I still remember the scent of the morning—earthy, with a hint of horse sweat and smoky grilled corn wafting from nearby stalls. My son’s tiny fingers gripped my calloused hand tightly as we walked into the beating heart of the Tamu Besar in Kota Belud.
It was his first time. Mine? I’ve lost count. But each year, the excitement never fades. The Tamu isn’t just a market or a fair—it’s a living celebration of who we are. Colorful tents stretched out like a patchwork quilt, buzzing with voices, laughter, music. Traders haggled over woven crafts and spices, the rhythm of the kulintangan echoed across the plains, and the unmistakable clatter of hooves signaled what we both came to see: the Bajau horsemen.
He looked up at me when the first of them rode past, eyes wide. Their horses were adorned like royalty—tassels of red, yellow, and green swaying with each step. The riders sat tall, proud, as if born on horseback. I squeezed his hand and said, “That was your grandfather’s saddle once. And one day, maybe it’ll be yours.”
Later, I hoisted him onto a gentle pony—his little legs barely wrapped around its sides. He giggled nervously, his hands clutching the reins as I walked beside him. I saw in his eyes the same spark I had when I first rode under the open skies of Kota Belud, cheered on by family and strangers alike. And in that moment, I silently prayed that when I no longer can ride or guide him, the spirit of this place will carry him forward.
This tradition, this gathering—it’s more than just for us Bajaus. It belongs to anyone who takes the time to see, to feel, to listen. I wish more people knew of this magic—the thunder of hooves, the dance of riders in embroidered destar, the shared pride in culture and heritage.
As the sun dipped low and painted the hills gold, I stood watching him ride in small circles, his laughter mingling with the sounds of the Tamu. And I felt a quiet hope. That in the years to come, long after my saddle has been passed down, this place, this celebration, will still echo with the sound of children’s laughter and the steady rhythm of proud Bajau hooves.
