‘Rattan is Sick’

Abstract

‘These days, rattan is sick’, Bapa Edwin** declared, as we sat on the remnants of a fallen tree in his rattan garden in April 2013. Bapa Edwin’s garden was a legacy from his ancestors, handed down by his great-grandfather to him and his siblings. We had taken a break from harvesting rattan (locally called manetes) to take a sip of coffee and have some biscuits. Bapa Edwin smoked. The cigarette smoke and the smouldering of a small fire protected us from the mosquitos attracted by the sweat of our bodies. It was 10 o’clock in the morning and the heat had started to build up, adding to the travails involved in working rattan. Harvesting the canes, said Bapa Edwin, was uyuh – in his language, tedious, painful and exhausting. My back was hurting. My arms were tired from holding the machete and pulling the canes. Feeling small pieces of spiny leaves in my hair and inspecting the scratches on my hands despite the gloves I had worn, I had to agree.