Wahpering’s bungalow, other than being larger and roomier than the ordinary
bungalow, was exactly like all others in style and architecture.
It was built close to the water’s edge, on palm posts six feet above the ground.
This was for protection from the tiger, from thieves, from the water, and for
sanitary reasons. Within the house we could just stand upright. The floor was of
split bamboo, and was elastic to the foot, causing a sensation which at first made
us step carefully. The open places left by the crossing of the bamboo slats were a
great convenience to the punghulo’s wives, as they could sweep all the refuse of
the house through them; they might also be a great accommodation to the
punghulo’s enemies, if he had any, for they could easily ascertain the exact mat
on which he slept, and stab him with their keen krises from beneath.
In one corner of the room was the hand-loom on which the punghulo’s old wife
was weaving the universal article of dress, the sarong.
The weaving of a sarong represents the labor of twenty days, and when we gave
the dried-up old worker two dollars and a half for one, her syrah-stained gums
broke forth from between her bright-red lips in a ghastly grin of pleasure.
There must have been the representatives of at least four generations under the
punghulo’s hospitable roof. Men and women, alike, were dressed in the skirt-like
sarong which fell from the waist down; above that some of the older women
wore another garment called a kabaya. The married women were easily
distinguishable by their swollen gums and filed teeth.
The roof and sides of the house were of attap. This is made from the long,
arrow-like leaves of the nipah palm. Unlike its brother palms—the cocoa, the
sago, the gamooty, and the areca—the nipah is short, and more like a giant
cactus in growth. Its leaves are stripped off by the natives, then bent over a
bamboo rod and sewed together with fibres of the same palm. When dry they
become glazed and waterproof.
The tall, slender areca palm, which stands about every kampong, supplies the
natives with their great luxury—an acorn, known as the betel-nut, which, when
crushed and mixed with lime leaves, takes the place of our chewing tobacco. In
fact, the bright-red juice seen oozing from the corners of a Malay’s mouth is as
much a part of himself as is his sarong or kris. Betel-nut chewing holds its own