Through perseverance and faith, a native Kenyah was able to realise her dream, writes Sulyn Chong
“YOU have arrived at your destination,” chirps the mechanical voice on Waze. Slowing down the car, I crane my neck to look for the distinctive green sign with the words The Summit Cafe, shown on Tripadvisor’s website.
I can’t see anything at first but then I spot the outlet, nestled among the zinc verandas and accessible only by walking in between numerous tables that hog the street area. This hidden gem of Miri, Sarawak, is well known for its Kenyah and Kelabit food that are said to be an adventure for the palate.
“I keep as close to the tradition of cooking that I grew up with in my kampong, but of course, some things have to be changed for the purpose of mass production,” shares Sally Bungan Wagner, the proprietor of the cafe, a native Kenyah married to a Kelabit. When questioned about the differences between the two native foods, she replies: “There’s not much difference except in the way we cook.”
Continuing, Wagner elaborates: “What’s special about our food is that most meat and vegetable dishes are hancur-hancur (shredded). We either salai (smoke) them, dry them under the sun, or boil them, then hancur.”
It’s a preservation method, explains Wagner, as they never had freezers in the village. It’s also the most effective way if you want to prolong your food supply as shredded meat stewed in stock is only required in small amounts to go a long way.
EATING FRENZY
The array of shredded meat, mashed vegetables, and curious looking stews pique my curiosity. It’s a standard mixed rice set-up where you point to the dishes you want and the kind waitress would scoop them onto your plate. The only difference is the selection of dishes available and the choice of white or red Bario rice.
Bario rice acquired its name from the highland region where it’s grown. This premium staple is mostly cultivated by the Kelabit people and has been an important source of nourishment for many of the natives in Borneo.
I can’t resist piling my plate of red Bario rice with two meat dishes and a vegetable stew that looks like tomatoes cooked in lemak (coconut milk stew). The “tomato” isn’t actually tomato as I later discover. The locals call it terung asam or terung Dayak. It’s crunchy and mildly sour in flavour, leaving a very refreshing taste on the tongue. I even take a chance with a teaspoonful of sambal that’s spicy at the tip of the tongue but leaves a lingering sweetness at the back of the throat.
“Our specialty is actually the nasi bungkus (leaf-wrapped rice),” says Wagner. Unfortunately, it’s sold out. “It’s not the normal rice you get that’s fluffy. It’s more like thick porridge that’s wrapped in leaf. To cook this nasi bungkus you need a special pot. I have one here and it’s only used to make nasi bungkus,” explains Wagner, before adding: “No meats or vegetables are allowed to be cooked in it.”
A SISTER AND A MOTHER
The attractive mother of two grew up in a remote village near the borders of Kalimantan and was raised in a family that survived on the bare minimum. “We had no money, but at least we got food,” she reminisces before continuing: “My parents were farmers but they only farmed for our own consumption. So, it was really hard for them to pay my school fees.”
Her education subsequently took her away from the family home. She went to Bario first before heading to Marudi, a small quiet town located on the Baram River in Miri. However, Wagner’s already-tough childhood took a turn for the worse when her mother suddenly fell ill and was helicoptered in to the town’s hospital.
“I was supposed to sit for my SPM perdagangan (economics) paper, but my uncle came to the school to tell me that my mother was in critical condition and unconscious,” she recalls. “Only one thought ran through my mind, ‘I can sit this paper again, but I have only one chance to see my mother’. So, I hopped onto my uncle’s motorcycle and headed to the hospital. Of course I didn’t pass my SPM but it didn’t matter.”
The heartbreak came when her mother passed away a few weeks later. Overcome with grief and depression, Wagner felt distraught and had nowhere and nobody to turn to. She recalls: “I was only 18 and it was 1990. I felt that the world had gone dark suddenly. All I could think of was the fact that my brother was going into Form 1 and who would pay for his school fees. I didn’t know what to do.”
Her saving grace came when she bumped into her school teacher as she was walking out of the hospital.
“My mother was my umbrella and when she went, I felt exposed. I wanted to commit suicide but this teacher of mine gave me really good advice. He prayed for me and I believe it’s because of him that I was able to overcome my bleakness and became the best sister and mother to my brother after that,” Wagner confides.
ANOTHER CHANCE
Juggling the multiple roles of being a sister, mother and also daughter, Wagner soon married her present husband, a police officer. “I wasn’t thinking about marriage then, only about my father and brother. How to take care of them and all that. But I’m happy to have my husband and two kids now,” she says.
It was when she followed her husband to Kuala Lumpur in 1996 that Wagner met and made many new friends who turned out to be extremely enterprising. Through them, she learnt many skills and even dabbled in small-time businesses, selling various items as well as street food.
When she returned home to Miri 11 years ago, the idea to open her own restaurant was born.
“Being a girl in the family, it was inevitable that you learn to cook from young, especially the simplest of meals like the nasi bungkus. My mother didn’t exactly teach me. It was more of a watch-and-learn kind of thing. It was a daily routine so it was impossible not to pick up. She’d always wake up at four in the morning and start wrapping the rice, so it was natural for me to follow her,” reveals Wagner.
In addition to her love for cooking, Wagner admits that she’s delighted when people enjoy her food. “I used to cook for church potlucks and it always makes me happy when people finish my food, especially the children. I feel appreciated,” she says, happily.
TIGHT-KNIT FAMILY
Over the years, Wagner has found her source of contentment in her tight-knit family and in her cooking. “Aside from my own family, my thoughts are still always with my father and brother. Amazingly with God’s blessing, my father is still with me and he helps me open the cafe every morning,” she says, as she beckons to a genial-looking elderly man who’s busy stacking chairs at the front of the cafe.
The man, a cap jauntily placed on his head, looks up from among the stacked chairs and waves a friendly hello. “He’s over 70 but he’s still going strong. He continues to live in the village and every morning, he’ll take the small plane into town to be here by 7am,” Wagner shares, obvious pride in her voice.
As the time came for me to bid my farewell, Wagner shares in conclusion: “When my daughter told me that the restaurant had been listed as the number one place to visit when you’re in Miri, I felt grateful. But at the end of the day, it’s not the fame that matters. Just remember that no matter where you are, always be humble and bless others with whatever you have. And have an open heart. You never know where it’ll take you.”