Batang Ai Longhouse – Life Shared Under One Roof

Journey Into the Heart of Borneo

After breakfast, our guide John arrived, cheerful, calm, and ready to accompany us for the next two days. We quickly learned that in this part of Borneo, patience and humor are essential travel companions.

The drive took nearly six hours, but the landscape changed with every curve. We stopped at a bustling local market for provision, rice, noodles, sweets, and coffee that, surprisingly, wasn’t bad at all. Somewhere along the way, we picked up gifts for the community we were about to visit: cookies, instant noodles, and lollipops for the children.

By 3:00 p.m., we reached the jetty. Our luggage and gifts were loaded into a narrow longboat, and for the next 45 minutes we glided over quiet, tea-colored water surrounded by green hills. The rain that had haunted us for days finally stopped. The silence felt like a blessing.

Arrival at the Longhouse

Hidden deep in the rainforest, the Batang Ai longhouse emerged like a wooden ribbon stretched across the jungle, home to 29 families, all living together under one roof.

A woman from the tribe waited for us at the riverbank. We followed her along a narrow path to the house, where we were shown to a long corridor, 150 meters of open wooden floorboards where daily life unfolded.No warm greetings, no introductions. Just quiet curiosity.

For a moment, we felt like intruders rather than guests.Our guide, John, quickly disappeared into conversation with the villagers, leaving us to observe.Children peeked from behind doors, giggling. Two young women shyly asked to take a photo with me. Others worked outside, tending to small pepper and rubber plantations.

There was a rhythm to their world, slow, steady, and deeply communal.

An Evening Among Strangers Who Become Friends

As dusk settled, John began cooking dinner, filling the air with the smell of fried rice and garlic.We sat on the floor to eat, simple food, laughter, and the first real sense of connection.

Then came the rice wine and rice whisky, strong and surprisingly smooth. The chief joined us, and with a few smiles and gestures, the evening turned festive.A traditional dance followed, performed in colorful attire, and yes, we were invited (or perhaps commanded!) to join in.

Later, the chief officially welcomed us, asking us to tell others about their way of life, to help keep their culture seen and valued.Our gifts were divided equally among the families, in quiet fairness.It felt like stepping into a living commune, where generosity flows without expectation.

A Night in the Rainforest

When the dancing stopped, mattresses were rolled out on the wooden floor, covered with mosquito nets.The air was thick and heavy. Children played late into the night; voices and footsteps echoed down the long corridor.Somewhere in the darkness, a fan began to hum, the chief’s small act of kindness.

It wasn’t quiet, and it wasn’t comfortable, but it was real.And sometime after midnight, between the rustling of nets and laughter of children, sleep finally found us.

Morning in Batang Ai

At dawn, the roosters called out, the rainforest waking up.I took a quick cold shower (armed only with cleansing wipes and courage), while the chief’s wife and John prepared breakfast: omelet, toast, fried bananas, and cake.We sat cross-legged on the floor, sharing food and quiet smiles.

Afterward, we walked down to the jetty, watching the mist drift over the river. Everything felt calm again, the kind of peace you can only find far away from noise and comfort.

By 10 a.m., it was time to say goodbye. On the way back, we stopped by a small clearing where several villagers had prepared a simple meal for us.Cooking over open fire, with laughter, whisky shots, and stories, it was the perfect ending to our visit.

Then came the long, five-hour drive back to Kuching, with coffee and Wi-Fi on our minds, and a quiet feeling of gratitude in our hearts.

Reflections

The Batang Ai Longhouse is not an easy place to visit, not because of the distance, but because of the humility it asks of you. You step into a world where everything is shared, where time is measured not by clocks but by the rhythm of the community and day and night.

It’s not romantic, not polished, but it’s real. And it reminds you that connection isn’t always about words or smiles. Sometimes it’s just about sitting together, side by side, and realizing that life, at its core, is meant to be shared.