roads. So we had to trade in the villages. Whoever needs fish, we’ll sell it for cheap. We didn’t go to the markets because we didn’t have vehicles. And even then, to walk from here to the main road took an hour.”
“BACK THEN, THIS WAS ALL JUNGLE. Back then, UMS* didn’t exist yet.”
“Last time it was guaranteed. Because last time people rarely fished. Now there are big ships. Points obscurely towards the sea from his porch, as he draws out the words “all” and “there”, “Back then, we just used a rowboat, to go all the way there to fish.”
“Nowadays, who uses a rowboat? Everyone uses a speedboat to fish. So we can’t really fish anymore. Just one or two — enough to cook side dishes.”
“Things are not the same now and then,” he repeats a-matter-of-factly.
“I’ve always been quite a chatty person. If I don’t treat everyone equally well, no one will want to come see me. Whatever you want to know, just ask away.”
*UMS – University Malaysia Sabah – the university located in the backyard of the village.
Get the full story: ‘The School by the Sea’. Plus, find out why headman Rais doesn’t allow baths here in this village on Sepanggar Bay, Borneo. Support independent print journalism by purchasing your copy of Plates, Vol.3 here, or visit any of our selected independent partners in micro-pockets of the world.
