THE clouds part in a stately procession, like curtains gliding slowly across the inky dark sky. A full moon sidles into view, casting its ethereal light on the restless clearing below, where a group of children are huddled around the figure of an old man.
The night is eerily still, save for the occasional cackling from a distant creature in the forest. Suddenly, the silence is pierced by the sound of an involuntary gasp from a little boy seated somewhere in front, his eyes transfixed on the storyteller holding court in the centre.
His wizened hands raised for emphasis, the elderly man chuckles mysteriously as he continues to weave his tale of malevolent creatures and forest spirits that preyed on young children who dared to venture into the dense folds of the forest.
"I loved listening to these stories," begins the young man seated across me, his fingers absently tapping on what appears to be a colourful hardback book on the table. I squint my eyes to have a better look, but the title seems to be in an unfamiliar language.
"Our elders are good storytellers," continues Bah Saluji Yeok So Alu, a 29-year-old Semai writer and illustrator of Orang Asli children's books from Slim River, Perak. "We have an oral tradition, where stories are told verbally, not written down, and they trickle through generations. These (stories) serve as valuable life lessons for the young."
His eyes dance when he shares how, as children, they looked forward to the night because that meant story time. "City people feed their need for visual entertainment when they watch movies at the cinema; our version of going to the cinema was sitting around our elders as they told us stories," shares Saluji, adding enthusiastically: "We also had horror, superhero tales, romance... everything!"
His passion for these stories and the desire not to see them disappear with the tides of time propelled this father-of-one to find a way of capturing them for posterity — through books. Nenek dengan Yeok Luat, a picture book published in 2017, which he illustrated himself, was his maiden effort. His latest one (and one of the reasons that he and I are sitting opposite each other today) is entitled Let the Maps Speak or Biar Pete de Besuara.
"When they came out of the jungle, they didn't just lose the land beneath their feet. In the big cities, they lost their direction in life and work. Let us hear their voices…" reads the synopsis at the back of the book.
It's said that if an Orang Asli map had a voice, it'd tell the story of a peaceful people living for countless generations in harmony with the rainforest. Today, it would also describe the harsh existence faced by the community due to the rampant encroachments on their customary land.
These contrasting realities were depicted in Saluji's recent inaugural exhibition, which shared the title of his book Biar Pete de Besuara, at Gallery Gerimis in GMBB Kuala Lumpur. Organised by Gerimis Art Project and Malaysian CARE, a non-profit organisation working with the Orang Asli community and other marginalised groups, Saluji's vibrant watercolour paintings illustrated the impact of development on the rainforest and its inhabitants, and thus, invite the audience to reflect on our own relationship with the land.
SETTING THE STORY
"My mission is to raise awareness about our existence, and to promote the beauty of co-existence," begins the passionate Semai, who's married to a Korean. "As a people, we've never felt the need to push ourselves to the outside world. Perhaps through my book, I'd be able to offer a window into our way of life — our customs, stories, community etc."
Gazing forlornly at the cup which he's now cradling in his hands, Saluji shares: "When I go out and mix with the communities outside, I realise just how little they know about the Orang Asli. There are so many perceptions, which are untrue. I feel this comes from lack of knowledge about us, as a people, and not maliciously intended."
The Semai, also known as Mai Semai or Sengoi Hik, are a semi-sedentary ethnic group living mostly in Perak. They're bordered by the Temiars to the north and the Jah Hut to the South. The Semai belong to the Senoi group, and are one of the largest indigenous ethnic groups in the Peninsula and the largest of the Senoi group. The villagers generally subsist by cultivating grain crops, hunting and fishing.
Saluji, who has a graphic design background, wants people to have a better insight into the Orang Asli's unique way of life; a life lived in the folds of nature and its bounty. "Most of us may not go to school but we also receive education — from the jungle," he says.
Adding, the soft-spoken Semai points out: "Nature is a great teacher. The trees, animals… we spend a lot of time observing animal behaviour. We watch how they hunt and we replicate. We can obtain resources without causing destruction."
There's also another reason why he's doing this — for the young Semais. "The current generation… with their handphones and lack of interest with what's happening around them, preferring instead to focus on the world INSIDE their phones… this is a big worry," confides Saluji, brows furrowing.
Continuing, he shares: "I'm trying very hard to find ways to lure them back… to be more interested in their own culture and practices. Today, I do a book. Maybe some time down the line I can explore animation. I want the new generation to appreciate who we are and what our story is."
IMPORTANCE OF EDUCATION
Unlike many young Semai, Saluji, the third of four siblings, was fortunate to have had a good education and the support of his parents. His grin is broad when he confides that despite not being educated themselves, his parents recognised the importance for their children's future.
"Most of our young in the village are uneducated. And this will be challenging for their future," muses Saluji, adding emphatically: "They're so far behind. Yes, they use handphones, but they're using it to play games, and not as a learning tool. I'm fearful that with their lack of knowledge of technology and the modern world, it will cause them more harm than good. They don't know how to filter information."
Saluji, who today resides in Puchong, remembers that despite the challenges, his parents were adamant that he and his siblings would go to school. "They pushed us. They knew we could have a better life one day. But I remember my school days as the most trying. I was sad to have to go to school!"
Sad, I splutter, looking at this calm-looking young man, quizzically.
He nods and a wry smile crosses his face as he recalls: "I remember there were not many children from our village who went to school. We had transportation support from the Department of Orang Asli Development (Jakoa) — but only sometimes. Most times, my father would send me by bike or if he were busy, I'd walk to school and back. Alone."
Continuing, he elaborates: "It took me two hours to get to the nearby school. I had to cross the jungle to get to the crossroads, and then onto the highway before reaching school. I walked from primary school till Form 5. I remember how I'd start the day with clean shoes and school shirt, only to arrive home with mud-covered shoes and rain-sodden shirt whenever it rained. This challenge was one of the reasons why so many young children just didn't bother going to school."
The 20km journey to school wasn't the only thing the young Saluji had to contend with. Language was the other. "There were only five Semai kids in my batch," he shares, before confiding: "When I was in primary and secondary school, I didn't really communicate much because of the language barrier. Learning Bahasa was like trying to learn a foreign language. Exams were challenging, but I did pass all my subjects and completed my education."
Aside from his parents, Saluji says that he has other role models who helped motivate him. Tone laced with pride, he shares: "My three brothers were a source of inspiration. I saw that once they'd completed their education, they got themselves good jobs. They had their own car, house, family… that inspired me. My first brother is an Orang Asli police. The second is an assistant police officer. The third is still studying."
UNSEEN ENEMY
Aside from his art, Saluji makes it a point to spend his weekends with the villagers in his kampung. There, he holds classes and conducts activities for anyone interested to join — and it's all self-funded. "Whatever I get from the sale of my art, I use the money to fund these activities," he shares, adding: "These activities are curated to be educational. Sometimes, I'd also get communities from outside to come and visit us for some sharing sessions."
And what's the reception to his classes like, I couldn't help asking.
His smile is wry when he replies: "Not too encouraging because the younger ones prefer to be on their handphones. However, when I attract them to my activities through sports, which they do enjoy, the outcome is more favourable."
He's concerned about the future of the young Semai. "They're aimless," he says, simply, adding: "Then they marry at a very young age, which means they can't get a marriage certificate. That's a problem. And of course, they don't know how to write or speak Bahasa. They end up staying in the kampung, working the land, looking for durians and petai… and the cycle starts all over with their children. I want to change that cycle."
Grimacing, he concedes that it's hard to break down the walls of resistance erected by the older generation. Confides Saluji: "To be honest, not many in the village are open to this… of letting outsiders into our world. They view the outside world as the 'enemy'. However, this misconception isn't surprising if you consider our past."
Leaning back in his chair, he says softly: "Our history has been peppered by threats. First it was from the Rawa tribe (group of Minangkabau people from Rao, West Sumatra) and later, the Communists. It's no surprise that our forefathers, and now this generation, regard outsiders as a threat. This is why when we cross paths with outsiders, we run. We're scared."
Continuing, Saluji, who was born in Batu Gajah, Perak, adds: "Today, modernisation has permeated our lives so it's not as bad. This is why I want to change the old perceptions; instead, we should reflect on what's the reality today. Most importantly, I want us to learn about each other."
And how are you doing that, I ask. And he smiles. "I try to encourage, especially the young, to get out there and join the world," replies Saluji, adding: "They need to know there are many communities that co-exist with us, each one with its own unique customs and traditions. Just because we go out into the world outside, it doesn't mean we have to forget our roots and what's precious to us."
As the minutes tick and we near the end of our chat, I lob the affable young man a final question: What's his big dream?
He contemplates the question before finally replying: "The biggest one is to develop my community. And when it comes to my art, I'd love to have my own company or studio where I can produce great animations. This is also one way I'll be able to reach out to the younger generation of Semai."