Weaving is part of the daily routine at the longhouse. If an outsider was to inadvertently walk inside Rumah Gare on any given day, they would most likely see one (or all) of three activities being performed: eating (or rather talking about it), drinking (tea or tuak) and weaving. Usually, the weaving is being performed in the hallway of the longhouse, but with the current renovation work going on, some of the weavers have to work inside the house or at the back of the longhouse, in the kitchen and storage area. It doesn’t take long for the women to display some of their work. The most valuable Pua, though, may stay hidden for a while. After you befriend them, they might casually pop up a 100 year old Pua Kumbu from a dusty old corner of the house. It’s hard to put a price on something like that. It’s a small piece of history. It’s also family history and an important artifact.

You don’t find out much about the story depicted. The weavers are like that sometimes. They don’t want to share their stories all at once. It’s also true that some of them don’t fully know and understand what they are weaving about. They just weave a pattern they inherited from their mothers and grandmothers, without knowing the story behind it. The one person who can tell you all the stories is Bangie Anak Embol, the master weaver. She turned 71 on the 8th May. From the 8th June to the 30th June she will be showing off her weaving skills at the Textile Tales of Pua Kumbu II Exhibit. She can also share some of the legends and stories she knows from the old days.
The 100-year old Pua Kumbu Indai Bangie (Indai is the word we use for mother) is showing us tells the story of a man who went into the jungle and started shouting. Is that all? we impatiently ask.

That is all the story we get for now. If you appear interested to buy, you will surely get to see more Pua Kumbu. I have three or four pieces laid before me. My delight is hard to conceal when I spot the dragons that have eluded me so far. There’s four of them, displayed in pairs. The shape of their heads is unmistakably that of dragons. Nagas? I ask. Au, empat (yes, four) Bangie answers. The pattern is the result of high-quality craftsmanship. It’s a beautiful piece. The weaver is asking for 1500 RM (aprox. 350 Euro).  I should try to bargain a bit for it the next time I come here. But I don’t want to bargain too much, because I understand the value. It takes at least 6 weeks for a weaver to complete one large or a pair of smaller Pua Kumbu. Everything is done using traditional processes. Rituals are also part of the whole process. The cotton used for weaving has to be blessed during a mordanting ritual. Without the incantations, the color wouldn’t stick to the yarn.

I have seen the women prepare the yarn. I have also contributed to the part they call ngirit, stretching the yarn, one thread at a time. I counted about 2000 trips from one side to the other of the wooden frame. For very large pieces, the ngirit can take up to two days. In the age of speed I am used to, this is painstakingly slow. For days on end, they pick every little thread and prepare it for weaving.   
After the yarn is ready, they do the tying. This means they tie-up very thin plastic strings on the yarn, according to a pattern that is all in their heads. They have no blueprint for it, no sketch. When it is dyed, the plastic will keep some parts of the yarn from being colored.
There are three colors they can make using natural dye provided by nature herself. We were lucky enough to take active part in this process, preparing the engkudu, the red-brownish color the Iban get from the root of a tree. They can grow the tree on their small farms. The root is at first cut into thin slices, like potato chips. Then, you place it in a container and start to pound it, using a heavy wooden pole. The entire process may seem easy, but, trust me, it is not. Especially since it all happens under the hot sun of the Equator. When the roots are broken down into smaller pieces, mashed together, you use a large spoon to remove them and sift them so that you get something resembling a powder. Mix it with hot water and tree bark, and you get the color we were aiming for. The threads are placed inside. They will stay in hot water for the most part of the day, with Indai Bangie supervising it. Most Puas use more than one shade of color so the ikat and the dying will be performed again.
I won’t describe the entire process due to lack of space and the fact that I truly cannot fully understand every aspect of it. Anyway, after the dying you will need to wait for the threads to fully dry and then the actual weaving begins.

It’s a long, complex process and the women here repeat it relentlessly. When you see how it’s made, you start to understand the high price. But the even bigger value is the story behind every piece of cloth. I’m getting very little of that so far. That’s what I want to talk about in one of my workshops with the weavers. I want to convince them to use more stories to sell the product, to focus on the intangible value of the Pua. So that others too may discover the dragons of Rumah Gare.