Reminiscing the heyday of Nanga Dap

THROUGHOUT the 1960s up till the late 1980s, the two-row, single-storey wooden shops in rural Nanga Dap, housing 10 units, were a bustling place, filled with children and grown-ups.

The units were either those offering sundry goods, coffeeshops, or collection centres for farm, river and jungle produce such as rattan, wild pepper, rubber, river fish and also ‘jelatong’ – the latex from the ‘jelatong’ tree, which back in the day, was used as the base for chewing gum, mixed with poisonous gum for blowpipes, and used in place of rubber.

Today, however, the place is quiet and the shops are in a dilapidated state.

The ‘downfall’ had been gradual over the years, but the final nail in the coffin was when river transportation no longer became relevant.

Now, people travel by road, bypassing Nanga Dap along the Rajang River.

Price of progress

The situation is similar in Selangau and Tatau between Sibu and Bintulu, and also Jakar in Sarikei, which becomes much more evident after the opening of the Pan Borneo Highway.

Back in the old days, Nanga Dap was accessible only by boat either from Sibu, Kanowit, or Kapit.

Then came the old road, which is now bypassed, with no more buses or travellers stopping over for a break on a long-distance journey.

Businessmen along this stretch lament about declining business.

The decline of the shops at Nanga Dap is unlike those in some places along the Rajang River, stretching from Sibu to Kapit, such as Machan, Durin, Ngemah and Belawai, where the decline was due to mass migrations for socio-economic reasons.

This was especially so for the Chinese villagers, who went out to seek greener pastures in the 1960-1970 period.

It is known that in those days, there were over 50 Chinese families who were running small businesses and also planting fruits and vegetables, as well as rubber and pepper.

Retracing past routes

Recently, my long-time friend Tay Hock Joo and I undertook a road trip to revisit Nanga Dap, where we last went in 1974 to see fellow schoolmate, Law Kah Kwong, now a successful contractor living in Kuching.

The three of us attended SMK Tun Abdul Rahman Yakub (now SMK Dhary, or Sedaya) in Kanowit, which back then was known as Kanowit Rural Improvement School.

We were the Form 5 Class of 1977 students there.

The driving journey from Kapit to Nanga Dap took about an hour and a half, passing Song and Ngemah in between.

As a journalist, I knew that the tar-sealed 5km Jalan Nanga Dap, from Jalan Song-Ngemah-Kanowit, had just reached completion.

It only reaches SMK Nanga Dap; to go further, there is a narrow gravel road, about 1km from the secondary school that leads to a bank of the Rajang River.

SMK Nanga Dap is the only secondary school in the area, accommodating students from Nanga Dap, Nanga Ngemah and Nanga Man. It houses some 200 students under the charge of 20 teachers.

It broke our hearts seeing what was once a thriving commercial centre reduced to a near-abandoned settlement. Only two shops remained open, and there was nobody around – a few dogs were lazily lying on the ground there, enjoying the morning breeze.

“This is so pitiful – I can hardly believe it,” said Tay.

Those who stayed behind

We met a fellow Sedaya alumnus, 58-year-old Law Ka Wei, a relative of Kah Kwong who still lives in Nanga Dap – he did not join others who had migrated out during the Communist insurgency period.

“During the 1960s, there were some 50 Chinese families in Nanga Dap. Now, there are less than 10, mainly looking after their lands.

“Back then, there were Chinese families that operated the shops that also collected farm produce and served as ‘kopitiam’ (coffeeshop).

“Some provided transportation (boats) covering Nanga Dap, Kanowit and Song.”

Today, Ka Wei runs one of the two surviving shops in Nanga Dap, and occasionally, he provides river transportation covering Nanga Dap and Nanga Semaran, opposite Ngemah, which is a 20-minute boat journey along the Rajang River.

He charges RM5 per trip.

Ka Wei continued his story: “During the Communist insurgency, almost all of the Chinese families in Nanga Dap fled. Life was very difficult then, with curfews, restriction of movement, and also food shortages.

“Those running the shops just left the premises behind.

“Those who are still here, there’s just a handful of us. Our neighbours are the Ibans from the five nearby longhouses.

“It’s so quiet here now.”

According to Ka Wei, the landowners here grow rubber, pepper, fruits and vegetables, from which the commodities are sold in Sibu.

“I’m the third generation of my family. My wife, my children and I continue to run this shop, which was founded by my grandfather, and I inherited it from my father.

“Here, l also do boat-engine servicing. Mostly, though, my shop serves as a canteen selling basic items like coffee and tea, ‘mee sup’ (noodle soup), and instant noodles.

“The other one is basically a tuck shop.”

Tay and I continued our walk around the Nanga Dap neighbourhood, and not long, we saw the Tai Pek Kong Deity Temple.

“It’s so run-down,” said Tay.

“I guess it’s been years since anyone carried out maintenance on the temple,” he sighed.