Walking with the Penan people of Borneo's Sarawak rainforests

South China Morning Post

24-05-2025

Covered in mud, I cling to the trunk of a young tree on a treacherous slope, catching my breath. George Ulan, our guide, is gathering leafy branches to block a narrow trail, having discovered layuk sa'at mu'un – very bad bees – whose stings leave you incapacitated for days, but the rest of the group is out of earshot. It is my fourth month in the jungle that year and I am thrilled to have been taken along on this walkabout with George and his family. I am trying my best to keep up.
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Instead of shouting a warning, he unearths a medicinal root specifically used to treat the very-bad-bee stings and places it on a makeshift barrier of branches and leaves, a signal for those behind us in Oroo', a form of sign language of George's people, the
Penan , an indigenous tribe from the rainforests of
Sarawak and Brunei.
Considered some of the last nomadic hunter-gatherers in the world, less than 100 years ago the Penan moved according to ecological rhythms and spiritual belief. It is estimated that of about 25,000 Penan today, fewer than 200 remain nomads, and numbers are dwindling fast.
Bethshiba Jengan, Joseph Belait and Uret Wan prepare fish. Photo: Esslin Terrighena
George grew up in Long Kerong, an early Penan settlement established along the Selungo River in Malaysian Borneo in the 1960s. Long Kerong is known for being one of the key villages involved in protecting the jungle from large-scale commercial logging through peaceful blockades and protests. In the 1980s, Swiss environmentalist Bruno Manser, who lived with the Penan, helped bring global attention to their struggle, advocating for their land rights and
rainforest protection. He founded the Bruno Manser Fund (BMF) in 1991, which remains dedicated to this cause today.
As their habitat and sacred ancestral
lands were destroyed , ancient trees felled, rivers polluted and wildlife decimated, commercial logging forced the Penan off the lands with which they had been living in nomadic symbiosis. Yet they remain profoundly rooted in their jungle and traditions. The surrounding rainforest is more than just George's home, it provides everything for his people: food, medicine, tools, clothes, timber. There's no supermarket, pharmacy or local high street. The closest city, Miri, is 12 hours away.
We are trekking up Batu Layuk (bee mountain) – no one bothered to mention that before we set off – which comprises a punishing climb through rough terrain, rewarded by breathtaking views over Selungo Valley. Well into his 60s, George ascends with the nimble gait so characteristic of the Penan, pointing out useful plants, edible mushrooms and animal tracks, such as those left by porcupine feet and sun bear paws. I, a quarter of a century his junior, trudge behind in silence, just trying to get through each step.
Children play volleyball in Long Kerong. Photo: Esslin Terrighena
Six hours later and we're at the top of the mountain, where I am flooded with tremendous relief and happy hormones. But that's the way it is here. I have rarely felt as vibrant as I have after a few nights, being rocked asleep in my hammock to the symphonies of this jungle, with its drinking vines, glow-in-the-dark fungi, moss-covered tree trunks, gigantic elephant-ear leaves, bat-filled caves and oversized ants.