Land, Weather, and Tərlaid

In this and the next two chapters I have taken an aspect of the environment within which the Semai live and tried to show how the Semai respond to it. Sometimes this approach involves splitting up topics ethnographers usually treat under a single heading. For example, Semai housing is adapted both to climate and to the local fauna. House type is therefore discussed both in this chapter and in the chapter on fauna. Moreover, since the Semai respond to their environment the way they conceive of ti rather than the way a Euro-American might, it has sometimes been necessary to include topics in chapters that may seem inappropriate. For example, from a Semai viewpoint fungi seem to belong under the heading of fauna, and I have put them there. The justification for this approach, that is, considering certain aspects of Semai culture as environmental adaptations, is that I think they make sense when considered this way while they might seem odd and arbitrary when viewed another way.

It is worth reiterating that an anthropologist's information consists solely of what people say and what they do. When he attempts to give an account of the concepts and attitudes underlying words and acts, he is making inferences. These inferences may well be wrong, warped by his own cultural and personal experiences. The reader might mentally insert "Dentan's impression is that . . ." at the beginning of any sentence that deals with Semai concepts, attitudes, or feelings.

For example, the notion of "natural order" that appears in this and other chapters is not something any Semai has made explicit to me. I think, however, that the Semai do have a feeling that there is a "natural order," that is, a way things should be and usually are. For example, people treat a single death in a settlement as an event which is sad but to be expected in the normal run of life. After two or three deaths in a relatively short period of time, however, people begin to say things like, "It's not patud. One death is patud. But three? Not patud." The word patud comes from a Malay word that means something like, "fitting, proper, fair, right." The use of this word in the context of natural events suggests that the Semai do feel that there is a way things should be, a natural order, in which deaths occur at relatively long intervals. Similarly, to have two or three of one's children die is expectable and patud, implicitly part of the natural order. But to have all one's children die is not patud. At any rate, if one assumes that the Semai do have some feeling that there is a natural order, then some of the things they do and say seem more comprehensible than if one does not make the assumption.

Topography

Most of the Semai live in either Perak or Pahang. Perak and Pahang are two States in Malaya, which is the western part of the country of Malaysia and the southeasternmost corner of continental Asia. This marginal position of Malaya relative to the rest of Asia has been used to support the contention that the Semang and Senoi are remnants of a once more widely distributed population. This argument rests on the assumption that, when relatively backward people are found only on the margin of a geographic area, they have been displaced elsewhere in the area by technologically more advanced peoples. This assumption is almost certainly correct in the case of the South African bushmen and may well be correct in other cases, for example, the Tasmanians (marginal to Australia) and the Australian aborigines (marginal to Asia). It is, however, difficult to judge whether it holds for the Senoi and Semang.

Right down the center of Semai-land runs a chain of mountains, the Main Range, about 3000 feet high and 30 to 40 miles wide. Lowland rain-forest blankets this range up to about 2500 feet, with patches of almost impenetrable secondary rain forest where the Semai have abandoned fields that have become infertile. The soil in the mountains is an acidic sandy clay, yellow to red in color. After a heavy rain, this soil becomes as slick as glass. People wearing shoes have to go on all fours to clamber up the steeper slopes. A barefoot Semai, however, stays erect by flexing his toes so that they dig into the slope at each step.

The upper reaches of the major rivers coming down the slopes are very swift and spotted with waterfalls and rapids. After a heavy rain I used to jump into the river at the upper end of the east Semai settlement, swim as hard upstream as I could, and get out of the river at the bottom end of the settlement about a minute later.

Mountains and rivers have had a marked effect on the distribution of the Semai population. The mountainous terrain is so difficult that even expert “jungle bashers” expect to cover less than 5000 yards a day as the crow flies. Semai footpaths, which are often also game tracks, follow the line of least resistance, vanishing into stream beds (where walking is relatively easy) wherever possible. The Semai themselves walk in single file, without spreading out to beat the bush for game as the Semang do. They move at a pace which at first seems deceptively slow to a Euro-American but which they can keep up long after the Euro-American is gasping for breath. The heat, the slippery clay slopes, and the biting insects combine to make walking in the rain forest an unpleasant experience, and the Semai do not take strolls in the rain forest for pleasure.

To go down a large river the Semai use bamboo rafts, probably the best craft for the turbulent rapids and shallows of the rivers. Coming upstream against the current by raft is very difficult, and people usually abandon the raft and return on foot. If rapids and waterfalls are too bad, people prefer not to make the trip.

Because it is easier to travel by river than to clamber over hills, the Semai in a single river basin are more likely to visit each other than to visit people in other river basins. For the same reason, they are very likely to marry people from the same river basin, so that most of the inhabitants of a single river basin tend to be related to each other. The result is that any given river-valley population, being relatively isolated from other Semai, tends to speak its own dialect and to have customs rather different from those of other Semai. Some anthropologists would call this kind of population a “subtribe.” Others would say that, because people in a given river valley marry each other much oftener than they marry outsiders, the “subtribe” is more properly called a “deme.” The Semai call it a gu and say that its members “have the same great-grandparents of great-grandparents.” Since the Semai do not trace their ancestry back that far, this saying seems to be a metaphoric way of emphasizing that one feels a kind of kinship with people from one’s own river valley. In Perak, in the west, roads now rival rivers as means of travel, and new gu seem to be forming along the roads.

This fragmentation of the Semai population means that the Semai do not constitute a tribe or group. West Semai refer to east Semai as “those Semang” or “those Temiar,” and the east Semai say that the westerners are “just like Malays.” A man from the east, who stresses and nasalizes final consonants, has difficulty understanding a west Semai, who does neither. In short, as already noted, the Semai constitute a people of no political cohesion and considerable cultural and linguistic diversity.

Weather and Adaptation to Climate

Malaya is generally a hot, wet country. Daily temperatures usually range from about 85-95°F. Nights are about 20°F cooler. On the tallest peaks of the Main Range, night temperatures may on rare occasions fall so low as to produce a frost. In the highland parts of Semai country, it rains about two hundred days a year. The wettest months are April and October to November, and the driest are February and July.

Semai houses are almost perfectly adapted to this climate. They are rectangular and raised on piles at least a couple of feet off the ground (see photograph). The piles raise the floor clear of any dampness on the ground and allow a cool draught under the house. The fact that the floors are often made of bamboo slats about an inch apart also permits free circulation of air. If a cooling breeze or rain reduces the outdoor temperature below the indoor one, a Semai may take whatever he is working on outside under the house. He resumes his work there, transforming his house in effect into a two-story structure.

There is often a gap of a foot or so between the walls and the roof, with the result that air circulates freely indoors. The atap (see Glossary) roof is steeply pitched, presenting a sharp angle to the sun’s rays and allowing a quick run-off of rain water that might otherwise rot the thatch. The gables of the roof extend far enough beyond the walls that neither rain nor direct sunlight enters through the gap between the walls and roof. The dead-air space between the two or more pitches of the roof serves as insulation from the sun. The atap itself is made by interweaving the leaves on one side of a palm frond with those on the other side, forming a kind of rectangular shingle. People tie these shingles onto the roof so that they overlap, making a layer thick enough to resist sun and rain. If a few shingles become rotten or are torn off in a storm, it is easy to replace them.

Part of a large east Semai settlement (1962). (Photograph courtesy of Dr. Malcolm Bolton)

Like housing, traditional Semai clothing was well adapted to a hot, wet climate. At the turn of the century, both men and women wore scanty barkcloth breechclouts or loincloths, those of the men worn so high as to expose the loins and sometimes too narrow to cover their testicles completely. The barkcloth, which the women made by pounding the inner bark of certain trees (notably Artocarpus spp.), had a rather loose texture. More extensive clothing was worn mainly on ceremonial occasions. (See photographs.)

Now, in a hot climate two of the most important ways in which the body regulates its internal temperature are radiation and sweating. Traditional Semai clothing maximized the body’s ability to radiate heat by maximizing the area of skin exposed. Similarly, sweating could proceed uninhibited by sweat-soaked clothes. The Semai recognize the importance of sweating, saying that a man who sweats heavily has “a good body,” that is, is healthy. One reason they give for eating hot peppers and other hot condiments is that such foods make one sweat. The sweaty skin can then be cooled off rapidly by a slight breeze. By exposing most of the skin, aboriginal Semai clothing maximized the power of breezes to cool the body. The loose texture of the barkcloth may have had the same effect.

Girls in fiber skirts with barkcloth belts (1930s). These skirts are apparently no longer in style. (Photograph courtesy of Louis Carrard)

Now the Semai are beginning to adopt Malay or British styles of clothing. There seem to be two main reasons for this tendency. First, according to the Semai, the new clothes are more durable and prettier than barkcloth, although the east Semai still make barkcloth for festive occasions. Second, since contact with non-Semai became relatively frequent, traditional Semai dress has become an object of scorn, ridicule, and contempt. Like most people, the Semai are sensitive to slurs. For example, the east Semai say that they gave up wearing porcupine quills through their noses after the commandant of the camp where they were relocated during the Communist uprising told them, “You look like a herd of water buffalo.”

East Semai men now wear cloth loincloths or shorts, often with a tattered shirt as well. The women wear sarongs but leave their breasts bare except when there are Malays around. If she has one, a woman may put on a brightly colored bra (“child’s shirt”) for a festive occasion or to have her photograph taken. Children go naked, except perhaps for an amulet, until about the age of seven.

West Semai men wear trousers, shorts, or sarongs and usually European-style shirts. The women dress like Malay women in sarong and long-sleeved blouse, although some of the older women go bare breasted in their own houses. Children over three years old are usually dressed. In short, the social necessities imposed by contact with non-Semai outweigh the advantages of adaptation to the physical environment.

To keep cool the Semai stay out of direct sunlight when they can. They find the idea of sunbathing weird, not only because it involves getting sweaty and uncomfortable but also because, they say, light skin is more attractive than dark skin. This notion of what makes a person pretty reinforces the tendency to stay in the relatively cool shade.

A final way in which the Semai deal with the heat is bathing. Although people know how to make soap from certain plants and will use commercial soap when they can get it, nevertheless they regard bathing primarily as a way of cooling off. People take a dip in the stream after any strenuous activity, men and women bathing separately. The stream near a settlement is divided into three areas: an upstream sector for collecting drinking water, a middle one for bathing, and a downstream one for defecation. Although many Semai, especially in the east, do not bother going to the stream to defecate, no one would defecate in the bathing area.

Girls in party dress (1930s). (Photograph courtesy of Louis Carrard)

Semai Meterology

Apparently the Semai do not think much about the weather. As in most societies, people talk about the weather quite often, but the conversation consists of complaints rather than speculation. Some west Semai have hear that, in the country of the “Pale People” (Euro-Americans), “wind feces” (frost) accumulates to a depth of several feet. A few people find the information mildly interesting, but the common attitude is that it is a matter of little concern to the Semai. In general, the Semai take the onset of the seasons, the heat and humidity, as part of the way the world is, the natural order and not something to speculate about.

The Semai say that some people can dream what the weather will be. Most people, however, are not “adept” (halaa’) enough to have such dreams. Besides, although Semai dream theory is very complex, people recognize that the predictive value of dreams is dubious. Semai are therefore hesitant about interpreting their dreams until after the prediction indicated in the dream has come true. Thus no one ever told us about having a weather forecast dream until after the prophesied weather had occurred.

Similarly, the Semai say that in theory it is possible to control the weather. For example, throwing some salt and/or a length of a certain rattan (Calamus ?manau) into a river should bring rain. Techniques of weather control tend to go unused, with the exception of the rituals to drive away thundersqualls, which are discussed below. The only case we heard of in which someone allegedly used a rain-making technique, for example, involved an east Semai man, “Tree,” who had just moved out of our settlement after a rather bitter quarrel that involved most of the people in the settlement and also in the settlement across the river. The people who had quarreled with Tree said that he had performed the rain-making ritual shortly after he left, with the result that a heavy rain had raised the level of the rivers so high that people could not get to their fields to finish planting their crops. Tree denied having performed any such ritual and said that people were accusing him only because they did not like him. Tree’s “brother-in-law” (menai), who had rather reluctantly sided with Tree during the dispute, contended that the technique described by Tree’s accusers was faulty and could not bring rain. Perhaps, he went on, people were confused by the fact that Tree had recently thrown the sap of a root into the river to poison the fist (see Chapter 3 for this fishing technique). At any rate, he finished, “they tell this story because they need an explanation for why it rained at a bad time, not because it’s true.”

The reason for giving this exchange in such detail is that Tree and his brother-in-law were probably right in their interpretation of how people were using the idea of rain-making techniques. In other words, the Semai apparently treat this idea not as a blueprint for bringing rain but to bolster the argument for their side in a dispute or to explain an otherwise inexplicable misfortune. The belief serves social ends rather than meteorological ones. Taken out of its social context and treated as if it were an item in Euro-American meteorological science, the Semai notion of how to make rain is absurd. The absurdity, however, lies not in the notion itself but in decontextualizing it.

“Hot Rain,” Nyamp, and Allied Phenomena

There are three meteorological phenomena that seem to violate the Semai feeling for “natural order”: “hot rain”, nyamp, and thundersqualls. “Hot rain” falls out of a relatively cloudless sky while the sun is still shining. Being caught outdoors in a “hot rain” is likely, people say, to result in fever or jaundice. Some anthropologists would contend that this idea is quite logical: an “unnatural” phenomenon (“hot rain”) produces an “unnatural” physical condition (disease). Williams-Hunt (1952:64, 71-72) writes that most Semai amulets are to ward off the effects of “hot rain,” but my impression is that most amulets are worn simply to ward off supernatural danger in any form. The current Semai ideas about “hot rain” may be of Malay origin, for, although there are Senoi words for “hot” and “rain,” the Semai and Temiar almost always use the Malay phrase hujan panas to describe “hot rain.”

Nyamp is a fairly rare atmospheric condition that occurs when a downpour stops just at sunset. The rays of the setting sun shining through the moisture-laden air bathe everything in a bright red or yellow light. The sky itself becomes red or yellow. The effect is like being at the bottom of a filthy aquarium and lasts for several minutes. As soon as nyamp begins, people rush out and pull their children indoors. All conversation abruptly stops. Within a minute or so, the settlement, normally bustling at this hour, is as still and deserted looking as a drowned village.

The Semai give conflicting accounts of why nyamp is so dangerous. Some people say that “evil spirits” (nyani’) are abroad, perhaps because the color of the sky “reminds them of our blood.” Others say that exposure to nyamp causes shooting pains in the side and back, sometimes with fatal results. I think that these explanations represent attempts to rationalize an unease that the Semai feel at this aberration from the meteorological “natural order.” It may be worth noting that both my wife and myself found nyamp eerie and disturbing.

The red sky at sunset and sunrise is also called nyamp. The Semai say that it has the same ill effects as the other form of nyamp. On the other hand, perhaps because as a familiar and regularly recurring phenomenon it is part of the “natural order,” people do not act nearly as frightened. For example, I found out about the danger of sunset while sitting on my porch with a couple of friends, watching the sun go down. “If you sit around outdoors during nyamp, as we’re doing now,” said one with a smile, “you get sick.” “That’s right,” said the other, “you get sick and die.” Neither made any move towards going indoors. My impression is that the only reason sunrise and sunset are said to be dangerous is that, in the Semai language, they are classified under the same term as the more eerie nyamp.

Rainbows tend to occur in association with “hot rain” and nyamp. Perhaps for this reason they are associated by the Semai with various dangers. Walking under a rainbow, for instance, might cause a fatal fever. Some people explain that when a tiger kills a large creature (for example, pig, man, deer), it flings the victim’s blood into the sky. The arc of the victim’s blood is the rainbow. Other people say that rainbows form when a “hot rain” sucks the blood from the earth where a tiger has recently made a kill. Rainbows, possibly because of their shape, are also associated with the naga or dangga’, huge, horned, subterranean dragons. Although the idea of naga seems to be of Indian origin, it is widespread in Southeast Asia. There has even been an English expedition to Semelai country to see whether naga are really dinosaurs. One old east Semai man, who delighted in “putting me on” (a favorite Semai game), gave a long, dead-pan description of how he had on three occasions (one just a few months before) encountered baby naga, “about two feet long.” They were too fast and slippery for him to catch, he said, but he drew me a picture of one, horns and all.

Thundersqualls

Thundersqualls seem to be the most frightening violation of the Semai “natural order.” The onset is startlingly sudden. The sky turns black, lit by searing flashes of lightning. There is an almost continuous crashing of thunder. Winds reach speeds of 40 or 50 miles per hour in a matter of minutes. The accompanying torrential rain, as much as four inches an hour, poses the danger of flooding even settlements on high ground.

Semai houses, especially the small houses in the east, are not built to take this sort of punishment. They begin to sway, and often a gust of wind will rip off some of the atap shingles. The pilings of the longhouses and of the plank houses are usually set deep enough into the soil to withstand the wind. The roof poles, however, are tied on with rattan strips which may be rotten and which tend to fray or come loose as the house sways in the wind. There is also the danger that a tree struck by lightning will smash in the roof. To avoid the danger of being caught under a collapsing roof, people come down from their houses and hurry through the driving rain to take refuge underneath the sturdiest houses in the settlement. Before leaving, they extinguish their cooking fires lest the wind blow the embers into their inflammable bamboo and atap interior. Once outside, they build bonfires, partly to keep warm in the sudden chill, partly to keep away wild animals and “evil spirits” (nyani’) that ride with a thundersquall.

Mothers cover the heads of their young children to protect them from the sight of the lightning and the sound of the thunder. To older children, the women say “Fear! Fear!” and, covering their own ears to shut out the explosion of the thunder, urge the children to do likewise.

Most thundersqualls, the Semai say, result from human activities. Making too much noise (for example, laughing uproariously), fooling around with dark-colored things (for example, leeches, fire-blackened cooking pots) or playing with flashing things (for example, mirrors, dragonflies) can attract a noisy, dark squall with its flashes of lightning. Breaking the incest taboos, eating mixtures of certain types of food (see Chapter 3), or being cruel to something defenseless may also bring on a thundersquall. In these latter cases, a violation of the social order results in an upheaval in the natural order. Conversely, the prospect of a punitive thundersquall tends to keep people from breaking social rules.

A variety of Semai beliefs keep this prospect in people’s minds. The vast number of black and flashing things which one should treat with caution reminds people of the danger of thundersqualls. Moreover, certain rather common plants and animals are associated with thundersqualls. For example, certain kinds of gingerwort must be cooked outdoors for fear of attracting a storm. There is a kind of bird, the common cheb tadeid, said to have been “Thunder’s” wife when Thunder was a man. A small eyeless snake is referred to as “Thunder’s headband.” Most important are “Those Beneath the Earth”: naga and their “adopted children,” that is, pythons, crocodiles, and giant monitor lizards. Deep holes in river banks are said to be dwelling places of naga. During severe thundersqualls naga leave their holes, bringing floods and turning once populous settlements into quagmires.

According to the Semai, the entity chiefly responsible for thundersqualls is Thunder (Enku). Whether Thunder is one or many entities is hard to tell, in part because the Semai often do not distinguish between a linguistic category and individuals that belong in that category (see Chapter 3). Asking people how many “Thunders” there are brings frowns of puzzlement. (Of course, asking English-speaker how many phenomena are covered by the word “thunder” might have the same effect.) The question is not one the Semai would normally ask themselves. After thinking the problem over, people usually answer that there must be at least several Enku, “because sometimes it thunders in different places at the same time.” Occasionally, moreover, people seem to use the word enku in as impersonal and abstract a way as the English word “thunder.” On the other hand, when no outsider is asking bizarre questions, the Semai usually speak of Thunder as a single, male, huge, black monkey, which rides cumulus clouds (rahuu’) together with the less clearly visualized “Wind” and “Rain.” For example, one east Semai described Thunder as a gigantic black leaf monkey that makes thunder by throwing coconuts. These coconuts sometimes turn up as “thunderstones” (actually prehistoric stone axes, associated with thunder by people all over Southeast Asia). A west Semai account says that Thunder is like a giant siamang or gibbon, with a bright “red” breast, “as big as King Kong” (the movie about King Kong had recently been shown at a nearby town). Lightning is the flash of Thunder’s shotgun, and thunderstones are his bullets. It would be an error, I think, to take these descriptions too literally. Most Semai seem to enjoy metaphors and are very talented at explaining an unfamiliar set of concepts by referring to a familiar analogous set. The descriptions of Thunder may be at least partially metaphorical.

According to the older anthropological literature, many Senoi and Semang regard Thunder either as a High God much like the Christian God or as the instrument of such a God, Tak Pedn. The Semai attitude towards Thunder is illustrated by the following story. Enku fell in love with his younger brother’s wife, but she wanted no part of him. Enku therefore transformed his organ into a sort of Malayan mushroom that looks remarkably like an erect phallus. Unwittingly, the woman sat on the mushroom, slaking Enku’s lust. But when the younger brother found out about this trick, he built a fire around the mushroom. And that is how Enku (Thunder) got his voice. The narrator of this story usually finishes gasping with laughter. The stories about Bah Pent (“Shorty”), the Semai equivalent of Tak Pedn, involve even grosser indignities for poor Pent. The themes of the stories and the general lack of reverence narrator and audience display make it hard to regard either Enku or Pent as a High God.

From the Semai viewpoint, stopping a thundersquall involves dealing with Thunder and naga. There is a set of rituals for doing so. This ritual complex is more highly developed in the east than in the west, at least nowadays.¹ The following description refers to the east Semai rituals. These rituals are performed by individuals, not by groups. They seem to be spontaneous, except in the case of children, who sometimes need urging.

The most frequently performed ritual is chəntɔh. "If we did not chəntɔh, this whole place would be flat to the ground, covered with mud - and we'd be underneath it." To chəntɔh, a person holds a bamboo container out in the driving rain until it is nearly full, then with a bamboo knife or machete he gashes his shin, catches his blood in the rain-filled bamboo and flings the liquid into the shrieking wind, crying “Tərlaid! Tərlaid! The word tərlaid (see Chapter 6) means roughly “to act in a way that might bring on a natural calamity.” The cry is an acknowledgment that one might have committed such an act, for example, have used a mirror outdoors in the sunlight so that it flashed. People disagree about why Thunder and his allies want the blood. Some say the storm creatures eat the blood, others that they paint themselves with blood as, on festive occasions, the Semai ornament their faces and bodies.

Another explanation people offer for chəntɔh is that, by punishing themselves for tərlaid in this ritual, they assuage the storm creatures’ anger and make them pity the frightened Semai. A related way to achieve this end is to tear out a tuft of one’s hair, fling it on the ground beneath the downpour and beat it with a heavy pestle, crying “Adoh! Adoh! Adoh! Adoh!” Adoh is a cry of suffering like “alas” or “ouch.” It is noteworthy that in these rituals the Semai are not trying actually to punish themselves but to trick the storm creatures into thinking that the people are actually punishing themselves.

These are other rituals that express overt hostility towards the entities that cause thundersqualls. One involves cursing the squall and Thunder, telling them to go away, preferably to Malay territory. Some west Semai (who the east Semai say are really Malays) were vastly amused to hear a tape recording of an east Semai ordering a thundersquall to move on to their territory. Finally, a man will sometimes rush out with a spear into the blast of wind and rain, stabbing violently into the heart of the storm. The Semai do these things because they are afraid. But their fear is not transformed into reverence or awe towards the hazily defined creatures they say rule the thundersquall.

¹. There is a strong possibility that these rituals are of Semang origin. Readers interested in pursuing this topic are referred to P. Schebesta’s wide-ranging but rather dated and superficial article “Religiöse Anschauungen der Semang uber die Orang hidop (die Unsterblichen),” Archiv für Religionswissenschaft 24 (1926): 209-233 and 25 (1927): 5-35 ↩