Belaga, Sarawak (Borneo), Malaysia — May 1986
During a term-break from my teaching stint in Malaysia in May 1986, I traded the classroom for the open riverways of Sarawak and found myself aboard a longboat heading up the mighty Rajang River. From Kuching I travelled by bus to Sibu, then from Sibu onward to Kapit and Belaga by boat. I travelled in the company of a Dutch colleague, our longboat traversing both mellow waters and occasional white rapids, winding through lush jungle, wooden settlements and some areas of intense logging. The journey was my first ever experience of the rhythmic life of river towns.
Three days into the river trip, we arrived in Belaga in the weeks leading up to the 1986 Malaysian elections. The town was alive, bustling, as men from upriver longhouses had come to town to vote, some of them wearing traditional headdresses, loincloths, and large brass earrings that glinted in the light. As I walked the clapboard sidewalks one evening, a resounding chorus of “Rajah Brooke!” rang out to greet me in an echo of colonial memory and friendly teasing from the tribesmen who had gathered. (James Brooke was the 19th century English explorer who had been gifted Sarawak by the Sultan of Brunei for having helped him quell a rebellion of local tribespeople.) Their poking fun at this orang putih (white man) pushed me quickly into the safety of the nearest wooden sundry shop.
The Discovery
It was in that moment, in that tiny shop, surrounded by the hum of Belaga’s election-day energy, that an elderly Chinese shopkeeper led me to a deep pot that harbored half a dozen rolls of traditionally woven cloths. What caught my attention immediately was the use of vegetable dyes and the human-like images as a motif. I still recall that the shopkeeper explained to me how all the cloths carried ‘good luck,' and that they were crafted by local women.
I checked later to learn that the piece I settled on was indeed a Kayan or Kenyah ceremonial textile, woven in a longhouse somewhere along the upper Rajang by a traditional ikat weaver. The piece that's now been in my possession for 40 years was an easy purchase, and I carried it with me on my return to Kuching, unaware that it would become one of the most evocative 'travel treasures' of my years in Southeast Asia.
About the Textile
The cloth itself is a warp ikat, a technique in which the warp (length-wise) threads are resist-dyed before weaving, which means some parts are blocked from being dyed. This results in the slightly blurred, dreamlike patterns characteristic of Sarawak’s interior textiles. Its main design features ancestral human figures, flanked by curling aso’ (mythical dragon-dog) motifs and spiraling vines. The various images are symbols of protection from evil, fertility, and a connection to the spirit world.
The dominant reddish-brown tones were likely produced from morinda root with tannin mordants, while the undyed cotton threads create the ivory patterns. Such pieces, from what I have learned, were woven not for daily use, but for ritual and prestige — used to wrap sacred heirlooms, cover ritual objects, or honor the dead during ceremonies.
Provenance and Significance
This textile was acquired at a time when river transport and longhouse life still defined much of Borneo’s interior. Given its motifs and natural dyes, it likely dates from the 1940s to the 1960s, woven by a Kayan or Kenyah woman in one of the Rajang riverside communities (possibly Long San or Long Nawang).
From what I have also recently read, in today’s market, authentic vintage pieces of this type can earn quite a bit of coin, depending on condition, complexity, and dye quality. But for me, the piece’s real worth lies not in its valuation but in the story: It's a reminder of that curious evening in Belaga, when the past and present of Borneo's interior highlands met on a clapboard sidewalk under election banners and lanterns.
Reflections
Each time I unfold this cloth, I am drawn back to the laughter of the men who called me ‘Rajah Brooke' that night. It evokes the smell of the Rajang River, the Wild West-like qualities of Belaga, a jungle town lit by kerosene lamps, and the sense I felt of being momentarily suspended between different worlds — the fully modern and the tribal, the real and the mythic. In that way the long textile carries more than simple pattern and pigment; it carries a short moment of my own journey of discovery. In its threads are woven the spirit and the artistry of a weaver whose name I will never know, the layered but soft texture of material culture, and one more indication of my own good fortune, sourced in an unexpected place.
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