Mmmmmmmmm

What is it about serenity that kindles thought? Being in the forest now for five days, we keep returning to philosophical conversations about our individual roles from local to global perspectives, and it is always this relaxation that perpetuates it. While responsibility may be a conduct of human nature and an abstract divined out of superiority (thanks Pudge), I have such a hard time letting it go as mere metaphysical thought. There are so many times in life where I feel responsibility is this dense object that has definite mass and energy that places weight upon you in ways that pounds and gram can’t. So I keep mulling over what are we doing every second of every conscious thought, and why. I am writing this blog because I want to share my runoff thoughts and my mismanaged words with whatever sparse populations will read it. I am in the Wehea forest in order to gain perspective as to the physical boundaries and spacial relations to the villagers of Nehas Liah Bing in order to best gleam the importance of this intricate spot of land. I am in East Kalimantan so I can study the lives and culture of the Wehea Dayak of Nehas Liah Bing and understand the forces that disturb it, whether they be positive or negative. I am in Borneo because East Kalimantan is just a part of this enormous island. I am in Indonesia because of their rich culture and history and how – just like every country in the world – find themselves in a time of multi-faceted struggles, whether it be economic versus ecological conservation, cultural preservation versus globalization, etc. etc. but these minute duels exist whether or not their opponent steps into the ring, ecological conservation exists whether the Wehea forest remains standing. They always seem to work in opposition of one another, but in actuality must do so hand in hand. You can keep zooming out of the lens in which your location acts upon your individual actions, but the whole time our actions or inactions play a role in the relationships all around us. We were joking while sitting in the bed of a truck, tumbling through time and tired beaten, bushwacked dirt and pebble roads on the way to an all day hike when we came upon a tree that had fallen into the road. With a smirk written on my face I turn to Nate and mumble wondering if that tree had made a noise. As knee slapping silly that age-old is, its damn good. Does anything truly exist outside of perception? Yes, a tree falls and the sound reverberates as roots let loose their grip on the earth and make music out of snapped limbs and showering leaves as it finds both neighboring trees and the ground itself, but rather than the sound having existed or not, without the ability to perceive that it fell, did it really ever fall at all? If the Wehea Dayak continues to be displaced by disturbances to their land and their culture, how resilient is their culture in terms of springing back up for another go? If displacement and cultural disruption and degradation flows idly by with time, if we aren’t able to perceive that it is there, was it ever truly there? The Wehea Dayak I have lived with for over four weeks now have shown me a culture so rich and kind, a society so dense with community and family that it makes life taste hot-diggity-dawg-delicious, I can’t imagine how worse off the world would be without them. I don’t want them to become, “those people who danced with grass suits and masks,” or, “those people who used plants for itches or burns, and tea for malaria,” because being described through simple images in minute details doesn’t come close to encompassing the true spirit of the individuals that define it. While one day the human race may be uprooted to sway and timber down to earth floor, I want to make sure that the Wehea Dayak are perceived as a culture of strong and intelligent people who have multitudes of lessons to teach, and that they too do make a sound.
The time in the forest was wonderfully calm. The first night was spent taking trips to and from the restroom, due to a lovely stomach bug, and the whole next day in bed. The next several days was all casually reading and doing some organizational work for our projects. The drive was four and a half hours in, and when we finally reached the campsite, there is a river on each side. Got to bathe in the rivers, rinsing in waterfalls, ain’t no big thang. As you’d rinse your body, little fish would come and nibble the dead skin on your legs and feet, which was one thing impossible to not laugh at. Went on a morning hike to check out a saltlick where numerous animals visit to get their lovely minerals, and set up camera traps. Little did we know the trip which was suppose to be a lovely four hour hike, turned out to be a ten hour one. It was unbelievable. Treking deep into the Wehea forest with a PM/forest guardian from Nehas Liah Bing was an adventure in every sense of the word. It was really important to be able to situate ourselves with the forest, because the culture of Wehea Dayak has culturally had such a strong tie to the forest. The PM's had a going away bomfire for us, telling us how they consider us family and have enjoyed being able to share our experiences, and did some traditional dancing and then boogying down together. The PM's are some of the kindest and truly wonderful people I have ever met, I could write multiple blogs simply about them, which maybe a I will save for another day.
My policy brief and ethnoecologcial ethnography all have got decent work in, and videos edited, the next few days in the village are for celebrating the relationships we have built. We have a presentation to the community on the evening of the second, so a lot of work still to be done, and then two days later the governor. I am sleepy but good, and am at a loss of words at the moment, so I will share my experiences through following blogs. Thanks all, miss you.

Mr. Indiana Jones and Me

The last several days have been dedicated to research and adventures. The sporadic adventures have been a product of blind faith in the lovely villagers of Nehas Liah Bing, and thus have been fervently rewarded. Just the other day, I was working on typing up some research when my buddy Aken came up and said it was time to play soccer. Being only a quarter to noon, I was confused but what the hell, gametime. Hopping on the back of his motorcycle we sped to my house to grab boots, and then sped off. Now I was aware of the fact that the game today was not in the town, based on the fact that we were leaving over four hours earlier than usual, as well as through Aken and my broken Indoinglish. What I wasn’t prepared for was a mad chasing down of a bus, climbing onto and finding all the towns players packed into a bus heading for our game. Next thing I know, we’re on a two hour bus ride, on roads that atvs would have had difficulty on. We arrive in the town, relax in a friends house, eat some cookies and drink some water before leaving for the game. Dressed up in uni’s, we had a friendly match with a village of players whom were all pretty damn talented. We ended up winning 3-1, a good game, I got to play the whole first half, and it was a blast. What really was the best part was just kicking it with the guys driving on the bus to the match and back, being able to make jokes (attempt at least) and just joke around. There was an Indonesian karaoke machine chalk full of traditional Indonesian songs, where everyone was belting it and joking yelling from free-fall, being suspended when speed bumps were quite the surprise. It was really a fantastic time, bringing back such great memories with Drake high buddies going to and from tournaments. It was truly a great feeling to be making such damn good memories while bringing back just as good ones. It was ironically a blessing to not have my camera on me. There were a million times where I would be dying to get a video of these crazy guys, or snap a shot of us in our neon orange uni’s, but the lack of having a camera almost made me take in the experiences more. I feel that too often we hide behind our cameras and flips, not truly appreciating the beauty of moments because we either know we have it on film (sorry Steve, on video) or because we suspend so much effort and energy finding the best shot.

Yesterday, in attempt to learn more about local medicinal plant gathering, several of use rode a rickety pickup with the back suited with two wooden benches. Forty five minutes later we are at what is called Kombeng. Kombeng is literally a mountainous range in the middle of palm plantations that is utterly hollow. A huge cave by the name of the Wind Hole, it is prime exploring and climbing material. Suited with three flashlights, we took off, ditching our shoes near the front, and going almost knee deep at times in concoctions of mud and guano and unable bugs. Bats populated the caves by the thousands, as they swarmed in circles and dispersed from the echo of our voices. I know Indian Jones would be proud. We ended up climbing around 100 meters inside the caves, slipping and crawling, and having truly, an unexpected, crazy adventure. This feeling of unpredictability is so rich. I don’t think I would have enjoyed the adventure half as much if I had been told we would be wading in guano with the squirming of cockroaches and other unnamable insects, with hoards of bats sending mistimed breezes near my face. It was great.

Some students and researchers have arrived from Osh Kosh University, Wisconsin, yesterday. It is definitely a treat to have some more English speakers here, as well as a much unpredicted bonus. As they joined us for well-timed Eraus both day and night, they seemed to put my entire experience in the village. By helping them with common curtosies and practices, helping them translate and teaching them about life in the village, they showed me how much language I have learned, how much I have learned about the village and everyday life, how many people I know living here, just how great of a lexicon of language and knowledge I have built, it is a warming experience, one I cannot thank them enough for.

We’re off tomorrow. The forest will be a brilliant place to organize thoughts and research. With sunsets and hikes and the spotting of animals (I’m still crossing my fingers for a slow loris), it will be really nice. But with remoteness comes the inability to access the satilites and let all y’all know about our adventures. So I shall update y’all in about a weeks time, where hopefully I’ll have organized my data, finished another book or two, and find good time for some R&R (unfortunately not the Rat and the Raven my dear Seattlites). I miss you, and wish you were here with me.

Your Pa(u)l

Wes Wang Siang Sien Tiak Tung Bung Wes Wang Siang Anak Tibung

I have been giving English lessons with my nephew Pilu. He writes down sentences of words he wants to learn, then I translate them, and if I don’t know them (which honestly happens more than not), then I either grab the ol’ handy dandy dictionary, if my kamus doesn’t have the specific words, I enlist the help of our trusty musty translators (Indah and Ratih aren’t really musty at all). It is great, because that relationship of guru and pupil is a very reciprocal one. As he is learning extremely important words like ‘Soccer’ and ‘cookie’ and ‘water’ and then legs and arms and head and eyes etc. I get to learn them from him, which has become a rather affective way to learn. He laughed this morning as I called him guru while the rain drummed on the tin roof, deafening all other noises except our conversing. He giggled to me in Bahasa Indonesia, “I’m not a teacher, I’m just a boy.” As ironic at times it may be, children really are our best teachers. They have this intrinsic knowledge that we seem to lose slowly and surely as we grow older, but this knowledge isn’t lost forever, but right in front of our noses the entire time. They help me every day here. Whenever I’m tired or frustrated or stressed, I walk into the main room of the TNC, where the village kids have come to use it as a playground and the foreignors as the jungle gyms, and am quite literally tackled by miniature limbs clinging like vines. Often playing a game of, ‘let’s see how many children we can fit on Jiang’s back?’ or ‘how many bicep curls can he do holding me?’ Who said there wasn’t a full service gym in Nehas Liah Bing? There’s the steam room, only problem is it follows me everywhere I go. The children here are pretty impressive, just yesterday Pilu caught the fish and eel the family ate for dinner, and I found him this morning butchering a snake and drying the skin. One of the neighborhood kids named Anwang was wearing a Batman shirt supped up with a cape and all, and on one of our first days here we nicknamed each other Batman. Yet he loves to add little adjectives to our nicknames. For example, one day he was climbing on my back, and he exclaims; “ini Batman besar.” Which means, “this Batman is big.” Or “Batman minum” or “batman kopi” or other fantastic little additives.

You can surprise yourself with how much language you can learn and manage to ramble off when pressed to. Some of the best nights here are the ones spent sitting on the floor of the kitchen/bedroom at my house with my father and brothers and whichever neighbors may happen to be visiting that evening. We men sit on the plastic sheen floor, with shirts off and cross-legged like real men, while the children lay passed out on the mattresses less than a foot away. Cigarettes are passed and so is mismatched snacks of fried fish and chips. We talk about all we can, about the day, about Nehas Liah Bing, Obama, Bali, soccer, food, animals, chest hair and facial hair (Padak Ledan and I agreed to trade my chest hair for his mustache, gotta get him to shake on it). It is definitely one of the best feelings to make a joke in broken Indonesian, whether or not they are laughing at me, it still is the sweet sweet sound of success. Another thing I love about the Wehean family unit, is the structure of their families. So in my home houses my father, my mother, two of my three brothers, one of their wives, two nephews and a niece. Communal sleeping is a huge thing here (though I have my own room, which I feel like a dick about). But the love for each other is so abundant, I am still not sure who is the father of which nephew and niece, that even the brother and sister in law who have their own house could still be the parents of them because of how much they love their family.

Because of certain circumstances, I have found myself lucky enough to have receive a second name and family here in Nehas Liah Bing. I am proud to call Ibu Tibung my second Wehean, and call myself Wes Wang Siang Sien Tiak Tung Bung Wes Wang Siang Anak Tibung. That’s right. Wes Wang Siang Sien Tiak Tung Bung Wang Siang Anak Tibung. Hot Damn there couldn’t be a cooler name if Muhammad Ali and Mahatma Gandhi had an illegitimate child and named him Mahatmmad Butterfly Ali Gandhi, or something of the sort.

Time is winding down like tickets to a Cher concert. We leave on Thursday for the Wehea forest, where we will be relaxing and finishing up projects for a week. We have a lot to do, but we will be spending oodles of time on hikes, wading through rivers, bathing under waterfalls, watching sunsets and finding Slow Loris’ to apprehend and feed ‘em a leaf, and maybe a Gibbon or two. Hell, there are rumors that there still are Indonesia Rhinos still out there, let’s just hope they’re still herbivores. But a week without internet always does the body good. I will make sure to post another blog-diddy before we depart, but research time is dwindling, and there is always much much still to learn.

Wes Wang Siang Sien Tiak Tung Bung Wes Wang Siang Anak Tibung out. 

Oh Poopnanny

Well hey there gang. Today I had an out of body experience. The river that the village is located on the bank of, loves to flood the street that walks down from my house to the TNC (The Nature Conservancy) which is where we have class and eat and gather, and at most parts the water level was up to my ankles. As Moses once stood on the brink of salvation of his people, I looked upon the sediment rich water gentle flowing in front of my soleful (ha! You get it! Damn I be good) feet. I rushed to be able to get breakfast and had no time to go back and switch to shorts or sandals, just as Moses and his people had not had time to let their bread rise, we together separated the water as to make it to the other side. Well Moses did so more in a legendary way, I kinda just hiked up my pants and trudged through, but epic none the less.

Celebrations continue, with a wedding this afternoon, parties are being prepared and thrown, and at nine in the morning a pig has already been sacrificed and dances held. It will be another long night of tuoc and beetlenut, with conversing in broken indoinglesh and lot of buleh laughing. The Wehea Dayak of Nehas Liah Bing have been teaching me more and more about both their culture and life in general. Research and learning is always a reciprocal relationship, as I learn about the customs in which they live their life, I am gleaming tidbits of mine to them, and we erase biases and precontrived ideas about how we each lead our lives. As time goes on and my bahasa Indonesia slowly evolves from infantile to toddler, I joke around telling them I am not buleh, I am Wehean. As a joke it may get a chuckle out of it, but it makes me think more and more. What makes a Wehean and Wehean? A gringo a gringo? A buleh a buleh? What truly differentiates them from me? While there are cascades of examples one can trickle off, the root factor solely is location. I was born in the Yay, and they here. But what is the difference between us? We both take two or three lovely showers a day, we bathe and wash our clothing in the river, we eat with our right hand and avoid touching things with our left (I think you know why), we love soccer and we dislike Christiano Ronaldo, we drink tuoc and chew the beetle, we give our energy at healing ceremonies to the sick individuals, and as a community we laugh and enjoy each day learning about each other and putting energy and thoughts to those who need it, we hold hands with little kids walking down the adobe colored road and watch sponge bob on Sunday mornings, know we haven’t eaten a meal unless there is rice involved, love our gulah (suga suga suga) and know that the most important things in our lives involve family and the community that you situate yourself in, rather than monetary hierarchies and material engraved chains.

I guess as I listen to the flowing river and drink gritty sugary coffee and hear little boys chanting fish for sale as they drag their feet on the river floor that yesterday was the neighborhood street, I get overly sentimental, but I can’t help it. We learn so much from the people we surround ourselves with, and we learn so much more about ourselves when we take time to step out of our boundaries and give ourselves the ability and the chance to surprise ourselves. I just know that I continually am so thankful for the friends and family that have kept me alive and well all my life, and that I can never repay all the individuals whom have shared their love and their time with me. People here are so amazing, so kind and so happy, that I want them to continue living that way for the rest of their lives, as well as all the generations that follow them, because they deserve it as much as everyone. This village’s resilience thus far to outside disturbances is truly impressive. With massive floods, deforestation all around them, palm plantations and coal mines sprouting like weeds and bringing massive populations of individuals for plantation work turning a once populous majority of people into a tiny indigenous minority, who face migration from their traditionally owned land and cultural disintegration for economic goals headed by the international community for economic process and overall excess. If the Wehea forest is cut down and used for palm oil plantation, thousands of Javanese or other Indonesian populace will be brought here to work the plantations, furthering this displacement, destroying not only one of the richest areas of biodiversity, but one of the most true, kind hearted and wonderful cultures. Land tenure is difficult, it is impossible to ignore that, but just as impossible to ignore the importance of ironing the kinks and untying the knots with in it. The land has traditionally been the Wehean Dayak’s, before the Indonesian government existed to distribute and nominate land as their own and deem it production land. While it is easy to villianize others, this is simply put, a really convoluted and difficult issue, just as land tenure between indigenous populations and governing nations is worldwide. You can look at the imprints of these issues documented and footnoted throughout Canadian and American history. The panacea is not clear, and may never be, but we’re working on some facet to get the job done, or at least started.

It is an amazing feeling to know that I have family in both Brazil and Indonesia now, it is a warming and reassuring feeling that I continue to learn how grateful I am that people everywhere are willing to open their minds and their arms. Wow… I apologize, that was a lot of poopnanny, guess I needed to get that out. But life is short, doesn’t matter what religion or culture you identify with, we must all deviate our paths into realizing we need to live for each other and put humanity first, because as corny as the quote is, the quote the top of my blog says this: The only real nation is humanity. Written on a little sign inside of a village named Cange, Haiti, Tracey Kidder wrote it down with following Doctor Paul farmer, a sign simply saying that the only nation we are citizens of is humanity. Boo-yah poopnany.

Just kickin' it during some wedding festivities with some of the gang

Nehas and me... yes I know I shouldn't have named her

Padak Ledan drying some fish right outside our humble-abode 

Formerly know as Paul

I will solely refer to Jiang Ledan, which is my official Wehea Dayak name that my host father, Pa Ledan gave to me. Word spreads quickly around town, so everybody is already referring to me as Jiang. My family is wonderful. My father is a master dancer of a traditional Dayak dance called Hudok, which is a fantastic dance that involves these extravagant masks and being possessed by spirits. He said he will teach me this coming week, which should be a good time being that the villagers love to get us to attempt to dance in the traditional circles and music, which gives them a nice time to just laugh at our moves.

It is crazy how quickly time has already gone. We have been in the village for over a week now, with less than two more before we head out to the forest to do work up there for another week. Our biodiversity team who is out there already just left for their two week trek throughout the unexplored forest with camera traps and all sorts of gear to check out and survey the biodiversity of the forest, which little is known at the point. It is known that rhinos and leopards and elephants use to populate the forests of Borneo, but the extent of what is known in the 38,000 Hectare forest of Wehea, little is known.

Research has been a slow start, but the ball’s moving. I have been able to witness a healing ceremony which was really awesome, as well as getting tours of the surrounding areas of the village to document some of the traditional plants. There are so amazing people here, and to see such a rich culture alive and operating under such vast western influences is a treasure.

There have been several parties of resent, called Erau’s. It is what is called a naming ceremony, or Erau Anak, which translates literally to ceremony child, but is rather like an enormous birthday. Depending on the social class of the family, children get at least one of the ceremonies in their lifetime. It is massive with nearly the entire village there to celebrate that child (with no temporal resemblance to their birth date, but there are several this time of year because it is a resting season after the collection of rice and crops). It has been a lot of fun. A whole caboodle of dancing, tuoc (palm wine), smoking and chewing of the BAMF beetlenut, and even pig sacrifices. There were six pigs sacrificed today for the erau anak of three children, which was absolutely breathtaking, nauseating, beautiful and nauseating again. The pig is washed and an area cleaned for the pig, and a drum is rhythmically beaten, as well as a gong, and family dressed in traditional Wehean clothing comes out to stand in front of the pig to be sacrificed. Immediately after the throat is slit, they gather some blood either on a plate or bamboo leaf and thumbprint the foreheads of the family with the blood, and let the pig kick and drain while he feet and mouth remain wrapped. After it is still, they rinse again, and then haul it off before the process starts all over again. It is pretty gnarkill, but definitely a ritual that is much more meaningful and honest then most if not all commercial slaughterhouses in North America.

It is still the most fun, as well at time the most difficult aspect of learning about cultural difference here in Nehas Liah Bing. What makes it especially difficult here is the way in which pets are seen in society. A majority of cats and dogs are maltreated, simply because their social ties to them is so different then it is in the United States. While individuals main “own” a dog, they may only feed it several times a week and let it fend for food the rest of the time. The dogs and cats are also often played with roughly (to say lightly) which results in some scaredy pups and cats. So, knowing me well as most of you do, I have had a mission to befriend all the dogs and cats, which has been met with some mixed success. The dogs living such wandering lives leads to some interesting sounds throughout the night. Often there is this enormous choir of howling dogs, that frequently seem oddly in sync or harmonic and creepy. The villagers describe this by saying the dogs get possessed by spirits at night who speak through them, which doesn’t sound too far off.

Down time is a must here in Nehas Liah Bing. It is damn hot erray day, and multiple showers or ‘mandis’ are needed, or a dip and the river. Soccer is played every day, and my Wehean cousin Ding Siang (his host mother is the older sister of my host mother) play almost every day trying to keep the opinion of Buleh’s soccer high. Being Jiang Ledan (more commonly known as Paul Glantz) I hurt myself playing yesterday, ankle and foot quite swollen, but it just makes me walk slower, which is very Indonesian of me. I have two interviews this evening to go prepare for, before going to see the rest of the Erau. So betta get back to work. I shall see y’all ERAUnd! Ha!

Jiang out.

some tradition Wehea Dayak dancing at an erau

this little piggie got rinsed and prepared for sacrificing

Beetlenut Beetlenut Beetlenut

The Wehea Dayak have a lovely culture that I have come to skim the surface of learning about. They have lived in this region of Borneo for over three hundred years, and they use to span most of this region, but due to overpopulation in other Indonesian areas, the government has taken land and divided it out to transmigrant populations as well as for logging companies and palm plantations. What becomes the largest issue is the idea of landownership. Who owns this land, thus who gets the authority to decide what happens with it. The government has been making those decisions, dividing land and giving it up to the logging companies and palm oil plantation corporations as well as for transmigrant populations for years, and as a result the individuals in Nehas Liah Ding and other Wehean villages have lost vast quantities of land and have had little say in protecting it. Not only is their specific land where the grow medicinal and other plants for consumption that are intrinsically important and necessary for their traditional and cultural practices, but the Wehean forest is in danger as a result of the inability to get it classified as ‘protected land’ rather than ‘production land’. That is one of the reasons we are here. By showing the extreme biodiversity of the forest as well as the cultural importance to the Wehea Dayak and others, we can help facilitate the transfer of the Wehean forest and land to protected, and give them the land that has for centuries been their own.

The Wehea Dayak culture is extremely rich within society here. Historically, the Wehea Dayak are an animistic society, but relatively recent missionary influence has converted a majority of the population here in Nehas Liah Bing. About eighty percent of the people here are Christian and the other twenty are Muslim or Protestant. The result is like nothing I have witnessed anywhere else, but the religions tie together surprisingly well. While if you ask an individual what religion they have, they will respond Protestant or Christian, but then if you ask if they are monotheistic almost all will respond no and say animistic because of their religious beliefs within traditional Wehean society.

The cultural norms here are all socially constructed so individuals are all extremely polite and respectful. When you meet someone for the first time, you shake (well more hold hands) and slightly bow and touch your liver as a sign of respect (your liver is connoted as we think of our heart). Walking down the street, you tell everyone “selamat pagi (good morning), ciang (day), sorrey (afternoon) or malam (night)” and the typical response would simply be responding “pagi” or “malam”. While the main language spoken here is Bahasa Indonesia, a large amount of individuals here speak Wehea, which is the traditional language of their people, but is limited to this region. It is all beautiful. You eat with your hands, well hand really because it is socially rude to eat or touch anyone with your left (both for cultural reasons, as well as sanitary due to the fact that toilet paper isn’t used… if you catch my drift). Men smoke like chimneys, women do smoke but more regularly chew what’s called in English, Beetlenut. It is a nut found in a specific tree that you chew along with a leaf call sirih, and similar to chewing tobacco it gives you a nice body high and plasters your mouth with a deep red. You never really get quite use to the spitting, and there is no cool or polite way to spit except avoid drooling and spit in a trash can. The only real alcohol available in the village is what’s called Palm Wine or more regularly for foreignors is rum. It is an alcohol made by fermenting palm sugar or sap, just as rum is made from fermented molasses. It is damn tasty, but it is only consumed when offered, which has only been once thus far. We all sat on the floor of a family’s house last night and had pork (which if you were lucky you got to see them take the leg or torso, burn the skin and hair off before cooking) last night along with palm wine and beetlenut and cigarettes, which in combination can get you quite intoxicated, and is a damn good time stumbling in your Indonesian and enjoying everyone’s company. People are amazingly kind and happy, they want to share their lives with you, and I have been gladly accepting.

All the kids play soccer, the older ones play on a large field coupled by copious amounts of puddles and cowpies, as the younger ones stage smaller games on the sidelines barely big enough to dribble the ball and frequently tripping over its monstrosity. I managed to play yesterday, and in combination of lack of hydration, lack of fitness and lack of cleats played pretty lethargically, but it was a damn good time. Soccer being the cheapest sport in the world, it is popular and well played all around the world, and the remote village of Nehas Liah Bing is no exception.

Mic, a fellow ethnoecological student (well now after his renaming, Ding Siang), and I last night were laughing at this feeling that we weren’t only in a different country but a whole different world. We sat in a circle smoking cigarettes and sharing stories and listening to the elders speak about life before deforestation in the region, I petting the cats that walk in and out of the room, kids running around, singing echoing through the windows from a healing ceremony right next door, women with weighted ear piercings elongating their lobes to their collarbone, and on and on the multitude of cultural differences that you come to just absorb and breathe in.

I will keep writing as often as possible, but internet is something of a rarity here. We have a modem, but the connection is so poor, that rarely am I able to connect and post. I think that the work that anthropologist do is so important to the world, not just for helping communities of people advocate for themselves in this bureaucratic world, but help us learn how we all choose to live our lives. The study and practice of ethnography is reciprocal in nature, it lets us learn how societies and people live their lives and deal with the struggles of everyday. These practices can help us gleam ways to better the means in which we live our own lives. The Wehea Dayak continue to teach me, and I cannot wait to share more of our story together with you.

Love,

Your Pa(u)l

line of bulehs being welcomed to Nehas Liah Bing

a shaman and one of the chiefs of the village preparing to welcome us