Latest news with #BajauLaut
The Star
3 days ago
- General
- The Star
Bridging gaps for stateless kids
Empowering youth: A student at Iskul taking on the Open Water diving test in Pulau Mabul; and (below) the Iskul team commemorating the end of the Pesta Bulan Paluwak, an environmental and cultural festival. — Photos courtesy of Iskul Iskul continues the fight for formal recognition PETALING JAYA: A decade has passed since Iskul Sama DiLaut Omadal (Iskul) began transforming the lives of stateless children in Sabah through alternative education and community development initiatives. Co-founder Chuah Ee Chia said their efforts were further enhanced after being recognised as one of the Star Golden Hearts Award (SGHA) winners in 2022. 'Our advanced students completed their marine stewardship module and successfully implemented an action project by designing and building a floating trash trap. 'We also trained three students who now hold open water diving certifications. 'They are now part of our new coral restoration initiative with Reef Check Malaysia, alongside Omadal youth,' she said, underscoring Iskul's milestones in education and youth leadership. Chuah also said that Iskul has made significant progress across education, health, environment and livelihood development. 'Our vocational students received training in traditional Bajau Laut weaving and product development. 'In 2023, Yayasan Gamuda commissioned our first order of woven name tags. 'Two years later, they returned to order pandanus keychains – our first step towards helping students earn alternative income,' she said in an interview. To empower Iskul's teachers and students in content creation, she said their YouTube channel has gained enough traction to become a YouTube partner, enabling content monetisation and providing a new income stream. These achievements have not come without challenges, particularly in obtaining formal recognition as an alternative learning centre for stateless children in Sabah. Chuah shared that Iskul's application was initially approved by the Education Ministry. But it later stalled due to the absence of a standard operating procedure for registering schools for stateless students in Sabah and Sarawak. 'This gap is frustrating, especially considering the large number of stateless and undocumented children in the state. 'We wonder why there has been little initiative from the government to address this systemic issue,' she said, adding that the group reached out to several state government agencies with the hope of gaining official support. 'While many expressed verbal encouragement, none was able to offer formal backing for Iskul. 'This lack of institutional recognition has made it difficult for us to access stable, long-term funding,' she said. Despite resource and funding challenges, Chuah noted that being recognised as an SGHA winner has motivated them to think more intentionally about Iskul's future. She added that one of their main goals is to establish a proper structure that supports a complete transition for Iskul to be fully community-led, run by and for the youth of Omadal, both stateless and citizens. 'At the same time, we recognise the importance of bridging resources. 'We hope to set up a structure that enables individuals and organisations with more privilege, whether through financial means, skills or networks, to contribute meaningfully to Iskul's work. 'This includes developing clearer pathways for partnership, donation, mentorship and collaboration that centre on the needs and leadership of our community,' she said, emphasising efforts to strengthen social entrepreneurship to allow students to earn a living. These challenges have not deterred Chuah and her team from continuing to inspire changemakers in Malaysia. 'If you ever feel tired or overwhelmed, know that it's okay to pause. 'Rest is not a sign of weakness. It's part of the journey. Take time to reflect, breathe and care for yourself. 'The change you're working towards is important, but so are you. Sustaining meaningful impact requires sustaining yourself,' she added.
The Star
03-08-2025
- Entertainment
- The Star
Safeguarding our cultural heritage
Rich heritage: A Bajau Laut man in traditional dress in the bow of his lepa (boat) performing the igal-igal (fingernail) dance in Semporna, Sabah. — UWE ARANAS/Wikimedia Commons MANY indigenous traditions, be it locally or globally, are quietly fading into the background, as globalisation and digital media continue to shape our identities at lightning speed. Among those at risk are the rich musical and dance traditions of the Bajau community in Semporna, Sabah.
Borneo Post
17-07-2025
- Borneo Post
Seen but never welcomed, the Bajau Laut of Semporna continue to lose out in tourism boom
The Bajau Laut live in poverty around Sabah's east coast's islands. — Malay Mail photo SEMPORNA (July 17): On the sparkling waters off Sabah's east coast, tourism is thriving as nearly 2,000 mostly Chinese tourists and divers flock to the picturesque islands around Semporna every day for the insta-worthy white sand beaches, water bungalows over turquoise seas, and teeming marine life. But for the resident Bajau Laut, Semporna's famed sea nomads, the reality beneath the glittering tourism ads is far less idyllic. Despite being cultural icons of the Sulu and Sulawesi seas, they are shunned and stateless, living in fragile stilt homes or boats anchored off the islands, tolerated more than accepted. Their unique underwater skills and traditions are a potential tourism boon, and opportunities are all around them, but without documents and rights, they can only participate from the very fringes. Malaysia, and most Malaysians, does not recognise them as anything other than 'Filipinos' and often refer to them derogatorily as 'Pala'uh'. They have little to no chances of earning citizenship despite having settled around Sabah's east coast for generations now. The Bajau Laut are permanent fixes of the region, having roamed around on their house boats for hundreds of years, living off the sea, before boundaries between Malaysia, Philippines and Indonesia was drawn. When countries began to form, the Bajau Laut, in their nomadic existence, fell through the cracks, going everywhere but belonging nowhere but the sea. The Bajau Laut are human icons of the Sulu Sulawesi Sea, but live with no connection, shunned by both Malaysia and the Philippines. — Malay Mail photo Still just carving out a living The cluster of islands around Semporna are the reason why the coastal town is moving beyond their 'cowboy' reputation over the past decade, attracting the young Chinese crowds to what is being marketed as the 'Maldives of Malaysia'. Islands like Bohey Dulang, Pom Pom, Sibuan, and Mataking offer private water villas and yacht tours while others like Omadal, Selakan, Kalapuan, and Dinawan still feature heartbreakingly impoverished families who tell time and dine by the sun and the moon. The disconnect is startling. And while locals can take advantage of the tourism boom — setting up accommodations, eateries of any kind, souvenir shops, and tourist facilities — the Bajau Laut, without means of formal business, still have to carve out their living with underpaid menial work. They are easy to exploit: tour guides take them on 'cultural tours' to photograph their twinkling eyes and dazzling smiles amidst their ramshackle huts, chucking them food and change in return, and business owners pay them a pittance in return for their catch of the day. 'They can get work in restaurants, as dishwashers or general workers but they are underpaid because they have no documentation. So they are used to doing the 'dirty work', wash dishes, carry rubbish, do laundry …' said Bakir Sadung, a local undocumented Bajau Laut. Bakir hails from the island of Omadal, where he says 90 per cent of the people are undocumented. Without documents, he did not attend school as a child, but he was one of the lucky ones who made friends with a local businessman and got a job at a tourism company as a snorkel guide. The Bajau Laut community has mostly transitioned to building their houses on stilts on the water, but some still live on houseboats. — Malay Mail photo Bakir learned how to speak Sabahan Malay from a neighbour when he was a kid and this led to more opportunities. He is still somewhat illiterate but said he is able to get by with an understanding boss and colleagues. He said that most of the other people in his community did more 'gig' jobs by catching local seafood that was in demand and selling them to seafood restaurants. Duli, a 19-year-old Bajau Laut, was walking along the jetty in Semporna holding pails carrying small lobsters in the evening. 'RM20 a kg, very delicious,' he said in fluent Mandarin to the Chinese tourists walking past. He managed to catch some interest and bargaining ensued with the tourists. He shrugged nonchalantly and smiled shyly when asked how he learnt to speak Mandarin. 'It's not easy to make a living. You do what you have to do,' he said. It is a life that they can get by with but not one which carries much future, especially for the hundreds of stateless children wandering around Semporna. Ten-year-old Mat, walked around Semporna during the day wearing a football jersey emblazoned with 'Messi' on its back, looking for any opportunities. He saw a tourist looking lost and asked them what they are looking for. They show him their phone where there are photos of local delicacies and asked him where to find them. Mat and a younger friend soon acted as local guides for the tourists, bringing them to the local seafood market and then to find souvenirs. For their hours' worth of initiative and effort, they were paid with fried chicken on rice. Sometimes, they are given money. Their friends also roam around the town, helping with anything from looking for parking space to carrying their plastic bags. Shopkeepers around the town also give them biscuits and snacks, saying that they deserve to eat. The alternative is sniffing glue to stave away hunger, a sight that is also common around the town. When asked why they were not in school, Mat shrugs and said, 'No IC'. Small beacons of hope A few minutes from Semporna town sits the huge water village of Bangau-Bangau, where a mix of Bajau Laut, Palauh, Ubian, and Bajau Sama all co-exist, in organised chaos. 'Although they are living in the same neighbourhood, there is still some discrimination against the Bajau Laut who live here. Those that have MyKads are on a higher social strata. Those that do not, but have more roots on land, can speak Malay and have jobs are better. The lowest are the 'boat people', they call them Pala'uh. 'They're seen as dirty, useless glue sniffers, not Malaysian,' said Hairul, a local guide from Semporna. 'People say they smell, they look different, dress differently, don't speak good Malay … they are not as welcome, and most keep to themselves. It's been normalised for generations, and they are used to it,' he said. There are groups of people recognising the Bajau Laut's conditions was no fault of their own and have been working hard over the last decade to change this perception, and hopefully, change their future along the way. Grassroot movements like youth-driven Borneo Komrad and Iskul Sama Dilaut Omadal envision a different future for the Bajau Laut and have been trying to empower them through education, skills, and awareness for the last 10 years. An educator at Borneo Komrad and passionate advocate for the Bajau Laut children said that they have been ignored for far too long. — Malay Mail photo Both run literacy schools for children and just as importantly, also teach life skills, providing a safe community space. The schools have been running since 2015 on private grants and funding. Though often operating in legal grey areas, they have supported dozens of Bajau Laut students through literacy with some studying writing, art, agriculture, sewing, visual product development and even meditation — 'Anything we know how to do'. 'At university alternative, we teach them to be confident, to own their identity and speak up. They learn to advocate for themselves, and to lead their community,' said Azahar Usman, better known as Cikgu Ajjak, an educator and community organiser for Bajau Laut youths at Borneo Komrad. The work can be rewarding, but it is frustrating — there are no official provisions for stateless schools, and any attempt at formalisation is seen as political. Their open advocacy has gotten them into trouble — having their bank account frozen and operations shut. 'In 10 years, we've always had interference. Still, we believe the government must take responsibility for this. These are our people,' he said. Cikgu Ajjak said the job came with a caveat, 'We were told it would be a great learning experience working here. The only condition is — you have to be okay with the possibility of getting arrested,' he said wryly. Iskul Sama Dilaut Omadal, the school sits just across from the Bajau Laut settlement on Omadal island, they are separated only by some ten metres of shallow waters but the difference in standard of living is stark. Co-founder Chuah Ee Chia said the school's growth — from teaching a handful of children on the sidewalk to now having its own waterfront house — has been a long journey. Along the way they have been evicted, told to shut down, had problems with authorities as well as the local community. 'We now have a conducive environment nearest to Bajau Laut settlement. We have a health clinic and better rapport with the people. 'Our first year students are now teachers. This was something that was so unlikely before. Bilqin speaks fluent Sabah Malay now. Essentially, we managed to build some bridges between the Bajau Laut and the people. On Omadal Island, a school dedicated to the future of Bajau Laut children stands. — Malay Mail photo 'They sometimes act as the middleman or translators with the people, the government … when they go to hospitals or when we try to get them documents … they were also present during the demolition exercises when the authorities came,' said Ee Chia. 'But it's still a work in progress to change the perception of the government and the people and close the gap between the stateless and Malaysian Bajau Laut,' she said, adding that the immediate next step was to get the school legally recognised as a private school. Advocates like Cikgu Ajjak and Ee Chia know that although education will go a long way in improving the lives of the next generation of Bajau Laut, their future is still far from secure with the lack of legal status. 'It means being trapped in a cycle of poverty, unable to access healthcare, schooling, or formal jobs. Always at the mercy of the authorities, at the governments' of the days' whim. 'It's not just about getting citizenship. It's about dignity,' said Cikgu Ajjak. 'They want to be part of Malaysia. They want recognition. But the system is against them.' Still, signs of hope emerge in every corner of the islands — Duli and his friends learning a new language, Mat and his friendly approach, Aidil, a 20-year-old learning how to cut hair and shave at his neighbourhood barber, and Sue, a Bajau Laut learning the art of tie-dyeing hand sewn cloth bags for sale. Beneath the surface of marginalisation, the new generation is looking for ways to do more than just survive. But until the system — or political will — starts to see them, the Bajau Laut remain on the outside looking in — Malaysians in all but name, waiting for the rest of the country to see them as equals. — Malay Mail
The Star
06-05-2025
- The Star
Where the sea breathes life
THE first thing you notice on the journey to Semporna is the slow transformation of the landscape. As the road winds eastward through Sabah's lush interiors, the land flattens and the air grows saltier. The thick jungles give way to oil palms, stilt villages and the Celebes Sea glitter stretching far beyond the horizon. It feels like you're approaching the very edge of the world – and in many ways, you are. Fishing boats return at sunrise to Semporna's bustling waterfront, where life unfolds to the rhythm of the tides. Semporna, which means 'perfect' in Malay, is a coastal town that seems to float between land and sea, a gateway to some of the most spectacular waters on Earth. It hums with a rough-edged charm: fishing boats bob along the waterfront, seafood stalls sizzle with the day's catch and divers from every corner of the globe gear up for the adventures that await offshore. But the magic of Semporna truly begins when you leave the mainland. A short boat ride whisks you away into an aquatic paradise – a scattering of islands ringed with bone-white beaches and reefs bursting with life. A scenic boardwalk leads to serene water chalets, offering a peaceful retreat with panoramic views of Semporna's pristine coastline. Sipadan, Mabul, Kapalai and others are names that echo promises to divers and dreamers. Here, the ocean is a cathedral of colour – tornadoes of swirling barracuda, delicate nudibranchs draped across coral shelves and green turtles gliding lazily beneath sun-streaked waves. Yet, among all this natural splendour, it is the Bajau Laut people who give Semporna its soul. Known as the 'sea gypsies,' the Bajau Laut are among the last true marine nomads. For centuries, they have lived almost entirely at sea, migrating between the islands and shoals aboard lepa-lepa – slender wooden boats that serve as both home and vessel. Their connection to the ocean is not poetic; it is absolute. In a modest sundry shop, a local woman prepares traditional snacks – reminders of Semporna's warm hospitality and cultural richness. Many Bajau children learn to swim before they can walk. They free-dive to incredible depths, harvesting sea cucumbers, fish and shellfish with little more than a spear and a breath of air. Indeed, the Bajau Laut are often called the world's finest natural fishermen. In a display of breathtaking skill and stamina, Bajau divers slip beneath the surface without modern equipment – no scuba tanks, no masks – relying only on centuries of instinct and training. With lungs as disciplined as those of pearl divers, they can stay submerged for minutes at a time, some for as long as five minutes, while navigating the labyrinth of coral gardens below. Underwater, they move like marine creatures themselves, completely at ease. A Bajau fisherman, armed with a handcrafted wooden spear, will glide through the submerged world with slow, deliberate movements, conserving every ounce of oxygen. They hunt lobsters, octopuses and reef fish with uncanny precision, often securing their catch with a single, fluid strike. Watching them from the surface – their bodies reduced to shimmering shadows in the sun-dappled blue – is to witness a dance as old as time. Their livelihood is as precarious as it is remarkable. Two Bajau Laut boys armed with home-made spearguns, ready to dive in search of fish in the shallows – skills passed down through generations. Free-diving day after day takes a toll on their bodies, yet it remains their primary means of survival in a world where access to land and resources is limited by statelessness and circumstance. Their history is a weave of migration, trade and endurance. Believed to have originated from the southern Philippines, waves of Bajau people spread through the Sulu Archipelago into Sabah. Stateless and often without formal citizenship, they exist in the margins – moving across invisible borders drawn by governments but irrelevant to a people whose real homeland is the sea itself. Visiting the floating villages around Semporna is an encounter with a different world. Rows of stilt houses teeter above turquoise shallows. Children paddle between them on makeshift rafts or half-sunken canoes, flashing bright smiles. Women in vibrant sarong hang fish to dry, while men mend nets under the sweltering sun. A lone Bajau Laut woman paddles over seagrass meadows, selling fresh coconuts and shellfish from her boat – a floating marketplace on the sea. At low tide, the sea recedes to reveal gardens of seaweed and starfish beneath the homes, only to return with the rhythm of the tides. There is hardship here, undeniably. Life without a nationality means limited access to education, healthcare and stable work. Yet there is also an enduring resilience – a stubborn beauty to the way the Bajau live, crafting existence from the currents and tides with grace and dignity. Back in Semporna town, the day's adventures are best concluded with a feast of seafood, plucked fresh from the ocean. The waterfront night market is a sensory explosion: the smoke of grilling squid, the crackle of frying prawns, the gleam of slipper lobsters and tiger grouper laid out on ice. Plates arrive piled high with buttered lobster, spicy sambal clams and sweet, tender crabs – a banquet that tastes of the ocean itself. As the sun sinks behind the town, painting the sky in molten hues of gold and crimson, you begin to understand why Semporna is so much more than a diving hotspot. It is a living museum of an ancient maritime culture. It is the stage for the Bajau Laut's timeless ballet with the sea. It is a place where beauty and struggle coexist, where stories are written on the waves and sung by the wind. Visitors come here for the underwater wonders, but they leave with something deeper: a glimpse into a way of life that, though threatened by modernity and politics, still endures with fierce pride and quiet poetry. In Semporna, the sea is not just a view. It is life itself – endless, restless and achingly beautiful.
Yahoo
02-05-2025
- Science
- Yahoo
Legendary Female Free-Divers Reveal Evolution in Action on South Korean Island
To survive on this wild planet we call home, humans need to adapt. That's not just a feat of strength of will, but of the body. To deal with different environmental pressures, our bodies change over generations, tweaking the traits that will optimize our ability to not just live, but to thrive. We see it at high altitudes, where the human body has adapted to lower oxygen levels in the air. Now, scientists have found the genetic tracers for adaptation on South Korea's Jeju Island, written in the genetic code of the Haenyeo: women who free-dive into frigid waters, year-round, to harvest food from the seafloor. For centuries, Jeju Island relied on the work of the Haenyeo. Now, the need for their services is on the wane, and most of the women are older, with an average age around 70 – possibly the last generation to exercise the tradition. "They're absolutely extraordinary women," says geneticist Melissa Ilardo of the University of Utah. "Every day, they head out and get in the water, and that's where they work all day. I saw women over 80 diving off a boat before it even stopped moving." Ilardo has spent years studying human adaptations to extreme environments. In 2018, she and her colleagues published a paper describing the first population found to have evolved genetic adaptations to ocean free-diving – the Bajau Laut people of Southeast Asia. She and her colleagues wanted to know if similar adaptations improve the abilities of the Haenyeo as they dive to depths of around 10 meters (33 feet) to collect ingredients like abalone and seaweed from beneath the cold, heavy waters. Their study involved 91 participants: 30 Haenyeo divers; 30 Jeju locals who are not divers; and 31 people from Seoul on mainland Korea, with an average age of 65 for all participants. DNA samples were taken, and participants also had their heart rate and blood pressure tested, both at rest, and during a simulated dive in which they submerged their faces in a bowl of cold water. "If you hold your breath and put your face in a bowl full of cold water, your body responds as if you're diving," Ilardo explains. "A lot of the same processes happen in your body that would happen if you were to jump in the ocean, but it's done in a way that's safe for people with no diving experience." Interestingly, there was no genetic difference between the Haenyeo divers of Jeju Island and the other locals on the island. But the Jeju populations were more than four times more likely than Seoul residents to have a genetic variation associated with lower blood pressure. This is likely because holding one's breath, as is necessary for a free-dive, raises one's blood pressure. The researchers speculate that naturally lower blood pressure is vital for Haenyeo divers, who work even while pregnant. Heightened blood pressure during pregnancy can result in conditions such as preeclampsia, which can be quite dangerous for both mother and fetus. "This association may reflect natural selection to mitigate the complications of diastolic hypertension experienced by female divers while diving through pregnancy," Ilardo says. "Since Bajau women also dive while they're pregnant, we wonder whether pregnancy is actually driving a lot of the genetic changes in these diving populations." Interestingly, the stroke mortality rate on Jeju is lower than most of Korea, suggesting that this adaptation may have some side benefits, since stroke is associated with high blood pressure. The other genetic difference between the Jeju and mainland populations that the researchers observed has to do with the body's pain tolerance for cold. This, they believe, may help make the divers less susceptible to hypothermia, since they dive year-round, even in winter when temperatures plunge to freezing levels. "While we did not measure thermoregulatory physiology in our study, this represents an avenue for future research," the authors write. There was one very intriguing difference between the Haenyeo and the non-divers of Jeju Island. When placed in the simulated dive scenario, the heart rates of the Haenyeo slowed much more than the heart rates of either control group. This suggests that the heart rate adjustment is a learned response, rather than a genetic one – the product of decades of experience. The study results, the researchers say, could help scientists better understand the workings of the human body, how we respond to environmental pressure, and the effects those changes have on other health outcomes. "We're really excited to learn more about how these genetic changes may be affecting the health of the broader population of Jeju," Ilardo says. "If we can more deeply characterize how those changes affect physiology, it could inspire the development of therapeutics to treat different conditions, such as hypertensive disorders of pregnancy and stroke." The research has been published in Cell Reports. Here's How Long You Need to Form a Habit, And 8 Tips to Stick With It This Memory Technique Primes The Brain to Absorb More Information Ice Age Humans Were Experts at Wielding Fire, Study Finds
