Back to the Uma

When I close my eyes I am back in the Uma, trying to sleep on my slowly deflating air mattress, under rows of monkey skulls, surrounded by sounds. 

It is not just the expected jungle orchestra of cicadas keeping me awake; I’m listening to the rhythmic chanting of the kerei - shamans, sharing knowledge and songs in the patio adjacent to the area we sleep in. But here in Teu Reppa’s Uma in Attabai, even more is in the air. The animals know it too, as you can hear in the roaring groans of the big black bulls in the clearing around the house, the occasional cry of a pig or the cock-a-doodle-doo from the roosters that never quieten. 

Amanipai, in his element (as always)

After I came home from my stay in Siberut Island, I was straight away plunged into the madness of modern life. A school event, my son’s birthday party, things to arrange and deadlines to meet. Those two worlds are so different I struggled to collect my words. But slowly the world I left behind off the coast of Sumatra seeps back into my mind. How can I learn from the things I saw there? How can I get back that feeling of peace, of being one with the world? That feeling that what we have is enough, in fact much more than enough. That we need to simplify our lives. I gave away half the clothes I carried but I still felt embarrassed about the size of my backpack that my porter – teenage girl Toktak, lugged back out of the jungle for me. I gave her my cap. 

Teu Reppa (right) with me and his wife Goreng

Toktak and I

Our guide Amanipai carried the tiniest of string-bags for his ten days with us, the biggest thing he lugged along being his pouch of tobacco tied on top of his loincloth. The Mentawai people smoke – a lot! 

Bai-Ipai (Aman-ipai's wife) during a fishing trip

Bai-Ipai and I

Let’s not kid ourselves; life in the jungle isn’t easy. It is hard work, lugging water from the river to the house, hiking miles through rough terrain to visit friends or family. Having no electricity, mobile network, access to modern medicine or any other modern comforts. To be self-reliant. But the people we saw seemed happy, living in harmony with each other and nature. They have enough sago and plenty of livestock. I miss the starchy sour taste of sago, freshly roasted above the fire in palm leaves or bamboo. I miss bathing outside in the river, low as it was after months of drought. I miss the thankful smiles of the old ladies when we rubbed their knees with tiger balm.

The WOAM team with the Sakkudei clan

Our host Teu Reppa is not only a kerei but the head of a large clan. Just before we arrived one of his sons passed away, so we worried we were imposing - but the messenger, a son who had hiked several hours to pass us the news at the Uma of our guide Amanipai, ensured us we were still welcome. The care we got from Teu Reppa’s family was astonishing. Even without a common language we managed to bond with them, particularly the women and children. Mostly the visitors they receive (the last group having come a year ago) are men, and serious hikers. We were eleven women, there for a week. We drove Johan, our head guide and interpreter, crazy with all our questions, but also managed to elicit so many laughs. We chatted and sang with the children, several of which attend the village school and therefore speak Bahasa Indonesia. We ate sago worms, witnessed the slaughter of pigs that we feasted on ceremoniously. 

Chatting with the children

Feast of boiled pig during ceremony

There is clearly a split in the family between the traditional and modern minded – of Teu Reppa’s sons two became shamans and live in the forest with their families, where another specifically wants his children to have an education in the village. This chasm in their lives is a tricky one that raises important questions: how long can their lifestyle last? And; how can the Mentawai maintain their culture and religion in modern Indonesia? There is so much more to reflect on – and write about, but for now I digest, I reminisce. I look at the photos and transport myself back to the Uma. 

Aman-suri (Teu Reppa's son) preparing sago flour

Me in the 'bedroom'

As I try to doze off, back there, I shake awake, startled by a stampede on the wooden floor planks and screaming voices. The air in the Uma crackles with suspense, and curious, my friends and I sneak past the tribe on our way out to the bush toilet for a quick peak. We won’t find out details until Johan enlightens us the next day: The spirit of the recently deceased clan member has come back to inhabit others. In a deep trance the possessed woman rocks and sways, restrained by family members with a long piece of cloth. As we walk back to the area we sleep in she follows us, tells us not to worry in a friendly tone, then continues dancing right at our feet as we acquiesce to the fact we won’t get any sleep tonight. The woman’s beautiful yet eerie voice fills the electric atmosphere as she dances, twirling and smelling the sweet ginger flowers her mother-in-law gave her to keep her soul grounded. It goes on all night, the chanting, the singing, the trances and the stampedes. The animals, my friends and I, we don’t sleep a wink. 

From my house in Bali, I think back to Siberut. I am still alive, but I hope I can go back to that Uma too some time soon, if not in real life, then at least in spirit.


To be continued


(PS several of the photos not by me but by teammate Andrea Galkova)

Adventures with the apes

 Sumatra holiday part 1: Adventures with the apes

‘Watch out,’ the guide in front of me yells over his shoulder when he suddenly stops in his track. ‘It is Jackie. Jackie loves to hug. But don’t worry, she is not dangerous like Mina.’ In this jungle we are not alone, we hike with some phenomenal creatures: orang-utans. And let me tell you, these ladies are some characters. 

We are in Gunung Leuser National Park in North Sumatra, more specifically in the environs of Bukit Lawang. For years I have wanted to do a proper jungle trek with the children, camp out it in the bush, and this place offers something that I hope will entice my offspring to hike six hours a day without moaning: the chance to encounter both semi-wild and wild orang-utans. 

And we are not disappointed. First we run into Ratna, a semi-wild female and her baby. There used to be a rehabilitation centre in Bukit Lawang, which closed years ago as the forest is fully populated. The reintroduced orang-utans stay close to the village, and humans, as that is what they are used to, thereby creating an excellent opportunity for eco-tourism. The rehabilitated apes are mostly females, who mate with local wild males. But unsurprisingly, there are also problems with human orang-utan interactions. This is after all Indonesia...

Up the hills!

Hungry for lunch, but we have a follower!

Thankfully our guides (unlike some…) are very responsible and explain how we should never get too close to the orang-utans, and they never feed them or leave trash behind – in fact, on our second day we had to postpone our lunch for hours when a wild orang-utan kept following us and we could not sit down and dig into our excellent fried rice and noodles. The orang utan would likely try to steal our food if we did; one of the park rules is that you cannot eat within sight of one of them. The children weren’t sure whether to be annoyed with hunger, or amazed by the attention of our stalker.

Mina and Tara

But, as out guide Tara explained as we walked on, he had one exception to his strict no-feeding rule: Mina. If we we would meet this fearsome lady, he would likely have no choice but to feed her, as Mina was known to become aggressive. He had scars to show for that, a large slash on his lower leg caused by her bite. So when Tara mentioned we  were entering Mina's territory (orang-utans are solitary animals that stay in a set area), lo and behold, there she was, standing in the middle of the path with an upheld hand to demand her toll. Tara carefully doled out sunflower seeds whilst the other guides herded us past swiftly and safely. Mina, with her scarred face, looked imposing and to be honest, rather scary. 

The other orang utan Tara had mentioned by name as one to watch out for was Jackie. Jackie had been reared humans as a child, and was rescued and subsequently released here over a decade ago. Like Mina, she longed to be with humans, but food was not what Jackie was after. Jackie, Tara explained rather mysteriously, 'liked to hug.'

Karien grabbed by Jackie

Karien being forced to stay by Jackie

So when we approached Jackie, after the rather fearful encounter with Mina, I was a bit apprehensive about this ‘hugging’. And rightly so, as when the guides cautiously guided us past her, I suddenly felt a tug on my arm. Before I had time to realise what was going on, Jackie managed to grab me firmly by the hand and pulled me towards her. Orang-utans have amazing strong grip! The soothing voice of Tara told me to stand still, and not worry. Jackie yanked me down slowly, forcing me to sit on the floor next to her. The guides tried to distract Jackie with snacks that did not interest her in the least, so I continued to sit there, with the rest of the family laughing at me. Jackie looked at me with big pleading eyes and it took me a lot of restraint not to give her a full bear-hug. Human attention was clearly what this lady craved. We sat there for what must have been at least twenty minutes. Every time I tried to pull my hand free, Jackie's leathery fingers would close tighter around my arm, the bristles of her hairy arm tickling my naked one. Looking into Jackie's calm, sorrowful eyes allowed to let me keep my cool, that is, as cool as you can be after a wild animal has wrestled you to the ground...  

Through the river!

First night Indonesian dinner

After I was finally released, thanks to many snacks and plying words from Tara, we hiked on, as much in awe of these creatures as ever. We saw several more wild orang-utans and their nests. The wild orang-utans stayed clear of us humans, in the safety of the high trees, exactly as they should. 

Orang-utans are not all there is to see in Gunung Leuser Park. During our three day trek we saw lizards, giant ants, butterflies, all sorts of greens and majestic sceneries. Our first evening camping by the river we spotted a group of Thomas Leaf monkeys (called Beckham monkeys by the guides, can you guess why?) bathing together with us in the river.

Thomas Leaf Monkey

Down the hill!

We were unimpressed by the long-tailed macaques (we can see these every day in our own garden), but the baboon-like pig-tailed macaques were exciting, if not a tad intimidating. Building dams whilst washing up in the river, eating the most amazing Indonesian food cooked by our guides, and sleeping in the sounds of the screeching jungle – all in all an amazing experience. 

A much needed break

Tijm's favourite thing: building dams

The next day Tara, impressed by the speed and endurance of our children, decided we were fit for the long steep way. It is beyond me why, but on a normal road my children lag behind needing constant urging, yet on a steep mountainous jungle trek, with only tree roots and lianas to pull you up, they rush up leaving me short of breath. The steepest of climbs offers the highest rewards: from the top of Orchid Hill we had an amazing view over the Gunung Leuser Reserve and its flowing hills. That evening we had just arrived at our new camp and were having a quick bath in the river when the skies broke; a big thundering storm made the river we had just swam in bulge from of its course into a thundering rage. 

Arrival at camp 2

Breakfast by the river - morning after the storm

Second day river camp

Storm! The river 2 meters higher than before...

It was a simple tropical storm, one like we are used to at home in Singapore, but deep in the jungle, under the sagging cloth of our tent roof, we were very much in awe, and a tiny bit of fear. And not without reason: not long ago flash floods caused by illegal logging upstream had swept away most of Bukit Lawang village – a story that makes us firmly aware of the brutal forces that get unleashed when we humans interfere with nature. We sat in our mostly-dry shelter munching snacks and drinking sweet hot tea and kept our fingers crossed it would eventually stop – if the river would not calm down we would it be able to tube down it the morning after. Thankfully we woke up to yet another beautiful day and we floated down the river back to the village. 

Tubing home!

Our experience with the magnificent Mina and Jackie left me with mixed feelings. These semi-wild orang-utans were spoiled for life when they were taken from their mothers as a baby and raised by humans. After rehabilitation they lead good lives; they roam in their natural habitat and by reproducing with local wild males help preserve the species. Because they are comfortable being up close with humans, the animals have become a tourist attraction. This has many complications, as Tara's scars and Jackie's hugging habit prove, but at the same time eco-tourism plays an important role in providing income for the local community and the preservation of the forest. Eco-tourism promotes awareness on the importance of nature conservation, without it and the money it generates, this area would have been likely turned into palm oil plantations like so much of Sumatra has.  

I hope that Mina, Ratna and Jackie can all continue playing their part in preserving all the important species that live in the Gunung Leuser Nature Reserve. Meeting them has been a privilege, on that taught us a lot about both nature and humans. 

Kings and queens of the bush

View from Orchid Hill

Best breakfast ever

Nine weeks

Time can fly past in a blink, or take forever.

The first week everyone was tired after a year of school, and we lounged in the garden, the pool, played Carcassonne, read books and comics, had playdates, sleepovers and made a quick visit to the Zoo before our yearly membership ran out.

Then we went on holiday. A week in France, a week in Friesland. After that daddy went off to London for work while I spent a week in Holland with family and then another week in Friesland where the kids learned to sail and I could write. It was lovely in sunny Europe, in the hottest summer since the one I was born in, we saw old friends, family, and all too soon we had to board a plane to fly home.

When we got home we had four more weeks to go.

The first week we were tired. Visiting ‘home’ countries are not holidays for expats, they are an endless stream of social events where you try to squeeze everyone in, and at the end you have gained at least five kilograms and tell yourself: next year we’ll just go climb Mount Everest, that will be much more relaxing.

We rested. We hung about in pyjamas, uncombed, unbrushed. We read a lot of comics again, lounged in our pool, slept off the jetlag. The week after, which is now, they became bored and restless. They miss school, their friends that are mostly still traveling, and are in dire need for some routine. I am itching to get back to work, but the stolen moments in between tearing apart fighting kids are not really long enough to do some proper writing, more than a quick blog, so instead I take the kids out most days. Wear them out, so they won’t have enough energy left to hurt each other all the time.

Why do my kids fight so much? Linde has perfected her karate kick and Jasmijn is still nursing the scrapes from Tijm’s friendly tackles – on tarmac. If only they fought in silence I would leave them at it, but all of this is accompanied by ear-piercing shrieks from the girls and bone crunching growls from Tijm. (And their father still asks me why I don’t wear my hearing aid around the house…)

To tire them out I dragged them to the summit of Bukit Timah, Singapore highest hill, but since that is only 163 meters high, that did not take up more than a few hours. We went to the museum to cool off, cycled in East Coast Park. That one day I had to be out for work Indah took them to the Botanic Gardens on scooters.

Whenever I hope for a quiet few minutes I give in, in to iPads, Donald Duck comics and hagelslag sandwiches, things that I vowed to be strict about this summer. Because sometimes I just need a little peace. A little break. Sometimes I need to actually get something done, an email sent, a deadline made. Working from home is a very different scenario with three noise making machines present all day, still I have a novel and a charity book to promote, articles to write, events to organise. With barely enough brainspace to write a simple blog, let alone anything literary. 

It has been eerily quiet the last half hour that I was writing this. Should I enjoy my peace or go check whether they finally did kill each other this time?

Two more weeks to go.

Empty Nest

Usually I am a cold-blooded mother. When my kids went to school for the first time I did not shed a tear, I breathed a sigh of relief; finally some time for myself. I have never had any qualms about waving my kids off to school camp in Malaysia or Indonesia, or leaving them with grandparents for a second honeymoon in the Maldives. 

I had been eying this sailing school in Friesland near my parents’ holiday home for years. Their live-in full week camps were from seven years onwards, and I counted down. Roel had to work in London so I visualised me, in the holiday home, with my laptop, writing - other people not only entertaining my children, but also teaching them to sail. A useful skill to have when your grandfather has a fleet of boats, yet no one in the family has the patience or didactic skills to teach you. Sailing camps on the Friesian lakes are a not-to-miss part of any Dutch childhood. 

I have many good memories of spending weeks in ‘Valk’ boats, rain or shine (often rain in fact). I did mention to my kids, not too emphatically, the ‘sleep at home’ option the sail school offered. Of course two of them wanted to sleep there, so the third reluctantly agreed with my suggestion of ‘giving it a try, you can always call me if you really don’t like it.’ After all, she is only seven, and I am not that mean.

In the lead-up to the camp the kids were too busy being on holiday to even think about it, and I, mindful of the rainy camps of my childhood, spent my time ordering warm fleeces, wind and waterproof suits online. A week before the big day I started to get nervous. Weren’t they much too young to stay on their own for a full week? Our kids are the type that regularly get dragged to remote countries and homestays or whatnot without them batting an eyelid, so they just shrugged when I asked them if they were looking forward to the camp. 

We arrived in Goingarijp on a hot sunny afternoon. The staff was friendly, welcoming and also smart enough to throw the kids into a boat and onto the lake straight away so the parents had little choice but to wave and leave. Thankfully I had been stupid (or cunning) enough to forget to pack sailing shoes for them. They were sitting nicely on their shelf in Singapore. So the next day I strategically had to dropped new ones off in the late afternoon.

That night I had not slept well. Not being used to being all-alone in a house (too quiet, yet with eerie noises – who makes these?) I couldn’t sleep, so plenty of thought had ran through my mind. What if they hated it? What if they got homesick? What if the temperature dropped and they wouldn’t think of putting on the jackets? What if they did not have enough clean underwear for the week, shouldn’t I stop by halfway to pick up some laundry? In short, I was being a terrible … mother. 

I think you can imagine what happened when the kids saw me that afternoon. Nothing. They barely looked at me. They thanked me for dropping off the shoes and went about their business respectively playing games, reading comics, and having a shower. I needn’t have worried about the laundry – they hadn’t changed their underwear yet. After some begging from my side I got a quick hug and a kiss. A brief chat with the still friendly staff later I was back on my way.

So did I leave them alone after that? Of course not. I did sleep like a baby, but the next day when Opa and Oma arrived we did go out on the motorboat to have a trip around the lake. Me, spying on my kids? Never! I did however take a cute little video of them in their boats. For daddy in London. 

What we did on our holiday

This morning, as I was nit picking my four-year-old daughter’s classmates, I leaned in to the teacher asking Jasmijn how her holiday had been. I could not hear her answer, but the teacher’s response was clear: ‘Wow, you hiked up a mountain for twenty hours?’ He was suitably impressed. 

So was I, and I subtly chose a little head closer to her table to check for head lice. With wild gesticulations Jasmijn regaled of her other adventures, about how we first stayed in a room, and later in a little house on the beach, and that we went in a boat that had a glass bottom beneath which we could see fish.

Her big brother kept a diary of the same holiday, which makes an interesting read. It tells us what Tijm had for breakfast every morning, whether he had club sandwich for lunch, and who won with Monopoly Deal (he did), kwartet (the Dutch name for go fish) and the other card games we played. He adds, almost as an afterthought: ‘Oh yes, and I snorkelled with a turtle.’

My own memories of this holiday are slightly different. We did hike up a hill, for about twenty minutes; from the top of which we witnessed one of the most amazing sunsets I have ever seen over the rugged shoreline of southern Lombok. 

We relaxed on the beach, explored tidal pools, climbed more hills, played Frisbee with local kids on the beach, and ate some very tasty Sasak food. We saw traditional weavers, Sasak villages, and went to a tourist trap pottery. And we did play an annoying amount of card games, which I mostly lost.

And yes, on the Gili’s we swam with sea turtles. Our first turtle encounter was on the snorkelling trip with the glass bottom boat. The guide jumped in, the rest of the group followed suit, and when the guide yelled ‘turtle’, we all swam over to chase the poor animal. With a lot of elbow shoving everyone fought to get a selfie with the unsuspecting creature, which glided on unperturbed, as if it did not understand what all the commotion was about. After several skirmishes I gave up, and decided to focus my attention on the colourful fish and corals, which were more than worth our time. And much more peaceful. 

The next day we snorkelled from the beach of our hotel, and found our very own turtles. We followed one around for almost an hour, grazing on the ocean floor, popping up for breath every once in a while. The amazingly graceful creature glided through the water, again not at all bothered by our kids swarming around it. Even Linde petting it, against my strict instructions, did not upset his serenity at all. 

Everyone’s memories are different, but we all had a great time, fresh air, and plenty of sunshine in beautiful Indonesia. Back at Changi Airport we breathed in, coughed, and swore at that same Indonesia, where the fires still roar that pollute our South East Asian air. We enjoyed our outdoor time in Lombok, upwind from the fires, and brace ourselves for yet another period of staying indoors. Let’s hope the rainy season will start soon.

The Ultimate Borneo Spa Experience

Last week, during our desert island getaway off the shore of northern Borneo, we experienced a very special treat. There is nothing as relaxing, rejuvenating, or fun, as a spa session for the whole family, is there? 

But this was no ordinary spa. This was a jungle adventure spa. To reach it, we had to trek about half an hour through the jungle. Armed with mosquito spray, flip-flops, old clothes, and a solid dose of anticipation, we followed the signs ‘to the mud volcano.’

It wasn’t long until we reached a clearing in the forest, in the middle of the small island that was created by just this mud volcano mere centuries ago. Here was our spa. A spa that offered no fluffy bathrobes, pristine towels or soothing new age music. No. This spa was a bubbling pool of grey, smooth mud. Giant water striders skated over the surface. 

Insects or not, in seconds we had shed our clothes and the kids jumped in the first, most shallow pool. This mud turned out to be the densest, and in seconds all three were stuck. So we pulled them out and tried the next pool, in which the mud was the consistency of creamy yoghurt. Thick enough that lying flat, or even sitting up, you could float on the surface comfortably, and thin enough to propel yourself forward with slow sweeping motions. 

We rubbed the mud all over our body, our faces, and in our hair. We massaged and scrubbed it in, hovering on top of the slush. The sound of cicadas, screaming monkeys, and the wind in the leaves proved much more relaxing than any muzak could ever be. 

After we hadn’t an inch of clear skin left on our bodies it was time to rinse off. To do that, we had to walk back to the sea, down the jungle track we came up. Have you ever attempted to walk down a slippery jungle path with feet full of slick, slimy muck? We tried to clean up our feet as much as we could with an old T-shirt, slipped in - and repeatedly out - our flip-flops, and slithered on our way.

Having arrived safely back at the coast, we plunged straight in, and turned, the warm, clear, and normally bright turquois waters of the South China Sea grey. It took a while to get the mud out of all our crevices, but the water was fresh, the sun shone bright, and hey, we were on holiday.

Our ultimate spa experience was concluded on the beach with a soft sandy scrub session performed by four little hands. Needless to say, my skin has never been smoother. Fluffy bathrobes are definitely overrated.