Kendo in Borneo

A Visit with the Swordsmen of Sabah

The Malaysian state of Sabah, in North-Eastern Borneo, is one of the most beautiful, exotic and unspoiled parts of the planet. Its position, at the heart of the South China Sea, has made it a melting pot of Malay, Chinese, Filipino, Indonesian and Bajau Sea-Gypsy cultures, as well as some thirty different indigenous tribal groups – some of whom only abandoned ritual head-hunting as recently as the 1960s. Its equatorial forests are home to many of the world’s most endangered and exotic species and its coastal islands boast some of the finest diving to be found anywhere. Sabah also boasts two kendo dojos – and, as I discovered on a recent visit, an energetic and unique twenty year-old kendo tradition.

After a series of flights, from Glasgow, via London, Dubai and a stopover at Brunei, I arrived in the capital of Sabah, Kota-Kinabalu (or “KK”) on a Tuesday evening, to be hit by both temperature and humidity in the upper nineties. As this had been intended as a relaxing family holiday, my wife and daughter decided to spend the evening enjoying the hotel’s facilities and its very good Japanese restaurant. I had other plans – or rather, the swordsmen of Sabah had other plans for me. Waiting in the hotel lobby was Sabah Kendo organiser, Michael Tsen, ready to drive me out to the edge of the jungle and my first experience of tropical kendo.

A few days before leaving Glasgow, while idling away some time on the Internet, I had discovered that Sabah had a kendo club. Interested in what kendo might be like in Borneo, and keen to meet some other kendo practitioners, I e-mailed Mr Tsen and asked if I might drop in on one of their practices, if only just to watch, as I would not be able to bring bogu with me on holiday. The reply was immediate – of course, I was more than welcome, but there was no danger that I would be just watching; some spare armour would be found to fit me. So it was that, jet-lagged and somewhat overwhelmed by the heat and humidity, I staggered into the lobby of the KK Hyatt to meet Mr Tsen and be taken for my first practice.

Twenty years ago, a teacher at the tiny Japanese school in KK set up a kendo dojo just outside the city, on the edge of the jungle. After a few years, he left the island, leaving the dojo to the care of his principal student, Michael Tsen, who has continued to build a dedicated, tough and highly likeable group of kenshi. They are enthusiastic about developing their kendo – something that can be difficult when the nearest grading or seminar, is thousands of kilometres away, in Singapore or Taiwan. They are particularly keen to practice with visitors from other dojos – who very occasionally come from peninsular Malaysia or Singapore. Proud of their own kendo tradition, they are keen to give these visitors a good fight. I was the first European visitor ever to the dojo – so I was going to get a really good fight.

The dojo itself, at the end of a dirt track, is in a dedicated wooden building, built in the traditional Sabah style, raised on stilts. It was dark when I arrived, and the tropical night was full of the sounds of cicadas, crickets and night birds. A litter of feral puppies wrestled with each other under the dojo. Fireflies blinked in the dark vegetation around the dojo. I knew that I was about to have as different an experience of kendo from the usual Tuesday night practice at Glasgow’s Kelvin Hall as it was possible to have.

After changing, I realised my first mistake. I had decided to bring my best double-stitched heavy cotton keiko gi and heavy cotton hakama. I put them on and walked a few steps across the dojo to find that I was sweating like Tony Blair at a cash for peerages enquiry. The humidity was close to 100% and tying on the armour that had been selected for me proved as much effort as was comfortable. One of the senior students, Darryl, announced the warm-up. How much warmer was it possible to get? After the warm up and suburi, the dye was running off my dogi like Dirk Bogarde in Death in Venice (I felt sure there were a few extra haya suburi for my benefit) and I was gulping for oxygen, when I stepped up for my first keiko of the evening, with Mr Tsen.

The format for the evening was winner-stays-on shiai-geiko. Perhaps it was politeness, or possibly a mildly sadistic streak – but I seemed to be awarded more victories than I deserved and found myself fighting a succession of very fit, very fast kendoka, who either had gills, or else were otherwise unbothered by humidity and heat levels slightly higher than those found inside an average cup of tea. After the first fight, which lasted about two minutes, I felt about as tired as I would after a hard two-hour training session. Still, I persevered, and, with a fairly generous break, managed to just about survive the two-hour practice. Then, it was off to a local Kopi (coffee-shop) for traditional teh-tariks, and a couple of beers.

The following week, after a trip up the Kinabatangan River, to stay in a jungle lodge, spotting wild orang-utans, gibbons and proboscis monkeys, I returned to KK for another practice. I was better prepared. I had begun to acclimatize to the heat and humidity and had established that it was not a breach of dojo etiquette to practice in a light cotton tee-shirt. This time, the format included kihon and kiri kaeshi, as well as shiai-geiko and I was still just about breathing by the end of two hours. Then, it was off to a local bar (run by a member of the dojo) for plenty of Tiger beers, the Old Pulteney single malt that I had taken as a gift and a bottle of Shochu.

The kendo practiced by the Sabah club was quite different from that which I am used to. A high degree of self reliance has led to the development of some very personal and unorthodox (yet effective) styles of kendo and there was a strong emphasis on very fast, close-range kendo, from chika-ma-ai, which took me some getting used to (as did for them my fighting from toi-ma-ai and issoku-itto-no-maai). However, after another exhausting couple of hours of kendo; sitting outside the bar, surrounded by piles of empty bottles and sleeping kendoka; I realised that, despite all the differences – of language, culture, style and climate – we had a lot more in common than not.

On the last day of my trip, Michael and his wife kindly took me and my family out to a traditional village sightseeing and then for a meal. Michael, a company director, told us how he had to “win” his indigenous Kadazan wife with a traditional payment of a buffalo and a pig. This reflects life in Borneo, where the modern world still sits a little precariously on the traditions and environment of the jungle. Michael has managed to build a vibrant kendo tradition in Sabah, yet still has to struggle with a lack of resources and support as well as virtual isolation from the mainstream of the kendo world. Despite the obvious challenges of maintaining a kendo tradition in Borneo, the Sabah kenshi remained as welcoming and generous as could be wished for. I was a bit embarrassed that, by the end of my stay, they had not allowed me to put my hand in my pocket at any point – but not so embarrassed not to

have a bloody good time.

Sabah is a magical place to visit – whether for its idyllic coral islands, its unspoilt rainforests, its mountains, its wildlife or its unique culture. What makes it even more magical is a group of kendo practitioners who, against all the odds, have built one of the most welcoming, generous-spirited and enjoyable dojos. If you are thinking of going to Sabah, Michael has just one request – “Bring more whisky.”

Nat Edwards

Taiseidokai Dojo

[Image references :- with members of the Sabah Kendo Club; Suburi, Borneo style – Michael Tsen and Nat Edwards pounding Rice in a traditional tribal village]

NB – Sabah Kendo Club can be contacted via the Malaysian Kendo Federation