Chominah bin Sidin has always been at home in the jungle. As a boy, he spent his childhood wandering through the dense greenery of Brunei, learning to live off the land.
At just five years old, he would venture deep into the forest, setting traps, foraging for food, and even spending nights beneath the towering trees. The jungle was his playground, his classroom, and his way of life.
Now, at 76, that same connection to nature remains within the dusun elder, woven into his hands and his craft. Though he no longer hunts or forages for survival, he still finds himself returning to the wilderness – this time, in search of mengkuang leaves.
THE LEAVES THAT TELL A STORY
The mengkuang is a hardy plant that thrives in swampy areas, its long, spiky leaves stretching towards the sky. Traditionally used across Southeast Asia, it is prized for its durability and flexibility, making it the perfect material for weaving mats, baskets, and even decorative items. But before it can be turned into art, mengkuang requires careful preparation.
“The leaves need to be dried properly,” Chominah explained. “If not, they turn black. The light colour comes from sun-drying.” The process is slow and meticulous – first, the sharp thorns must be removed, then the leaves are stripped into thin strands, shaped, and left to dry under the sun. Only then can the weaving begin.
It is a craft that demands patience, but for Chominah, the act of gathering mengkuang is just as meaningful as the weaving itself. The leaves are becoming harder to find, with many growing in protected forests or deep in hard-to-reach swamps. But that doesn’t deter him. His affinity for the jungle means he knows where to look, even if it means trudging through difficult terrain.
A NEW CHAPTER IN RETIREMENT
Chominah’s journey into weaving began after retirement. A former Bahasa Melayu teacher, he was searching for something to fill his days – something meaningful, something creative.
So, he gathered elders from his village, people who still held the knowledge of traditional weaving, and invited them into his home. Together with his wife, Cahayah binti Kilat, they wove, shared stories and kept the craft alive. Later, the husband and wife took a course at a local university, which opened their eyes to new possibilities.
Before, they had only woven simple baskets and mats. But the instructors encouraged them to experiment, to create intricate designs, to see weaving not just as a necessity but as an art form. Today, they produce more than just basket but also hats, decorative pieces, and traditional headwear, each piece carrying a story of tradition and skill.
THE RHYTHM OF THE CRAFT
Weaving is not a rushed process. A mengkuang floor mat can take an entire day of sitting and weaving – an uncomfortable task that requires endurance.
Smaller items like hats and baskets take about two hours, but the real work happens long before the weaving begins.
“So even though the product takes a few hours, the actual process takes days,” said Chominah. “The collecting, the drying, the preparation – it all adds up.”
Despite the effort, he enjoys the rhythm of it. There is something meditative about the process, the way the patterns form under his fingers, the repetition of each weave. And though it started as a pastime, it has become a modest source of income as well.
KEEPING TRADITION ALIVE
The married duo often participate in cultural fairs and district events, where they showcase their work. Some days, they can earn up to BND500 in sales – not a fortune, but a satisfying reward for something they love doing.
Yet, the craft is at risk of fading. Younger generations show little interest in weaving, and the real challenge lies in sourcing the raw materials. “The craft itself isn’t the problem,” he explained. “It’s getting the mengkuang that’s difficult.”
Still, he remains hopeful. He believes that young people, especially those seeking work, should consider learning the skill. Even tourists are often surprised when they see him weaving – many expect only women to do this kind of work. But to Chominah, weaving belongs to anyone willing to learn.
“This craft shouldn’t disappear,” he said simply. “Anyone who can should help keep it going.”
And so, like the jungle paths he once roamed as a child, Chominah continues his journey – collecting, weaving, and preserving a tradition that deserves to endure. – Wardi Wasil
