Our first morning in the jungle started with a wild symphony of calls and song. The pigs had returned from their feasting at some point the evening before and settled beneath the house in their muddy pits. They began the day with a good old lung cleaning squeal and grunt, joined in by a chorus of roosters cock-a-doodle-dooing, which in turn was complimented with the steady rhythm of the morning crickets, tapping in with their steady beat. The final layer to this morning orchestration was the sounds of Aman and his family who’d been awake since first light working on their daily chores– Collecting fruit, producing Sago (More on that later) and preparing for another day of jungle life.

Following the change of plans from the evening before, our days trek to the waterfall would only be one way, Aman was set to meet us at the second home and bring us back in his canoe.

So we readied ourselves with sunscreen, hats to protect from the sun and hiking boots, not to forget swimming gear for the final destination. Also water, lots of water, the jungle is hot and humid, and you’re soon dripping in sweat and dying of thirst.

Leading the way on the trek was Nini, Aman’s daughter and a real child of the jungle. Her confidence and ability was amazing to watch, and after so many of the younger generation were leaving the rain forrest to head out to Sumatra for government schooling and lives of TVs, Phones and idolising popstars, it was nice to see that there were still some that embraced the way they’d been born from.

Nini

We followed Nini across felled tree, through muddy trenches, up streams and through thickets. I thought this day would be the perfect opportunity to try out my new water proof socks. A fine old purchase, giving me a second skin of protection beyond my boots at keeping the water from wetting my wee toeses The plan worked perfectly, the splashes of water didn’t break through the protective barrier, and whilst Vicki was talking about her squelching feet, I could only reply with stories of warmth and comfort.

Ok, so that was a fair description of the first five minutes. Here’s the truth beyond that: There’s one fatal flaw in the design of the water proof sock, ok well not the sock per say, but the human leg. See socks wrap the foot whole, cover it all snug and nice, but the leg, well, they can’t do the same to the leg, they have to go around it, which means you end up with a weak spot. And like the exhaust port of the Death Star, my comfort in ruling the jungle would soon give way; I stepped into a stream as we worked our way onward, and this stream was much deeper than the ones before it; shin deep I’d say. And it quickly hit my weak spot with perfect accuracy, funneling water down inside and replacing the warmth and comfort with the wet and squelchy.

The journey onward wasn’t wholly uncomfortable, but the worth of the socks had some what dropped in my estimations, perfect for a stroll on a damp day, but not for the hardened jungle; I think it’s another good reason why the locals go bare foot.

During the four and a bit hours trekking we past by a number of other houses and families, as well as a few Chicken Houses. It was strange to see how far apart they were and also how remote. I suppose in my mind a house needs to be connected with local shops and other amenities in order to function, but here that truth is acted out in a different way. What they need is all around them, the pigs, chickens, banana trees, sago trees, stream for water. They don’t need shops and other systems that we’re so use to, everything they require comes from the land around where they live. Even a telephone system! Mr. Moly told me about a communication system they have made up from three different sized logs, hollowed out so that they could be hit to produce a note. Hitting these logs in various patterns would send messages out to other houses up to around 10 kilometres away. Like a jungle morse code, information could quickly and efficiently be passed around instantly: That’s text messaging without those annoying Orange Offers to put it another way.

We arrived at the waterfall just at the right time, Vicki had tripped, fallen, toppled, slipped, stumbled and tumbled one too many times and had decided that she could go no further. She was staying put waterfall or no waterfall, but then we heard the sound, first just the noise of the river flowing, then quickly followed by the roar of the water as it fell and splashed down some ten meters below. I know I’ve made comment about how waterfalls have become a bit of an everyday thing out here, I mean it’s just water falling, just as the rain does almost every day, but there was something cool about this, maybe it was because the place was so remote, or maybe we were just thankful to be finally resting after the long trek.

So it was off with the dirty trekking gear and splash down in to the water to sooth the aching muscles and clean out the blisters.

Waterfall

After drying out our clothes in the sun and enjoying the rest we back tracked our way to the last house where we met Aman and the family there for lunch, a simple, yet most enjoyable noodle and vegetable dish. Following that we made our way to the river and in to Aman’s boat for the much easier journey back.

On the way we stopped off at a Government village to pick up a few supplies for the following days party, some Roti (A general name for biscuits, cake and bread) and more cigarettes as Aman didn’t approve of our original brand, these Jungle folk can get very choosy sometimes.

Back home we met with a German guy and his wife that had turned up to also stay at Aman’s place, their plan was to travel around Siberut and camp out, but after meeting a friend of Aman’s at the harbour they decided that sleeping in a house would be a wiser choice, which I think I’d agree with, I don’t quite like the idea of some inquisitive pigs introducing themselves to you at 3am.

That evening Papa put on another display for us, this time is was the creation of poison for the arrows which they used to kill monkeys, pigs, even water buffalo. This incredible concoction was made from everyday ingredients which on their own would do nothing to you, crushed chili, ginger and the sap of some green leaf, but mixing them together in a particular way would create something so potent that even a small drip would be enough to kill a human in less than a minute.

The mix was made in a special dish much like a pestle and mortar, and then inserted into a press that squeezes the juice out into a bowl.

The liquid was then painted on to the tips of the arrows before being dried over a fire and carefully inserted into a bamboo quiver.

To see such innocent ingredients it was so hard not to was to touch the stuff, but they repeatedly assured me that wise to stay clear of the stuff.

Not long after that the sun was setting and the feeling that I’d just trekked for five hours round the jungle really kicked in so it was off to bed in preparation for the following day’s party.