In the rainforest of West Papua...
..there lives a tribe that is one of the most ancient and isolated cultures on Earth.
The Korowai were not visited by outsiders until around 40 years ago,
when anthropologists and missionaries returned with stories of cannibalism,
Stone Age tools, and extraordinary houses built in the trees.
Over the years, other documentaries have been made about them.
But most film crews visit only once.
And everything will have been set up for them in advance by a producer or a local fixer.
In this series, I want to try something different.
In order to get closer to the heart of Korowai culture,
I'm going to go back to the same place four times over the course of a year.
THEY ULULATE
And this time, nothing has been prepared for me.
I've no idea who or what I will find.
On my first trip, I discovered that many more Korowai than I thought
have left the forest, and are now living in government-built villages.
But in a remote treehouse, I met Haup and Halap,
who's known locally as White Beard...
..and their adopted son, August.
THEY SPEAK IN THEIR OWN LANGUAGE
August told me that he had chosen to remain in the
forest to look after his uncles...
..along with his wife Amel, and two kids, Dody and Son.
There's three generations of Korowai people living in that house,
that is a lot of different pairs of eyes to see life in this forest through.
And they're the first people that I've met that are genuinely living in the forest.
They are living it, you know, they are genuinely living in this way.
Now, three months later, I'm returning for my second trip.
But things are destined to get much more complicated than I imagined.
My name is Will Millard. I'm a writer and adventurer.
For the last decade, my fascination with West Papua has seen me
crisscross the province many times.
In that time, I've learned to speak Indonesian.
But the traditional Korowai speak only their own language.
So I've asked a local translator, Perez, to come with me.
White Beard's family treehouse is a four-hour walk
from the nearest village of Muara.
So I've also hired a cook and team of porters
to help me and my film crew carry all our food and equipment.
Oh, we must be getting close now.
I think I remember this bit.
Oh.
Heart's quickening.
I've been thinking about this moment pretty much every day since I left them.
But I'm worried about the impact of so many people turning up at White Beard's house.
So before I left, I asked my local producer, Shinta,
to arrange for a small camp to be built
half an hour's walk from White Beard's house.
Hey.
Wow. Look at this place.
Yeah. You guys have been busy. It's a mess.
How are you? I'm good. Thanks. It's good to see you. Oh, my God!
Good to see you too, how have you been?
You been all right? I'm OK.
Yuni! Perez!
THEY SPEAK IN THEIR OWN LANGUAGE
Yeah, you got a beard going on. Nice one, man.
I feel terrible.
I wanted to try and protect White Beard's family by building our camp away from their treehouse.
But this is much larger than we need.
And much closer to the treehouse than I'd ever imagined.
Look at that. Look at that.
This is insane.
Nobody other than me seems worried about all the trees that have been cut down.
It's like a bomb's gone off.
And the forest is not the only thing to have changed while I've been away.
And Son has been learning how to use the handy cam.
Son? Yeah. Son is wearing clothes, I didn't recognise you. Son.
Oh, you speak Indonesian now too.
He's over there?
This is so weird. Is that August there?
I don't know. Everyone's wearing clothes, I can't recognise anyone.
Dodi. Dodi. Dodi. Son. Dodi. Amel.
It's not happened yet, then. OK, cool.
August.
Yeah? What is going on? What's going on?
I'm a little bit surprised...
..at how much has changed.
August speaks Indonesian.
Son is fluent.
Everybody's wearing clothes.
I wonder if White Beard is going to be in a tuxedo and top hat.
Thank God you're the same.
Don't think I could've coped with any more.
Oh, dear...
Does not speak Indonesian. OK, great.
Not everything has changed.
My second trip could scarcely have got off to a more uncomfortable start.
I wanted to come here to learn about a family of people living in a very traditional way.
But it's becoming clear that August and his family are
not quite what they seemed when I first met them.
On top of that, it's increasingly apparent that just my presence here,
with all the extra baggage that a film crew brings,
is in danger of changing the very thing I came here to record.
It's so good to see you. Manop. Manop.
A lot has changed, my friend.
This is a really simple question, Perez.
THEY SPEAK IN THEIR OWN LANGUAGE
It turns out that when August first heard
that I was looking for a traditional family to film with,
he left his village and brought his wife and kids into the forest.
And moved back in with his elderly relatives.
He imagined that, like other film crews who have come before me,
I was only going to be interested in the very ancient Korowai way of life.
But what I'm beginning to see is that the modern Korowai,
who are moving out of the forest and into the villages,
are just as important.
SINGING
Early the next morning, I wake up to the sound of a baby crying.
BABY WAILS
August? Au...
During the night, August's wife Amel gave birth,
and now she's resting in a special birthing hut that he built for her away from the camp.
Manop. Manop. Waah!
Oh, hello.
Congratulations. Manop.
Lalmbam.
Very beautiful.
Good grief, Amel did everything herself, on her own.
He was nowhere to be seen.
Delivered and then cut her own umbilical cord.
That is, that is hardcore, by any measure.
Wow.
August isn't even going to hold his newborn daughter.
The arrival of the baby seems to bring mixed feelings for the family.
Perez explains that some Korowai have a fear of blood,
as they believe the smell attracts witches who cause sickness.
COUGHS
Apparently, Amel will sleep with her newborn in the birthing hut for the next few days.
Like many Korowai women,
she has tattoos on her face to protect against witches.
The marks were made by using acid from a torch battery,
because they believe that batteries have magical properties.
The next time I hear someone back home complaining cos they can't afford the latest pushchair
and they've got to go with some lesser model...
..I'm going to think about Amel giving birth on her own in the middle of the forest.
And then... LAUGHS
You know, this is... This... Look at this!
This right here... I mean, this is the irony, right?
You think that they've lost their culture because they're wearing clothes,
or walking around with some fancy umbrella.
There's a woman over there who's given birth on her own in the forest,
cut her own umbilical cord, is now looking at five days under there,
in the rain, in the middle of the rainy season.
This is the Korowai. This is, this is, this is, this is how it is.
Manop. Manop. Manop. Manop. Manop.
THEY SPEAK KOROWAI
Now that I know that August only visits Haup and Halap occasionally,
it's clear I've underestimated these two old men,
living alone in the forest,
almost entirely separate from the modern world.
Yes!
SPEAKS KOROWAI
It's a little skink, isn't it?
THEY LAUGH
Wow.
Yeah. Got it, got it.
Yeah, come on.
Yes, gotcha.
Look at that.
Unbelievable. I'm getting an education here.
Haup and Halap have lived through experiences that I can't imagine.
They grew up in a world where tribal warfare and cannibalism were real threats.
But it's easy to forget that for almost all of human existence,
this is how we all lived.
But their way is dying out.
And it's impossible to know how much longer they can last in the forest.
And when they're gone, all their first-hand knowledge of the natural world will go with them.
Whether in the forest or the village, Korowai all live off sago.
A flour made from the fibrous core of a giant rainforest palm.
It's one of the few carbs that doesn't rot in the damp jungle.
SPEAKS KOROWAI
It's a little bit spicy.
It's quite crunchy, it pops in the mouth.
Hanging out with Haup and Halap is incredibly seductive.
And it's easy to forget that their adopted son, August,
with his shorts and T-shirts, is just as much Korowai.
His experience of moving out of the forest and into the government-built
villages is the experience of almost all Korowai now,
as they push to become part of the modern world.
Clearly, life here is far more complicated and fascinating than I'd first realised.
And I'd like to spend time with August at his home too.
You don't know.
I'm so naive, so naive,
that I thought I could just come here with the cameras...
..and capture something truthful about Korowai life.
What an absolute fool.
Now I'm here, and I'm in this situation,
I realise that basically everything that I brought with me has utterly
swallowed and permanently altered the way that they behave.
Of course it has.
August and I are in a stalemate.
Try to engage him in conversation, he doesn't want to talk.
I try to say I'm just as interested in his life back in the village
and he sort of shrugs his shoulders.
And it's like, in his mind, he has a fixed set of things that he does for people like me.
To try and break the stalemate, I've asked my translator, Perez,
to find out what's going on.
The biggest mistake I made is coming back.
There is no page two to the script. There is no more to see.
People don't come back.
People like me don't come back here asking for more.
And that's why we're stuck.
All right.
Well, some of it has to do with the fact that
August thinks you're angry with him because he's gone to live in the village.
Oh, this is so silly.
OK. Manop, August.
It is OK.
Yeah.
It's been almost impossible to persuade August that his life in the village is interestingto me.
Because it's not as obviously exotic as Haup and Halap's.
But now we have more of an understanding between us,
he has finally agreed that when I come back on my next trip,
I can stay with him and his family in Muara.
But for now, I want to get to know Haup and Halap better.
And to do that, I need to shake off this circus that I've created in the forest.
So, no film crew, no porters, no cooks.
Just me, and Perez to translate.
Me being here changes the way things are.
But I'll tell you something for nothing, all of this stuff here,
having 30-plus people, crew, camps, food, all of our toys.
It's just a massive distraction.
I reckon I'm going to get a much better understanding of what it's like to be a traditional Korowai
if I'm just here with a small camera and that's it.
So that's it.
Everybody must go. I've had enough, that's it!
And OK, I might not find some great truth.
I'm not certainly going to become some Korowai warrior.
That's not going to happen. But I reckon I'll get a much better
understanding if it is just me and them, without all of this behind me now.
All right, guys, I'll see you later.
Oh, no. Yeah, I'll see you in a week.
How are you feeling? It's really happening, isn't it?
Yeah, I hope this was a good idea, Gavin.
Radio mic.
Oh, yeah, I don't need this any more, do I?
Take care, bro. Try not to get yourself killed, eh?
I'll do my best. OK. Take care.
Take care, guys.
Bye!
Geez, that's it.
They've gone.
Wow. That's it.
What will we do now?
Wow.
That is crazy.
Look how empty this place is.
We're the kings of forest. Christ.
I've been in the forest on my own...
..many, many times before.
But that's always been on expeditions where
I've been moving through an environment, I've never actually just...
..downed tools and stayed somewhere.
Hopefully this is going to be fun.
Hopefully.
Oh, yeah.
Manop. Manop. Words cannot describe the dryness of this food.
It's like eating the Sahara.
Sago. Sago.
If it's just raining all day, you can't get out there.
The rivers are full of water.
The forest is sodden.
All the insects, all the lizards, all of the big mammals, the birds,
everything, is doing what we're doing.
Which is hunkering down and waiting for it to pass.
How depressing.
For the next ten days it'll be just the four of us alone in the jungle.
And though I assumed it was going to be tough,
I didn't think life in the forest was going to be quite so monotonous.
It's been eight hours straight now.
But at least I've learned the word for rain.
We're off, finally.
There's not a huge amount of time left in the day.
Oh, it's so wet.
Everything is soaked.
Just started making our way up this little river.
Keeping up with Halap is pretty tough.
Lucky he's wearing red, otherwise...
..I'd be lost.
Over there, the river.
We're here to check the fishing lines that Haup left out the day before.
Oh, yeah?
Yes, get in! SPEAKS KOROWAI
Oh, we don't just have to eat sago tonight.
That's killed it.
Oh, yeah.
This is like opening a parcel on Christmas morning.
It's so exciting.
Oh, yeah.
It's about 4:30 in the morning.
It says it all, really, doesn't it?
There is nothing you can do, stuck inside...
..waiting for it to stop.
I've decided to change my psychological approach to sago.
I love it.
Mm. That's great.
Maybe it's me, maybe I just don't understand, maybe,
maybe I just don't get it.
I come from a place where...
..you're constantly productive.
And to kind of sit around and do nothing is, is frowned upon.
So I think there's part of me that's,
that's constantly kind of gnawing to go out and do something,
no matter what it is.
WHISTLES
THEY BOTH WHISTLE THE SAME TUNE
I'd actually like to have that filled with sago now.
I miss it.
It's dawning on me that Haup and Halap live their whole lives in the present.
In a world where the forces of nature are so great,
there's little point in worrying about tomorrow.
All that counts is what happens right now.
With no written language,
the Korowai only experience the past as memories and stories,
which can easily fade or be forgotten.
Even the treehouses themselves only last a few years before the jungle reclaims them.
It's as if time itself stands still.
And for me, adjusting to this ancient way of life is nigh on impossible.
Perez and I are going to go on our own today.
OK, bye.
I'm starting to feel really exhausted.
I just keep feeling like I want to just sit down and...
Wow.
With the river so fast and high,
the chances of catching anything at all are remote.
And fishing today feels like a waste of precious energy.
Come on. Oh, no, it's a stick.
Oh, no...
Hey, Halap.
This is about as bad as it gets.
It's unseasonably bad, even for the rainy season.
Yeah? Yeah.
This ain't good.
There's about...
..half an hour of light left.
MUFFLED VOICES
Oh, he's here.
Hey, Haup.
Haup casually strolls in
five minutes before it's pitch-black outside, with food.
THEY SPEAK ANIMATEDLY
I don't think Halap's forgiven him though.
He's going mad.
Listen. THEY SPEAK ANIMATEDLY
You know, the guy that can't hunt
has actually provided all of the food.
And there's also some sago grubs here as well.
Which we're actually eating.
Delicious.
Jesus...
That is, that's pretty grim. LAUGHS
Oh, dear...
There's no doubt that these two are
utterly reliant on each other out here.
If one fails, they both fail.
They're utterly alone.
I know now, beyond any shadow of a doubt,
that if I really was Korowai man living out here...
..I'd be among the first into that village.
I wish I could say that I'd be one of the ones that stayed out here,
saw it out to the bitter end,
my bones were left in the treehouse to be consumed by the rest of the forest.
But I know I wouldn't be.
I know, as part of August's generation...
..that I'd leave.
Because it's just too hard to stay.
SINGING
This is my third trip to Korowai territory.
And the more time I've spent here,
the more obvious it has become that the Korowai are a tribe in transition.
Most people have now left the forest and are pushing to enter the cash economy and the modern world.
So I'm back in Mabur, on my way to the village of Muara,
where I hope to spend some proper time with August and his family.
But first I need to pick up Perez, my translator.
Whose wife, like Amel, has also recently given birth.
Perez.
Bro.
Oh, mate...
This is Perez's wife. Yeah, I know.
So Perez's baby is gone. She's gone.
It's very sad news,
which Perez and his wife seem to be taking in such a matter-of-fact way.
I remember August telling me that babies don't actually become people
until they start to interact with you.
They start to smile, show character.
And because you can't really consider them people, when they pass away...
..you don't really grieve in the same way.
It's funny, I don't know, as long as this year continues...
You know, now I'm starting to really get into it,
and it isn't just eating grubs, and treehouses, and stuff like that...
You start to realise actually, that there is,
there are some real complexities to this culture, that are very, very, very different.
And it takes spending time here to really see them.
Muara has always had a reputation for being hostile to outsiders.
And hard as it was living with Haup and Halap,
I get the sense that things may be even harder in the village with August.
Hello.
Oh, yeah?
Shinta. All right, mate? Yeah. So, August isn't here any more, is he?
I know, I heard. What have you heard?
I heard that he went, the whole family,
went to the, I guess, sago festival in the forest.
So something is going on in the forest.
But not, not in Haup and Halap's house.
So, not only is August not here, but almost all of the village isn't here.
Not just this village, but the village upstream, and the village downstream.
And everyone is heading to a massive sago festival, which starts tomorrow.
A day's walk into the forest.
It's something I've only ever read about. I've never seen it, ever.
And if it's authentic and it's for real,
it's going to be possibly one of the greatest things I've ever seen.
So I'm going to try and get there to a village in between, hopefully, make it there.
This massive sago grub feast
is a coming together of hundreds of Korowai.
You know, these people that traditionally live all the way across this forest,
this is the one thing that gets them altogether.
It's a really, really important date in the Korowai calendar.
And to have arrived in Muara the day before it happens, man,
it feels almost too good to be true.
Yeah, here we go. This looks more like the main road there to the village.
Manop. Manop. Manop.
There's nobody here at all. It is a ghost village.
And that's a good sign I think, actually. I think that means that...
..this sago grub feast actually could be for real.
Cool.
Oh, OK.
Well, it's tense times.
I've made it to this village all right.
But, pretty much as soon as I arrived,
people started to get little bit nervous and it was decided that it would be better
if Perez and a couple of others went ahead and put our case to the organiser,
to see if I can get in and film.
I've given him some cigarettes to hopefully sweeten the deal, but there's still no guarantee.
HEAVY RAIN
Check this out. This is like opening the window on a ship,
in the middle of a storm in the sea. THUNDERCLAP
Whoa! Look at that!
We are in the middle of a storm. It's absolutely crazy out there.
I just hope that we're not judged on the fact that I sent a group of
people to negotiate access to this feast...
..and then this happens.
HE MOUTHS
Blimey. That's enough of that.
Perez.
Yeah? Really?
Yeah. OK. Oh, that's great news. Well done, mate.
It's a two-hour trek deeper into the forest to reach the festival site.
Oh, yeah?
This is a forest of sago palms.
They're everywhere.
There's sago palms dropped everywhere here and the smell,
I can just smell that fetid sago.
Which means that these have been harvested for this festival,
and that we are getting pretty close.
I can see a clearing. I think we might already be there.
Look at this.
It actually, it really is just a clearing in the middle of the jungle.
Man... It's like a mirage.
HE GREETS THEM IN THEIR OWN LANGUAGE
Wow, Yudas.
I'm looking now, I can see probably 100 metres,
just a long line of huts and then a really big hut in the background.
August could be here somewhere.
THEY SPEAK IN THEIR OWN LANGUAGE
This looks like the biggest hut of them all. The main stage, possibly?
Wow. Manop. Manop.
THEY SPEAK IN THEIR OWN LANGUAGE
Wow!
This is the biggest Korowai oven I have ever seen.
We've literally just walked into a jungle clearing and this industry is going on.
I really thought that I was never ever going to get to see this.
And this is just the beginning.
There are still hundreds of people on their way here.
Perez tells me that preparations for the feast began three months ago.
With the cutting down of dozens of trees
that had been used to farm the sago grubs.
Now they're fat, they're baked into giant sago flour pizzas,
cooked on hot stones,
and ready to be served to the clans as they arrive from the surrounding villages.
To get here, to see something absolutely genuinely unique,
and traditional,
which is being run by two fellas in football shirts and shades,
is absolutely brilliant.
Next time, when I return to the jungle...
..the Korowai clans descend on the grub fest.
Birds of paradise on heads, cassowary feathers,
football tops, the works, it's amazing.
But back in the village, the party is over.
SHOUTS AGGRESSIVELY IN OWN LANGUAGE