Economics and Daily Life
The Use of Food
Distribution
People familiar only with industrial economies often find it hard to understand systems of distribution in nonindustrial economies like that of the Semai. Since, especially in the east where formal political structures are almost completely lacking, the system by which the Semai distribute food and services is one of the most significant ways in which members of a community are knit together, an understanding of this aspect of Semai economy is crucial to a comprehension of how Semai society holds together. A contrast between industrial and Semai systems of distribution may help clarify the dynamics of the latter.
In an industrial society A gives B money and B in turn gives A goods or services. As in a two-handed poker game, A's gain is B's loss and vice versa. Ideally, all gains and losses should add up to zero. If A's gain and B's gain are not the same, then either A or B has "cheated." To guard against cheating, both parties calculate gains and losses very closely, using money as their measuring device.
In many industrial societies, however, another sort of economic exchange takes place, although people tend not to recognize it as economic For example, people exchange "gifts" at Christmas. Here one is supposed not to calculate gains and losses. Although some people do calculate, ideally "it's the thought that counts." Christmas exchanges are just as "economic" as commercial exchanges; and Semai economic exchanges are more like Christmas exchanges than like commercial exchanges.
Take a specific example. After several days of fruitless hunting, an east Semai man kills a large pig. He lugs it back through the moist heat to his settlement. Everyone gathers around. Two other men meticulously divide the pig into portions sufficient to feed two adults each. (Children are not supposed to eat pork.) As nearly as possible each portion contains exactly the same amount of meat, fat, liver, and innards as every other portion. It takes a couple of hours to cut the pig up into portions that are exactly equal. The adult men of the house groups take the leaf-wrapped portions home to redistribute them among the members of the house group (for the composition of the house group, see Chapter 4).
The question that immediately occurs to people brought up in a commercial society is. "What does the hunter get out of it?" The answer is that he and his wife get a portion exactly the same size as anyone else gets. No one even says "thanks." In fact, as will become clear, saying "thanks" would he very rude. Moreover, whereas in some societies the hunter would gain prestige, in east Semai society he is treated like everyone else. In fact, he is probably too young to get the deference due his elders.
The rules governing this type of distribution are obviousIy not commercial. The first rule is that calculating the amount of a gift is "taboo" (punan). The second rule is to share whatever one can afford. If one has only a little surplus over one's own immediate needs, one shares with one's nuclear family; if more, with people in one's house or neighboring houses; if a large amount, with all the people in one's settlement. One must also share with guests and with anyone who asks. Not to share is punan. The final rule is that it is punan either to refuse a request or to ask for more than the donor can afford. Because of this last rule, people rarely ask outright for gifts for fear of putting the donor in punan. A person may drop in at mealtime, however, in hopes of getting some food. If no one offers him any, he mayremark casually, often averting his eyes, "I haven't had a good meal in days." If the diners have enough, they invite him to eat. Otherwise, since he has not specifically asked, they may ignore him without running the danger of punan.
There are, of course, "stingy" and "selfish" people who do not share what they can afford. Few Seinai will call themselves "stingy" or "selfish," however, and sometimes people will continue to share food with a "stingy" person for fear of seeming to calculate gains and losses. On the other hand, although "generosity" is the mark of a "good heart," sharing more than one can afford is plain "dumb." In this context saying thank you is very rude, for it suggests, first, that one has calculated the amount of a gift and, second, that one did not expect the donor to be so generous. In fact, saying thank you is punan.
The intriguing aspect of this system is that direct exchanges of goods beween A and B are punan. At any given time A gives to B, C, D, and so on. As in a Monopoly game, everyone but A profits. However, B, C, and D also have to share with A when they get a surplus. For example, A shares a pig with B, C, D, and others; B shares a python with A, C, D, and others; C shares a deer with A, B, D, and others. Some people give less to A than A gives them; others give more. In thelong run, A gets back from the group of people with whom he shares roughly the equivalent of what he has given them, though in his exchanges with any specific person he may lose more than he gains or vice versa. In short, the economic system ties a Semai to a whole group of people, and, conversely, groups of Semai are bound together by economic ties.
Furthermore, if A gets back from the other people roughly what he has shared with them, he actually profits. If he kept his pig to himself, for example, the meat would go bad long before he could eat it all. When he gives it away, it is all eaten; he then receives an equivalent amount of meat back over a long period of time so that he can eat it without spoilage. Instead of a man's getting too much food at a single time, followed by a long period of scarcity, this sharing system spaces out small portions of food over the same length of time. Since a person receives in small portions about the same amount of food he contributes in large amounts, he actually is able to consume more meat than he could have done if he did not share. The total amount of food available to the group within which food is shared is greater than the amount that would be available to all the individual members had they tried to consume it individually. Everyone profits by this system.
The result is that an east Semai individual will contribute his food to the general store not merely because he thinks it right to do so but also because it is to his advantage. The sharing of food involves economic ties that make Semai groups more stable than they might otherwise be. Furthermore, a man can rely on his associates' sharing food with him because their sharing ultimately benefits themselves.
The introduction of money has a devastating effect on this aboriginal Semai economy. As a universal standard of value, money necessarily introduces the forbidden element of calculation into economic exchanges. Moreover, money, unlike food, does not spoil so that sharing does not increase the amount of wealth available. Finally, it is much easier to hide money than food so that identifying "selfish" people becomes harder. Consequently the east Semai are beginning to exempt money (and, in some cases, things bought with money) from the rules governing the distribution of food.
The west Semai, most of whom use money and often buy food in a Malay-Chinese market, still share food with close kinsmen or within the household and the neighboring households of kinsmen. Outside these relatively narrow circles, however, people may actually sell food to each other, for example, to a nonkinsman who lives on the other side of the settlement. Moreover, since buying food permits close calculation of how much one needs, there is often no surplus over the immediate needs of a given nuclear family or household so that there is in fact nothing to share. A man who is generous to people who are not close kinsmen and/or nearby neighbors can thus gain prestige among the west Semai. Instead of receiving food for food, in other words, he receives a good reputation. In short, although the economy tends to bind together fairly large groups of east Semai, its effects are limited to smaller groups of west Semai.
Preparing and Eating Food
Both men and women cook, thresh and winnow grain, grate tapioca roots to make "bread," and so forth. Ordinarily, however, the women do much more of this work than the men. For example, men usually cook only on special occasions or when they are hungry and there is no woman around who will cook for them.
For the Semai the point of eating is to feel "full" (bəhei'). For a meal to be filling it must include a starch dish, preferably rice. When rice is scarce, roasted or boiled tapioca root may be substituted, but people say that tapioca is less filling and therefore does not make as good a meal. To eat meat, fowl, or fish without a starch dish is ridiculous in Semai opinion. "What do you think we are, cats?"
The traditional way of preparing meat, fish, or fowl is to fill a green bamboo tube with alternate layers of flesh and tapioca, adding water and the appropriate spices. The cook then stuffs leaves into the mouth of the tube so that it will not spill and puts the tube into the fire, rotating it occasionally until it is charred black all over. Small pieces of flesh may he stewed with leafy vegetables or wrapped in a leaf and roasted in the embers. When other side dishes for the starch are unavailable a Semai may have to be content with grinding chili peppers and salt together to add piquancy to the meal. Now people usually cook rice in Malay-style cooking pots.
Traditionally, men, women, and children ate together with little or no formality. Now, however, people are beginning to adopt such Malay refinements as washing their hands before the meal, using only their right hand to eat and so forth. Although there are no set meal times, the west Semai are beginning to follow the Malay pattern of three meals a day.
Daily Cycle
The idea of meticulous punctuality is far less important in Semai life than it is in industrialized societies. If one Semai agrees to meet another so that they can undertake some joint activity, he will show up at the time agreed upon. Not do so would be "taboo" (punan). On the other hand, no one is tied to split-second accuracy. When they can afford it, the Semai like to buy wrist watches and clocks, but as ornaments rather than timepieces. Although someone in the minority of Semai who know how to read a dial might arrange to meet someone else at a given clock time, neither party would be upset if the other arrived half an hour early or late.
Similarly, the idea of a fixed routine is alien to Semai life. A Peace Corps man told us about a Semai who worked for him on a road-building project. When the Semai showed up, he would arrive approximately on time. He would then work very hard and efficiently. In the course of a month he accomplished as much as his fellow workers, despite the fact that, on the two or three days a week when he had something else to do or simply did not feel like working, he would not come to work. Eventually, he was fired, not because he did less work than the Malays and Chinese on the road crew, but because his work pattern was different. The Semai tend to become restless under any system that inhibits their freedom of action or reduces their mobility. "It's as bad as having a wife," one man said of his job. In fact, as will become clear, the notion of a routine to which one's life must or should conform is not only strange to the Semai, it is also the sort of constraint which they say is likely to be bad for a person's health.
Because the Semai have a negative attitude toward routine, the following sketch of a Semai day is only statistically accurate. Some people in a settlement will probably be awake (or asleep) at any hour of the day or night. When someone is hungry, he does not wait until "mealtime"; he has a snack, whether it is the middle of the night or the middle of the afternoon. There is, moreover, a good deal of seasonal variation in daily routines. During fruit season, many people are likely to spend the whole day in the rain forest collecting fruit for sale or for domestic consumption. For instance, during July and August many people will spend a day or more in the rain forest collecting the oily nuts of the pərah (Elateriospermum tapos) or the foul-smelling but delectable beans of the bətar (Parkia speciosa). They will then sell these jungle products in the Chinese-Malay market, if there is one nearby, or to itinerant traders. In short, the account given below of a Semai day merely indicates the times when most people are most likely to be doing certain sorts of things.
The Semai do not divide their day into "morning," "afternoon," and "evening." Since their categories reflect the pattern of their life more accurately than English categories would, the following description divides the day the way the Semai do. The terms used are west Semai, but the east Semai categorization seems very similar.
Hupur Gəgəlap
"Dark hupur" begins at 4:30 or 5:00 A.M., before the first light. The onset is marked by a change in the songs of the insects in the rain forest, as certain insects join the chorus and others fall silent. People begin to stir. Eventually someone gets up and kicks the fire into a glow. Some people grunt and roll over, pulling their sarongs over their heads to shut out the light. Others go to the hearth to stretch their arms and legs over the fire in order to drive away the damp chill on the night. (Nights on the hills can be quite cool. Although we used to sweat bucketfuls during the day, we always needed a light blanket at night.)
The people who are up and moving around pay little attention to those still asleep, except to avoid stepping over their bodies, an act that the Semai say might injure the sleeper's health. The general attitude seems to be that sleep is a purely private matter. No one would deliberately disturb a sleeper except for a matter of some urgency. On the other hand, no one is going to whisper or tiptoe around just because someone else is sleeping. Perhaps as a result of this attitude, the Semai seem able to sleep through a remarkable amount of noise. Visitors often went to sleep in our house while we were talking with other people, despite the sounds of conversation or typing.
Hupur
By dawn most of the men and women who are going out to the field or the forest are on their way. Usually there are many who stay behind, but during planting season, most of the adults are out of the settlement before first light. Most of the people who leave before hupur do not wait for breakfast, although they may take along a piece of tapioca or some leftover rice in a bamboo tube. The idea is to get their activities over with before the day gets too hot, and the half hour required to cook tapioca or rice would cause too great a delay.
The people who stay behind are the ones who are sick, who plan to work indoors, or who have to face a day's work in the sun. In the last category would fall, for example, people who work on rubber plantations and women who have planned a basket-fishing expedition. They go out leisurely to defecate, usually accompanied by a neighbor or two. The women cook breakfast, usually tapioca or leftover rice and some side dish from the night before, if there is food left over. After a dip in the river, the people in the settlement go about their business. The women fill the household's bamboo tubes with water, wash clothes, weave mats or baskets, and pound rice. The men work on their blowpipes, make traps, collect firewood, split rattan, and so forth.
Yah
By ten or eleven o'clock most of the men who went hunting or fishing and most of the women who went to the fields for vegetables have returned to the settlement. If they have not already done so, they take a bath to cool off after their labor. This is one of the most eventful parts of the day. The men may have brought back a good catch, which is a topic of general interest and conversation. People who spent the morning apart exchange accounts of their experiences, often over the meal that everyone has about this time. After the meal, those who are tired may nap for an hour or so.
The closing hours of yah (about two or three o'clock) are the hottest, most humid, and most uncomfortable time of the day. A large part of the conversation at this time consists of complaints about the heat. On the other hand, one west Semai man said that "telling stories" during yah was likely to result in one's children's being born with "white eyes," that is, blind. Whatever the reason, people tend to be inactive in the early afternoon, and conversation tends to be desultory. From the Semai point of view, the end of yah marks the middle of the day in much the same way that noon marks the middle of the workday in some industrialized societies.
Duui
Duui By the beginning of duui people have finished eating and napping. This is the one time of day, according to some west Semai, that one should not sleep, because as the sun begins to set one's "soul" (ruai) may follow it, leaving one lethargic and depressed. Once again the population of the settlement splits up, some people staying at home and others going out into the rain forest. West Semai who have gathered rattan, wild banana leaves, or jungle fruits take their produce off to a nearby Chinese or Malay market for sale. These marketing groups are usually made up of men, since the women are too uneasy to deal effectively with non-Semai. The men may spend the rest of the afternoon in a coffee shop in town, spending what they have earned. They usually patronize only one shop, in part because they distrust the intentions of non-Semai too much to experiment with different shops. If the morning's fishing was good, the chances are that several fishing expeditions will set out in the afternoon. The women who have gone basket-fishing usually return shortly after the beginning of Duui, at three or four o'clock.
As the day draws to a close, rain clouds frequently begin to gather. The rain itself usually starts late in the afternoon and continues into the evening. Sometimes it takes the form of a thundersquall. which frightens people, and which they propitiate ritually (see Chapter 2). More often it is simply a downpour, and some of the children strip off their clothes, if they are wearing any, and dance around under the cool raindrops.
By five or six o'clock most people are back home for the evening meal. My impression is that, since most of the hunting and fishing is done during hupur, the duui meal often consists of leftovers from the yah meal. Just before supper the women go to get water again. Afterwards, the adults sit around indoors or on the house ladders chatting about the day's events, while the children plav outdoors.
Kələm (Məngɔnt)
As darkness falls, visitors prepare to start back for their own houses, and the children go indoors. At the same time, especially if there has been a heavy rain, the fauna that live in the roof thatch - such as luminescent centipedes, brown and yellow tarantulas, small house rats - begin to emerge. The only really dangerous ones are some of the scorpions and the occasional giant centipede or venomous snake. The one the Semai like least is a tan cricket called səment, which people say is somehow associated with corpses and which they kill by holding its head in the fire.
With nightfall, Semai activities begin to cease. Most Semai households now have a small, funnel-shaped oil lamp, which furnishes a dim and flickering light. The oil is, in Semai terms, expensive, and people have to be rather chary with it. Most east Semai earn little or no money and must depend for lamp oil on trading with itinerant Malay or Chinese traders. Formerly, the Semai used bamboo tubes filled with resin as lamps, but most people have forgotten how to make them. At any rate, the artificial light available is not very adequate, and the onset of dusk is often the sign to go to sleep.
Although children can stay up as late as they like, most of them are asleep by about eight o'clock. Visitors have usually gone home by this time, since people are rather uneasy about being outdoors after dark. Their unease is justified. After nightfall, wild animals like the tiger already mentioned, sometimes enter a settlement. Besides wild animals, the Semai say, "gangsters," "evil spirits" (nyani'), and "death spirits" (kətmoid) are abroad at night. Shrill or twittering noises attract the "spirits." For this reason, after dark people should avoid whistling or playing the pənsɔl, a sort of flute played with the nose rather than the mouth.
Məngɔnt
On an ordinary evening most adults are asleep by nine or ten o'clock. There is, however, some nighttime activity. A man and his wife may go out with torches to hunt grasshoppers or to fish. If a fishing expedition on a larger scale has been planned, it will probably take until nine or nine thirty to get it organized. By midnight the fishing parties have returned, and almost no one is awake.
Some evenings there is a ceremonial dance (the "sing" described in Chapter 9). "Sings" are held in a longhouse with a large central floor area on two or six successive nights. They provide an opportunity for boys and girls to flirt or to set a time later that night for the boy to sneak into the girl's house. There is no general obligation to attend a "sing," and groups of people drift in and out fairly freely, except when for ritual reasons the lights are put out and the door tied shut. By one o'clock in the morning most of the participants have gone home, although a couple of energetic men may keep on singing and dancing until hupur gəgəlap.
As the sounds of human activity subside, the sounds of the rain forest take over, a continuous susurration of insects, occasionally punctuated by the cough of a tiger or the shrill trumpeting of elephants. On moonlit nights there is also sometimes the sudden clatter of goats playing king of the castle on the house ladders. Against this background, one still often hears human noises, a man humming or singing himself to sleep, a sleepless woman playing the kərib. (The kərib is a piece of bamboo along which are strung two strands of palm fiber or rattan. To Euro-American ears the music of this two stringed lyre is haunting and melancholy, even when the tune is one called "Urinating in the River"). I was always moved by these small sounds against the vast, inhuman chirring of the rain forest. They seemed like an assertion of Semai humanity in a world where both nature and society were indifferent to whether or not the Semai survived.