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For the fifth time in half an hour, I bent down and plucked
the tiny leeches from my ankles. I had got them all off, save
one, which I now hollered over to my friend Dave to remove.
Dutifully, he put his cigarette to his lips and dug for the
Bic lighter in the front pocket of his jeans. Be careful,
I warned. I had no intention of incurring 3rd degree burns
in the middle of the jungle.
Fortunately, the operation was a success and I was bloodsucker-free
– for now. We had been hiking the trails of Taman
Negara, a pristine rainforest in the heart of Malaysia’s
Pahang province, for over five hours. Overnight rain
had rendered previously well-marked paths into treacherous
terrain; insects and leeches abounded. Within minutes of departing
for the trail, we were drenched with sweat and covered in
mud. Tired and dehydrated, I had to keep reminding myself
how fortunate I was to be trekking in one of the oldest rainforests
in the world.
Alas, as the mud deepened and exotic critters seemed to multiply
exponentially all around us, my utopian ideal of a game-rich
Taman Negara park teetered perilously close to the brink of
disillusionment. The prospect of glimpsing anything remotely
resembling a rhino or an elephant (game sightings being our
primary motivation for entering the park in the first place)
soon dissolved as stumbles and expletives soon became the
soundtrack of our expedition.
After two days of trying to wade through the sludge –
and the clinging parasites it harboured – the ambient
buzzing of jungle bugs rose to a deafening level, and the
thick vegetation became opressive. In stark contrast to my
glossy guidebook photographs, I was beginning to see the real
Taman Negara: one, I realised regrettably, that I had not
been prepared for.
On the third day I plodded along dejectedly, hoping at least
for a peek at a gibbon, or even a peacock. As the hours passed
and I began to contemplate boat schedules back to the pier
at Kuala Tembelling, I was pulled out of my reverie by the
sound of breaking branches ahead.
Startled, I stopped in my tracks and exchanged glances with
Dave. We hadn’t heard anything but the persistent hum
of insects and our own belaboured breathing for hours. But
there was no mistaking it: someone – or something –
was headed towards us. Assuming we were about to encounter
some fellow hikers (though we were miles from park headquarters,
where even then we’d only met a handful of other travellers),
we kept on the path. Moments later, our whole world changed.
A little brown face, framed by tight brown curls and illuminated
by light brown eyes suddenly emerged from behind a tangle
of vines. The face belonged to a boy about ten years old,
slight in build yet strong in step. A younger girl, a man
and a woman followed him. All were barefoot, stepping carefree
through the mud Dave and I had been trying to avoid for most
of the day.
They were naked, save for a cloth wrapped around the man’s
waist and a single sarong expertly draped around the woman
and the tiny figure nestled in her arm. They filed along,
the children in front, while the man, with a blowgun in his
right hand and a machete slung on his left hip, brought up
the rear.
Unknowingly, Dave and I had stumbled into a region inhabited
by Orang Asli, one of Malaysia’s indigenous forest-dwelling
tribes. I stood dumbfounded, rooted to the mud and feeling
terribly inept in my brand name kit and red bandanna. More
than my physical self-consciousness, however, was a sense
that we shouldn’t be there. That we were selfish, invasive
tourists with nothing better to do than run amok in someone
else’s jungle.
As the boy came nearer and I searched my brain for an appropriate
behaviour, I was thankfully spared.
“Hello!” He greeted us cheerfully.
It was the simplest gesture of human kindness, yet the last
thing I would have expected from that little boy’s lips
at that moment. With a smile and a wave, he walked on, leading
his family down the path behind us.
I turned, hand raised in awed response, and I grinned for
the first time that day.
Text © Jasmine Hogg, all rights reserved.
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Travel Writers: Rainforest Revelation by
Jasmine Hogg
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Trekker : 
