If you're sick of your screen-addicted kids, take them to Borneo. Photo / Getty Images
There’s nothing like the jungle to turn screen-addicted softies into survivors, writes Dianne Bortoletto
Deep in the jungle in Borneo, our accommodation is only reached by boat, has no power, bucket showers, and my quarters are up steep steps fashioned from branches to a tree house. The bed, a mattress on the floor, is covered in a mosquito net, and the bathroom - a stretch to call it that - was underneath, pebbles in place of a tiled floor.
I’m on a family tour of Borneo with Intrepid, a trip my sister booked for her family, that she invited my 75-year-old mother and I to join. Always yearning to travel, I immediately said yes. I barely looked at the itinerary, that was probably my first mistake. I’m not sure I would have agreed to such rustic digs if I had. I was excited to see orangutans and anything else would be a bonus.
In the small group tour, there were two other families, both from Britain, seven adults and a total of seven kids between us aged between 8 and 15 years.
At Kopel, a small eco village deep in the Kinabatangan Jungle where we were based, tiny grey squirrels darted up trees, curious silver leaf langurs watched from a careful distance, and the resident tarantula was thankfully safely out of sight.
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With no electricity and no internet at camp, the kids had to learn to amuse themselves away from screens, and to be fair, the adults did too. Uno became a quick favourite. Even the shyest 14-year-old girl became animated when placing down a ‘draw four’.
The scheduled night jungle walk had everyone on edge. The kids were petrified at the idea of leeches, a real possibility. We were all issued with leech socks – cotton non-stretch socks that go over pants and have a tight elastic under the knee - and wellington boots.
Pitch black, head torch on, the flying insects made a beeline to the light, bouncing off into my face. Keeping my mouth closed, I proceeded cautiously behind the guide. The treacherous track made from slippery, sticky mud clung to the soles of my boots, making each step heavy.
One wrong foot was all it would take to face plant into a mound of elephant evidence. Interestingly, elephant poo is square in shape, think of a mound of brown rubix cubes.
We saw a couple of small geckos, a night bird, and seventy trillion bugs. Little leeches, much like small worms, hung from the tips of leaves, waiting to silently drop on passers-by who would become their dinner.
As we learned, leeches are quite easy to get off. The resilience built up in the kids was incredible to watch. One 13-year-old boy who was almost in tears at the thought of leeches before the night walk, grew a little taller having survived three leeches, following the calm instructions of our guide to roll-and-flick, removing each of them before they really latched on.
Everyone scored at least one leech. I had three leeches on my hands, but it got worse, in a much bigger and hairier way.
The next day sitting on bench seats that flanked the runabout tin boat, the 11-year-old next to me said, “did you know you have a big spider on you?” pointing to the side of my life vest. To which I freaked out and urgently yelled at him to get it off. The poor little Brit, uninitiated to creepy-crawlies, he didn’t know what or how to do that.
Looking like a deer in headlights, his eyes frozen wide, my screaming intensified, “GET IT OFF ME NOW! - NOW!”.
Fight or flight mode kicked into gear; on a small tin boat, flight was not an option. His instinct took over and in a flick of a hand, he went from zero to my new hero, saving me from near death from a giant huntsman. Sometime later after regaining my composure, I apologised to him, and to his parents for yelling, to which they shrugged and said that the experience has given him new life skills.
We did two river cruises along the Kinabatangan River, the longest river in Sabah, and it was one of the few times the kids pulled out their phones, though only to take photos. We constantly clicked away at proboscis monkeys, hornbills, kingfishers, more silver langur monkeys, catfish, and even saw a crocodile as it slunked under water.
After pulling up along the riverbank, we hiked to a logged area of the jungle to work with volunteers on a regeneration project. Our guide, a deaf-mute conservation worker, gave us instructions in sign language on how to plant trees. Despite the sweaty, humid conditions, not one of the kids complained, everyone joyfully doing a small amount of work for the betterment of Borneo.
We didn’t spot any orangutans in the wild, our tour guide telling us that the herd of elephants that recently came through the area frightened them away.
When we left the jungle, I was saddened to see nothing but palm plantations for hours and hours as we drove from west to east across the state of Sabah. So much of the orangutans’ natural habitat, 80 per cent in fact, has gone in favour of providing an income for local farmers.
Our next stop was the sobering Sandakan War Memorial, dedicated to the memory of 2500 allied soldiers who became prisoners and died during the Sandakan Death Marches. There wasn’t a dry eye amongst us as we read the story of what has become known as the single worst atrocity suffered by Australian servicemen during World War II. Another valuable lesson, this time in history, for the children to take away.
We visited at the Labuk Bay Proboscis Monkey Sanctuary in Labuk Bay. With their most unusual hanging noses, these unique primates are not found elsewhere in the world. They scurried through the trees to the feeding platform, the alpha male keeping the younger males in check with a glare or show of teeth.
About 45-minutes’ drive from there is the Sepilok Orangutan Rehabilitation Centre. The centre was set up to help re-introduce these wonderful creatures back into the wild after a life of domestication or being orphaned. It’s located within the Kabili-Sepilok Forest Reserve which covers an area close to 4300ha, much of it is virgin rainforest.
Behind the nursery’s one-way glass, without disturbing, we watched young orangutans learn how to climb on a specially constructed jungle gym, play together and crack open coconuts.
Taking a short walk on the boardwalk, we reached the viewing platform and watched in awe as these charming creatures swung into view. A little one clung to her mother’s chest as she saunters through the trees. They eat a supplementary balanced diet of fruit and vegetables laid out for them twice a day and human contact is kept to a minimum.
The children were initially a little confused by the sheer joy showed by us adults, but once it was explained how precious and how endangered orangutans are, the kids soon understood their privileged position.
Besides the resilience and confidence the kids built up once they realised that they needn’t have been so fearful in the jungle, the beauty of Borneo is seeing its varied and unique wildlife. It’s very likely that in their lifetime there won’t be any orangutans left in the wild.
By disconnecting, we were better able to reconnect, both with each other and with our incredible natural surroundings. Borneo served as a wondrous reminder of how incredible Mother Nature is, spiders and all.
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