Deer Hoof for Dinner

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Our next two nights were spent at a homestay near Sepilog. We were separated into pairs and assigned a host family. Some families were extremely large, with twelve children living under one roof. My host parents, Anidah and Ray, had a small family of only three children. We had been briefed on the homestay, and told that conditions were basic. We were also given instructions on how to eat with our hands, since there would be no cutlery available. The first rule is that only the right hand must be used. The left hand is used to wipe your bum, and so using this hand is a big no-no. Serving spoons and drinks can be picked up with the left hand, but actual food must not be touched. Next we were shown how to actually use our right hand. You’d think this would be easy, considering we come from a culture where many foods are eaten with hands - sandwiches, chips, pizza and burgers. But to eat rice and sauce takes some skill. First you use your fingers to mix the sauce and rice, and bring a portion together in a rough ball. Then you pick it up onto your palm. The finger action is like those grabber cranes at fairgrounds, where you direct a metal pincer to pick up toys from a pile. All four fingers and thumb close in at the same time from above. Finally, you use your thumb to push the food into your mouth. Try it now. Hold your palm upwards and flat, and imagine there is some food on it. What motion would you use for your thumb, to push the food into your mouth? It’s harder than it looks. On our first meal, Brendan and I got more food on the table than in our mouths. There was a circle of food scattered widely around our plates. Our first meal was actually difficult to eat in general, because it was so unappetizing. Apart from the obligatory rice, we had a grim looking plate of shrimps and spinach. The shrimps had been caught from the local river, and were dull grey in colour which made them look as if they were off. The dish was intensely salty and fishy, and I had to force it down with plenty of water. If I was eating this in a restaurant, I would have left it after the first mouthful. If I was eating at home, the first mouthful would have been spat out. But we couldn’t offened our hosts, so we ate it all, diluted with plenty of rice and water. We hade our first social blunder with the water, however. There was an ornate teapot on the table, and we each poured ourselves a glass of water. Then, our hosts brought a jug of mineral water to the table, and poured some into our now empty glasses. So what had we just drunk?? We asked our guide later, and it turns out the teapot was filled with water for washing our hands!

The house was intriguing. Ray had built the house himself, and it was basic and spacious. It had three bedrooms, lounge and kitchen, but had the feel of a large wooden shed. The walls were made of wood, the ceiling was made of corrugated iron, and the ground were wooden floorboards covered in cheap lino. It was really bad mulit-coloured lino from the 80’s, different in each room, and often overlapping. .Lots of lime greens, light blues and bright orange. It gave me a headache to look at. You could have thrown up on it, and no-one would even notice. But despite the basic nature of the building, they had a fair amount of technology. They had a toploading washing machine, a food processor, and a mineral water dispenser. In the lounge was a TV, CD player and two huge 500 watt kareoke speakers. The lounge was huge, but there was no furniture! Apparently this is quite normal. Most Malaysian families in Borneo simply sit on the floor.

Our evening meal was steamed rice with omelette, and a small fish on the side. Dealing with a whole fish using only your right hand is a challenge. Scraping off the skin, taking the flesh out without the bones… The left hand kept instinctively sneaking out to help pull the fish apart, and I had to mentally slap it. After dinner we retired to the lounge for “desert”, which was a hot beverage which tasted like a mixture of hot milk with mashed cornflakes. It had an ovaltine/horlicks type taste, but an unpleasant lumpy texture not unlike fresh vomit. I gulped it down though, in the name of politeness.

The organiser of the homestay programme was called Jim’s. Not Jim, but Jim’s, with an apostrophe. His name was embroidered on his shirt. I kept thinking “Jim’s what?”. Jim’s homestay program? Jim’s lovely T-shirt? Oh look, Jim’s drunk again? For the rest of this blog, I will refer to him as Jims rather than Jim’s, because the grammatical incorrectness of the apostrophe annoys me!

On the first night, Jims organised a cultural show of music, dancing and martial arts. Our families provided us with traditional costumes to wear. Mine was a white satin outfit which made me look like a Kung-Fu Master. Although Brendan said I looked more like Cult leader. The women all looked spectacular with their saris and headscarves. When we got back after our night out, we crept into the house. The kids were asleep on the lounge floor, underneath a giant mesh dome. It was to keep mosquitos out, but looked like a giant version of those things you put over cakes to protect them. We got to our room (which the kids had presumably been kicked out of), and we didn’t have a mosquito net or even a sheet!

Jims organized a number of activities for us during the days, including jungle walks and river cruises in search of wildlife. One morning when we got back from an early morning river trip, we all tucked into packed breakfasts provided by our respective families. It was interesting when everyone opened their packages to find out what they had. We all compared breakfasts, and some swap 'n' share was going on

"I've got fried noodles"
"Cold toasted sandwich"
"Swap you a sausage for a banana fritter?"

The most rewarding activity organised by Jims was an afternoon of tree planting. These trees were the preferred habitat of the orang-utans, so we were effectively trying to extend their territory. First we were let loose with machetes on a section of 10-foot high undergrowth. We were told to stay at least five metres from each other. One of the girls, Jaime, came right next to me and said “I’ll chop by you”. She starts chopping wildly, swing the machete left and right. “Jaime!” I cried “FIVE METRES! You’re gonna have my head off!” The next stage was digging holes and planting the baby tress, which we did in the pouring rain without our raincoats. We were wet and filthy by the end, but had planted 206 trees, all for a good cause.

Over lunch, Jims was telling us how Muslim men can have up to four wives. We quizzed him about this. How does this work? Do they share the same house? The same bed? Apparently each wife would live in their own house. The man would live with one wife, and visit the others. Each wife must be treated equally, and the husbands time split fairly between them. There must be no favourite. Most men battle to keep one wife happy. Four wives must be the ultimate challenge. Depending on the wives, you could potentially get four-fold of everything. Four times as many “sexy times”, and four times as many delicious home-cooked meals. But some unfortunate men might be subjected to four times as much henpecking. Serves them right for being greedy. But how does one get to the stage of having even a second wife? Is it all out in the open? The wife asks the husband where he’s going, and he replies “Oh, I’m just going out on a date with Susan from the Post Office”. Or does he just sneak out on a series of clandestine dates, then spring it on his wife one day “By the way honey, I got married again today. Don’t mind do you?” Or are some men even more sneaky. Just because it’s legal to marry four wives, it doesn’t mean the other three have to know, right?

After our long day, we played a game of volleyball with the locals. They had a volleyball net in the middle of their village, and this was obviously their main sport and activity. The women were especially good, and could manage an awesome serve! It was great fun, and a good way to interact with the villagers. There were kids running around everywhere, but a few tears were cried when a rogue volleyball knocked them off their bike, or knocked an ice-cream out of their hands.

For our final meal, our host mother, Anidah was dressed up in her best clothes, and she had prepared a special meal for us. There was steamed rice, fried eggs, a platter of stir-fried greens and a small side bowl of soup. The main event was sitting on a plate in the middle of the table. I stared at it for almost to a minute, then looked up at Anidah with trepidation and said “what is it?” She replied “deer’. Ray went on to explain that hunting deer is illegal, but sometimes they acquire some deer as a special treat. I felt honoured that they went to so much trouble for us, but I was also slightly worried by the look of it. I didn’t know which bit to take. There were two large bones, surrounded by lots of little pieces. The part of the deer which they had cooked was the lower legs and hooves. Anidah served me two pieces, and I nibbled on one cautiously. It was bony and knobbly, and I think it was one of the two knuckles. There were a few scraps of meat on it, but the rest was chewy and rubbery. I got as much off as I could, and then started on the second knuckle. When I looked down at my eaten knuckles, they looked almost identical to when they’d been served. At this point I was praying for two things. Firstly, that Anidah wouldn’t say “aren’t you eating your knuckles?” Because I had already tried to get all the bits off. If she asked me that, I would have to go back for another try. My second prayer was that she wouldn’t serve me any more. My second prayer failed, and more pieces were placed on my plate, although these were different. Anidah had cut several pieces of “something” off the front of the shin, down to the bone. It was like rubber, and my teeth could make no headway against it. So I just had to swallow them down whole with water. Then I was given another morsel, which from it’s slightly rough texture I think was the pad from the bottom of the deer’s feet! Again washed down with water

During dinner, I had a mosquito bite, and Ray gave me some toothpaste to rub on the bite. The toothpaste was called "Cenkudu", and apparently is a miracle worker. It contains an extract from a plant called Morinda Citrofolia. Ray uses it for mosquito bites, and also rubs it on his gums for toothache. He said it's also good for sunburn, for scalding burns and as an antiseptic. Throughout the meal, they kept thinking of more ailments this could cure. "Oh, and it's also good for skin rashes", "You can use it for digestive problems". It sounded so good, you could probably chop your head off, rub it on your neck and grow a new one.

After dinner we sat in the lounge and watched some TV together. The show was a Chinese soap opera with Malaysian subtitles. So we didn’t understand much of it. But then we all had a nice chat when it finished. Anidah and Ray speak fairly good English, so communication was easy. Brendan and I asked them about what festivals they celebrate. They celebrate the usual Muslim festivals, but also celebrate Christmas, Thanksgiving, the Hindu festival of Divali, and another half dozen festivals from other religions and cultures. It seems they have a wide variety of friends, and visit their houses to celebrate their customs. Brendan asked “do you drink alcohol?”. Ray replied with a cheeky smile “good Muslims don’t drink alcohol”. He then went on to describe the types of alcohol he enjoys, including Mango Wine, which sounds fabulous.

At the end of the evening, Anidah gave us both a sarong and said "for going to the shower in". Some of the other people from our tour group had also been given sarongs to use, but their's had been given on the first night, not the last. Several days after our homestay, I saw Brendan with his sarong. What was he doing with that? He had taken it from the homestay? It turns out that Brednan had thought it was a gift. Whereas I thought it was a loan for using in the shower the next morning. So one of us had been very rude. Either I had left a present behind on the bed, or Brendan had stolen something which was lent to us. We have no idea which!

Overall, the homestay experience was rewarding. Although Brendan and I struggled with the food, our family had been warm and welcoming, and it had been a unique insight into local culture. I’d recommend this to anyone

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Photos

cool kids
ice cream is loved by kids all over the world

Curious Cat
the cat in our homestay had one blue eye and one green eye

our homestay
Anidah and her son

Kung-Fu Fighting
Brendan and I get ready to kick some butt

lovely ladies
Steamboat Sally, Tania and Jaime with their host kiddies

creepy crawlie
this millipede we encountered on a jungle walk had the armour of a Sherman Tank

bungee jump for caterpillars
this brightly coloured specimen was poisonous

chop chop chop
the foliage stood no chance against my sharp blade and superior strength

misty morning river
cruising down the river at 7am

hey DJ, where's the bass?
one of the musicians does his thing

looking good in black
another traditional costume which we wore for a dance with the locals. (Me, Brenton and Kimmy P)

Comments

[Manny Steiner]

Great Blog!
You really gave some great detail, I am not sure I wold want to go through your experience but it gave me some good chuckles - thanks.