COMMENT | Poor and you’ll get a fine, rich and you’ll be fine

COMMENT | Every bus ride to Tenom is a lonely journey. You don’t get to see much; the tarred roads are surrounded by green hills, high and low. The bus chases the clouds that are reaching for the sun, and before you could catch them, they disappear into the sky.

The gentle ray of yellow caresses your face and awakes you from your compensatory nap – the Tenom civilisation greets you again.

For the eight villagers, Tenom was everything. Without it, their families wouldn’t have survived. All of them could recognise the smell of local coffee like a familiar homegrown scent; most families have recounted the heroic stories of Ontoros Antanom, the true glory of the Men of the Hills (Murut); few would pass the opportunity to witness the majesty of the Tenom waterfalls.

But most of all, Tenom represented a lifeline. Irip Pang was rushing in the morning. She quickly tied her hair to a ponytail, and carried her grandchild in a handmade sling of red, blue, and black.

She knew that the bus to Tenom does not come by often, so she had run to catch up with the rest of the villagers. At the bus station, Buriat Alipan was already there. Nobody could remember the day he wasn’t holding his...