The former life of peninsular Malaysia’s rainforests

Jungle of Hope written by Keri Mas and translated by Adibah Amin

Jungle of Hope is a novel surrounding the people of Ketari, Malaysia as they are forced from their homes and into the jungle. As they do this, they are faced with the difficulties of living amongst wild animals and virgin rainforest. A picture is painted of some Malay inhabitants embracing capitalist ideologies of growth and change as they set up agricultural land in the rainforest but only in reaction to the threat of landlessness and displacement.

A tension between ‘modern’ rubber plant growers and ‘traditional’ padi and pumpkin growers arises between the villagers with some still attempting to maintain their former way of living. According to Zainor Izat Zainal in Environmentalism in the realm of Malaysia novels in English, “this form of resistance has typically been propagated in colonialist discourse, resulting in Malays being accused of being indolent, lazy, and unproductive” (p.344). Tradition plays a key role in the preservation of the villager’s, particularly Pak Kia’s, way of life but, ultimately, they are forced from their homes by the industrialisation of British and Chinese people that cause their lands to flood.

The British ruled Malaysia 1824-1957 and during this time the locals encountered many unjust rules that interfered with their dependence on the rainforests and endangered their way of life. For the many Malay villagers that chose the industrial crop, rubber, to grow they were then slapped with limitations on what they could do with it. The profit plummeted before government offered coupons instead of money for the selling of it making it impossible to survive on this crop alone. This causes an intensity for the need for their crops to thrive, to ensure their survival.

There are also debates in the use of jungle as a word because of its use by colonisers that wish to endow a wild, untameable brush stroke on this habitat. The term itself isn’t incorrect but its use seems to be synonymous with a savagery which doesn’t have a place within modern society. Jungle, originally a Sanksrit word meaning rough and arid, has connotations of places that need conquering as they are hacked through to explore or invade and then chopped down to make space for industry. The book was originally written in Malaysian and whilst Adibah Amin has done a spectacular job at translating, there are a few phrases that can cause confusion. I wonder whether the use of Jungle is simply an outdated phrase continuing from popularities such as Jungle Book, used to appeal to a Western world. This setting and the people living amongst it, rather than be cast as savages, can be learned from as examples of how to practice sustainable living within diverse natural biomes.

Set in the Malaysian rainforest during 1920s-1930s, the villagers interact with the animals and plants also thriving abundantly there. A stark comparison to the urban environment that has taken over most of the peninsular. Despite the title, the novel doesn’t pander to western tastes. Delicious fruits like durian, mangosteen, cempedak, pomelo, rambutan, duku-langsat are offered without context or description and without previous knowledge of Malaysia or without being a foodie, many readers are left with the sour taste of ignorance in their mouths. The rainforest inhabitants are often portrayed as ‘adversaries’ to the villagers as they attempt to eat their crops or storm their houses.

“It’s not safe to plant anything. Sugarcane is the top favourite with elephants. A young coconut plant comes second… They also like the soft core of a banana stem. But most of all they look for salt” (p.178).

Stories of elephants stampeding their kitchens in search of salt is both humorous and troubling. The absurdity of an elephant rattling around in your kitchen cupboard for the salt shaker juxtaposes the lives of the villagers who are at risk. The elephants are seen as pests for this reason and where there are pests there are people practicing pest control. The boars and monkeys also eat their crops and guns are used to control this.

The further they get from their new land and the deeper they go into the jungle, the more they find evidence of animals interfering with their crops. As Pak Kia and some of the villagers explore a noise they find “the handiwork of that accursed boar… The padi plants lay broken where the boar had wallowed” (p.232). Upon finding the boar, it charges for them as they frantically try to shoot it. Overpowered by nature, Pak Kia is gored by its tusk on his thigh before his son shoots and kills it. Pak Kia becomes quite ill, perhaps due to infection, but some of the more traditional villagers believe that it is because of the spirit or badi of the boar affecting the wound.

“He said there was badi, a bad effect from a death.

Whose badi can that be?

The wild boar’s, maybe?” (p.242)

This part of the book is reminiscent of one of my favourite films which also happens to have sustainability at its core. Princess Mononoke directed by Hayao Miyazaki features a Boar god that turns into a demon after their forest is destroyed by humans for the industrial city that mines for iron. The demon boar is infected and its form is covered by slithering, red worms. These worms then infect the protagonist of the story, beginning the hero’s journey. The creatures are portrayed as detrimental against agricultural land in JOH as they relentlessly try to consume the crops. Yet, I am torn in the story as I empathise for the villagers whose land rights have been ignored but my heart goes out to the creatures who have also had their land disturbed for industry.

However, a vivid image of what the Malaysian rainforest used to look like bodies forth from the novel and cultivates in the mind. “First it was young jungle, with large resam ferns, bemban shrubs, wild ginger plants, giant paku ferns and other kinds of undergrowth” (p.76). Keri Mas also describes how it used to sound as well; “Save for the sounds of the emping-making upstream and the night-jar close by, nothing broke the silence of the night. There was of course the constant whisper of Nature, the tiny sounds made by worms, cicadas and frogs” (p.232). An aural journey through peninsular Malaysia’s rainforests takes place but 17% of this has been lost – the highest amount of which has occurred in Sarawak, Borneo and not on the mainland – replaced by commercial tree crops like palm. It is hard to monitor loss now, particularly as lots of illegal logging occurs. Mas writes that “Change was inevitable. Today’s jungle was tomorrow’s town” (p.250). The villagers have to adapt to survive as their is land taken from them.

This novel gives a snapshot insight into what life was like in peninsular Malaysia around the rainforest’s edge. Most of these sounds heard are gone now. It also reveals the tension between preserving the land and making room for the local people who need to make a living. There is no straight-forward answer of just telling Indigenous people to stop so we can save the rainforest. Instead, stewardship needs to be encouraged and a co-creation of our futures.