Monday 18 September 2017

Kau tau betapa ku sayang tepumu?

Walking behind my tepuq as we made our way slowly but surely towards the fields, through treacherous muddy buffalo trails with piles of poop and steep jungle tracks; all I could do was to try not to slip each time I took a step forward. It was undeniable that the locals here were super humans, taking these trails daily to the rice fields that provided for them year after year. However my heart sank each time I watched my 80 year old tepuq made that trip, and it sank a little more each time I walked away.



I never expected to bond with her as much as we did over the short five days that we had together. Our relationship started off like any new working partners, foreign and a little awkward. Neither of us were big talkers, that made day one in the fields silent with a tinge of apprehensiveness. I remember thinking “Data collection is going to be a bigger challenge than I thought, or any sort of communication even!”



Our entire relationship was placed on fast-forward, including the warming up to each other. Tepuq was not a person of many words, but what she lacked in words she made up a hundred foe in her actions. She brought way too much food to the fields, ensuring that I was never hungry, even giving me snacks to take back with me even though she knew that I was going straight to lunch right after. She brought boiled eggs each day, and something told me that she doesn’t usually boil eggs because the first time she brought them mine was half boiled and exploded all over me. She was embarrassed and apologizing for her cooking saying ‘Tepuq tidak pandai masak ini’, but I just smiled and slurped the whatever egg I could salvage from the bits of shell I had. The egg boiling improved over time as each day the egg was a little more solid, and on my final day the egg was perfectly hard boiled! She kept giving and giving and all I could do was accept it with a grateful heart. She would stop me from working every so often only to say ‘minum!’ which meant ‘drink’. She would make little comments about how I was not covered up enough from the scorching sun that proved to be a lot closer to us than usual for we were in the highlands. She kept saying ‘nanti balik ibu bapa tanya kenapa tanam padi jadi hitam?’, worrying that my parents would wonder why I was burnt from my work in the fields.





She would often comment on how I wasn’t allowed to spend more time with her, a mere 5 hours a day in comparison to the 8 hours she had with participants of the previous batches. After explaining to her the first time that we were on a completely different program and schedule, I came to realize that she was saying it out of affection more than actual questioning. This added to my weighted heart as I made my slow, slippery hike back to the village each day.  



She mentioned to me that she had told her husband who was working in Miri how she acquired a new ‘grandchild’ a.k.a me, who was following her around in the rice fields helping her with the planting. This was such a random thing to tell me but it warmed my heart through and through, for it was recognition of sorts from my stoic tepuq.


It was strange and interesting to see everyone grow more protective of their tepuqs, and it became almost competitive in a subtle game of what I like to call “my tepuq is better than yours”. It was sweet to observe the different dynamics between the each ‘tepuq’ and their ‘cucu’. You’re not just accepted into the community there, but you gain a new family.


Bario surprised me with lots of tears, pineapple and rice. Saying goodbye to my tepuq was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do, as I did not expect to develop an emotional attachment to that degree. My heart breaks a little every time I think of my tepuq all alone in the fields, working slowly each day in silence.



Thank you Bario for Tepuq Supang, and thank you Tepuq, for sharing your Bario with me.


With love, Sigang

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