Longhouse on the Prairie

I, the writer, standing beside the front of Ensaid’s longhouse in Sintang.

Our village, located near the border with Sarawak, Malaysia, was simple and untouched by modern conveniences. 

We had no electricity or television at home; our lives were guided by the moonlight and the occasional oil lamp. 

One of our favorite shows was Little House on the Prairie

Our daily routine was filled with traditional activities, and our entertainment came from community gatherings and the stories told by our elders.

Despite these limitations, there was one way we could escape our everyday routine. We often visited a neighbor who was more fortunate and had the only television in the area. There, we could experience the outside world through rare television broadcasts. 

One of our favorite shows was Little House on the Prairie. Although we could only watch it occasionally, the story of the Ingalls family in 19th-century America captivated us deeply. We were mesmerized by a world so different from our simple and secluded existence, a world full of adventure, challenges, and family values.

Whenever I closed my eyes, memories of Little House on the Prairie merged with memories of the longhouses around us. One such longhouse was Rumah Betang Ensaid Panjang, located in Dusun Rentap Selatan, Desa Ensaid Panjang, Kecamatan Kelam Permai, Sintang Regency, West Kalimantan. 

This longhouse is a remarkable example of traditional Dayak architecture, housing 88 people from 22 families. It measures 118 meters by 17 meters and stands about 12 meters high, with a wooden floor elevated around two meters above the ground. This structure not only protects us from the damp ground but also reinforces the sense of community among us.

Longhouses like Betang Ensaid Panjang are more than just homes; they are the heart of our community. We gather there to celebrate various ceremonies, from weddings to annual festivals. These events strengthen our bonds as one large family. 

Our customs are proudly maintained, and each generation continues the traditions passed down by our ancestors. During these celebrations, we experience a warmth and closeness that is hard to describe, something we often saw on television but rarely experienced in our daily lives.

In 1982, after graduating from high school, I moved to Batu, Malang, East Java, to continue my education. I spent a decade living and studying in this "Apple City." By 1989, I had relocated to Jakarta, where I spent the next 20 years working for the Kompas Gramedia Group.

This nostalgia drives me to visit longhouse

Every time I return to my homeland in Borneo, I find myself yearning for the old-world charm of longhouse life. 

This nostalgia drives me to visit longhouse Kopar in Bodok, which now stands empty and is just a memory. I also make trips to the Iban longhouse, Ensaid, in Sintang, and spend several nights at the longhouse of Sungai Utih, where Apai Jangut, also known as Bandi anak Ragae, is the tuai rumah, or head of the longhouse.

Amid the hustle and bustle of modern city life and the individualistic, consumer-driven, hedonistic, and ego-centric lifestyle, I long to return to the communal life and social order of the longhouse. I call this cherished ideal “Longhouse on the Prairie”—a place that feels comforting, peaceful, serene, natural, warm, full of camaraderie, and harmonious.

The memories of Little House on the Prairie

Reflecting on my experiences, the memories of Little House on the Prairie and the longhouses that were so dear to me blend into one narrative. Both the distant world we saw on television and the everyday life in our longhouses form a rich, colorful mosaic of memories, bridging the gap between the world we dreamed of and the reality we lived. 

These memories remind me that, despite the vast differences in our worlds, the values of togetherness, family, and tradition are universal and unite us all. Amid our limitations, we found richness and beauty in the life we lived, and that is a valuable lesson I always carry in my heart.

Yet, these reflections also stir a deeper longing for the untouched wilderness of Borneo—the rainforest that cradles the longhouses and sustains the life around them. The dense, verdant canopy of the Borneo rainforest is more than just a backdrop; it is a vital part of the narrative of our lives. 

This ancient forest, with its towering trees and rich biodiversity, has been both a protector and a provider for the communities living within it. It shelters the longhouses and creates an environment where traditions are maintained, and the rhythms of nature dictate our way of life.

The rainforest is a living testament to the harmony and balance that our ancestors sought to emulate in their social structures. The intertwining roots of the trees reflect the interconnectedness of our lives—each tree, each creature, and each human being plays a role in the larger ecosystem. Just as the longhouse communities rely on the forest for their livelihoods, the forest relies on the communal practices of the people to ensure its preservation.

In contrast, the rapid urbanization and deforestation in modern times threaten this delicate balance. The relentless march of development often overlooks the profound relationship between the people and their natural environment. 

The loss of forested land not only disrupts the habitats of countless species but also erodes the cultural heritage of the communities that have lived in harmony with these lands for generations.

As I think back on the lush, green expanse of the rainforest and the life within the longhouses, I am reminded of the lessons that nature teaches us.

The forest, with its ancient trees and vibrant ecosystems, embodies the same values that we hold dear: interconnectedness, respect, and a deep appreciation for the natural world. It stands as a poignant reminder of what we stand to lose if we do not tread lightly and respect the delicate balance of our environment.

In the end, my longing for the longhouse and the rainforest is a yearning for a simpler, more connected way of life. It is a call to honor the traditions that have shaped our communities and to protect the natural world that sustains us. 

The rainforest of Borneo and the longhouses within it are symbols of a harmonious existence, where every element plays its part in the grand tapestry of life. This ideal of balance and unity is something I carry with me, a cherished ideal that continues to inspire and guide me in my journey through the complexities of modern life.

Munaldus: The longing for the longhouse

I think it’s just me who misses the idea of returning to and living in a longhouse like before. Munaldus, my close friend and adopted brother, is even more than that. 

Munaldus and his siblings, along with the CU Keling Kumang movement, have built a longhouse measuring 63 by 20 meters in Tapang Sambas.

 "It’s still a trial run. If research shows that many Dayaks want to return to living in longhouses, we'll build more to sell," Munaldus explained. 

Munaldus (on the right) and I both long to return to living in a longhouse, embracing the familial atmosphere, peace, and joy we experienced during our childhood in the longhouse. Photo credit: Apai Kris Lucas.

If Munaldus’s idea of building longhouses for sale and living in them takes off, I’ll be the first to sign up. I believe the longing to live within the traditional culture and ancestral heritage of the longhouse from the past is still strong today. 

In Sarawak, it’s not even a question—they still live in modern longhouses. In Indonesia, however, many longhouses were dismantled during the 1970s and 1980s under the New Order government’s pressure, with some pretty absurd reasons (Jenkins, 1978).

-- Masri Sareb Putra