Iban Graveyard

I went out for a bike ride this afternoon with one of Sue's Mentor colleagues, Catherine.  We cycled up and down a tarmac jungle road until it petered out into a track.  The track seemed to know where it was going, so we left our bikes and followed it across a small wooden bridge over a muddy stream.  It took us into the jungle, past rubber trees with telltale grooves cut in their trunks through which the latex flows.

After a few hundred metres we came to a clearing in which there was an Iban Graveyard.  We spoke to each other in hushed voices, although we could see or hear no one.  I instinctively took my cycling cap off as a mark of respect.  Most Ibans are Christians today, and the majority of the plots were marked with a cross.  But their Christian beliefs are blended with much older animist traditions in which the spirits of the jungle and their ancestors loom large.

One grave had only a traditional urn buried in the ground and next to it a rotting rattan bag of the type rubber tappers and others harvesting the jungle carry on their backs.  The urn is there to catch the rain that drips regularly through the jungle canopy, I understand.  Looking at another, I thought at first that there must be someone nearby, as there was a sun lounger and an umbrella and a few unopened cans of beer.  Then, we realised these had been set up for the deceased to enjoy.  An electric fan had also been thoughtfully left, activated by spirit power presumably.  Nearby there was a grave with a TV set positioned I guess so the loved one could prop themselves up and watch it on quiet evenings.

We left after a few minutes and returned to our bicycles full of our own thoughts.

Having seen an Iban grave set up for tourists to enjoy at the Hilton Longhouse I felt privileged to see the real thing.