‘Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much.’
– Helen Keller (1880–1968). She was an American author, activist, and lecturer who became the first deaf-blind person to earn a Bachelor of Arts degree.
In the 1950s and ’60s, in our village — a little slice of the world in Serian District (now Serian Division) — three remarkable women found themselves in a fix that would make lesser souls tremble.
Now, two of these women, Supi and Migan, were young mothers — sprightly in their late twenties, yet burdened like buffaloes in a rice field. Their husbands had pulled a disappearing act, leaving them to wrangle toddlers while pondering the mysteries and vagaries of manhood. The third, Sibel, was a single woman in her late thirties, navigating the treacherous waters of life after burying not one, but two parents one after another within five years.
As a sprightly child of that era, I thought “left behind” meant someone wandered off to the nearest shop for a pint or two. Little did I know that these husbands had packed their bags for good, leaving their wives to grapple with the weight of solitude.
But lo! Supi, Migan, and Sibel, through the serendipity of farming neighbours, decided to join forces. They realised that working together was like adding water to dry clay; it made survival not just possible, but a tad pleasant. So, they plotted the most charming little commune, placing their cosy individual houses in a triangle.
Between their homes, they crafted a space where the children could frolic and they could enjoy one another’s company while reviewing and planning their daily activities. Flower bushes added splashes of colour, bright enough to make even the grumpiest of neighbours crack a smile.
Now, their ambitions didn’t stop there. They cultivated a veritable food forest, a cornucopia of fruits and veggies that would put a grocery store to shame. This was their lifeline, their little Eden, and they tended it with great fervour.
At the heart of this bustling enterprise was an outdoor kitchen, complete with a thatched roof. The fire pit there became the epicentre of their lives — a place where laughter bubbled up like the stew they cooked, rich with stories and camaraderie.
But, as any good tale goes, two challenges loomed like storm clouds on the horizon.
The first was the ticking clock of the paddy farming season, which dictated their lives with the same authority as a stern schoolmaster. When farming wrapped up, Supi and Migan would return to their parents, while Sibel would retreat to her lonely village house. Separation made their hearts grow heavy, like a sack of maize on a hot day.
The second challenge was the impending school age of the toddlers. The village school was a trek away, and they couldn’t very well send the little ones off to cross the wilderness alone — no, that wouldn’t do at all.
After much pondering, they decided to replicate their commune, this time with the help of some reliable male relatives, just a stone’s throw away from the outskirts of their village. They found a cosy spot near a gurgling spring, where they were not too far from their beloved farm while staying connected to the village.
Now, let me tell you, the curiosity of the villagers, especially the womenfolk, was as sharp as a hawk’s eye. They whispered and cast wary glances, suspecting these women were up to no good, perhaps plotting to abscond with their husbands. But Supi, Migan, and Sibel, with their heads held high, kept their focus on their community.
As time wore on, the fruits of their labour began to shine, and even the sceptics took notice. Their children thrived, and the food forest flourished, transforming suspicion into admiration.
Yet, they also stirred up some unwanted attention. Unsavoury characters, drawn by the scent of vulnerability, circled like sharks. Supi and Migan, having been hurt by past betrayals, were cautious, choosing to keep their hearts safeguarded although they remained open to genuine friendships.
And wouldn’t you know it, one day a dapper rogue sauntered into their lives, claiming to be a benevolent farmer in need of a home. He wove tales as sweet as molasses, but the women, with their keen instincts, sensed the thorns beneath his charming exterior. They kept him at arm’s length, relying on trusted allies instead.
In the end, they forged respectful relationships with a handful of honourable men who proved their worth, becoming allies in this grand adventure.
Years later, sometime in the second half of the 1960s, as I sat in the library of my secondary school library, I stumbled upon the word “commune”.
It was not a happy coincidence primarily because it was associated with “communism”, and communists in those days were existential threats to the country.
Back then, the words commune, communist, and communism conjured images of dark conspiracies and whispered fears, for in those days, communists were the bogeymen hiding under the bed.
A communist commune refers to a community where property, resources, and means of production are owned and managed collectively by its members.
The concept is rooted in eliminating private ownership and class distinctions, aiming to create a society where all members have equal access to the community’s wealth and resources.
Notwithstanding communism, communes are typically organised around the principles of direct democracy where decisions are made collectively by the members rather than by a central authority. The members share responsibilities such as work, production, and distribution of goods.
It sounds good and proper, but the system failed due to economic inefficiency, lack of individual incentives, and human nature.
The communes often struggled to produce sufficient goods and services because of centralised planning and lack of innovation, which led to scarcity and stagnation.
The absence of personal incentives for hard work and innovation diminished productivity as communal sharing of resources did not reward individual effort.
Additionally, their notion of equality often clashed with human desires for personal advancement and ownership, leading to dissatisfaction and internal conflict, ultimately collapsing the system.
Yet a commune can be positive in other contexts beyond communism, particularly where people seek alternative lifestyles, close-knit communities, or sustainable living practices.
In intentional communities, for example, people live together based on shared values, such as environmental sustainability, social justice, or spiritual beliefs.
In these communes, members often share resources, responsibilities, and decision-making processes, fostering a sense of community and mutual support.
Another group called eco-commune pursue environmental sustainability. The adherents prioritise sustainable living practices such as using renewable energy, organic farming, and minimal waste.
They often share resources and work together to reduce their environmental impact, creating a lifestyle that is both sustainable and cooperative.
The third type — the co-housing communities — are people living in private homes sharing common spaces such as kitchens, gardens, and recreational areas. Supi, Migan, and Sibel belonged to this category.
The idea is to create a strong sense of community while allowing some level of privacy. Co-housing promotes social interaction, cooperation, and a support network among neighbours, which can be especially positive for families, the elderly, or those seeking stronger connections.
Other groups include the artist collectives, therapeutic communities, and religious or spiritual communities, to name just a few.
In all these contexts, communes are viewed positively as they promote cooperation, shared responsibilities, and a strong sense of community. They counterbalance the isolation and individualism often found in modern society.
In the case of Migan, Supi, and Sibel, their commune was a place of hope, a gathering that turned isolation into a thriving community. Through cooperation and shared dreams, they build a life rich in connection, laughter, and the occasional bit of mischief.
Thus, the story of the three remarkable women should remind us that even in the face of adversity, the bonds of friendship and community can create a combination of resilience and joy that no man — or wayward husband — can ever unravel.
So, there you have it — a tale with a touch of adventure, humour, and warmth, bringing life to the struggles and triumphs of extraordinary women!
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of the Sarawak Tribune.
