The Broken Bridge: A Tuaran Story of Roots and Faith
A Tuaran story of roots and faith: a blind great-grandmother healer, an old man in white, a broken bridge in my dreams, and the faith that led me home.
Viannie Undikai
10/20/20266 min read
Some bridges are broken, some paths are uncertain, and sometimes faith is what helps us find our way home.
Tuaran: Where My Story Began
When I was a child, Tuaran was my sanctuary: golden paddy fields, ancestral whispers and a river that seemed to hold secrets beyond my understanding.
The old man in white beside the broken bridge, as I saw him in my dream. Illustration created for this story.
People said that because I was native, a pure native, I carried a special power. Both sides of my family, my mother's and father's, had a strong heritage of spiritual healing. These traditions shaped the world I grew up in, where faith, healing and the unseen were part of everyday life.
My great-grandmother on my father's side was blind, yet people travelled from far and near to seek her healing. Remarkably, even at 90, she looked youthful and vibrant. Her blindness did not diminish the respect people had for her or the trust they placed in her healing ability. As a child, I watched and wondered about this extraordinary woman. Her presence left an impression I would carry throughout my life.
The Old Man in White
I often dreamed of an old man with white hair and a long white beard. He wore simple clothes resembling traditional kung fu clothing and held a small wooden branch, a kayu ranting, in his hand.
Sometimes, he sat quietly beside a river. He never spoke. He simply pointed me towards a path.
Padi fields with scarecrows east of the Tuaran to Kota Belud road, Tuaran, Sabah, March 2016. Photo: CEphoto, Uwe Aranas, via Wikimedia Commons, licensed CC BY-SA 3.0.
Who was he? Was he connected to my ancestors, or was there a deeper meaning behind these recurring dreams? I could not explain them, but the image remained with me for years.
Growing up surrounded by ancestral healing traditions, I naturally wondered about the spiritual world. Yet I was also searching for something I could truly believe in.
The Ritual and the Healing Touch
At around seven or eight, I witnessed a ritual in Tuaran. Women in bright skirts circled an offering, their silver bangles shining as bells chimed around them.
Lotud women in ceremonial dress circle the offerings at a ritual in Tuaran, October 2011. Not the ritual I saw as a child. Photo: Henry Lim, Kampung Panjut Tuaran.
I prayed quietly, counting my beads. My prayer interrupted the trance, and the chief priestess of the Momolian became frustrated and hurled the offering tray towards me. I was a small child, frightened and frozen, caught between traditions I had witnessed and the faith beginning to take shape within me.
Momolian: a traditional Lotud ritual in which a trance may be entered (Lotud word).
Then, at eleven, I fell. My leg was broken, twisted and needed urgent surgery. My blind great-grandmother, my father's grandmother, moved my injured leg with her hands. I remember her gentle presence and familiar sarong, the sarong she used to heal me. She wrapped me inside it and began to twirl me around. She was very strong. I cannot explain everything that happened physically, but the experience stayed with me as a powerful memory of love, trust and healing. I never had surgery, and today my leg is strong and healthy.
A sarong like the one my great-grandmother wrapped me in. This batik sarong is from northern Java, made around 1900 to 1910, now at the Cincinnati Art Museum. Photo: Daderot, via Wikimedia Commons, released into the public domain (CC0).
I began wondering about our existence: Are we spirits living in a human body, with a soul that carries our thoughts, emotions, memories, dreams and hopes? These questions became part of my search for a deeper understanding of life.
The Broken Bridge
In my dreams, I also remember a broken bridge. Some wooden planks hung dangerously, while others were missing altogether. To cross it, I had to balance carefully, choosing each step with caution.
Every movement was uncertain. I could not rush forward; I had to find my balance despite the gaps beneath my feet.
The Sungai Tuaran, looking upstream from the swinging bridge at Tamparuli, Tuaran district, August 2012. Photo: CEphoto, Uwe Aranas, via Wikimedia Commons, licensed CC BY-SA 3.0.
Sometimes, I think of that bridge as a reflection of life's journey. We do not always know what lies ahead, and the path is not always complete. Like the old man pointing towards a way forward, the dream remains a mystery to me. Perhaps its meaning lies not in knowing everything, but in finding the courage to continue.
Choosing Christ, Finding Home
I continued dreaming of the old man in white until I decided to follow the teachings of Jesus Christ. I cannot say for certain who he was or why those dreams continued. I only know that choosing Christ gave my faith a foundation.
I never forgot my ancestors or my great-grandmother's remarkable legacy. I could respect my roots without claiming to understand every spiritual mystery of my childhood. My past remains part of my story, while Jesus Christ guides the path I choose today.
Now, Tuaran Kampung Villa represents more than a place to stay. It connects me to the land where my story began: to the river, the paddy fields, my family's heritage and the memories that shaped me.
The colourful outdoor sitting area at Tuaran Kampung Villa, Tuaran, Sabah. Photo: Tuaran Kampung Villa.
Through this home, I hope visitors discover the warmth of village life, appreciate Tuaran's cultural heritage and create meaningful memories of their own.
Don't just visit Tuaran. Live it. Taste it. Come Home.
I may never fully understand the old man in white or the broken bridge. But I have learned that I do not need every answer before taking the next step.
Tuaran is where my story began. My ancestors are part of the history I carry. Jesus Christ is the foundation of my faith. And Tuaran Kampung Villa is where these memories find a home.
Some bridges remain broken, with planks missing and the way forward uncertain. Yet with faith, courage and trust in God, we can still find our way across.
Read more of my Tuaran stories: The Spirit of Tuaran and our Tuaran Kampung Villa story.
Stay in Tuaran
Tuaran Kampung Villa (TKV), Your Private Home in the Heart of Tuaran, sleeps up to 8 guests. Come for the village life, the food and the river, and make Tuaran memories of your own.
Frequently asked questions
What is The Broken Bridge story about?
It is my story of growing up between Tuaran's ancestral healing traditions and my Christian faith. It tells of my blind great-grandmother, who people travelled far to see for healing, a recurring dream of an old man in white, and a broken bridge I had to cross with care.
What is the Momolian in the story?
The Momolian is the Lotud ritual I watched in Tuaran when I was around seven or eight. My quiet prayer interrupted the trance, and the chief priestess of the Momolian, frustrated, hurled the offering tray towards me. A trance may be entered during this traditional ritual.
How is Tuaran Kampung Villa connected to this story?
Tuaran is where my story began. Tuaran Kampung Villa connects me to that land: the river, the paddy fields, my family's heritage and the memories that shaped me. Through this home, I hope visitors discover the warmth of village life and Tuaran's cultural heritage.
How many guests can stay at Tuaran Kampung Villa?
Tuaran Kampung Villa (TKV) sleeps up to 8 guests. It is a private home in Tuaran, Sabah, good for families and small groups who want to experience kampung life. You can book on our website.
Written by Viannie Undikai. 20 October 2026.
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