‘Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope.’
– Maya Angelou (1928-2014). She was an acclaimed American author, poet, and civil rights activist. She is best known for her series of autobiographies, which explore themes of identity, racism, family, and resilience.
At just nine years old in 1962, I was a typical boy in our remote village deep within the dense forests at the foot of Mount Sadung in Serian District (now Serian Division) about 40 miles from Kuching.
My days were filled with the simple joys of rural life, from fishing in the many streams and rivers to exploring the jungle alone or with my friends.
Unbeknownst to me that year, I was about to become an essential part of a delicate and secretive interaction that would forever change my understanding of life and the world.
In the village, there were many unwritten and unspoken rules and cultural taboos, especially surrounding interactions between men and women.
One such unspoken rule was the strict separation between the genders, making direct communication between a man and a woman quite complicated, particularly if they were unmarried or had no blood relation.
This societal constraint was a significant obstacle for two villagers: Bana (nickname for Barnabas), a hardworking young man, and Ilin (a local version of Evelyn), a girl known for her intelligence and gentle demeanour.
Bana and Ilin had developed a deep admiration for each other from afar. Bana had often watched Ilin as she helped her mother on their farm or around their village home, and Ilin had heard stories from her friends about Bana’s handyman skills and kindness.
They yearned to communicate and share their thoughts and feelings, but the strict local customs stood as an impenetrable barrier.
One afternoon after school, while I was washing pots and pans in a mountain stream behind our house, a task I did almost every day, Bana approached me.
“Could you do me a favour?” he said, his voice low and earnest.
“It depends on what you want me to do!” I replied.
He took a small packet from his pocket and said, “Would you take this to Ilin? Tell her it’s from me.”
“You’re funny, man! You can easily go to her house. It’s not far,” I said.
“You’re more familiar with her because you’re friends with her younger brother.”
“Oh, okay, but I’ve got things to do before my parents return from the farm,” I said.
“I understand. When can you go to her house, then?”
“This evening, I think.”
Though puzzled and intrigued, I agreed to do as he asked. As promised, I took the packet to Ilin whose home was on the northern side of the village.
When Ilin opened the packet, her eyes lit up, reflecting a mixture of surprise and delight. She whispered a thank you and gave me a folded piece of cloth, delicately embroidered with a message in colourful threads.
“Give this to Bana,” she said softly.
Thus it began. I became the silent intermediary, the bridge between Bana and Ilin. Day after day, I carried messages back and forth between them. Sometimes it was a small token, like bits of food; other times, it was a carefully crafted note in a fancy envelope.
I did not know the depth of the emotions connected to what I was conveying, only a sense that what I did was important and helpful to the people concerned. I did not understand the joy on Bana’s face each time I delivered a message and the quiet contentment that settled over Ilin when she received a reply.
Be that as it may, being thrust into my role forced me to slowly and inadvertently learn about the complexities of a romantic relationship, the unspoken language of love, and the courage it took to defy societal norms without being a full-on maverick.
As the months passed, my understanding grew. I noticed Bana’s hands trembling slightly when he handed over a new message, and how Ilin’s cheeks would flush a soft red as she read Bana’s words. I guessed these veiled and secretive interactions were filled with genuine emotion and connection.
One day, while delivering another note, I was stopped by an elder, a friendly grey-haired man with a watchful eye. He questioned me about my frequent trips between Bana and Ilin’s homes. Puzzled but determined, I explained my role as best as I could.
“Am I in trouble or something?” I asked.
“No, you’ve done nothing wrong,” he said, smiling. “But do you understand what you have been doing for them?” he asked.
“What is there to understand? They give things to each other, that’s all,” I said.
“Ooh! Those are not just things, child! They are special things!”
“What’s so special about them? The other day, I took a letter and cakes to Bana. He was more interested in the letter than in the cakes.”
“Ah! The classic fishing style,” he said.
“Fishing? What fishing?”
“Oh, come on, child! Don’t look so confused. The young man is fishing.”
“Who? Bana? That fellow does not even like fish very much!”
“Aiya! Not your kind of fishing! This is fishing for the heart and mind.” He grabbed my fishing rod and asked, “You’re going fishing, right?” I nodded.
“Come, let’s walk. You go to your fishing hole while I go to my farm. Let’s talk along the way.” We walked single file because the path was narrow.
As we walked, with me in front, the elder spoke about the magic of catching the heart and mind, much of which went right over my head.
“It’s a strange way of fishing because the fisherman offers himself as the bait,” he went on.
“What?! Uncle, you must be joking. That’s impossible!”
“Not in this type of fishing, child! As the bait, the man must try to be impressive and attractive. Remember, he might have to compete with other baits.”
“Oh, I didn’t think of that. So, what Bana has been sending to Illin are ….”
“Himself!” he said, finishing my thought.
“How?”
“Those things represent him; they are him! In our culture, they can’t go dating like people in town, so that’s how to go around the problem.”
“I see. Then, what happens?”
“Well, all he can do is wait and hope. It will take time. If the bait is taken, then the families will get involved. End of fishing!”
Naturally, the elder shared more than I could fully grasp. It would have been wonderful to understand it all, but perhaps due to my lack of maturity, much of what he said eluded me. I heard his words, but I couldn’t decipher the deeper meaning. And I could not connect what was spoken with what was left unsaid — a real pity, as that would have revealed so much more.
Before we parted at the fork in the path leading to our respective destinations, he nodded slowly and advised me to continue playing my bait-setting role and to take it seriously.
The experience made me mature in ways that set me apart from my peers although I was not conscious of it then. I learned (at least I thought I did) about the power of love and communication, trust’s importance, and compassion’s value.
My role as a messenger taught me that sometimes the most significant lessons in life come from the simplest acts of kindness. And I was being kind to Bana and Illin.
A few years later in high school, when I spoke about the experience to a friend, he called me a “go-between”. Intrigue, I looked up the word in an Oxford dictionary and confirmed he was spot on; hence, the title of this story.
Through more observations and in-depth book knowledge, I learned that in conservative societies, go-betweens play a crucial role in facilitating romantic relationships while adhering to cultural norms and traditions.
In a case like Bana and Illin’s, a person interested in initiating a romantic relationship approaches a go-between, usually a trusted family member, friend, or community elder.
The go-between gathers information about the individual’s preferences, background, and expectations for a potential partner. In my case, however, I did not have to do that because initially, I was just a dispatch boy, a bearer of gifts and messages.
Eventually, the relationship between Bana and Illin became evident to their families. With a little more help from me, they arranged further meetings and interactions, always in the presence of family members or within socially acceptable settings.
Even after all these years, I never fully understood what I meant to Bana and Illin. To me, I did not do anything special — I was merely a conduit facilitating the formation of their relationship.
However, I suppose they saw things differently, as evidenced by how they treated me until the end of their lives in the late 1990s. I recall every time I met them, they welcomed me as if I were their long-lost brother.
Bana always greeted me with the usual endearing, rough-and-tumble affection of a big brother. On the other hand, Illin was always exceptionally warm and fussed over me until I left their presence. Although I have an elder sister, they felt like the older siblings I never had.
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of the Sarawak Tribune.
