FOCUS It was an early morning when I followed Irene Chua to her school in Kanowit, a small town built on the mouth of the Kanowit River where it joins the Rajang River. Their principal had been transferred early this year, thus Irene had taken over the job temporarily.

The fog was thick while we were driving from Sibu to Kanowit town. It’s a 45-minute drive for the teachers every weekday morning. She picked me up at 5.30 by dawn and we reached Kanowit town at 6.15.

Irene carpooled with another two of her colleagues. They slept throughout the journey, admitting that it’s too early to wake up like this. The road is dark and had no street lights, with bushes and some wooden houses along the way.

We needed to take another 20-minute boat upon reaching Kanowit town. It took us almost an hour ride from Sibu to the school.

“We do have a muddy road which could directly lead to school but it’s slippery and rugged,” said Irene. “I took the road a few times but stopped due to safety concerns.”

It is the seventh year of her teaching career in SJK (C) Lian Hua. The school was known as ‘Sekolah Pedalaman 1', a ‘rural and remote school’, as the Education Ministry has labelled it. A rural and remote school is defined by certain criteria such as transportation, travelling risk, availability of clean water and electricity and so on.

But this status has been cancelled since early 2015. The staff no longer receive their RM500 allowance even though they are challenged with the harsh travelling conditions on a daily basis.

A blast of cold air speared through my coat and prickled along my skin. I was told to wear a sweater and life jacket during the boat ride.

There are only 22 students in the school. Most of them are indigenous children from the village nearby. Parents send their kids by perahu (boat) every day. That’s how things work here. From time to time, there are express boats travelling to Kapit that pass by.

A Year One girl was sobbing and hesitated to let go of her mum. It was her second week in the school.

In the class, students quietly waited for the class to start. Orange jackets were hung on the backs of the chairs and some were hung on the wall.

Irene was busy when the class started. She teaches, inspects the school and does some paper filing works.

No water infrastructure

I met Leong Ping Ping, a teacher who had served for nine years in the school.

“I first came as a temporary teacher,” she said. “I was staying in the hostel during my first year before moving out.”

Here, the water comes from the mountains and the river. It can easily dry up during the drought season. Currently, the river pump is broken and is yet to be fixed.

“The staff have to bring the water from town by boat during the drought,” she said. “Sometimes we would ask the teachers and students to queue up, fill up their bucket of water, and pass the bucket down.”

Ping Ping is talkative and passionate. This could be seen from the way she handles her class.

Her voice could be heard even when I was in the jetty. I asked her if she has ever thought of transferring to the schools in the city. She chose to stay because there is no difference in the workload, city or the outskirts.

“The lack of travelling allowance is something severe,” she said. “Sometimes we have to travel to school at the weekend in order to give students additional classes. You have to cover all the costs by yourself.”

Intensive tuition

A month before the UPSR exam, Year Six subject teachers will try to accommodate students at their place for intensive tuition.

“We provide a decent accommodation for them. We provide food and the environment is a lot better than the situation at home,” she said. All the costs are covered by the teachers on their own.

The 20-minute boat ride could cost up to RM50 one-way. Sharing with the other staff members is definitely a good idea but not all the teachers travel to school at the weekend. Only those who are teaching in upper classes such as Year Five or Year Six do so.

Cyril Geraman, 27, the school clerk, leaves the school alone every day after work as his working hours finish later than the teachers'.

“I travel by car. An hour from my home in Julau,” he said. The Iban clerk was sipping coffee in the canteen while he spoke to me.

“The road is bad. An hour’s drive from my home. But it’s the only option. I have heartache as you know my car is new. When the car is hitting the mud of some obstacles, I feel breathless but I slowly got used to it.” he said. “The other alternative is to take two boats and two modes of land transport for me to reach home.”

The school is located in a Chinese village but most of the Chinese villagers had moved to the town. The village is deserted. These days, most of the students are from the other parts of the river.

Paddling to school

One of the teachers, Kong Siew Hua, was a student at the school when she was young.

“My village is just opposite the river,” she smiled. “We paddled to school back then as the family could not afford to get a pricy engine.”

There are many challenges for the teachers to get the students to catch up with the language.

“They don’t speak Mandarin at home. The school is the only place where they get to hear the language being spoken. Not easy for the kids to practice,” said Irene.

It was even more difficult for her when she was pregnant. The long journey travelling made her feel nausea and dizzy. Despite the challenges, she tried to learn and enjoy every moment she has in school.

Situated by the longest river in Malaysia, the school is remote. Currently there are only two houses standing next to the school. One of the houses is abandoned while an old couple is living in the other one.

The parents came to pick up their kids at late noon. None use land transport, and they wait for the boatman’s pick up. That ends the day of a rural area school teacher.

Part 1: Shooting the rapids - teaching in the heart of Borneo

Part 2: Dalat - a town of the river people

Part 3: No hardship allowance for ‘remote and rural school’ staff

CHRIS LAU is a freelance journalist.