During the Covid-19 pandemic years, the government implemented Movement Control Order to restrict travels.

Whenever the government allowed inter-state travels, I would frantically arrange several field trips. It could be one day in Pahang and the next day in Johor.

If I could work from home, then I would be writing articles on my way back to Kuala Lumpur.

As a former TV news reporter, I had no annual leave, emergency leave, or sick leave working as a contract worker.

Therefore, I could only use weekends or public holidays to conduct research on the Orang Asli on Peninsular Malaysia.

Chinese New Year offered a perfect timing for me to conduct research as I had longer break during the festive season.

On the other hand, after knowing some Orang Asli friends, I was surprised to discover that many Orang Asli villages did celebrate Chinese New Year!

Thus, sacrificing time with my own family to celebrate Chinese New Year at Orang Asli villages became a routine for me.

The visit to Kampung Erong, hometown of Perak-based Semai writer Akiya, was an unforgettable experience for me.

This Orang Asli village in Ulu Bernam has been celebrating Chinese New Year for nearly a hundred years, all thanks to the legendary story of Akiya’s “Chinese grandfather” known as Ah Hei.

Authentic Semai people typically celebrate “Ancestor Worship Day” (Hari Genggulang) every year. However, the shaman must lead the tribe in a seven-day and seven-night Sewang ritual, waiting for signals from ancestral spirits to determine an auspicious date.

To make it easier for his people to celebrate, Akiya’s Chinese grandfather from Fujian, China, married the Semai tribeswoman and became their village chief.

He then blended the Orang Asli and Chinese beliefs and customs in creating a unique “New Year culture”.

From then on, all of Ah Hei’s descendants must return to the village to worship their ancestors at 9 am on Chinese New Year’s Eve.

They presented offerings of Malay braised noodles, liquor, cigarettes, betel leaves, betel nuts, lime powder, mandarin oranges, beer, roast pig, Triangle Brand pain relief powder, and, of course, the rice cake.

They also burnt gold and silver joss papers for their ancestors to have plenty in the afterlife and continue to bless their descendants with prosperity.

Interestingly, since paying tribute to ancestors should not be overly festive, some families wear purple clothing during the ceremony.

Once the ancestors have “enjoyed the meal”, the entire village changes into red clothes or cheongsum, sets up a stage for rock music performances and joget (dance) where they would be drinking and celebrating until sunrise.

As I was visiting the families from house to house during Chinese New Year, the entire village erupted with dazzling fireworks and firecrackers, creating an even more extravagant and lively atmosphere than in a traditional Chinese village.

“Although our faces are different and we follow different religions, we are like the young and old leaves of the same tree.”

As the Covid-19 pandemic gradually improved, Akiya finally agreed to let me celebrate Chinese New Year in his village in 2023 after three years of request.

When I arrived at the village, I kept asking: “Where is Akiya?”

To my surprise, the villagers led me to a desolate area and pointed to an ancient tombstone, saying, “Here he is.”

It took some time for me to figure out that Akiya’s pen name was inherited from his “Chinese grandfather’s” nickname, which led to the misunderstanding.

In the Semai language, “Aki” means “grandfather”, so most villagers only recognised the Akiya buried in the grave – Ah Hei.

The Akiya I knew, the writer, was called “Anggor” by the villagers. This was because, when he was born over 70 years ago, he had three small, boneless, jointless flesh buds hanging near his left thumb, resembling grapes.

Jokingly, Akiya remarked that perhaps the villagers never read books, which is why no one realised he had taken his grandfather’s name as his pen name.

The indigenous people have a unique connection with nature. Besides naming children based on the situation when they were born, they also strictly adhere to the many taboos long forgotten by urban Chinese communities.

They have a deep fear for ghosts (kermoij), especially during Lunar New Year.

They also believe that if the originally clear weather suddenly turns cloudy or stormy, it means ghosts have come to “visit”!

Ah Hei once told his people no outsiders should be present during ancestral worship.

That year, when they made an exception for me, the village was hit by an unprecedented 10-hour-long downpour!

As the rain finally stopped in the evening, Ah Yap, the drunken master of ceremonies, mumbled that I must have angered their ancestors by failing to offer tributes, causing the heaven to weep all day.

He emphasised that this had never happened before. He even warned me that since I had broken their taboo, I might check my camera the next day only to find all my photos and videos mysteriously gone – terrifying me into making multiple back-ups.

Luckily, two years have passed, but those memories remain vivid.

As I flip through those old photos, I can’t help but admire such a dynamic cultural integration.

Today, Ah Hei’s lineage has reached the ninth generation. Though most have inter-married with other ethnic groups, they still preserve their unique identity and new year traditions.

Akiya proudly told me: “We are Semai, but we also carry Temuan, Chinese, Malay, and Indian blood. We are a ‘1Malaysia’ (Satu Malaysia) family.

“Although our faces are different and we follow different religions, we are like the young and old leaves of the same tree.”

This year, I will once again celebrate with my indigenous friends – this time in the upstream Urang Huluk community inside Johor’s Endau-Rompin National Park.

This ancient tropical rainforest was once a hiding place for the Malayan Communist Party during the Emergency. As a result, many abandoned Chinese infants were left behind and quietly raised in indigenous villages.

Although these “reborn” Chinese descendants no longer speak the language and most have passed on, the tradition of celebrating Chinese New Year remains deeply embedded in the blood of the Urang Huluk people, passed down from generation to generation, embodying Malaysia’s most inclusive spirit.

(Yi Ke Kuik is a Master’s student in Anthropology at National Taiwan University focusing on issues related to indigenous people in Peninsular Malaysia. Founder of myprojek04 photography initiative and writes for a column called Echoes from the Forest (山林珂普) in Sin Chew Daily, highlighting the photos and stories of indigenous people.)