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Published: June 29th 2009
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I told him so.
As Craig chose a seat in the very front row of the theatre for the cultural heritage show at the Sarawak Cultural Village, I clearly said “If we sit in the front row, one of us is going to have to go up on stage as a volunteer for something... and it had better be you!”
Half way through the show, as soon as the loin cloth clad, shield wielding, blow pipe toting man walked on stage, I knew it wasn't going to be Craig. But the theatre was full, we were sitting on the floor, and there was no subtle way out. Still I could hope I wouldn't be noticed. As he descended from the stage with his practiced stony glare, I averted my eyes, NO EYE CONTACT! It didn't matter. With only one foreign woman in the audience, I have learned, the volunteer was definitely going to be me.
“I am going to kill you!” I whispered to Craig.
Snorting laughter. “Hand me the video camera” answers my ever so sympathetic husband as I am lead on stage by a Penan local man who only looks tall due to the giant
Inside Malay House
Sarawak Cultural Village feathers in his hair.
As I go up on stage, figuring I will be made to attempt to use his blow pipe, I try to remember the tips our guide in the Cameron Highlands had given us. How to aim, how to blow, how to hold it. I tried very hard to not concentrate on the hundred or so Malaysian tourists having great fun watching the Penan man walk slowly around me, sizing me up. If you could see my thought bubble it would definitely read, “ Craig owes me big time.” But when I look down at him, he is just laughing at me. If only I could rewrite the wedding vows.
To love and to hold. To not sit in the front row subjecting your wife to public humiliation. That sort of thing.
Then I am handed the blow pipe, and the Penan man indicates I should shoot Craig! Well, not that it hadn't crossed my mind obviously. You see a strange thing about me, were the theatre filled with teenagers, I would have felt a million times more comfortable, completely at ease, I might have joked as though I would try to kill him.
But fill the theatre with adults and my knees are quivering. I shook my head NO. No, not going to kill my husband. OK, he indicates I should instead try to pop the balloon on the other side of the stage. Fine.
I grab hold of the blow pipe, which is awkward to hold, and take aim. Just as I am about to make my attempt, a couple of guys backstage start teasing me, looking scared, PLEASE DON'T MISS THE BALLOON! You'll hit us! Right... no pressure. Add them to my husband as my supportive entourage.
Deep breath, push the air out with my cheeks. Now, many of you may not realize that my parents for some masochistic reason had bought my brothers and I an animal balloon kit for the lengthy road trip across Canada. I think they immediately regretted it, as the twisty sound of the balloons is quite irritating. Three kids going at it for hours, twisting balloons in the back of a Volvo station weekend for a drive across Canada is the perfect migraine commercial. At any rate, my point is that I can blow up animal balloons no problem, without the help of
any special devices... I have very strong cheeks.
So here goes nothing. I check my aim again, frown at the clowns backstage egging me on, and three, two, POP!
I open my eyes to find the balloon has dissapeared. I look at the audience, to Craig, to be sure it was indeed me that had caused the balloon to burst and realize I did it. My scantily clad Penan man leads me to centre stage for a bow, and the moment my hand is released, I scramble back to my chair to try to sink into the floor. Finally, the show is over, and we can leave the theatre.
Still, as we tour the rest of the village, and wait for our bus home, everyone who passes me gives me the thumbs up, yells "heh! sharp shooter" or something else of the sort.
Note to self, never sitting in the front row again.
Great to hear from people as always... send along notes please. Love hearing from home.
See you all soon.
Beth and Craig
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