Celebratory river race

Just before dinner time, everything came to a standstill.

Freshly scrubbed, waiting for dinner, it was now time for cocktails -- or rather tuak -- and fellowship at the Ruai (the communal living room) which had been lavishly decorated for this occasion.

Reams of pua kumbu, colourful home-woven cloth, lined the walls of the Ruai. Streamers and colourful paper hung from the ceiling, and everyone sat around catching up with each other while the ladies gossiped and prepared dinner round the back.

Then the gong was struck. This meant that everyone should go back to their bilik to wait for dinner which would be served simultaneously at every bilik, since this was more like a large family dinner. Trying to trace family ties in the longhouse can be quite confusing, since everyone is related to everyone else somehow. It's quite common to find aunties and nieces, all about the same age, running around with each other.

After dinner, it was time for the Minang ceremony. This is an old-time ritual to welcome guests and give thanksgiving to Mother Earth for all that she has given them.

Myriad little plates were laid on a well-worn pua kumbu and everyone took his or her place around this little spectacle. It was lovely to finally participate in one of the more tribal rituals, since many have disappeared over time and circumstance.

The plates held various ingredients reaped from the earth, like rice, eggs, tobacco. They were carefully arranged on a plate to be blessed. Then a chicken, held by the legs, was brought over for the final blessing.

The meek fowl, looking like it was used to being handed around, was passed over the heads of the onlookers and the offering, with words of blessings, before the offering was finally put aside in a safe place.

The ritual was repeated all along the longhouse, which had around 40 bilik in all, before the chicken was finally released and the festivities began in earnest.

Tuak bottles that had been brewing under the floorboards appeared in abundance. A live band dishing out dangdut numbers took the stage and everyone--young, old, men, women, tired or not--got down to party.

At the start of the race.

The Ruai was a riot of colours and outside, underneath the open sky, tables had been set up for outdoor entertainment.

We, the media crew who had been brought in by the Sarawak Tourism Board, ran out of steam by midnight. Exhausted, we crawled into bed, only to be woken up by merry-makers who couldn't stand the sight of sleepers like us.

Surprisingly, the night's revelry didn't dampen the participants' spirits next day. There was a full 75km to traverse down to Kapit, which is no joke, especially since rafting these days has been replaced by motorised longboats.

But as soon as the whistle was blown, they were off in a flurry of well-muscled arms and legs. Before we knew it, they had rounded the corner and were off.

The media raft only saw the backs of these rafts. We were one of the last to leave and remained steadfastly in this position until the finish line.

While everyone was rowing, we were furiously dismantling our raft, throwing out bamboos (and some not so biodegradable stuff) to lighten the craft which had begun to look like a floating bed of water.

According to an old-timer, the rafts are supposed to be dried for at least three months if you want it to float fast. Ours sank within the first five minutes and we found ourselves sitting in waist-deep brackish water for the rest of the competition.

We persevered until halfway through, when we decided to cheat. Collaborating with our longboat man, we got towed three-quarters of the way, dodging patrolling judges on the way.

The media raft which sank five minutes after it set sail.

Even then, we still took a total of seven hours(!) to get to the finish line.

We weren't the only ones though. Some participants abandoned their rafts halfway, too fatigued to go on. There were murmurs of complaint about the length of the route (it used to be around 50km long), and the calm river didn't offer a helping hand.

Of course, these were the lamentations of the late-comers. For the frontliners, the race was completed within the first four hours. They had all rested and chowed down by the time our scraggly group walked in looking none the worse for wear.

That wasn't the end of the ordeal. After we got to our rooms, we found that the ground was still moving, although our bodies weren't. River legs had set in, and it was only after a couple of hours in the supine position that the earth stopped moving.

It had been a long hot day. Despite all the setbacks, it had also been a good one and for this group of people who had come here to celebrate their riverine heritage, there was nothing better.

As I sit here peeling off my sunburnt layer of skin, I'm seriously contemplating whether I would ever want to go for rafting competitions again. Then again, being a masochist and a lover of good parties, I recommend that you check it out one of these days.