James Lane Allen - "Bride of the Mistletoe"

Mary Hallock Foote - "In Exile and Other Stories"

Gotthold Ephraim Lessing - "Gespraeche fuer Freimaurer"

Sir James George Frazer - "The Belief in Immortality and the Worship of the Dead, Volume I (of 3)"

Annual Bibliography of Commonwealth Literature 2007
This paper argues that discourses of love in Ghanaian market literature for youth offer a view into complex negotiations of agency and empowerment. Drawing on Deborah Durham's notion of youth as "social `shifters'" and Francis Nyamnjoh's conception of the "interconnectedness" of agency, I take Ghanaian market literature as one specific case of how African literature for youth foregrounds questions of continuity and change as African societies enter into increasingly complex global relations. In this literature for youth, received notions of love, often constructed out of impressions from American pop and hip hop music, carry new notions of agency that compete with existing "domesticated" forms. Authors like Ike Tandoh and Evelyn Tay employ discourses of love to offer youth alternative avenues for empowerment in a context of socio-economic disenfranchizement. In a creative process of "straddling", this writing both reveals and reproduces the contradictions that obtain in youth configurations of agency.

The Malay Archipelago Volume 1

b >> by Alfred Russell Wallace >> The Malay Archipelago Volume 1




The next morning we proceeded as before, but the river had become
so rapid and shallow and the boats were all so small, that though
I had nothing with me but a change of clothes, a gun, and a few
cooking utensils, two were required to take me on. The rock
which appeared here and there on the riverbank was an indurated
clay-slate, sometimes crystalline, and thrown up almost
vertically. Right and left of us rose isolated limestone
mountains, their white precipices glistening in the sun and
contrasting beautifully with the luxuriant vegetation that
elsewhere clothed them. The river bed was a mass of pebbles,
mostly pure white quartz, but with abundance of jasper and agate,
presenting a beautifully variegated appearance. It was only ten
in the morning when we arrived at Budu, and, though there were
plenty of people about, I could not induce them to allow me to go
on to the next village. The Orang Kaya said that if I insisted on
having men, of course he would get them, but when I took him at
his word and said I must have them, there came a fresh remonstrance;
and the idea of my going on that day seemed so painful that I was
obliged to submit. I therefore walked out over the rice-fields, which
are here very extensive, covering a number of the little hills and
valleys into which the whole country seems broken up, and obtained a
fine view of hills and mountains in every direction.

In the evening the Orang Kaya came in full dress (a spangled
velvet jacket, but no trowsers), and invited me over to his
house, where he gave me a seat of honour under a canopy of white
calico and coloured handkerchiefs. The great verandah was
crowded with people, and large plates of rice with cooked and
fresh eggs were placed on the ground as presents for me. A very
old man then dressed himself in bright-coloured cloths and many
ornaments, and sitting at the door, murmured a long prayer or
invocation, sprinkling rice from a basin he held in his hand,
while several large gongs were loudly beaten and a salute of
muskets fired off. A large jar of rice wine, very sour but with
an agreeable flavour, was then handed around, and I asked to see
some of their dances. These were, like most savage performances,
very dull and ungraceful affairs; the men dressing themselves
absurdly like women, and the girls making themselves as stiff and
ridiculous as possible. All the time six or eight large Chinese
gongs were being beaten by the vigorous arms of as many young
men, producing such a deafening discord that I was glad to escape
to the round house, where I slept very comfortably with half a
dozen smoke-dried human skulls suspended over my head,

The river was now so shallow that boats could hardly get along. I
therefore preferred walking to the next village, expecting to see
something of the country, but was much disappointed, as the path
lay almost entirely through dense bamboo thickets. The Dyaks get
two crops off the ground in succession; one of rice, and the
other of sugarcane, maize, and vegetables. The ground then lies
fallow eight or ten years, and becomes covered with bamboos and
shrubs, which often completely arch over the path and shut out
everything from the view. Three hours' walking brought us to the
village of Senankan, where I was again obliged to remain the
whole day, which I agreed to do on the promise of the Orang Kaya
that his men should next day take me through two other villages
across to Senna, at the head of the Sarawak River. I amused
myself as I best could till evening, by walking about the high
ground near, to get views of the country and bearings of the
chief mountains. There was then another public audience, with
gifts of rice and eggs, and drinking of rice wine. These Dyaks
cultivate a great extent of ground, and supply a good deal of
rice to Sarawak. They are rich in gongs, brass trays, wire,
silver coins, and other articles in which a Dyak's wealth
consists; and their women and children are all highly ornamented
with bead necklaces, shells, and brass wire.

In the morning I waited some time, but the men that were to
accompany me did not make their appearance. On sending to the
Orang Kaya I found that both he and another head-man had gone out
for the day, and on inquiring the reason was told that they could
not persuade any of their men to go with me because the journey
was long and fatiguing one. As I was determined to get on, I told
the few men that remained that the chiefs had behaved very badly,
and that I should acquaint the Rajah with their conduct, and I
wanted to start immediately. Every man present made some excuse,
but others were sent for, and by hint of threats and promises,
and the exertion of all Bujon's eloquence, we succeeded in
getting off after two hours' delay.

For the first few miles our path lay over a country cleared for
rice-fields, consisting entirely of small but deep and sharply-
cut ridges and valleys without a yard of level ground. After
crossing the Kayan river, a main branch of the Sadong, we got on
to the lower slopes of the Seboran Mountain, and the path lay
along a sharp and moderately steep ridge, affording an excellent
view of the country. Its features were exactly those of the
Himalayas in miniature, as they are described by Dr. Hooker and
other travellers, and looked like a natural model of some parts
of those vast mountains on a scale of about a tenth--thousands of
feet being here represented by hundreds. I now discovered the
source of the beautiful pebbles which had so pleased me in the
riverbed. The slatey rocks had ceased, and these mountains seemed
to consist of a sandstone conglomerate, which was in some places
a mere mass of pebbles cemented together. I might have known that
such small streams could not produce such vast quantities of
well-rounded pebbles of the very hardest materials. They had
evidently been formed in past ages, by the action of some
continental stream or seabeach, before the great island of Borneo
had risen from the ocean. The existence of such a system of hills
and valleys reproducing in miniature all the features of a great
mountain region, has an important bearing on the modern theory
that the form of the ground is mainly due to atmospheric rather
than to subterranean action. When we have a number of branching
valleys and ravines running in many different directions within a
square mile, it seems hardly possible to impute their formation,
or even their origination, to rents and fissures produced by
earthquakes. On the other hand, the nature of the rock, so easily
decomposed and removed by water, and the known action of the
abundant tropical rains, are in this case, at least, quite
sufficient causes for the production of such valleys. But the
resemblance between their forms and outlines, their mode of
divergence, and the slopes and ridges that divide them, and those
of the grand mountain scenery of the Himalayas, is so remarkable,
that we are forcibly led to the conclusion that the forces at
work in the two cases have been the same, differing only in the
time they have been in action, and the nature of the material
they have had to work upon.

About noon we reached the village of Menyerry, beautifully
situated on a spur of the mountain about 600 feet above the
valley, and affording a delightful view of the mountains of this
part of Borneo. I here got a sight of Penrissen Mountain, at the
head of the Sarawak River, and one of the highest in the
district, rising to about 6,000 feet above the sea. To the south
the Rowan, and further off the Untowan Mountains in the Dutch
territory appeared equally lofty. Descending from Menyerry we
again crossed the Kayan, which bends round the spur, and ascended
to the pass which divides the Sadong and Sarawak valleys, and
which is about 2,000 feet high. The descent from this point was
very fine. A stream, deep in a rocky gorge, rushed on each side
of us, to one of which we gradually descended, passing over many
lateral gullys and along the faces of some precipices by means
of native bamboo bridges. Some of these were several hundred feet
long and fifty or sixty high, a single smooth bamboo four inches
diameter forming the only pathway, while a slender handrail of
the same material was often so shaky that it could only be used as
a guide rather than a support.

Late in the afternoon we reached Sodos, situated on a spur
between two streams, but so surrounded by fruit trees that little
could be seen of the country. The house was spacious, clean and
comfortable, and the people very obliging. Many of the women and
children had never seen a white man before, and were very
sceptical as to my being the same colour all over, as my face.
They begged me to show them my arms and body, and they were so
kind and good-tempered that I felt bound to give them some
satisfaction, so I turned up my trousers and let them see the
colour of my leg, which they examined with great interest.

In the morning early we continued our descent along a fine
valley, with mountains rising 2,000 or 3,000 feet in every
direction. The little river rapidly increased in size until we
reached Serma, when it had become a fine pebbly stream navigable
for small canoes. Here again the upheaved slatey rock appeared,
with the same dip and direction as in the Sadong River. On
inquiring for a boat to take me down the stream, I was told that
the Senna Dyaks, although living on the river-banks, never made
or used boats. They were mountaineers who had only come down into
the valley about twenty years before, and had not yet got into
new habits. They are of the same tribe as the people of Menyerry
and Sodos. They make good paths and bridges, and cultivate much
mountain land, and thus give a more pleasing and civilized aspect
to the country than where the people move about only in boats,
and confine their cultivation to the banks of the streams.

After some trouble I hired a boat from a Malay trader, and found
three Dyaks who had been several times with Malays to Sarawak,
and thought they could manage it very well. They turned out very
awkward, constantly running aground, striking against rocks, and
losing their balance so as almost to upset themselves and the
boat--offering a striking contrast to the skill of the Sea Dyaks.
At length we came to a really dangerous rapid where boats were
often swamped, and my men were afraid to pass it. Some Malays
with a boatload of rice here overtook us, and after safely
passing down kindly sent back one of their men to assist me. As
it was, my Dyaks lost their balance in the critical part of the
passage, and had they been alone would certainly have upset the
boat. The river now became exceedingly picturesque, the ground on
each side being partially cleared for ricefields, affording a
good view of the country. Numerous little granaries were built
high up in trees overhanging the river, and having a bamboo
bridge sloping up to them from the bank; and here and there
bamboo suspension bridge crossed the stream, where overhanging
trees favoured their construction.

I slept that night in the village of the Sebungow Dyaks, and the
next day reached Sarawak, passing through a most beautiful
country where limestone mountains with their fantastic forms and
white precipices slot up on every side, draped and festooned with
a luxuriant vegetation. The banks of the Sarawak River are
everywhere covered with fruit trees, which supply the Dyaks with
a great deal of their food. The Mangosteen, Lansat, Rambutan,
Jack, Jambou, and Blimbing, are all abundant; but most abundant
and most esteemed is the Durian, a fruit about which very little
is known in England, but which both by natives and Europeans in
the Malay Archipelago is reckoned superior to all others. The old
traveller Linschott, writing in 1599, says: "It is of such an
excellent taste that it surpasses in flavour all the other fruits
of the world, according to those who have tasted it." And Doctor
Paludanus adds: "This fruit is of a hot and humid nature. To
those not used to it, it seems at first to smell like rotten
onions, but immediately when they have tasted it, they prefer it
to all other food. The natives give it honourable titles, exalt it,
and make verses on it." When brought into a house the smell is often
so offensive that some persons can never bear to taste it. This
was my own case when I first tried it in Malacca, but in Borneo I
found a ripe fruit on the ground, and, eating it out of doors, I
at once became a confirmed Durian eater.

The Durian grows on a large and lofty forest tree, somewhat
resembling an elm in its general character, but with a more
smooth and scaly bark. The fruit is round or slightly oval, about
the size of a large cocoanut, of a green colour, and covered all
over with short stout spines the bases of which touch each other,
and are consequently somewhat hexagonal, while the points are
very strong and sharp. It is so completely armed, that if the
stalk is broken off it is a difficult matter to lift one from the
ground. The outer rind is so thick and tough, that from whatever
height it may fall it is never broken. From the base to the apex
five very faint lines may be traced, over which the spines arch a
little; these are the sutures of the carpels, and show where the
fruit may be divided with a heavy knife and a strong hand. The
five cells are satiny white within, and are each filled with an
oval mass of cream-coloured pulp, imbedded in which are two or
three seeds about the size of chestnuts. This pulp is the eatable
part, and its consistency and flavour are indescribable. A rich
butter-like custard highly flavoured with almonds gives the best
general idea of it, but intermingled with it come wafts of
flavour that call to mind cream-cheese, onion-sauce, brown
sherry, and other incongruities. Then there is a rich glutinous
smoothness in the pulp which nothing else possesses, but which
adds to its delicacy. It is neither acid, nor sweet, nor juicy;
yet one feels the want of more of these qualities, for it is
perfect as it is. It produces no nausea or other bad effect, and
the more you eat of it the less you feel inclined to stop. In
fact to eat Durians is a new sensation, worth a voyage to the
East to experience.

When the fruit is ripe it falls of itself, and the only way to
eat Durians in perfection is to get them as they fall; and the
smell is then less overpowering. When unripe, it makes a very
good vegetable if cooked, and it is also eaten by the Dyaks raw.
In a good fruit season large quantities are preserved salted, in
jars and bamboos, and kept the year round, when it acquires a
most disgusting odour to Europeans, but the Dyaks appreciate
it highly as a relish with their rice. There are in the forest
two varieties of wild Durians with much smaller fruits, one of
them orange-coloured inside; and these are probably the origin of
the large and fine Durians, which are never found wild. It would
not, perhaps, be correct to say that the Durian is the best of
all fruits, because it cannot supply the place of the subacid
juicy kinds, such as the orange, grape, mango, and mangosteen,
whose refreshing and cooling qualities are so wholesome and
grateful; but as producing a food of the most exquisite flavour,
it is unsurpassed. If I had to fix on two only, as representing
the perfection of the two classes, I should certainly choose the
Durian and the Orange as the king and queen of fruits.

The Durian is, however, sometimes dangerous. When the fruit
begins to ripen it falls daily and almost hourly, and accidents
not unfrequently happen to persons walking or working under the
trees. When a Durian strikes a man in its fall, it produces a
dreadful wound, the strong spines tearing open the flesh, while
the blow itself is very heavy; but from this very circumstance
death rarely ensues, the copious effusion of blood preventing the
inflammation which might otherwise take place. A Dyak chief
informed me that he had been struck down by a Durian falling on
his head, which he thought would certainly have caused his death,
yet he recovered in a very short time.

Poets and moralists, judging from our English trees and fruits,
have thought that small fruits always grew on lofty trees, so
that their fall should be harmless to man, while the large ones
trailed on the ground. Two of the largest and heaviest fruits
known, however, the Brazil-nut fruit (Bertholletia) and Durian,
grow on lofty forest trees, from which they fall as soon as they
are ripe, and often wound or kill the native inhabitants. From
this we may learn two things: first, not to draw general
conclusions from a very partial view of nature; and secondly,
that trees and fruits, no less than the varied productions of the
animal kingdom, do not appear to be organized with exclusive
reference to the use and convenience of man.

During my many journeys in Borneo, and especially during my
various residences among the Dyaks, I first came to appreciate
the admirable qualities of the Bamboo. In those parts of South
America which I had previously visited, these gigantic grasses
were comparatively scarce; and where found but little used, their
place being taken as to one class of uses by the great variety of
Palms, and as to another by calabashes and gourds. Almost all
tropical countries produce Bamboos, and wherever they are found
in abundance the natives apply them to a variety of uses. Their
strength, lightness, smoothness, straightness, roundness and
hollowness, the facility and regularity with which they can be
split, their many different sizes, the varying length of their
joints, the ease with which they can be cut and with which holes
can be made through them, their hardness outside, their freedom
from any pronounced taste or smell, their great abundance, and
the rapidity of their growth and increase, are all qualities
which render them useful for a hundred different purposes, to
serve which other materials would require much more labour and
preparation. The Bamboo is one of the most wonderful and most
beautiful productions of the tropics, and one of nature's most
valuable gifts to uncivilized man.

The Dyak houses are all raised on posts, and are often two or
three hundred feet long and forty or fifty wide. The floor is
always formed of strips split from large Bamboos, so that each
may be nearly flat and about three inches wide, and these are
firmly tied down with rattan to the joists beneath. When well
made, this is a delightful floor to walk upon barefooted, the
rounded surfaces of the bamboo being very smooth and agreeable to
the feet, while at the same time affording a firm hold. But, what
is more important, they form with a mat over them an excellent
bed, the elasticity of the Bamboo and its rounded surface being
far superior to a more rigid and a flatter floor. Here we at once
find a use for Bamboo which cannot be supplied so well by another
material without a vast amount of labour--palms and other
substitutes requiring much cutting and smoothing, and not being
equally good when finished. When, however, a flat, close floor is
required, excellent boards are made by splitting open large
Bamboos on one side only, and flattening them out so as to form
slabs eighteen inches wide and six feet long, with which some
Dyaks floor their houses. These with constant rubbing of the feet
and the smoke of years become dark and polished, like walnut or
old oak, so that their real material can hardly be recognised.
What labour is here saved to a savage whose only tools are an axe
and a knife, and who, if he wants boards, must hew them out of
the solid trunk of a tree, and must give days and weeks of labour
to obtain a surface as smooth and beautiful as the Bamboo thus
treated affords him. Again, if a temporary house is wanted,
either by the native in his plantation or by the traveller in the
forest, nothing is so convenient as the Bamboo, with which a
house can be constructed with a quarter of the labour and time
than if other materials are used.

As I have already mentioned, the Hill Dyaks in the interior of
Sarawak make paths for long distances from village to village and
to their cultivated grounds, in the course of which they have to
cross many gullies and ravines, and even rivers; or sometimes, to
avoid a long circuit, to carry the path along the face of a
precipice. In all these cases the bridges they construct are of
Bamboo, and so admirably adapted is the material for this
purpose, that it seems doubtful whether they ever would have
attempted such works if they had not possessed it. The Dyak
bridge is simple but well designed. It consists merely of stout
Bamboos crossing each other at the road-way like the letter X,
and rising a few feet above it. At the crossing they are firmly
bound together, and to a large Bamboo which lays upon them and
forms the only pathway, with a slender and often very shaky one
to serve as a handrail. When a river is to be crossed, an
overhanging tree is chosen from which the bridge is partly
suspended and partly supported by diagonal struts from the banks,
so as to avoid placing posts in the stream itself, which would be
liable to be carried away by floods. In carrying a path along the
face of a precipice, trees and roots are made use of for
suspension; struts arise from suitable notches or crevices in the
rocks, and if these are not sufficient, immense Bamboos fifty or
sixty feet long are fixed on the banks or on the branch of a tree
below. These bridges are traversed daily by men and women
carrying heavy loads, so that any insecurity is soon discovered,
and, as the materials are close at hand, immediately repaired.
When a path goes over very steep ground, and becomes slippery in
very wet or very dry weather, the Bamboo is used in another way.
Pieces are cut about a yard long, and opposite notches being made
at each end, holes are formed through which pegs are driven, and
firm and convenient steps are thus formed with the greatest ease
and celerity. It is true that much of this will decay in one or
two seasons, but it can be so quickly replaced as to make it more
economical than using a harder and more durable wood.

One of the most striking uses to which Bamboo is applied by the
Dyaks, is to assist them in climbing lofty trees by driving in
pegs in the way I have already described at page 85. This method
is constantly used in order to obtain wax, which is one of the
most valuable products of the country. The honey-bee of Borneo
very generally hangs its combs under the branches of the Tappan,
a tree which towers above all others in the forest, and whose
smooth cylindrical trunk often rises a hundred feet without a
branch. The Dyaks climb these lofty trees at night, building up
their Bamboo ladder as they go, and bringing down gigantic
honeycombs. These furnish them with a delicious feast of honey
and young bees, besides the wax, which they sell to traders, and
with the proceeds buy the much-coveted brass wire, earrings, and
bold-edged handkerchiefs with which they love to decorate
themselves. In ascending Durian and other fruit trees which
branch at from thirty to fifty feet from the ground, I have seen
them use the Bamboo pegs only, without the upright Bamboo which
renders them so much more secure.

The outer rind of the Bamboo, split and shaved thin, is the
strongest material for baskets; hen-coops, bird-cages, and
conical fish-traps are very quickly made from a single joint, by
splitting off the skin in narrow strips left attached to one end,
while rings of the same material or of rattan are twisted in at
regular distances. Water is brought to the houses by little
aqueducts formed of large Bamboos split in half and supported on
crossed sticks of various heights so as to give it a regular
fall. Thin long-jointed Bamboos form the Dyaks' only water-
vessels, and a dozen of them stand in the corner of every house.
They are clean, light, and easily carried, and are in many ways
superior to earthen vessels for the same purpose. They also make
excellent cooking utensils; vegetables and rice can be boiled in
them to perfection, and they are often used when travelling.
Salted fruit or fish, sugar, vinegar, and honey are preserved in
them instead of in jars or bottles. In a small Bamboo case,
prettily carved and ornamented, the Dyak carries his sirih and
lime for betel chewing, and his little long-bladed knife has a
Bamboo sheath. His favourite pipe is a huge hubble-bubble, which
he will construct in a few minutes by inserting a small piece of
Bamboo for a bowl obliquely into a large cylinder about six
inches from the bottom containing water, through which the smoke
passes to a long slender Bamboo tube. There are many other small
matters for which Bamboo is daily used, but enough has now been
mentioned to show its value. In other parts of the Archipelago I
have myself seen it applied to many new uses, and it is probable
that my limited means of observation did not make me acquainted
with one-half the ways in which it is serviceable to the Dyaks of
Sarawak.

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