The Orang Asli - The Original People

In our limited but hopefully increasing understanding, the many displaced and marginalized indigenous peoples of the world have similarly gut-wrenching stories.

Our travels through our home country, the United States, have exposed us to many so-called “reservations”, where what’s left of the native people are relegated to, after decades of war, coerced and reneged “peace" treaties, forced relocation (oftentimes west to less fertile or even completely arid lands), and the like. Rarely have we felt good visiting these reservations, the stigma of what these places represented too apparent in our minds. We were always outsiders, never experiencing the pleasure of being invited.

And so, when we were invited to visit some remote Malaysian tribal villages by somebody who works closely and sponsors one of the members of the clan, we eagerly jumped on the opportunity.

Afraid of dark borders

“What time does the earliest bus leave to Sungai Kolok tomorrow?”, I asked the lady at the Krabi bus station, about 3 miles north of the center of town, where we were staying. To get to the station, Agnes and I had nearly walked the whole distance, setting out a few hours earlier thinking we’ll catch a ride on one of the many local minibusses or taxis driving around, ceaselessly honking and yelling (TAXI! TAXI?) for passengers. But alas!, we took a wrong turn, ended up in no-man’s-land, until finally a local on a scooter took pity on us and told us to hop on, taking us the final half mile to the station, with Agnes in the middle and me in the back, hoping the rear suspension holds.

“9 o’clock”, she answered.

“And how long is the ride?”, I asked.

“7 hour.”

We looked at each other and nodded. That would put us in Sungai Kolok, a town in Southern Thailand on the Malaysian border, at around 4 o’clock +/- (in all reality, only +) 1 hour, which was still a few hours before sunset, giving us enough time to catch a taxi or bus to Khota Bharu, our next stop on the Malaysian side of the border. The dark gives any locale, especially an unknown one, a mysterious and sometimes frightening air. Both of us were unwilling to cross a border, especially one requiring walking and a change of transportation, after dark.

We left the next day on time at 9 in the morning, heading south towards Malaysia. The hours ticked by, and when we arrived at Hat Yai, which I knew from studying a map to be around the half way point, at 3pm, I knew there was no way we were making the border at the time we thought we would.