Penan Tribe

Contains scenes that some viewers may find disturbing.

My name's Bruce Parry. I've been travelling to some of the world's most remote places,

to see how people there live

and how they're adjusting to a rapidly changing world.

I believe there's only one way to really understand another culture,

and that's to experience it first hand.

To become, for a short while, one of the tribe.

I'm in the Malaysian state of Sarawak, in Borneo,

the third largest island in the world.

Rich in animal and plant life, this vast wilderness

is also the ancestral home of Borneo's nomadic forest people, the Penan.

It's always been a dream of mine to spend time with these hunter-gatherers,

to understand their intimate relationship with the forest around them.

Yah!

I think you have to grow up with the Penan to be able to hunt something like this.

But this is a journey that takes me by surprise.

And from these few people, in this fast-changing landscape,

I will hear a voice so clear, so impassioned

that it cannot be ignored.

I have made many journeys to Borneo and have developed a deep affection for its people.

But now, at last, I have a chance to live with the guardians of its great forests.

I'm in Sarawak, heading into the heart of Borneo,

and hopefully I'm gonna find one of the last enclaves

of truly pristine tropical forests found left in this vast island.

And inside that, holed up, are maybe two or three hundred of the last of the Penan people

who are still living a traditional nomadic lifestyle.

The only trouble with that is, that all around that pocket of land

are all the bulldozers and the loggers waiting to get in.

With so much money at stake, the last thing the loggers want is me,

in there, telling the Penan story.

Borneo lies to the east of Thailand and Malaysia,

and I'm in the Malaysian state of Sarawak on the north western coast.

Once covered with pristine forest, about two-thirds of the big trees

have been logged in the past 40 years,

leaving a few scattered groups of nomadic Penan

struggling to survive in the damaged and degraded forest.

The Sarawak government is hugely sensitive

about its policy on logging and the impact on the forest people.

Film crews are almost always refused permission to film the Penan,

so I've had to travel undercover to our rendezvous.

My God, that's it.

I can just make out a fire through there.

We've just literally left the vehicle five minutes before

and it's under the cover of night, which was all part of the plan

as we didn't want anyone to know where we were going.

And then a couple of people came out to help us with our gear

and they're just leading us now to, I think, what is a Penan sort of, er, temporary settlement.

Wow!

SPEAKS LOCAL DIALECT

Hello there, how are you?

This group has agreed to let me stay with them and film them without official permission.

They want to tell their story whatever the risk.

Yet within hours of arriving my cover seemed blown.

Yeah, yeah, that's cool.

God, that was a bit of excitement I wasn't expecting.

I was just sitting in the village minding my own business, not doing much at all,

when suddenly a couple of the kids came up and grabbed my hand

and told me to get out quick as I could.

Just as they were ushering me outside the little settlement area,

I could just make out a group of people walking towards the encampment.

I've no idea who they were.

I've been told it's OK to come back into the village after that little moment of excitement,

but I still quite don't know yet what it was that sent us running.

Hi, Arau. Who was it, um, who was it that just came?

With everyone feeling on edge, a meeting is called by head man, Jeffrey.

That's it, we're off to a new camp.

Dogs, monkeys, chickens, pigs, squirrels, everything, the whole family, we're all going.

OK, I think we're going to stay here.

For the next month, I'll be living with Arau and Tapi,

but first we have to build our home together.

When it comes to building a house like this, is there a specific job

for the men and a specific job the women, or is it all the same?

Of the 10,000 Penan people it's estimated that

only 200 of the eastern Penan are still nomadic hunter-gatherers.

Each small band is made up of parents and their children and rarely numbers more than 40.

Nomadic bands roam throughout a territory of less than 100 square miles,

moving home every few weeks when game and fruit

become scarce and the camp too dirty.

They trade meat and other forest products

for pans, knives and tarpaulins.

And this is Arau, my host, and Tapi.

And you, you're my new friend as well, aren't you?

Hey?

We're going to become chums.

Fantastic, thank you.

So Tapi and Arau, how... So you mind me asking?

How, how did you meet?

How did you get together?

So Tapi, er, what, er, what first attracted you

to your very, very good-looking husband here?

What was the first thing that you saw?

As hunter-gatherers, the Penan are as comfortable collecting fruit,

30 foot up in the canopy, as they are on the ground.

Always opportunistic, Arau and Tapi have found us breakfast

on our way to harvest the giant sago palm.

This is just one of the nicest jungle fruits I know.

It's a bit like a lychee I suppose, it's so sweet, so succulent.

Aahh. Really good!

It just really hits the spot.

The sago palm traditionally supplies all the carbohydrate in the Penan diet.

This monster palm can grow to over 40 feet,

and it's the pithy core that the Penan split and extract to produce sago flour.

Once cut and trimmed,

we're going to have to heft the sago trunks down the mountainside

in search of water to process them.

If I was doing this, no doubt I'd break my toe within seconds!

Not only balance but co-ordination, strength...

little bit of daredevil. Make sure I don't hit my toes.

OK.

It's ingenious, really.

After mushing with her feet,

all of the inner pith goes through the mat

and then is collected on this other mat,

which is waterproof.

This off-white, starchy paste

is the food, and that there is sago.

I've just been told some of the guys have come back

from a day's hunting and they've caught a wild boar.

God, they certainly have, as well!

Oh, my God.

By the looks of it, two wild boar.

My God, the weight of that!

Berat!

And that's the back end of one,

and that's a littler one.

A mother and child, by the looks of it.

Fantastic.

Now that the meat has been butchered,

how is it divided amongst the families?

OK, and how is it decided who gets how much?

Fantastic.

It is really interesting to watch this.

I've seen food sharing like this many times,

but never quite so meticulous.

It really is, it's painstaking.

And although this is a relative time of plenty,

you can imagine that that's been borne out from those periods of time

when perhaps people have been watching every morsel going in every direction.

And it makes sense.

Fantastic. Oh, my God!

So, look at that.

Even though, really, this is for the crew,

even though we're essentially outsiders and just visiting,

still we've been included in the sharing process.

Fantastic, get a load of this!

One of the first things that I noticed about living with the Penan

is that every aspect of social life is transparent.

There are no doors or walls that any of these people hide behind.

Everything that goes on here is in view of everyone else.

Over the past 40 years,

logging has spread deep into Sarawak's primary forest.

Once the canopy is removed, a dense, impenetrable secondary forest quickly takes over.

Throughout their territory, there's a criss-cross of old roads where nothing has grown for decades.

I didn't realise we were going to come across this logging path today,

I thought we were just out looking for sago.

We've just spotted one over there, and this area would normally be full of the stuff.

But it's all disappeared, and it's not because the sago's being logged

but it's just things like these roads,

the fact that 100 yards either side of this is trashed.

Everywhere they go in and do their selective felling

they're coming out and they're just ruining the surroundings.

And so, for these people, though to me it doesn't look any different,

for them that's the loss of their staple,

which is why they're having such a hard time of it.

God!

As we headed back to the camp, we're caught in a sudden downpour.

Arau is keen to show me another effect of the loss of trees and the roots that bind the soil.

I think he's trying to tell me something about this stream here.

The Malaysian state of Sarawak has licensed 70% of the forest for logging.

They say it's crucial for the country's development

and insist they use sustainable methods.

Yet the loggers return again and again to remove even the smallest trees.

Finally the land is stripped and burned,

ready for acacia wood and palm oil plantations.

Palm oil is used in everything from biscuits to shampoo to biofuel.

Malaysia now produces 50% of the world's supply, and it's our

demand for these products which is ultimately fuelling this business.

In this endless sea of plantations, little survives,

making it a relative desert for wildlife and the forest people.

The Penan still hunt using traditional blowpipes,

even though some men today have access to shotguns.

The blowpipe is ideally suited to shooting wildlife high in the canopy.

But to make the tiny darts effective,

Arau needs to collect an extremely powerful poison.

Really? My God, that is quite extraordinary.

It seems that Arau is going to climb this adjacent tree

and then he's gonna tap the latex, the sap of the poison tree,

which is what he needs to collect for his poison darts.

I was just thinking that it's lucky that I'm not climbing the poison tree itself,

because if I was gonna follow him,

the amount of cuts I've got on my hands,

I'd be dead before I got to the top!

I can see the milky sap coming out of the cut he's made already.

All of the sap is falling into the container.

I'm 50 foot off the ground and frankly just about clinging on,

but Arau here is moving around so agilely.

It just goes to show, once again, just how in tune

he and the whole community are with this environment.

It's about 6:30 in the morning and I'm off hunting with the guys.

No dogs, and just blowpipes.

(My God!)

(That is such skill!)

These guys are pretty skilful with their darts.

It seems amazing.

These guys are out all day

just trying to get the smallest, smallest morsel of prey.

As the primary forest gives way to the dense secondary forest,

hunting with long blowpipes has become increasingly difficult.

I wondered if Arau has considered

other ways of providing meat for the group.

I hope it never happens, but one day if the Penan lost the forest

and they had to settle into one place and not be nomadic,

how would you feel about having domestic animals, goats and chicken

and such like, that you would have to rear up and then eat later?

Does it not cross your mind that this chicken might taste nice?!

I thought I was going to get an early night,

but there's about ten of us out.

We've got blowpipes, we've got machetes and we've got torches.

And it's frogs we're after.

Two frogs.

All you've got to do, it's like lamping,

just get the eyes in the spotlight,

pull up behind it, knock it on the head,

frog for dinner.

That's a big one.

Yah! Bloody hell, man.

Why is it you're not killing them? What's that all about?

Not a good night to be a frog, really.

Thanks, Arau.

Finally I have one within my sights.

It's only weeny, let's see if I can do it.

There you go. Have you got it?

I'll let you do the gruesome bit.

Is there a lot of meat on this?

The legs. Show me.

One hour's work and about ten frogs,

any Parisian chef would be delighted.

Thanks. Let's go home.

The Penan derive almost all their needs from the forest.

Today we're off in search of one of the most valuable forest materials, rattan.

And these fine tendrils are absolutely lethal.

And there's no way out, you can't go forward,

you have to remove yourself by retreating into it.

Only with these guys now, who are pointing out to me

everywhere I look how it used to be like this, and now it's like that,

and how this has changed and that has changed,

that I'm seeing just how much effect

the logging is having on this habitat.

And finally, I think, they're beginning to open my senses.

As I spend more and more time here,

I'm beginning to develop real friendships.

I didn't realise it when I first moved in,

but it seems that Arau has been quite a lucky find for me.

He certainly is the hero around the community, everyone loves him.

He's really made my stay here truly wonderful.

All my life I've dreamt about meeting the original forest people of Borneo.

The sudden unannounced arrival of some old traditional-looking Penan

was like a visitation from the past.

And they had walked all day just to meet me.

I've been here a couple of weeks

and I've talked about this issue non-stop since I've been here.

And these people are so gentle and calm and tranquil,

and you get them on this subject

and they have so much energy and venom and anger and that comes out.

And you see this again and again, and you can't escape it.

And even though I've been hardened to this topic now for the last couple of weeks,

having these three people now arrive here has been like

an arrow through the heart, it's absolutely taken me sideways.

I've never been quite so hit by a subject before, I don't think.

It's just bringing tears to my eyes.

And...and the saddest thing of all

is that I absolutely have nothing at all to give them as an answer.

Koolin, Ohok and Malin decide to stay the night.

And they have stories to tell.

I've come to have a lesson in Penan language, but not words and not writing, but actually in signs.

It's fantastic, it really is.

Essentially this stick here is the message stick and it's pointing

in a direction that is the direction in which you must go.

And, because it has this stick here at the beginning, it means you must come.

This is an indication that you must come along.

And then this stick next to it, because it's a sharp pointy stick on its own,

it's like a...stick it up your arse, come on, you've got to come quickly.

But next, we have this scraping along the side here, which means

that actually it's a long, long, long way.

And then, as you come back down,

you've got three knots in a bit of bark,

which says that he has to be there in three days.

And this leaf here, which is wrapped and empty, stuck in the side,

is suggesting that he's going there without any food at all.

But the best bit of all, which to me just surmises everything I've learned about the Penan,

is this single stick here, which says,

even though there's an urgency, you must come quickly, it's a long way,

you must be there in three days, I'm going without any food,

but this stick here, it says, don't worry, because I'm in a good mood.

How amazing is that?

Malin and Koolin were keen, however, to show me one more important Penan sign.

No prizes for guessing what this is.

This is obviously where the loggers lived. Did you ever come here when they were actually living here?

There must be some people you came across that were decent people that you could communicate with.

Is this not the case?

The Sarawak government says the income from logging will provide development for the whole state,

including the Penan.

OK. Thanks, Jeffrey.

Wow. When it comes to their feeling, it's heartfelt, I know it is.

It's true, what these people are telling me is absolutely true

and they're devastated, angry and upset.

And I know them and I know that that's how they feel, and it's heartbreaking.

I didn't come here to make a rant or a political statement.

I came here to just tell their story.

But their story is about their issue.

Everything they say is about the loss of their forest.

Throughout my time with the Penan, I had become accustomed to

fighting my way through the dense scrub of the secondary forest.

Arau and Jeffrey, however, wanted to show me a last remnant

of the primary forest that once covered their entire territory.

This is a place easy to hunt in and rich in fruit trees.

Wow! I tell you what, honestly...

..it is different, it really is.

I've been so used to walking through green...wet green leaves flapping in my face

even on well-used paths, and here suddenly it's open.

Yes, there's lots of life, but it's not happening here, it's happening up there.

And here it's drier, it's cooler,

there's less sunlight and I can see, I can actually see a distance,

and that's just me after a month in the woods.

To these guys, who listen to everything,

it must be so different.

Until you've actually had meaningful interaction with people like the Penan here,

it's, I suppose, understandable to look down on them,

to see them as objects of pity, and certainly the Malaysian government

has said they require our pity and need to be settled.

And then, once they're settled, then we can give them health and education and infrastructure.

But the real problem here

is that nobody has actually bothered to ask the Penan what it is that THEY want.

I've been with you for four weeks now and it's nearly time for me to go, and you've taught me so much,

but one question that I've never asked is, if you had your way,

in the ideal world, what is it actually

that you really want for the future, more than anything else?

It's nearly, unfortunately, time for me to leave, but the securing of this meat here today

means that at least we can have a big party before I have to depart.

It's so nice, it's my last night, to have every face here all eating together.

It's really pleasant.

Many times, people have looked at me and asked me what it is

that I can do for you, and I have felt a grave responsibility... in that,

which is very difficult because, of course, I am not a politician.

But, at the same time, what I can do for you and what I promise I will do for you

is give you a voice around the world

and I promise that many people will listen to what you have to say.

And hopefully in the future this message will come back to the Sarawak government.

Anyone who truly listens to you and knows the full story will know that this forest is yours

and that you do have the right to be here,

and I hope that you maintain the forest and keep it as your own.

Thank you, my friend. Thank you so much.

Maria, stay good.

You guys, it's been really fun knowing you.

Good luck with your target practice, yeah? Hope that gets better.

I don't want to keep you hanging around.

Hey, good luck.

And you, thank you so much.

Jeffrey, what can I say? You taught me so much. Thank you so much.

You're an amazing leader and I've learnt a great deal from you, thank you.

And finally, my friend, you of all people have looked after me the most,

you've taught me the most, and I will always remember you. Thank you.

Thanks, fella.

What started out as a dream to live with the forest people of Borneo had become something else.

It had made me think deeply about my life and those I've met on my journeys.

As tribal people the world over become ever more marginalised,

it's simply not enough for me to stand by

and witness the destruction of their cultures.

I owe it to them, as I think we all do, to champion their right to live the way they want to.

If we fail, we will all be poorer for it.

Subtitles by Red Bee Media Ltd

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