The Spirit of Tuaran: My Roots, My Faith, and the Mystery That Never Left Me
A Tuaran childhood among paddy fields and kerbau, a Lotud ritual, and the day my nenek stood up for me. My story, and our family homestay in Tuaran, Sabah.
Viannie Undikai
10/18/20268 min read
My auntie Ripah Bohuji, whom I called nenek, a Dusun Lotud woman of Tuaran, in Lotud attire: a dark top with gold trim, braiding a bright, many coloured cord. Photo: Henry KY Chin.
Some stories begin in childhood. Others stay with us for a lifetime, quietly waiting for us to understand them.
When I was a little girl, Tuaran was my world. While my older sister enjoyed the excitement of city life, I was drawn to the kampung. Something about the open paddy fields, the trees, the animals, and the rhythm of village life made me feel free. Whenever the school holidays came, I wanted to return to Tuaran, where my auntie Ripah Bohuji, whom I called nenek, lived, and where my late cousin Linau Masin and I shared so many adventures.
Getting there was an adventure of its own. I was very young, and I took the bus all by myself. Along the way I had to change buses, alone, with no one to guide me. But I never turned back. Somehow, every single time, I made it to Tuaran. Even as a little girl, nothing could keep me from the place I loved.
We climbed trees to pick jambu batu, dipping the fruit in chilli and kicap. We rode our bicycles around the house and climbed onto the backs of kerbau, holding on as they moved with a steady rhythm, almost like riding horses. To a little girl, every day was an adventure. There was always something to discover, something to wonder about.
Rice paddies 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.
A young water buffalo (kerbau) grazing at Kampung Kokol, Menggatal, Sabah, January 2014. Not our own kerbau, but the same gentle kind of animal we rode as children. Photo: CEphoto, Uwe Aranas, via Wikimedia Commons, licensed CC BY-SA 3.0.
But Tuaran held another world, one that fascinated me just as much as the kampung life I loved. It was the spiritual world of my ancestors.
A restored traditional Lotud house at the Heritage Village in Kota Kinabalu, Sabah. Photo: Bellenion, via Wikimedia Commons, licensed CC BY-SA 3.0.
The mystery inside my aunt’s house
Whenever I returned to Tuaran, I witnessed the traditional rituals practiced by the elders in my family and community. The momolian would gather, and the atmosphere in the house would change.
Momolian: a Lotud spiritual leader and healer who leads traditional rituals and may enter a trance (Lotud word).
I remember the colorful traditional clothing, the intricate designs, the beads, the skirts, and the deliberate movements of the women. They moved in a circle around the offerings placed at the center. To my young eyes, everything seemed to carry a meaning I couldn’t understand. Why did they move in a circle? Why were the offerings placed in the middle? Why did the women wear those particular colors and garments? What was happening when the ritual began?
Lotud tantagas in ceremonial dress stand in a circle around offerings at the Mamahui Pogun, 8 October 2011. Not my grandmother's ritual, but the same sacred care. Photo: Henry Lim, Kampung Panjut Tuaran blog.
I had so many questions, but I never asked them. I simply watched.
In the Lotud tradition, the momolian has an important spiritual role. During certain rituals, a trance may be entered, through which a spirit is believed to communicate. Such ceremonies may bring healing, protection, even prosperity. To the elders, this was a serious matter. To me, it was a mystery I desperately wanted to understand. I was also a young Christian. My faith was still growing, and I didn’t know much about prayer. I had no physical rosary, so I counted each prayer on my fingers, repeating them as best I could. Perhaps it was the curiosity of a child. Perhaps I was testing the boundaries between what I saw and what I believed.
I wanted to know: was my God real? Would He hear me? And what would happen if I prayed while the ritual was taking place? I never imagined that my quiet experiment would lead to one of the most unforgettable moments of my childhood.
The day my grandmother stood up for me
During one particular ritual, something unexpected happened. The momolian was supposed to enter a trance, but the expected spirit never came. The air grew tense. Suddenly, the head ritual specialist spun, fury in her eyes, and she threw the entire tray of offerings at me, accusing me of breaking the ceremony. I was small, terrified, and frozen. But in that moment, my aunt, Nenek, stood up. Her voice cut through the fear, firm, powerful, and she declared, “You shall not touch her. She is my granddaughter.” I now understand that this was a sacred moment; the ritual was never mine to fully grasp as a child, but I knew then that there was a power bigger than fear holding me.
Lotud tantagas in ceremonial dress at the Mamahui Pogun. Photo: Henry Lim, Kampung Panjut Tuaran blog.
Stay where the story lives
Now, with Tuaran Kampung Villa, I open that same door so others can come and feel that mystery, always with respect for the generations who came before us. Come, stay, and let Tuaran teach you what it taught me, slowly, with wonder, and with deep reverence.
The colourful outdoor sitting area at Tuaran Kampung Villa, our family homestay in Tuaran, Sabah. Photo: Tuaran Kampung Villa.
The living and dining room at Tuaran Kampung Villa, Tuaran, Sabah. Photo: Tuaran Kampung Villa.
Social Media
Creating unforgettable memories in Sabah's beauty.
© 2025 StaysWellGlobal. All Right Reserved.