By Karen Bong
KUCHING, Sept 25: For 53-year-old Louis Joperya Nyakot, a licensed crocodile hunter from Lundu, confronting one of nature’s most fearsome predators is more than just a battle of skill—it is an act of faith.
Since obtaining his licence from Sarawak Forest Department in 2018, Louis has taken down over 20 crocodiles, protecting riverine communities in Sempadi, Batang Kayan, Serayan, and Rambungan.
Yet, his greatest weapon is neither his gun nor his steel hooks—it is his unshakable belief in God.
A devout Catholic, Louis, or better known as Bapa Sam by locals, once served at a church in Sri Aman and Bau. Now, he continues as his work as a catechist at the church in Lundu, ministering to both the Bidayuh and Iban communities, as well as local schools.
“People think I use magic or charms, but that’s not true,” he shared with DayakDaily, addressing the myths that swirl around his dangerous profession.
“I am a man of Christian faith. I am a Catholic catechist and spread the words of God. My armour is God. Before every hunt, I pray for protection. If these creatures are a threat, it is my duty to put them down, but I trust that God is with me.”
Protecting communities: Duty above glory
A father of five children, originally from Kampung Selampit but now residing opposite in Kampung Bitokan across the Kayan River, Louis’s journey as a crocodile hunter began out of necessity.
Villagers, mostly fishermen, whose livelihoods depend on the rivers, would call upon him when these ancient reptiles ventured too close to their homes.
With a licence that costs just RM100, it grants him the authority to trap and dispose of “problem” crocodiles between six and seven feet in length, though some of his catches have been much larger.
In 2022, he captured a 17-foot, 300-kilogramme beast in Batang Kayan—his largest to date. Yet for him, each mission is a matter of duty, not triumph.
This deep sense of faith guides Louis as he ventures into rivers known for harbouring crocodiles, creatures that have roamed the Earth for millions of years.
With his tools—steel hooks, lines, and bait—Louis sets up traps, all while carrying the weight of his responsibility to keep the community safe. His mission is not about glory or fortune but to defend the lives of the riverine villagers and fishermen whose livelihoods depend on the river.
“These big crocodiles are dangerous because they are often starving. They cannot compete with smaller, quicker ones for food, and they are drawn to human settlements because of the rubbish we throw into the rivers, especially animal waste that smells of blood,” he explained.
For Louis, the battle is not just with the crocodile but with the circumstances that drive these creatures into conflict with humans.
A hunter’s calculated method
His method is as calculated as it is brave. After receiving a request from villagers, he heads out to the danger zone, armed with simple, inexpensive offal, particularly cow lungs, his preferred bait. He lays out four or five hooks along the river and wait patiently for hours or even days.
“Crocodiles are elusive creatures. Even if you know they are around, catching them takes time. And when you do, it is a fight. When they are caught, they are fierce and don’t give in easily. They thrash and roll, trying to break free.
“But we have to keep calm and control the situation as the crocodile will tire out eventually,” he shared.
Despite the inherent danger, his method is swift and humane, ensuring the reptile is subdued without unnecessary suffering.
“We try to calm them down when they are caught. If they are too stressed, they become even more dangerous. A steady hand and a focused mind are important.”
Once the reptile is subdued, Louis takes swift action, shooting it to prevent any further danger. The animal’s jaws are duct-taped shut, and its limbs bound with rope, allowing it to be lifted into a boat for transport back to the village.
Respect for the predator
Though his work requires him to kill crocodiles, Louis has a deep respect for these creatures. As a Bidayuh from the Jagoi tribe, he acknowledges the age-old myths surrounding crocodiles passed down by his ancestors, but his focus is on practicality and safety.
“These taboos are tied to specific areas, but my priority is the people under threat. If a crocodile is endangering someone’s life, I have to act,” he said.
While he respects the cultural beliefs, Louis, as a Catholic, does not adhere to the specific taboos of the Bidayuh.
His role as a hunter is not to slaughter indiscriminately, but to eliminate “problem” crocodiles—those that are attacking livestock or posing a direct threat to humans, including fishermen and their assets.
Despite that, he has also developed a taste for crocodile meat, often cooking it with ‘terung Dayak’ (Dayak brinjal), which he says tastes similar to river terrapin. The meat is sometimes sold to licensed buyers or shared with villagers, helping him cover the costs of bullets and equipment.
“In the past, I tried turning the skin into leather, but the chemicals are too expensive so I had to stop,” he added.
Crocodile taboos in Iban folklore: The dark legacy of Bujang Senang
Many indigenous communities hold deep-rooted taboos against killing crocodiles and this belief is shared across various ethnic groups, including the Iban, Malay, Melanau, Orang Ulu, and Bidayuh.
For the Iban, crocodiles hold a particularly grim place in folklore. They are regarded as lethal and calculating creatures, notorious for preying on humans. Even in captivity, the sight of one stirs an instinctive sense of danger.
Among the many legends of these fearsome reptiles, none is more infamous than Bujang Senang, a massive saltwater crocodile nearly 20 feet long that terrorised the Batang Lupar for decades.
Bujang Senang’s reign of terror ended in May 1992 after a massive hunt, sparked by the tragic death of a young Iban woman, Dayang Bayang, whom the crocodile devoured in the Pelaban River, a tributary of the Batang Lupar.
However, according to Iban mythology, Bujang Senang was not always a crocodile. The legend tells that he was once Simalungun, a fearsome warrior and headhunter, who died in battle while trying to save his wife from captors at the Senang River.
Their bodies were thrown into the river, but Simalungun’s spirit drifted to the depths. His grieving relative, a powerful shaman, searched for him but found no trace until Simalungun appeared in a dream, demanding revenge.
The next morning, the shaman called upon the gods to transform Simalungun into a giant white crocodile. Thus, Bujang Senang was born, a fearsome entity who swore to haunt the descendants of those who had killed him and his wife.
For over 50 years, from 1941 to 1992, Bujang Senang exacted his vengeance along the Senang River, instilling fear among those who lived near its banks. Though the crocodile was eventually shot and killed, the legend of Simalungun and his transformation into Bujang Senang continues to live on, a chilling tale passed down through generations along the Batang Lupar.
Support for crocodile sanctuaries
Despite his role as a hunter, Louis welcomes the Sarawak government’s plans to establish crocodile sanctuaries.
“These reptiles have been here for millions of years, and they deserve to live, but not in a way that threatens humans. A sanctuary would allow them to thrive without encroaching on our villages, and it would protect them from illegal hunting.”
While he noted that it is not a complete solution, he believed the sanctuary is a good start.
Louis hopes that alongside managing crocodile populations, the government will also support the families of those killed by crocodiles and fishermen whose equipment is damaged by the reptiles.
His most recent catch, a nine-foot crocodile from Kampung Batang Terap in Kuala Bandang, serves as another chapter in his ongoing mission to protect the people. Each time Louis faces one of the world’s oldest predators head-on, he does so with quiet bravery, armed not just with traps and guns but with a deep sense of duty and faith that his true strength comes from a higher power. — DayakDaily
