Meet Shantanu 

When COVID-19 put a halt to the stream of travellers who visit the far eastern Himalayas hoping to spot a red panda in the wild, one would imagine a blissful reprieve for the shy creatures. 

“Actually, during the pandemic, poaching actually increased,” corrects photographer and conservationist Shantanu Prasad. “We can’t stop it all. We call the authorities. But they have weapons. We don’t.” 

Each day, Shantanu and his team of rangers at Habre’s Nest patrol the Singalila Ridge, which straddles Nepal and India. Covering anything from 10 to 20km on foot each day, they watch out for poachers and record any sightings of red pandas, to contribute to research on these elusive animals.

But Habre’s Nest is more than just a beacon of community conservation — it is also a source of livelihoods, ensuring that some of the tourism dollars in this region benefit the local community. The rangers are also employed as hosts and guides to travellers, so that they can explore the region while minimising harm to the environment. 

With travel back on the radar, Habre’s Nest hopes to see visitors again and channel funds back towards protecting the environment.

High Above The Clouds 

Though daily sightings are currently reported by the Habre’s Nest team, this writer did not spot one during my three-day visit in 2019 (visitors are advised to stay a week to allow for higher chances of a sighting). 

But while my expectations were high, surprisingly, I was not crushed by not seeing one. Instead, I went home enlightened by what I learnt about the tireless rangers, and thrilled by the stunning surroundings of the Singalila Ridge, which is more than just second fiddle to its famous russet-furred resident. 

Stretching from central Nepal to northwest Yunnan in China, the Eastern Himalayas thread through Sikkim (India), Bhutan, the Tibetan plateau and northern Myanmar along the way.  Ardent trekkers come to Singalila Ridge to complete the 50km trek from the town of Maneybhanjang to Phalut, the second-highest peak in West Bengal, India (3,595m). Others make for Sandakphu, the highest peak at 3,636m. 

But for less rugged travellers, the route is also renowned as a vantage point to take in four of the world’s five highest peaks: Everest (8,848m), Kangchenjunga (8,586m), Lhotse (8,516m) and Makalu (8,485m).

An Indo-Nepali project, Habre’s Nest’s focus is on the wildlife that call the Eastern Himalayas home — protecting them and encouraging local communities to take up the mantle of conservation. 

“Tourists aren’t always aware or sensitive about the forested areas they trek through and the wildlife that abounds within,” shares Shantanu, Habre’s Nest’s director

From trails being too crowded, to hikers making too much noise and leaving trash behind in the forest, “unregulated tourism”, as Shantanu puts it, is one of the biggest challenges faced by Habre’s Nest. 

A Getaway for Travellers, a Refuge for Red Pandas 

Habre’s Nest, which derives its name from the Nepali word for red panda, was formed by Shantanu after he learnt about the species’ endangered status. 

Globally, less than 10,000 remain in the wild, living in the trees in mountainous regions. In the area earmarked for conservation by Habre’s Nest, there are just 32. An estimated 86 per cent of red panda cubs die within a year of being born; human activity is the main threat to the species. 

In Singalila, the red panda’s main threats are feral dogs which may carry rabies and other diseases, and the clearing of forested land for wood and agriculture. 

After identifying feral dogs as a key threat to red pandas, Habre’s Nest began holding vaccination drives for dogs with the help of animal welfare organisations, targeting dogs that belong to households as well as strays from nearby towns that follow trekkers around. 

As they got to know the local community better, they realised there was a lack of medical facilities in the area. So they set up free medical camps, fostering greater trust. 

This was followed by outreach sessions to create awareness of the need to protect the environment. Villagers were invited to attend training to monitor wildlife and record sightings in a 100sqkm area. Those working in the tourism sector were offered training to become more sensitive to wildlife. 

When it ventured into wildlife tourism, Habre’s Nest made sure to hire only locally, ensuring that benefits from tourism stay local. “While the red panda is our flagship animal, our intention is to protect the Eastern Himalayas,” says Shantanu, who was a photographer before he became a conservationist. 

Preserving the unique environment and wildlife of the area would in turn benefit locals in the long run as sustainable tourism also sustains livelihood opportunities.

Spotting Elusive Wildlife, Chasing Long-Term Goals 

Catching sight of wildlife is a game of chance; after all, truly wild creatures do not show up on demand to delight travellers. 

Habre’s Nest recommends staying at least seven nights for higher chances of a sighting. This includes factoring in the altitude’s unpredictable weather and a day of travel to Kaiakata, which is on the Nepal side of the ridge. 

Guests do not take part in tracking red pandas; a walk to see the red pandas is only arranged when rangers spot one on patrols. Each visit lasts no more than 15 minutes.

In the meantime, guests can also spend their time at the bird hide on the premises. I was able to effortlessly pass a few hours here — clicking a few photographs every now and then of the avian company, so I could learn their names later from the in-house naturalist.  

For hikers, short trek options to Kalipokhri, known for its lake with dark waters, and to Tumling, a renowned viewpoint of both Kanchenjunga and Everest, are options. 

The Habre’s Nest team includes ex-poachers who now work as rangers, and double up as guides for guests, as well as manage the kitchen and homestays. Mohan Thami, a ranger at Habre’s Nest, shares, “Before, the means for livelihood were threadbare so people would set traps and poach. Today there’s awareness and a change in behaviour.”

“As trackers, we do our bit to sensitise villagers. After all, it’s because of the red panda and the training that Kaiakata has gotten visibility and sees tourists from all over the globe.”

Mohan Thami Ranger, Habre's Nest

Currently there are 11 full-time and nine part-time staff. Habre’s Nest’s lodge comprises four rooms, which can house a total of eight to 10 guests. Twenty per cent of the profits are directed towards its conservation efforts, such as local outreach on forest protection. 

Shantanu notes that a comprehensive census for red pandas is currently underway, with photograph-based evidence being shared with the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN). 

“Our goal is to assign this area the status of a red panda reserve – which would aid with conservation while continuing to track and document red pandas while hosting tourists who might be inspired to do something to protect the red pandas,” he shares. 

“We want to continue working with government authorities towards improved regulation within and around the national park to minimise and eventually eliminate the harm being caused by unregulated tourism.”

Act 1: The audience goes quiet

On an ordinary day, Phare The Cambodian Circus’ big tent is filled with the excited cries of guests as they watch Phare’s artists perform gravity-defying feats, the rising music of the live band, the colourful lights that catch the graceful moves of the dancers. All in celebration of Cambodia’s rich artistic history, presented through a contemporary lens.

But 2020 is no ordinary year, and Phare’s big tent has stood silent for much of the past nine months. plunging its staff and artists’ livelihoods into deep disarray. 

No thanks to COVID-19, international travel had ground to a halt. The town of Siem Reap, usually bursting with over 2.5 million tourists a year flocking to the famed Angkor temples, is eerily empty, with boarded-up shop fronts and empty hotels.

“The atmosphere is devastating, a lot of people lost their livelihoods. Drivers, guides, hotels. No jobs. We don’t see the end in sight.”

Dara Hout CEO, Phare Circus

Phare circus, previously featured on Our Better World, is no ordinary circus. It is a social enterprise under Phare Ponleu Selpak, based in Battambang that has made art one of its pillars of improving life for the underprivileged. 

The circus’s acclaimed performances, which tell stories of Cambodian social issues and history through theatre, music, dance and modern circus arts, have drawn over 100,000 spectators over the years, helping to sustain Phare Ponleu Selpak’s non-profit work.  With performances halted, its reserves are stretched and its capacity to keep offering free education and training to Cambodian children and youth is under threat. 

Kitty Choup, a Phare artist, had performed nearly daily, specialising in contortions, jumps and other aerial performances. This ended abruptly in March 2020, when the Cambodian government ordered public performances to close, to prevent the spread of the coronavirus. 

Although she is still paid a basic salary, the income from performing stopped. To make ends meet, Kitty sells clothes online and makes fruit and vegetable juices at home to sell in a makeshift stand on her street. She continues to rehearse and train at home with her husband (also a Phare artist), in order to stay in shape and ready for Phare re-opening.

Act 2: The curtains rise again

In August 2020, Phare was permitted to reopen for performances in a limited capacity on weekends. This was welcome news, but the situation remained perilous amid a near shutdown of international travel into Cambodia, as most of Phare’s usual audience were foreign tourists or travellers from Phnom Penh.

Undeterred, Phare decided to tweak their model. Previously, its steady revenue from tourism allowed it to offer free 100 tickets daily for Cambodians during its low season from April to October. Amid COVID-19, it is unable to offer free tickets, but it lowered ticket prices, and called for supporters — no matter where they were — to donate US$10 to sponsor a Cambodian family to watch a performance. 

“Cambodia as a nation has lost the culture of going to live theatre and patronage, we are trying to revive the culture of going to live performances,” says Dara. 

Complemented by street art displays and street food stalls, the revived programme was a hit. Though the audience size was a fraction of what it was before COVID-19 (about 70 to 100 nightly compared to 400), it still meant the artists were being paid for performances again. 

More importantly, it was also a morale boost to see the big tent lit up once more. “We are a beacon of hope for our community. They see that we are open, not closed, during this time. And people will try and persevere,” says Dara.

Act 3: The show must go on 

The path to recovery is not without speed bumps. In November, amid a rise in COVID-19 cases, the government ordered Phare to halt performances once more. It was only allowed to resume performances on Jan 15, 2021 and the outlook remains uncertain. 

Without performances to drive revenue, Dara says Phare will have to rely on its reserves built up over the years, and go into “sleep mode” in a few months and staff will only be paid a basic income. “We persevere, we try. We don’t want to lose our staff. We want to help everyone to survive, even on a pay cut,” says Dara. 

Donations are welcome while Phare develops new revenue streams and brings in potential investors to help the non-profit cope in future, and hopes for travel to open up in 2021. 

“We know Cambodia will be very reliant on tourists for a while,” says Dara. “I hope everyone who travels will take responsible travel seriously, and realise their money can impact the local community. There are grassroots, impactful organisations like Phare, and when you travel, you should do research and support these kinds of activities as tourists.” 

And even amid the severe challenges, he hopes the stories of resilience in Cambodia travel far and wide. “People continue to have hope in their lives. When people plan their holidays to Siem Reap, I hope they support activities that bring hope to people.”  Says Kitty, “I really love Phare, it is not just a business, it is a family. They have helped to keep us going, so that we can support ourselves and our family at this time. 

“I just keep working, keep rehearsing, and keep thinking about the future performances. I know I will be performing again.” 

Some members of Phare Ponleu Selpak are alumni of the Singapore International Foundation’s annual Arts for Good Fellowship, which fosters a community of practice that harnesses the power of arts and culture to create positive social change.

Photo by Malika Virdi

“It’s not just about how much we can earn, but also about being able to share our dukh-sukh (sorrows-joys).” - Kamla Pandey, homestay host 

As Kamla Pandey tells me this over a WhatsApp call, I could picture her in warm layers wrapped over her sari, as the winter sun bathed her house through its large glass window. 

Just a couple of hours ago, the sun would have risen over the five snow-clad Panchachuli peaks, casting an otherworldly glow over the remote mountain village of Sarmoli.  The village sits in Uttarakhand’s Munsiari district, close to the borders of Tibet and Nepal in the Greater Himalayan region, an 11-hour drive from the nearest airport and train station. 

It was over many such mornings, way back in 2016, that I first got to know Kamla. Like many women in Sarmoli – and the neighbouring villages of Shankhdhura and Nanasem – she runs a homestay as part of Himalayan Ark, a community-owned social enterprise committed to responsible, purpose-driven travel in the region. 

When COVID-19 decimated tourism incomes across the world, Himalayan Ark shifted its focus from tourism to digital upskilling, reviving traditional crafts and long-term food security.

As we chatted over the phone about the threat of the Omicron variant, Kamla confessed that yes, the pandemic came as a big jhatka (shock). But as a community that has been together through many storms over the years, they continue to sail together, no matter which way the winds blow. 

Homestays seeded in conservation

Photo by Malika Virdi

Kamla didn’t always have the confidence — or the opportunity — to host strangers from around the world in her home. 

In fact, back in 1992, when avid mountaineer Malika Virdi moved to Sarmoli, the only livelihood opportunities available to women were meagre earnings from agriculture, or demanding daily wage labour at construction sites. 

About a decade later, when Malika was elected sarpanch (head) of the van panchayat — a 70-year-old village institution for the sustainable management of forests — she set out to change this, by connecting conservations and livelihoods. 

“The use of the forest needed to be regulated, but why would anyone be interested in conserving something they were so desperately dependent on [for fuel and fodder]?” recalls Malika in a recent conversation over a video call. 

The proposed alternative: a nature-based tourism initiative that became the foundation of Himalayan Ark. Himalayan Ark would assist members in accessing tourism-linked incomes, and they would commit to participating in local conservation work like planting, maintenance and safeguarding of the land. 

The homes of Himalayan Ark’s members became a vehicle for empowerment when they started hosting travellers. Photo by E Theophilus

Back in 2004, only 13 out of 300 van panchayat rights holders signed up, including Kamla. “People were sceptical as to why someone would choose to stay in our village over the hotels in the bustling Munsiari bazaar,” Kamla had told me when we first met. 

Global and domestic visitors however, quickly became drawn to Sarmoli, both as a base for high-altitude treks in the Kumaon Himalayas, as well as for volunteer tourism, student trips and slow travel. 

By 2019, Himalayan Ark’s network had grown to 20 women-led homestays, managed by a roster system where priority is given to those who have no alternate source of income. Twenty-five guides had been intensively trained in birding, high-altitude trekking and natural history, of which over half are women. Having travelled extensively in India, that is a statistic I constantly marvel at, for Sarmoli is one of the only places in the country where I have hiked with a female high-altitude guide.

A community that celebrates its cultures

A feast for the eyes and the appetite on Ghee Tyohaar, an Uttarakhand festival. Photo by Trilok Singh Rana

What first drew me to Sarmoli though, was not its equitable tourism model but Himal Kalasutra, a mountain festival for the locals (not tourists, though they are welcome to join). People from villages across the Gori Valley come together to go bird watching, learn outdoor activities like yoga or ultimate frisbee, and get a sneak peek into digital tools like Wikipedia. 

I joined a bird watching excursion amidst oak and deodar forests bursting with blooming red rhododendrons, participated in a yoga session in the surreal backdrop of snow and mist clad mountains, and cheered on locals as they set out on a high altitude marathon to Khaliya Top, a spectacular alpine meadow at an altitude of 3,500m (an altitude gain of 8,000 feet over 20km) — best hiked slowly by city folk like me.  

Photo courtesy of Himalayan Ark

Inspired by the festivities, I offered an impromptu Instagram tutorial to young adults from Sarmoli and Shankhdhura – which led to the creation of @voicesofmunsiari, India’s first Instagram channel to be run entirely by a rural village community. In 2017, with smartphones crowdsourced via my blog, an Instagram and photography workshop became part of the official festival line-up. 

Later, I learnt that in true spirit of community ownership, Himalayan Ark’s homestay hosts keep 80 per cent of the revenue, and voluntarily contribute 5 per cent towards community development — 2 per cent goes to the van panchayat, while 3 per cent goes to a fund that offers interest-free loans for community members to upgrade their homestays. 

Over the years, guests have also volunteered their skills to help Himalayan Ark grow, sharing their knowledge in mapping local geography, environmental issues, women’s rights and rural tourism development. “They get an insider's view of community life in the Himalayan mountains and also end up making lifelong friends,” shares Malika. 

A return to tradition, an eye on the future 

[From left to right] Master craftsman Nain Ram demonstrates how to weave bamboo; Children keep up with school in the digital resource centre opened by Himalayan Ark. Photos by Trilok Singh Rana (left) and Kaushalya Arya

COVID-19 spared the remote mountain villages of Munsiari the worst of the pandemic, but took away their primary source of livelihoods.

“Tourism was all about sharing our rural lifestyle with travellers,” says Malika. “The pandemic left us with no tourism, but we still had our rural lifestyle.” 

After the initial shock, Himal Prakriti, the non-profit arm of Himalayan Ark, quickly pivoted into developing alternate sources of income for the community, powered by CSR funding and individual donations.

With a renewed focus on agriculture and food security, some homestay owners and guides were trained and paid to build hoop houses — small, predator-proof greenhouses made with locally available galvanised iron pipes. “We’ve set up vegetable and forest nurseries, and distributed seeds like capsicum, cucumber, fenugreek and broccoli,”  Kamla tells me excitedly. 

Villagers building hoop houses to increase food security. Photo by Kamla Pandey

So far, Himal Prakriti has been able to reach 100 to 150 economically-depressed farmers across the Gori Valley, many of whom are women. 

It then shifted gears towards reviving crafts lost to time, starting with a workshop on likhai – intricate hand-carving on walnut wood, a skill once possessed only by the men of the Ohri community. Until a few decades ago, homes across Kumaon were fitted with likhai-adorned doors and windows, but as demand for traditional houses fell, many artisans gave up their craft.

By the end of the workshop, participants were able to  retrofit their homestays with self-carved mirror and window frames. 

Abandoned homes with likhai frames (left). Villagers in Munsiari tried their hand at reviving the craft by learning from artisans. Photos by E Theophilus (left) and Malika Virdi

Similarly, members of the community spent time relearning the backstrap loom – a simple concoction made with ropes, sticks and a strap, worn around the waist – once central to the Bhotiya people as they roamed the mountains with their herds.

Reviving these crafts not only created a sense of ownership, community and pride, it also enabled the members to create products for sale through the @voicesofmunsiari Instagram channel.

The focus on rural life did not neglect the need to stay connected to urban demands. As schools shut and lessons moved online, Himalayan Ark decided to convert a planned café space into a digital resource centre. Children who did not have access to smartphones or laptops were still able to attend online classes and study in a socially-distanced setting.

Gearing up for the “new normal” 

Photo by Malika Virdi

The pandemic exposed a gaping urban-rural digital divide — and with the interest in travel returning, bridging it remains crucial, so that the Himalayan Ark community can grow their business. 

Over the past five years, Himalayan Ark community members, despite not having the social media savvy of more privileged peers, have been sharing glimpses of their lives through @voicesofmunsiari. 

Encouraged by their pursuit, Malika and I, together with Osama Manzar of the Digital Empowerment Foundation, co-founded Voices of Rural India — a curated platform for homestay hosts, guides and other community members, to share their stories in their own voices, while building digital storytelling skills and earning an income through digital publishing. One of the first stories published was written by Kamla. 

When Indian Institute of Technology, Roorkee, an elite Indian university, broached the idea of documenting traditional crafts in the region, two women from the community led the multimedia documentation. Among them was  Bina Nitwal from a Bhotiya family, who, armed with her smartphone, interviewed her elders across the valley about the history of the backstrap loom that she herself is re-learning to use.

Mohini demonstrates how to use a backstrap loom to weave textiles. Photo by Bina Nitwal

In the new “normal,” we have no idea what the pandemic (and climate change) might throw at us. But one thing is for sure: the community in Munsiari, held together by Himalayan Ark, will continue to sail towards new horizons.

“Our goal has always been to forge a deep rishta (relationship), both within the community, and of the community with the landscape,” Malika told me. In the face of market forces and looming uncertainties, it’ll be more important than ever. 

Meet Yee Kuat

Even over an occasionally fuzzy video call on a tiny screen, Yee Kuat makes you feel like you are right there in Kampung Gurney, sitting outside his house while he tells you about the bounty grown and reared in his village. 

Sharing how the villagers tend to the land, his pride is evident: “Our fish only eat cassava leaves,” he shares. “Our food is organic, we live in nature. What we have here is about the mountains, the forests, the river.” 

Yee Kuat is of Temuan ancestry, one of 18 indigenous tribes in Peninsular Malaysia collectively referred to as Orang Asli, or “First People” in the Malay language; his Chinese moniker reflects his half-Chinese heritage and education in a Chinese school, where he also learnt to speak Mandarin.

An entrepreneur, he is also the chairman of his village committee in Hulu Selangor, an hour’s drive away from Kuala Lumpur, the Malaysian capital. And even amid a lockdown in the COVID-19 pandemic, he hopes someday that travellers would someday get to experience the land he knows and loves.

Kampong Gurney is flanked by the Sungai Sendat recreational rainforest, the treeline of which can be seen from the hilltop village. Just past the village is the Sungai Sendat waterfall, a draw for many day trippers who revel in its cool, clean waters.

Video courtesy of Native

The waterfall divides the public recreational forest from the Orang Asli's ancestral land, where their durian trees can be found, among other crops and vegetation they cultivate in the forest. 

“We hope to open a guesthouse and host travellers, so that they get to know us, get to know nature, our food,” says Yee Kuat. “That’s why I’m glad to have met Daniel, because he has ideas that can help us pursue this dream.”

“Daniel” is Daniel Teoh, founder of Native, a social enterprise in Malaysia that partners with Orang Asli communities to offer travel experiences, to deepen appreciation of indigenous cultures while supporting livelihoods.

A Friendship Bears Fruit 

Daniel and Yee Kuat connected over that most pungent king of fruits — durian. 

Even the most passionate durian fans may have never heard of the durians cultivated by Temuan growers. Often generalised as “kampung durians” or “forest durians”, they in fact bear descriptive names like durian susu (milk durian), durian matahari (sun durian) and durian daun (leaf durian), reflecting their unique qualities. 

This ripe heritage was not lost on Daniel, who got to know the durians and their growers over annual invitations to enjoy the fruits of their labour. 

“Last year, when the COVID-19 situation was okay, we were able to visit a lot. And they asked if we would buy their durians,” shares Daniel. “So we decided to buy some durians to sell on [the Native] platform. And we also ran two tours, where visitors could be hosted by Orang Asli growers and learn about the durian cultivation process.”

The success of the efforts — some 1 tonne of durians were sold — led Daniel to start Biji Bumi Durian this year as an offshoot of Native, focused on selling durians grown by Orang Asli. Working with 12 growers, over 3.9 tonnes of durian were sold by the end of the season, bringing a much-needed shot of income amid a pandemic. 

Central to this effort was Yee Kuat, who has been trading durians since he was 15, buying them from his fellow Orang Asli growers and selling them to retailers or wholesalers in bigger markets. Yee Kuat, says Daniel, “knows everyone”. “We were educated on the names of the varieties, who the farmers are, the farming methods,” he adds. 

Typically, the durians were sold to middlemen for about RM3 to RM7 (US$0.70-$1.70) per kilo. Biji Bumi Durian however, paid the growers between RM8 to RM25  (US$1.90-$6) per kilo of durian, depending on the quality and what they would fetch in the market. 

“We want to get them better sales, we want their durians to be of better market value,” says Daniel. “We made sure we got the high grade durians, because we really want to change the perception of their durians.”

Forty per cent of every RM1 earned by Biji Bumi Durian was distributed to the 12 growers — totalling RM30,559 (US$7,355) in all. Biji Bumi Durian covered the expenses of transport, packaging and other related costs.

Connecting with Malaysia’s ‘First People’ 

Although durian season has ended for the year, the work continues for Native to help their partners develop opportunities in tourism. 

Yee Kuat notes that growing up, he interacted with very few people outside his village, which has a population of 300.  “We are strangers to most people. It is hard for people to understand us. Or know us. And we were afraid of outsiders too,” the 33-year-old shares. “We are afraid of what others think of us.” 

Those from older generations used to caution against having too many dealings with outsiders. “They would warn us of scams, that other tribes and villages have lost land and had to move,” says Yee Kuat.

“I want people to know why we belong to this land and why it is special to us. And we need to find a way to grow, to develop our livelihoods.”

Yee Kuat Chairman, Kampung Gurney village committee 

The 18 Orang Asli tribes, each with its own language and culture, make up less than one per cent of the population of Peninsular Malaysia, and are categorised into three groups: Senoi, Proto-Malay and Negrito. 

The Temuan are classified as Proto-Malay, who are thought to have migrated to the Malay archipelago and peninsula between 2,500 to 1,500 BC. Today, they live in the states of Malacca, Negeri Sembilan, Pahang, Selangor and Johor. 

Due to land dispossession for economic development and various other policies, the Orang Asli’s ability to preserve traditional subsistence lifestyles are under threat, compromising their livelihoods. Almost all Orang Asli communities in Peninsular Malaysia are in the bottom 40 per cent (B40) income group.

Daniel, who hails from Penang, was a university student when he met Faizul, who is Temuan, in a village near his campus in 2016. The two became friends after Daniel helped Faizul raise funds needed to finish building his home. 

Seeing the rise of platforms like Airbnb Experiences, Daniel lit on the idea of creating experiences where others could get to meet and learn from Orang Asli communities as he had. “Faizul was onboard, and we put together some ideas on how we could show people a different side of Malaysia while creating an alternate driver of development in their community,” says Daniel.

“I feel passionately about the cultural transitions that many Orang Asli face, where they often feel like they have to choose between 'modernisation' or tradition. Many communities exist in between and they should have every freedom to shape their culture as they see fit.”

Daniel Teoh Founder, Native

Since 2019, Native has co-led close to 50 tours, working with 15 hosts in four communities, and generated RM12,000 (US$2,880) through these experiences for its hosts, plus RM6,500 (US$1,560) for a community development fund. 

Though it has currently paused running activities due to COVID-19, it has kept busy. Apart from the Biji Bumi Durian project, Native is partnering with NGO EPIC Homes to develop a tourism project in Kampung Serendah, to be owned and managed by a Temuan community there. 

It has tested out virtual experiences, and also designed online learning experiences for schools with its Orang Asli partners, such as a webinar for the Singapore University of Social Sciences.  

And Native remains committed to working with Orang Asli communities to develop tourism experiences owned by the community. “Initially, these experiences can be booked through us, but we hope they run it on their own in future. We see ourselves as ‘incubating’ these enterprises,” says Daniel. “We don't want to become gatekeepers, because it is not in line with our mission of long-term empowerment.” 

Says Yee Kuat of Daniel: “He has a good heart, and he comes up with ideas. Our younger folks are open to ideas. They don’t want to work for others forever.”

Within Malaysia, Daniel acknowledges there is a long way to go in addressing the bias and lack of understanding the Orang Asli face. “There is discrimination even in our language, like ‘Jakun’ is a [derogatory] word for stupid, but it is the name of a people. 

“Tourism is powerful because it puts the Orang Asli face-to-face with other people. When people have encounters, they spread the story, they share the positivity, and change minds,” says Daniel. 

Yee Kuat agrees.  “We really hope people know about us, then our village will have hope. We have so much to share, but no one knows about us. Native has given us this opportunity, so that we can work for ourselves and don’t have to be exploited by others.”

Native was one of the six winning teams under Singapore International Foundation's Young Social Entrepreneurs programme in 2019. Through mentorships, study visits and opportunities to pitch for funding, the programme nurtures social entrepreneurs of different nationalities, to drive positive change for the world. 

Sometimes, as travellers, we long to be transported to a different place and time, grounded by an eye for beauty and authenticity. A longing that has only strengthened in the COVID-19 pandemic, which has bound many travellers to home.

Terrapuri Heritage Village is one such place.Nestled on a scenic slice of coast between the South China Sea and Setiu Wetlands in the Malaysian state of Terengganu, it offers the remote locale and contemporary comforts we desire from a weekend getaway, but it is no cookie-cutter resort. 

Terrapuri, which means “Land of the Palaces” in Sanskrit, is modelled after an ancient Malay palace. Every building in the compound is lovingly reconstructed from old wooden houses that belonged to Terengganu royalty and noblemen centuries ago.

Behind this concept is Alex Lee, a Terengganu travel industry veteran with a deep commitment to conservation that remains even as tourism revenue takes a dive from the pandemic’s chokehold on international travel. 

The Royal Treatment

When Nozirawati Rohim (Wati) first joined Terrapuri in 2015, she was amazed by what she saw. “I had never seen any place like this. Here, you really get a kampung [Bahasa Melayu for “village”] atmosphere and lifestyle,” says Wati, a general worker at the resort. “Where else in Malaysia can you find beautiful traditional houses like these [in one location]?”

Arriving at Terrapuri, guests are greeted by a gate that recalls ancient temples, which opens to a calming oasis, anchored by a sprawling courtyard with a moat, flowering plants and towering palms.Amid this lush setting are 22 resurrected guest villas restored in the style of classic Terengganu houses: each stands on a raised platform with high stilts, steep gabled roofs and a wide verandah. Beneath each house are implements like ploughs, coconut scrapers and sampans (wooden boats) — just like how kampung folks stored them in the old days.

The sense of history is carried through in the interior appointments. A gerobok (traditional wardrobe), wooden chairs, brass trays, chests and earthen jars recall homes of wealthy Malays in the olden days. Period details are faithfully recreated, right down to latches used to close windows and doors from the inside. 

To construct Terrapuri, Alex began buying old houses from all over Terengganu. In 2006, he started rebuilding them house by house on a 4-ha piece of land facing the South China Sea.No expenses were spared to ensure authenticity. Because of their age – between 100 to 250 years old – most of the houses were extensively damaged or decayed. More than 50 skilled Malay artisans were hired to restore the original wooden structures and to recreate the intricate sobek (filigree) and kerawang (piercing) wood carvings. All the wooden parts were polished until they achieved the silvery sheen characteristic of their original era.

“The project ended up costing RM10 million (US$2.36 million). People called it 'Projek Orang Gila' (Crazy Man's Project).”

Alex Lee Founder, Terrapuri Heritage Village

Yet the process yielded priceless revelations. “I met so many carpenters, house owners and villagers who opened my eyes to the richness of our local heritage. If nobody champions all this, our history is in danger of disappearing,” he says. 

To make the iconic Singhora clay roof-tiles — which were no longer widely manufactured — Alex tracked down the sole living craftsperson in neighbouring state Kelantan. “This kind of roof allows the house to breathe,” he shares, “but they’re also high maintenance and delicate. Sometimes, a falling mempelam (mango) can break the tile.”To put the pieces together, the ancient technique of building without using metal nails — known as pasak — was employed. Upon completion, each house was named after the village it came from and traditional rituals performed to bless them and the occupants.There was one more challenge. Who was going to run Terrapuri? Alex was advised to bring in trained hospitality specialists, but he insisted on hiring from the nearby village, although most could barely speak English and had no experience in hospitality. “This is our opportunity to empower our community,” he said.After nearly five years of planning and construction, Terrapuri finally opened its doors in 2011.

Conservation amid COVI9-19

Even with the pandemic, restoration work has continued, with all of Terrapuri’s staff employed to maintain the property, while Alex continues to hire artisans to restore houses that will eventually be part of Terrapuri. 

To bring in revenue, Alex has been offering “Book Now Travel Later” deals valid till March 2022, which offer guests discounted rates for advance bookings, allowing them to contribute to preserving these architectural gems and ensuring local livelihoods even as travel is restricted. 

Without tourists, demand for local crafts and specialities like batik fabrics, woven baskets, and keropok keping (fish crackers) have plunged, so Alex has set up Terrapuri online stores for these products via e-tailer platforms, to help their makers develop a modest stream of income. “It’s still very new but there is some good response,” he shares.

Bestsellers include the batik sarongs and the keropok keping, a traditional Terengganu snack invented as a way to use up excess fish. Made of seasoned fish paste, these salty, crispy crackers are delicious eaten with chilli sauce, and can be bought in both raw and ready-to-eat form.

Amid the slump, there have been flowerings of interest among Malaysians for Terrapuri’s offerings; Alex has received commissions from individuals seeking classic Malay furnishings for their homes, which has provided much-needed income for the artisan communities.

“A lot of people buy furniture from Java or Bali. We want people to see the value of Malaysian lifestyle and Malay culture, and what our artisans have to offer,” says Alex. “We have a showroom now, and we will keep working on these collaborations, to bring work to our communities.”

A Heart for Heritage

Growing up, Alex was fascinated by the beauty and ingenuity of traditional Malay architecture, while immersed in the outdoors as well as local foods like budu ( fermented fish sauce) and belacan (shrimp paste).

These formative experiences came together when he ventured into the travel industry in the late 1990s, by renting out his grandfather’s shophouse in Marang town to backpackers on their way to Terengganu’s popular resort islands, dubbing it Marang Inn.

When guests asked for excursions, he engaged his fishermen friends to organise boat tours and river safaris, splitting the profits. Seeing the potential of the travel industry, he set up his own travel agency, Ping Anchorage.Marang Inn did well, earning mentions in Lonely Planet and The Guardian. But more than that, his international guests became his window to global trends and issues. From them, Alex learnt the concept of heritage conservation, a concept in its infancy in Malaysia. "Here, old wooden houses were seen as a symbol of backwardness and poverty, not as precious antiques. What was not valued by the locals was prized by foreigners,” he laments.Marang Inn was eventually demolished to make way for urban development. Seeing the same fate befall other buildings in the town, Alex realised the urgency of creating awareness about heritage preservation. Terrapuri became the project that turned this vision into reality.

It is a message that has seeped into the consciousness of those working alongside him. “When people come here, we are excited to promote our traditional food,” says Wati.

“What's the use of flying thousands of miles only to eat spaghetti? When visitors come, we must introduce them to our heritage food like ayam hikayat.”

Wati General worker, Terrapuri Heritage Village

She appreciates how Alex has been steadfast in hiring locally, unlike bigger hotels. “With stable finances, I’ve been able to gradually upgrade my lifestyle...I am thankful to Mr Lee for employing locals from nearby villages to improve their economy.”  

“I hope this resort will stand strong. You need a place like this to let the next generation know about the arts and crafts of Malay culture. Nowadays, children typically stay in big cities; they only know apartments and stone houses,” she adds.

Nature's Grocer and Guardian

Tempting as it is to luxuriate in Terrapuri, venturing out rewards the intrepid traveller. A day tour of the nearby Setiu Wetlands, created by the ocean meeting coastal rivers, is a chance to encounter rare wildlife and meet the communities living there.

The richness and diversity of Setiu Wetlands is not lost on Alex, who believes that ecotourism can help protect the land while empowering those who call it home. 

Though an important ecosystem that acts as a storm buffer and is home to 29 species of mammals, 161 species of birds and 36 species of reptiles and amphibians, the wetlands are under threat from uncontrolled land use. The World Wildlife Fund estimates nearly 20 per cent of Setiu’s natural vegetation was stripped between 2008 and 2011.

To increase local sensitivity towards conservation and improve locals’ livelihoods, Alex recruits fishermen as boatmen for Terrapuri’s day tours during monsoon seasons, when they do not go out to sea. With other stakeholders, he organised workshops and retraining programmes for locals to help them understand the importance of protecting their mangroves.

“If in the old days, they would simply chop down the trees to obtain wood, now they help us to replant them. They have become our eco-warriors,” Alex says with a smile.

Through Terrapuri, visitors get to meet other living legends too: “Botol Man”, a retiree who created a mini-museum from over 7,000 discarded bottles he collected from the beach; a heritage boatmaker who crafts sailing vessels for world competitions; and Pak Harun, a fisherman who can detect specific species by skin diving into the ocean and listening to fish sounds.  

To support traditional Terengganu products, Terrapuri’s tours also include a visit to a village to shop for handicrafts and food items made locally from materials harvested from the wetlands. 

Says Alex, “We have plenty more local legends and hidden gems yet to be discovered. The problem is that all these stories are not properly recorded. I’m hoping to get them documented someday so that at least the future generation will know.”

In 2015, local lobbyists scored a major victory when the government agreed to gazette 400 ha of the wetlands as a state park, and RM8 million was pledged to conduct eco-training for locals to manage the land. 

Alex hopes the value of community-based tourism takes root, so that the people and culture can thrive, and find greater appreciation among their fellow Malaysians. 

“During COVID, Malaysians cannot travel overseas, so we are seeing more Malaysian guests,” he shares. “Most of our guests came from Europe, from Singapore, but we hope to see more Malaysians appreciate what we have here, and keep the culture alive.”