It was via a friend of a friend that we were invited to travel to Brunei on the island of Borneo. Once there, the sister of the invitee took the opportunity to show us around. She even managed, via a letter, to convince the British officers at the airport to begrudgingly allow us to accompany what we, in Australia, know as the ‘flying doctor’.
Seated on what equated to a metallic box, we faced the starboard side of the helicopter, as we were conveyed deep into the dense jungle. The pilot skilfully landed the aircraft on a green, grassy, flat knoll, that was not an inch longer than its skids.
The doctor informed us that it would take about an hour for him to consult with his patients and, therefore, he suggested that we make our way down the hill and into the village. As we set off, we were amazed to learn that his surgery was nothing more than a tiny wooden ‘box’ on spindly wooden legs.
Down in the village, all we encountered were shy children with broad smiles. We soon realised that the visitation of tourists from the outside world must have been a rarity. They bashfully retreated beneath the wooden buildings that had also been constructed upon stilts. They were dressed in their school uniforms. The boys attired in collar and tie and shorts, which seemed somewhat incongruous when all of the children we saw were barefooted.
Upon our return to the helicopter, we waited for the doctor to conclude his final consultation. Once he had, he inquired as to how we had fared down in the village and we conveyed to him that we had only encountered children. He regarded that favourably and added that it would not have been wise to have ‘antagonised’ anyone because it was, indeed, only two or three generations beforehand that this particular tribe practised head-hunting!
It was almost in the very same breathe that he broke the news to us that he would have to leave us there for an hour or so, as he had received information that the helicopter had been instructed to stretcher a patient from another location to hospital and that there would be ‘no room’ for us. We waited patiently, all of the time mulling over what he had divulged to us and hoped that neither he nor the pilot would forget about us.
In order to make the most of our time in the sultanate of Brunei, it was suggested that we board a ferry for the island of Labuan, quite some distance of the coast, to visit what was an immaculate war cemetery. Workers crouched beneath umbrellas as they clipped its lawns by hand.
The ferry was a surprise to me, as it appeared to have been constructed of little more than varnished plywood. This made me so pleased that the sea was calm. One of its male passengers had boarded on the outward voyage, with a large, magnificent multi-coloured parrot perched on a cruciform, hand-held roost. Regretfully, the gentleman chose to take it downstairs to the enclosed deck on what was a hot, sunny day, only to re-emerge perhaps halfway to our destination with its limp, lifeless body in hand to solemnly release it from the ferry’s stern, to its watery grave.