I'm wide eyed, nervous, and alone for six weeks in a remote jungle village where only two tribal inhabitants speak fluent English. I stand opposite Richard Jengan, a tribal elder. Between us are two upright sticks and a pile of leaves, which Richard organises in a 'V' shape as diligently as if this is an arrangement of flowers. He points at the layout and speaks in Penan. Ezra, a fluent English speaker, translates. 'We've gone that way. You wait here.’ Richard touches a small twig, which rests horizontally on one of the sticks. 'It means they're coming back.’ I'm shocked but intrigued, and if the word 'tribe' didn't conjure an expectation for mystique and unexpected discoveries, perhaps I wouldn't have believed it: this simple layout of wood and plants translates into a sentence. I've just been taught an ancient, fading language known as Oroo’. A few days ago, I made my way from London to Miri, in Malaysian Borneo. I watched from the window of the sixteen-seater plane that left Miri as the dusty yellow logging road wound through northwest Borneo and halted at Long Banga. We landed in a concreted zone a little smaller than a football pitch. The two-hour longboat journey from there to Long Lamai was a stone bumping, occasionally grounded ride. Inside the village, spacious car-free routes snake between houses. Men wander home at sunrise with dead wild boars on their shoulders and blowpipes in their hands. Women return from walks with collections of pineapples, tapioca, and fern. Children attend the village school, while their older siblings discover the solar-powered internet room in which they sign up to Facebook. As time goes on, I'm faced with a difficulty: How do I communicate with people from a vastly different culture? It's fitting that I can't use my voice. I start using my hands, partly out of desperation. It's a shame I'm not able to employ a more efficient system, perhaps one that uses cleverly laid out sticks. The History of Oroo’ Traditionally, the nomadic Penan were victims of headhunting, a gruesome practice discouraged by Australian missionaries and outlawed by European colonial powers in the 1920s. In the past, tribal families privately attempted to warn others of nearby headhunters. To do so, they would plant sticks in various forms. Richard demonstrates eight different formations. My favourite consists of two long sticks, each planted in the ground about a metre apart. Rattan, a malleable climbing plant, is tied between them to look like a bridge. A twig in a fork shape is placed halfway up one of the sticks. That tells passers-by that the sign-maker is a friend. The rest of the sign tells us that our friend is taking the other path, not the one we're currently on. Every layout tells a story, but the need for this language is fading. Today only one sign remains in use: 'Danger.' This is placed where there is a risk of falling trees. Richard believes the Penan are the only ones to use this language, which is why it worked in the days of headhunting. He’s a passionate communications expert, and I'm still wide-eyed. I'm wondering if we have something to learn from tribal cultures. We live with endless choice in our means of communication, yet we frequently find ourselves misunderstood. Our written messages cause mishaps in our daily lives, and our verbal efforts sometimes fail to fix these errors. In contrast, here is a once nomadic tribe that has successfully passed on messages to those who are miles out of sight and too far to be heard. Despite living in the treacherous environment of the wild jungle, their communication works - and all it takes are sticks and leaves. Getting There Direct flights to Kuala Lumpur International Airport from London start from £500 with Malaysia Airlines. From Kuala Lumpur to Miri, flights start at £72 with Air Asia. From Miri to Long Banga, MasWings operate a 1.5 hour flight, which costs £19 (103 MYR). Getting Around Stays in Long Banga can be booked via www.friendsofborneo.org/heart_of_borneo_long_banga.html There are currently no known tour providers operating in Long Lamai. In agreement with villagers, bookings can be made via the author’s website, Adventures Planned (www.theadventuresplanned.com)