Can't resist another

[Dave]

A friend had secured a bursary to study tribal people in Borneo. He'd showed me some photos of the tribal people he'd stayed with. Some years later I went to Borneo, there were a number of personal objectives, climb Kota Kinabalu, see Proboscus monkeys, Orang Utan and get into Mulu caves where the “birds nest soup†Swiftlets live. On the riverbus there were groups of drunken lager louts fighting. One fell off and had to be rescued. At the end of the line it was as close to the caves as the riverbus could get. The louts got off as well. I got to stay in their long house. Astonishing. There were 3 generations living there. Grandma and pa were tiny, had those huge stretched earlobes and wore traditional clothes. Their children were semi westernised and had got god badly. Their children were the ones who were pi**ed and fighting on the boat. Generations of traditional Kayan culture were successfully eliminated in 30 or so years. Full access to replace the natural forest with palm oil plantations was now possible. The oldest generation were arranging a welcome for their visitor. That evening they collected me and we all sat down in a clearing. Another (blind) old timer was led to the arena with a one stringed instrument. He played. Granny was up and sung a traditional Kayan welcome followed by some group chanting and a traditional dance, she was so graceful. Her stretched earlobes were tucked over the top of her ear so they didn't get caught up. I thought it would be rude of me to photograph the scene. She passed her garb to me. I was invited to demonstrate the tribal dance of my village. Oh dear, my village doesn't have a tribal dance. Nonsense ! Every village has a tribal dance. Convinced that to win their respect I had to dance. I did my best to make them laugh. But first, I had to wear a kind of decorated apron (kinda Masonic ?) There was a spear and shield for one hand, a bow and arrow for the other and half a coconut headdress with feathers and a bit of string to hold it on, which barely came below my nose. The music began I tried to make a complete **** of myself and was totally successful. They laughed and laughed. I became an honorary member of their village and was presented with a necklace. The tradition was to pass on the garb to the next chosen dancer. I danced many times that night until the louts came down with their ghetto blaster and turned on a cassette of rock music. Next day I had a real good conversation with some of the villagers. They told me an englishman had stayed in their longhouse some years before and he'd studied their culture…….I thought I recognised the people from my friends photos. It was the same village as my friend had stayed. They told me how he'd fallen for the chiefs daughter but had left broken hehttp://www.sportsmaserati.co.uk/images/editor/attach.pngarted when she wasn't permitted to leave their village and return to the UK with him.