So far I've upset every race on Borneo.
The Chinese seem more tolerant of my money. The Dyak want it. The Indian are surly as usual and question my politics. The Iban, on the most part, very receptive. They love to play catch the ball.
'If you used my real name, I'll hunt you down and...'
...kill me.
I know the drill.
I won't say who said this.
'It's a hot period.'
The elections have been called.
Maybe he felt he was being too threatening.
He pulls out something from his pouch.
'I'm not a bad guy,' he says.
In his hand is a white rosary bead.
Hail Mary full of grace.
I'm nervous and say the whole prayer. It's the only one I know.
He's not convinced I'm not a spy for the ruling government.
But Andy only adds fuel to his suspicion saying I'm a blogger.
I was a blogger. Past tense.
Andy says there's no need to pull the blog. He's Malay. They are the ruling clique in Malaysia and know what's going down and what is considered too far. He's not even telling me to back off like the Iban.
I'm appeased.
Andy wants to see me continue writing. He knows I'm not razzled and dazzled by the smoke screen and mirrors.
I consider myself a straight shooter.
I love Najib. That's my mantra.
I just can't convince them that I'm here for walking and swimming.
Apa itu.
I'm nothing special, just a dumb tourist, I tell the guy who thinks I'm a spy.
I might be a dumb ass tourist but man, I can still understand some Malay.
