A Presence Discovered at Camp Batu Puteh

by Jemma Croucher (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

A leap into the unknown Malaysia

Having spent three weeks in Sabah, Malaysia we had witnessed such diversity in the culture, the weather, the day-to-day of the communities in the villages we had been visiting. It was eye-opening to my struggling seventeen year old mind. This last camp was different. Should anything happen after dark, we'd have no way of leaving, as it was only accessible by river, in little blue boats. I opted not to consider this thought for too long as we waited anxiously in a stuffy café. You know that feeling where you suddenly become hyper-aware of your own mortality? We were all keen to make the most of the last week of this incredible adventure, this would be the last time we would be welcomed into a new camp, which was something that never grew old. Despite spending time in ten different camps in the course of the month, the feeling of entering a new home, the leaders, the layout, the smells and sights. Where would we eat? What was the view from my bed? Could I hear the river? The locals? The traffic? While it’s difficult to express in words, it’s an awe-inspiring sensation I believe everyone should strive for. I was scared, in hindsight I can admit that. The existential fear of putting myself in a risky situation provided an energy I needed to take control of. Mum always said to turn the adrenaline into excitement. It had been a years since my mind was youthful enough to carelessly dive in. The blue sky eventually burned orange and we hopped into the boats for a sunset cruise. In my 17 years of living on this Earth, I had never felt such a sense of contentedness as I did on this cruise. Even on a boat skimming at speed on top of the brown water, the monkeys bounding between branches and the fast moving clouds above the horizon, my world stopped. The burning stress of A-Levels was gone, I could no longer hear the shrill voice of the 6th Form director burning a hole in my mind, the grief of loss from previous years settled into a perfect arrangement as if in boxes on a shelf, the concept of comfort zones dissolved and I was present. Surrounded by sweet smells of leaves and tree sap, the fresh evening humidity and the glorious pink and orange sky that felt briefly like it shone only on me, I was present. This was life. I became aware of the vastness and complexity of life. This moment changed my perspective and I will never forget it. … The fireflies danced to the distant rumble of thunder in blue and white against the empty blackness of the jungle backdrop. It was not long before the heard the first few drops that would turn into the most chaotic night of the month, a stark contrast to our earlier adventure. Each heavy raindrop pierced the corrugated iron roof of the hut we slept in. The girls slept indoors, the boys outdoors. We felt for them, there was a high risk of soggy hammocks in this storm. It wasn’t long until they started appearing one by one at the door of the hut, their nightclothes saturated with rain water, their silhouettes sharpened by the lighting bolts shooting through the trees like strobe lights, deafening and disorientating. The local camp leaders responded quickly, before we knew it there was a bed made up of life-jackets covering the floor of the kitchen, tea was being boiled and dripping wet clothes were being hung out all around. The storm continued to relentlessly batter the hut into the early hours. To my own surprise, I felt no fear, in fact it was probably one of the best sleeps I’d ever had, safe beneath the canopy of the trees, accompanied by the fireflies, though I can’t say the same for my team. As quickly as it arrived, the storm was gone. We awoke at 5:30am for a early sunrise cruise. We’d be beginning the journey back to England today. Reality hit me. From that day on, whenever I’d be on a boat, I’d close my eyes and appreciate the moment, and the journey to come.