There was a moment in time that I thought dreading my hair was a great idea. I was nineteen, learning to scuba dive on Koh Tao and an absolute fool. One of my dive instructors was a young, fit, blonde Austrian chick. She had the kind of dreads that could convince even the preppiest of individuals that dreads were a good life decision. She oozed the kind of nonchalant badass-ary that my pseudo-rebellious teenage self thought I should emulate. Fortunately for future Denise, fear of having to shave my head when I was finished with the dreads or being that chick with permanently smelly hair deterred me from following through. This weekend, sitting on a three hour boat ride upriver into the jungle behind the 19 year-old who chose not to heed those internal warnings made me eternally grateful that I passed on the dreadlocked stage of my adolescence. Even the running river and fresh air can't overpower the stench of poor dreadlocks and dirty wannabe hippie.
That said, I must admit I have poor luck with people while traveling. I always end up my overnight treks or boat rides with boring couples, people who don't speak English, angry Russians or whiney soap-boxers. My first mistake on this particular trip to spend three days hiking and sleeping in Taman Negara, a 2,500,000 year old virgin rainforest, was to assume that the two young Europeans I would be with would be good company. My first clue to the alternative should've been this girl's hair. When your dreads look like you simply allowed a series of birds to build nests in your hair without ever bathing, you may want to consider a different hair style as this one clearly doesn't suit you. Her personality was no better. Between the two, I'm lucky I was able to keep down my lunch.
Anyways, I've digressed from the point of this post: the Jungle. Plus, I swore I would keep my negativity separate. I can't keep all my promises.
Taman Negara is a virgin rainforest in central Malaysia in the state of Pehang. Having avoided every ice age, geologists can estimate the age of the forest to 2.5million years old. Pretty damn cool, if I do say so. The protected lands are home to wild elephants, tigers, boars, and a variety of monkeys, birds, reptiles, fish, etc. And leeches. Tiny, slimy, deceptively fast, blood sucking leeches. After the rain, these suckers are brutal and nearly impossible to avoid.
We spent about 6+ hours a day hiking through the jungle to reach a cave or village to sleep in that night.
I loved being the jungle. Believe it or not. Sweating. Laughing (usually at dreads falling into rivers with poor balance). Trekking through mud and rivers. Uphill, jumping over fallen trees. There's something freeing and primal about the entire experience. I can say this because in the back of my mind I knew I would return to my shitty dorm room in a couple days times. And eventually to the comforts of my life colored by hot water, air conditioning and all the joys of stateside life.
However, what really struck me was being in this village and gaining even a fleeting understanding of their culture but more critically, at least for my concern, the effect of outsiders (namely NGOs and tourism) on their sustainability and cohesion.
Background on local Orang Asli. They are semi-nomadic, moving every few months. Specifically, they change camp when a member of the village passes away. Villages are comprised by about ten families. This particular village had been in place for what we had been told was a 'long time', about ten months. So as I sat discussing village life with Riffi, my guide, and John a local village guide I wasn't surprised in the least to look around and visibly see the impact of consumerism on the village.
I remember seeing this when I was trekking Thailand, years ago. I visited a village of the Karen Hill tribe minority near the border with Myanmar. At the time I was shocked to see a small satellite dish and spotty television in one the family's modest homes. My western sentiments were appalled by this pristine village being corrupted by the influence of trash television. God love 19yo Denise. So idealist. So self-righteous.
Since then however, one thing I have come to understand is the significantly negative impact uninformed charity work and tourism can cause an isolated community like the Orang Asli village in which I stayed. Everywhere around the village one didn't have to look far to find a discarded bag of chips, can of meat or faded container of some food source sent in by a local non-government organization seeking to better the lives of villagers. So true also is the effect of tourism. I like to think I try to avoid extremely detrimental situations such as a day trip that visited another Orang Asli village, dubbed the tourism village, in which villagers daily entertain the photographs and troves of outsiders. In my idealism and naivety, I hope that when my guide tells me he is the only person who visits this particular village and they chose to limit their exposure, he is only speaking sincerely but one cannot be so sure.
Nevertheless, what does often happen in these cases, is the exposure to such outside influences degrades the culture and rips away at what sustains this way of life. But who are we to say whether or not a culture should or should not be change according to a western definition of process. I recall reading 'Development According to My Mother' in which a Columbia educated PhD candidate in development studies went back to re-evaluate everything she'd studied. I must clarify, she grew up in rural Thailand, in a small village. After years of education in the US, her piece beautifully questioned everything she'd learned about developed and sustainability. Why did her mother living a simple and happy village life need plastic? Didn't her banana leaves work well enough to contain food? Did her bamboo or local tools not suffice? Of course, they did. And they were far more sustainable and environmentally friendly than any "charity" or "development" of an NGO or foreign government.
That said, I must admit I have poor luck with people while traveling. I always end up my overnight treks or boat rides with boring couples, people who don't speak English, angry Russians or whiney soap-boxers. My first mistake on this particular trip to spend three days hiking and sleeping in Taman Negara, a 2,500,000 year old virgin rainforest, was to assume that the two young Europeans I would be with would be good company. My first clue to the alternative should've been this girl's hair. When your dreads look like you simply allowed a series of birds to build nests in your hair without ever bathing, you may want to consider a different hair style as this one clearly doesn't suit you. Her personality was no better. Between the two, I'm lucky I was able to keep down my lunch.
Anyways, I've digressed from the point of this post: the Jungle. Plus, I swore I would keep my negativity separate. I can't keep all my promises.
Taman Negara is a virgin rainforest in central Malaysia in the state of Pehang. Having avoided every ice age, geologists can estimate the age of the forest to 2.5million years old. Pretty damn cool, if I do say so. The protected lands are home to wild elephants, tigers, boars, and a variety of monkeys, birds, reptiles, fish, etc. And leeches. Tiny, slimy, deceptively fast, blood sucking leeches. After the rain, these suckers are brutal and nearly impossible to avoid.
We spent about 6+ hours a day hiking through the jungle to reach a cave or village to sleep in that night.
I loved being the jungle. Believe it or not. Sweating. Laughing (usually at dreads falling into rivers with poor balance). Trekking through mud and rivers. Uphill, jumping over fallen trees. There's something freeing and primal about the entire experience. I can say this because in the back of my mind I knew I would return to my shitty dorm room in a couple days times. And eventually to the comforts of my life colored by hot water, air conditioning and all the joys of stateside life.
However, what really struck me was being in this village and gaining even a fleeting understanding of their culture but more critically, at least for my concern, the effect of outsiders (namely NGOs and tourism) on their sustainability and cohesion.
Background on local Orang Asli. They are semi-nomadic, moving every few months. Specifically, they change camp when a member of the village passes away. Villages are comprised by about ten families. This particular village had been in place for what we had been told was a 'long time', about ten months. So as I sat discussing village life with Riffi, my guide, and John a local village guide I wasn't surprised in the least to look around and visibly see the impact of consumerism on the village.
I remember seeing this when I was trekking Thailand, years ago. I visited a village of the Karen Hill tribe minority near the border with Myanmar. At the time I was shocked to see a small satellite dish and spotty television in one the family's modest homes. My western sentiments were appalled by this pristine village being corrupted by the influence of trash television. God love 19yo Denise. So idealist. So self-righteous.
Since then however, one thing I have come to understand is the significantly negative impact uninformed charity work and tourism can cause an isolated community like the Orang Asli village in which I stayed. Everywhere around the village one didn't have to look far to find a discarded bag of chips, can of meat or faded container of some food source sent in by a local non-government organization seeking to better the lives of villagers. So true also is the effect of tourism. I like to think I try to avoid extremely detrimental situations such as a day trip that visited another Orang Asli village, dubbed the tourism village, in which villagers daily entertain the photographs and troves of outsiders. In my idealism and naivety, I hope that when my guide tells me he is the only person who visits this particular village and they chose to limit their exposure, he is only speaking sincerely but one cannot be so sure.
Nevertheless, what does often happen in these cases, is the exposure to such outside influences degrades the culture and rips away at what sustains this way of life. But who are we to say whether or not a culture should or should not be change according to a western definition of process. I recall reading 'Development According to My Mother' in which a Columbia educated PhD candidate in development studies went back to re-evaluate everything she'd studied. I must clarify, she grew up in rural Thailand, in a small village. After years of education in the US, her piece beautifully questioned everything she'd learned about developed and sustainability. Why did her mother living a simple and happy village life need plastic? Didn't her banana leaves work well enough to contain food? Did her bamboo or local tools not suffice? Of course, they did. And they were far more sustainable and environmentally friendly than any "charity" or "development" of an NGO or foreign government.
Her's was a piece that left me questioning everything I thought I was working towards in my undergraduate education. Her's was a piece that led me never to seriously pursue work in the field of international development after graduation. Seriously questioning the very notion and the role in which foreigners could and should sustainably play a role in societal change. Real change can and should happen in most places, especially the US if I do say so myself. But that change, especially if rooted in cultural ideals and history must, exclusively come from and being forged from within. I no longer feel right with the idea of being a leader of change in a community of which I am not intrinsically a part.
This rant sincerely does tie into my experience in the village. In that to me it speaks to the role of ignorant involvement. A tourist bringing candy to children in a isolated village not only encourages children to expect and ask for that from the next person they see but can have a long standing effect on the evolution of that community if the habit continues. This isn't even to mention the issues of child nourishment and malnutrition.
And here I stand on my soap-box. I started this blurb venting on the types of people who get under my skin only to come full circle and expose that our deepest aggravations are rooted in our own weaknesses. AKA my soap-box is usually close by.
