In the middle of the night the longhouse dogs started their wailing howl, low at first then rising in pitch, and I swear they were being led by a human voice, an old woman’s voice. This was not barking but a continuous howl much like wolves make and none of the other animals, the chickens or pigs, made any sound. There were no murmurs of other human voices and the rest of the longhouse remained quiet. This continued for about an hour and it sounded like the old woman’s crying was coming from the area where the dead body lay. Nothing was said in the morning and this happened over several consecutive nights. Out here in the jungle. In Borneo.

So begins my second chronicle of my travels in the jungles of Borneo which follows on my African memoir.