The Kindness of Strangers

It’s a funny thing, but I felt completely at ease in that longhouse in Malaysian Borneo. I didn’t even flinch when we passed beneath a chandelier made of human skulls.

We had arrived in the village during the pale-blue dusk, when the shadows of insects could be confused for bats. The man who brought me wasn’t from the village. He was ethnic Chinese; a local businessman who was just being a helpful stranger.

Inside the communal longhouse, an old woman invited us into her section. Deer antlers hung on the walls and priceless vases served as hat-racks. The old woman gave us tea and as we looked at pictures of her late husband. Even in the grainy, colorless photos, he looked dashing wearing his fur wedding vest. She turned the page and there he was, holding those skulls. Apparently he had won his bride by out-killing her other suitors. He was a head-hunter after all.

I realized then, how much I wanted to learn about other people. But it was only a couple hours earlier that I'd stepped off a river ferry into sleepy Sibu. I was making my way from one end of Borneo to the other. The river ride was hardly ‘Heart of Darkness’ territory, and I was relaxed and carefree when I got off. At a temple I asked a stranger where I could find the longhouses. The man didn't hesitate. He waved off his friends and insisted I follow him to his car.

If I hadn't started my trip in Malaysian Borneo, then I probably wouldn't have gone with the man. At least, I might have asked him how much he wanted for the ride. But I was in the first country of my first ever backpacking adventure. I wasn’t weary yet of favors being offered with 'no strings attached'. The countries I’d travel to later would harden me up: Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, Laos, China, and India. Each of them would chip away a little more at my naivety.

I no longer put blind trust in strangers. A few years of traveling have definitely sharpened my senses. But sometimes, I just like to remember when they didn’t exist.