The Penans in Long Iman II:
The story of Esther Arang
Esther began to adjust her sitting posture to write on the bamboo platform. Her legs were moved to the back slowly and she bowed forward to reach for the paper. She was careful not to hurt herself anymore and to ensure her thigh heeled as soon as possible. She wanted to go to school as soon as it healed. Hopefully, her parents would allow her to go school to learn more and be as clever as her brother.
She began to write the first sentence on the piece of paper, "Nama saya Esther Arang" - my name is Esther Arang. It has been two months since she wrote any Bahasa Malaysia on paper since she fell from that coconut tree. That fateful afternoon was just like any ordinary day. She came back from school that day and had lunch in the bamboo hut with her younger sister Felicia. They then spotted ripe young coconuts on one of the trees. Without wasting a moment, she climbed the tree all the way up to the coconuts. She grabbed and pulled one of the ripe fruits. But her legs were not strong enough to grip the tree. Even before getting the coconut, she fell leg first down from the tree. And that was a high fall of four meters to the ground. Though, this fall seemed like many of her other adventures. It did not came as a shock to her as she did not foresaw that she would not be walking for a long while.
I began to prompt her on what to write on an essay entitled my family. And she began to write about her parents, eldest brother, second sister and her youngest sister which she loved very much. I saw that it was good. And decided to ask her to write in English instead. She was a bit nervous but started, "My name Esther Arang". I corrected her grammar and guided her on the right grammar on each sentence and said I would return after a swim in the river to inspect her work. So off I went to join my friends who were already enjoying their cool swim in the murky Baram River on that hot afternoon.
Coming back, I was delighted to see Esther still at her corner waiting for me. She sat upright with her two legs on the bamboo platform. That spot is where she would be sitting till her dad came home in the evening to carry her back to the house. Her mother would have other chores to do for the day. Instead of leaving her in the house, it would be good for Esther to sit at the hut and look after her younger sister as well as alert others if she saw a boat of tourist coming.
I began to check her essay and how she had corrected all her grammar. She did remarkably well considering that English was not her native language and her parents and friends did not speak English at home with her. Malaysians have different native tongues and the national language adopted by the country is Bahasa Malaysia. Most Malaysians would speak their native language at home and speak Bahasa Malaysia when they have official dealings with the government or when their friends do not understand their native language. Some Malaysians have parents who were educated by the British when Malaysia was a colony of England and would speak English together with their native language with their parents. I am one of them and would feel comfortable conversing and writing in English. But, I was very impressed of the genius in Esther Arang to be able to construct sentences in English, being in the predicament of having to study in a school near the jungles with very little facilities and capable English teachers.
Esther wrote more about her siblings and about Adam who was studying Form 6 in Marudi and Julia who was studying Form 3 in Long Panai. I turned the paper to the next page and found some more writings, though they seemed to have been written by someone else. The English was moderate with some minor grammar mistakes but the vocabulary far superceded Esther's.
It wrote, "I have an appointment with the doctor in Hospital Miri on 5-5-2002. I will be going there by boat. The doctor will be checking on my thigh. Please pray for me. Pray that God will provide for me to see the doctor".
I was taken aback by the message. I began to wonder who wrote that. It would not have been Esther. I began to inspect the handwriting, though it was quite similar to Esther's writing. I thought I would act as though I had not read that message that accompanied the essay. But it made me restless for a while as I knew that message was meant for me. I gathered enough courage to speak to Esther as she was alone and asked her whether she had written that.
She admitted that it was her mother who wrote it. I was drawn into a compassionate mood and realized that just teaching a girl some English sentences would not heal her or make a difference in her life. There right in front of her is a large mountain she could not move. A mountain that her family is struggling with. A concern that has been taking away their sleep for a while.
I began to ask Esther about her treatment in Hospital Miri. The first visit to the hospital required her to travel 7 hours by boat to Miri. The Penans in Long Iman usually do not like to go to the city away from their homes. They are so familiar with the jungle and know that the city is a journey far away from what they are used to. After much persuasion from some of the more educated villagers, her parents decided to send their daughter to the hospital to get treatment as the thigh bone was broken and surgery was needed. But, when her parents and a few church members went there, there were lost on the hospital procedures and the bureacracy involved. But somehow, God graciously led to Esther's successful surgery and brought her back to the village safely.
I pictured the anxiousness of Esther's parents and frustation at how Esther could have injured so badly. How they would doubt whether their decision to sent Esther all the way to Hospital Miri was worth the effort and the cost to be bore by the whole village. Their ancestors would not have done that. The Penans would usually just find some traditional medicine to heal their community. That journey to the hospital consumed a lot of petrol and they had to pay for the surgery. I began to understand the economics of Long Iman as I journey my way back for dinner that evening.
That night before I slept, I wrote a letter aided by the dim light of my torch. It was addressed to the doctor of Hospital Miri. After much thinking and discussion with the other educated villagers, I realised that aborigines in Sarawak need not have to pay any medical fees in government hospitals. I wrote a letter in Bahasa Malaysia to ask for financial assistance on medical fees and that the doctor would ensure that Esther Arang was given good medical treatment. I wrote a compassionate plea as well as a decisive request that hopefully would send the right message accross. A letter that hopefully could replace the nervousness and lost of words that Esther's parents would face in the monstrous sight of civilisation. A letter that hopefully would touch the heart of the doctor to give his best to assist Esther's parents and not treat them as just another uneducated soul that needed to suffer in this world.
As I pen my last words, I realised that words alone would not console Esther's mother. I prayed and decided to part with a sum of my pocket money which I would not be using in this part of Borneo anyway. I would give this to her mother the next morning together with the letter. It was a sum of money that I would easily have taken for granted back home in the city. But, I knew this sum of money could amount to a month's income from selling crafts at the bamboo hut. That could be even a hopeful wish of the Penans in Long Iman.
Briefly before breakfast the next morning, I managed to see Esther's mother. In a private corner, I gave her the letter and the cash. I knew this would not be enough as along with Esther's medical predicament were two other children who were schooling in different villages. Though later, my other mission team members did give love gifts to Esther's mother too upon my sharing to them in private. But, I know that one thing is for sure. God knew Esther Arang and loved her. Whether she goes to school or not, her future is guaranteed. The Penans in Long Iman were not alone. Even when the mountains seemed too high or the storms too gruesome, their stories would continue to be punctuated by a force greater than themselves guiding them through life each day.
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