The titi dwellers

I wanted to migrate from the kampung series for a bit and start tracing my venture into primary school, but Nabiya and Marko wanted me to stay on in the kampung a little longer. They were curious to know more of the Kampung Gita where I grew up. They think that everything from my era was funny. So here I am, back in Kampung Gita in the 1960s and 70s so they can make fun of our bell bottoms, high heel shoes and clogs.

The kampung was like any other Malay kampung in Sarawak. Wooden houses with 'atap belian' roofs, belian stilts and resting on belian 'gelegars'. (I really cannot find an english word for 'gelegar' so just ask an old Sarawakian friend what it means. Belian is the iron wood found only in Borneo. Most houses would have wooden window shutters.  

Our house is No. 35 Jalan Bunga Rose, Kampung Gita (no post codes those days) and like most houses ours have verandahs with sturdy belian staircases. As a boy I used to get belian wood splinters, 'suran', in my toes or fingers and extracting them from under your skin was a painful experience.

Our verandah was a bit different from others. It was on a split level between the ground level and the first floor of the house and spacious. This was where we would surround mum in the evenings while she fed us nasi campur dinner from a large tray. Like noisy baby birds huddled in the nest, mouths wide open waiting for our turn for a handful of food from mum - 'makan sapik' as we call it in Sarawak.

No 35, Jln Bunga Rose was an average house, living cum dining room areas for visitors and three bedrooms. Originally the bedrooms did not have doors, just curtains hanging from a cord. The dining and kitchen were on a lower level. The floors were wooden and there were gaps between the planks of the wooden floors. As little kids we had fearful imaginations of pontianak or any hantu peeping through the gaps or poke their long finger nails through. We were very careful where we placed our feet then.

The bathroom was just a protrusion from the house, zinc walled, belian floors with gaps between the planks. When you shower, water would drain through the purpose built gaps in the floor to the 'juruk' below. The 'juruk' was murky, muddy, slimmy green drain below the bathroom. Most kampung boys would have their 'tales from the juruk'. Betty recalled I once fell in the juruk when I was around 5 years old and reemerge like the Swamp Thing, covered in slime from head to toe with bubbles in my mouth. 

Houses in Kampung Gita were quite similar, slightly different in size and shape but with the same basic concept. Wooden planks were arranged horizontally for walls, with slight overlaps for effect called "..dindin sisit" in Sarawak. The imperfections in the planks and craftsmanship would be very telling during the nights when rays of lights flickered through the cracks. Aiyoo..these cracks was probably why we had 'orang minyak' or 'pong pong' as Betty called him (or them?). Pong pong meant stark naked; so obviously Betty must have seen the 'orang minyak' in his nudity. Poor girl is 'traumatised' till today..hehehe. 

Then there was the far out 'outhouse'; the now extinct 'jamban'. Nope, no 'jamban tarik' for us. It was just a hole in the ground with a drum in it and the top end cut off. A small hut on stilts over the drum, zinc roof, zinc walls and a rudimentary latch door. Wooden floors with...hehehe...a hole in the floor where we did our big job. Whatever you do, do not look down through the hole. But kids are curious ...boy oh boy...do not look down! We also learnt how to hold our breathe for as long as at least a minute or more. Get your job done fast and furious if you must but get out, pronto! You do not hang around in there! Gross!!

For obvious reasons the jamban were ALWAYS built as far away as possible from the main house. Ours was a good 20 meters or so, right on the fringe of the jungle. As an 8 year old it seemed more like 100 meters. I remember a certain macho boss in the jamban and had constipation, hollering out loud for "AYER! AYER!". Yours truly would ran the whole imaginary 100 meters to give him drinking water. Man!!!

The distance to the jamban posed another problem for us kids - what if you need to visit the jamban at night? No way! Not with all the hantus in the jungle around you; probably giving birth to the mysterious late night 'titi' dwellers!

The drains lining the streets in the kampung have always been there. Those days we would have a simple wooden walkway over the drain, called 'titi'. Every house had a titi and ours was originally belian and later changed to concrete piles. I remember the day when my dad and uncle were working on replacing the belian titi with concrete piles. My dad's finger was almost crushed when it was caught between the concrete slabs. It must be very painful.

People in the kampung seems to spend a lot of time on their titis. Most built wooden benches for sitting on their titis. Some of the benches are simple one piece of wooden plank while others had back rests on it. The kampung folks young and old spent a lot of time sitting, congregating and socialising around the titi. The teenagers would gather at the titis at night, chatting, singing (trying to singing) with their guitars or dating. Later when television was introduced, the shows like Wild Wild West, Bonanza, Little House on the Prairie, etc led to the reduction of the titi dwellers.   

There were also the mysterious late night titi dwellers...hehehe. Because the jambans were far from the main house, most people were afraid to use them when nature's call came late at night. Out of desperation a very small number (I stress SMALL which means yours truly excluded...hehehe) would resort to the drain instead. 'Shadowy figures' hunched at the edge of the titis with their heads covered in sarongs in pitch darkness. You could see these shadows in the corner of your eyes as you walked the streets at night. I suspected that the titi dwellers actually used their neighbours' titis instead of their own. My dad built benches with back rests on both sides of our titis so that nobody could use our titi. The titi dwellers finally became extinct when street lamps were installed.

Nonetheless Kampung Gita was a very pretty kampung, cheery and full of sunshine. There was a lot of hustle and bustle, villagers in the streets, kids playing all kinds of games - hide and seek, kites, hop, skip & jump or jengkek as we knew it, etc. There were kids running, balancing a bicycle wheel with a stick; playing badminton and football on the streets. There were adults walking the babies and elderly folks stopping and chatting with neighbours. There were folks calling out to each other from the windows or verandahs, greeting and joking. The 'apek sekerem' (ice cream man) plying the streets ringing the brass bell on the wooden handle.  

The gardens were well kept and trimmed, flowering plants of all sorts planted in the garden. There would be 'bunga podin', cempaka, frangipani, roses, bourgainvillas, marigolds, etc. Each house would have some form of vegetable or edible plants in their garden or on the road reserves in front of their houses. Tapioca, sweet potatoes, bananas, yam or keladi, coconuts, rambutan trees, papayas, pokok pinang or beetle nut trees, chillis, tomatoes, kacang panjang, etc. We were practising 'buku hijau' if anyone can still remember that.

During the rambutan season the boys who did not have rambutan trees at home, would help themselves to their neighbours'. My late neighbour, Ghani, was the prime target. He worked in the Agriculture Department and had planted the best rambutan trees. During rambutan seasons we would be hanging on the branches of his tree while Ghani would be raining curses and profanities at us.

We had plenty to eat, boiled tapioca or bandung (now glamorously called ubi kayu) and eaten with cocunut and sugar were yummy. And of course we were told by the elders that you should not climb a banana tree or else you get 'burut'. Ask a Sarawakian friend if you do not know what burut means.....hehehe! Will talk about that another day. 

What made each kampung unique are the characters, personalities and lives of the people in the kampung. The casts of Kampung Gita were unique, not chosen nor picked, no director or producer, no scripts, some lead characters and many supporting; just a reality drama with numerous sub plots trudging along. Having stepped off the stage for more then 20 years and watching fleetingly from the side, I wonder if I can I really make sense of the main plot. It is an endearing story of surviving and thriving. 

For some it is a story of staying simple in the world of Kampung Gita. For a few who wished to dream of a world much bigger than Kampung Gita they let their imaginations bring them beyond the boundary of Kampung Gita and out of Borneo. Then there was a whole bunch of people who grew organically, branching out but remaining deeply rooted in Kampung Gita too and never wandering too far away. But there were sub plots of despair, sadness, delights and happiness too.

Meantime thank God the mysterious titi dwellers are extinct!

(My editor has a real job now working with an oil and gas company, but I do not need to remind her that she is still bonded to her father and needs to edit this posting. Till then ignore the 'england mistakes' or titi dwellers will visit you...hehehe..bye)

 

Raya Mischiefs

We were boys; and kampung boys were synonymous with raya mischievousness. Somehow they just seem to be drawn to each other. It was probably the lax supervision during raya days when our parents were distracted by the guests; perhaps it was the fact that we had had a month long lay off from mischief during posa and it was finally over and we were itching to go. Maybe it was the sudden sugar rush during raya after our abstinence that turned us into hyper active compacts. But mischief rules during raya.

The mischievous acts ranged from innocent minor little things that were cute to downright bad boys’ pranks. And of course there was a multitude of stuff in between which we were all guilty of from time to time that got us an immediate rebuke (or delayed punishments which cannot be delivered on the spot in front of visitors). These were the scary stuff; my mum would sternly and between gritty teeth tell us..."tunggu kau orang dah pulang, kenak kau!"...which literally means..."just you wait till our visitors leave, you’re going to get it!" Woh!! Those threats was scary; you were caught, found guilty and sentenced but given suspended sentence....I would rather we were given instant punishment; it was the suspense of waiting for the punishments that tortured us the most.

In such instances we would try to behave like angels in the hope that mum's heart would melt and forgive us; or we prayed really hard that our guests did not stop coming till late at night and mum would forget. Or if she did not forget we would go to bed early, pretending to sleep with on angelic smile while we slumbered. That usually worked and we would get a kiss instead. No parent would wake their kids up to punish them for an 'innocent' mischievous act committed ten hours earlier. You can call it scheming, we called it surviving and growing up. We observed adults do that all the time too...

Our boss was my brother Piruz, Chief Mischief Officer he was. But Betty was an able deputy and at times outdid the boss himself by far. We will get to that some time. I was the follower; at least I hoped my parents would think I was too young to think up those mischievous acts on my own… this riled the boss and his deputy at times. It was one of the rare advantages of being several years younger and having an innocent look… heh heh.

We were kids placed in an environment where it was just impossible not to succumb to temptations. There were cakes of all types, shapes, colours, tastes and scents and equal assortment of biscuits too. We had brown chocolate cakes, cheese cakes, creamy green, red cake lapis, dark marble cakes. The different aromas and scents from the vanilla essence. All laid out on the table ready for our raya visitors to enjoy. But they were so inviting, looking at us, mocking us, begging for us to pick them and taste them.

One of our chores during raya was to clear the glasses, plates and dishes after the visitors and before the next batch of visitors arrived. And believe me our visitors were non-stop during raya. During the 'interludes' we would swoop in on the cakes and biscuits. In between clearing the glasses, one hand lifting the cakes tray cover, the other moving swiftly on the cakes. Within seconds we would have a mouthful of the much sought after chocolate cheese cakes or the chocolate pandan cakes or the cake lapis. And at least a few pieces of pineapple tart biscuits, or the evergreen 'semprit' in our teluk belanga pockets.

After several such rounds mum would be vigilant when we circled the table, our noses catching the whiffs of delicious chocolatey, cheesy yummy scents of the cakes. We would drive mum up the wall when she realised how much of the cakes we had consumed and how often she had to replenish them on the table. Worst when our friends would drop by, hang out with us and partake in the 'feasts' and these are not considered “berjarah” because these boys would hang out all day or drop by several times in a day.

When we were kids, carbonated/fizzy drinks were rare luxuries and we looked forward to raya for these treats. In fact other than raya I cannot recall even seeing them displayed for sale at Hap Joo, Teng Wak or Oh Nga's shops. These drinks came in all sizes, colours and tastes. There were the small bottles labelled Aeroplane (belon) or Ship (kapal) brands. They were in orange, strawberry, sarsaparilla, and ice cream soda tastes. Packed in small wooden box of twelve bottles, they were fondly made in Petanak Road, Kuching. We were allowed almost free access to these drinks. Usually these drinks were served in tiny glasses that emerged only during raya. To keep the dispensing of the drinks in very minimal quantity.

Then there were the F&N Fanta and Mirinda drinks - Fanta green, red, orange, grape, etc and of course later the Coca Cola and 7-Up. These were the treasured, more expensive drinks and we were allowed little access if at all. They would be stored properly in a small store or even kept under the bed supposedly out of the boss' and my reach. However check our tongues and you would see the red, green, orange, purple and black shades at different times of the day; undeniable evidence that we had our hands on the treasured stuff.

Completely out of bounds for us were the Shandy, Anglia Shandy, because they contained alcohol. I remember a Shandy ad in the cinemas before, set in a cowboy saloon, a mean looking oriental cowboy, complete with boots and spurs, leather attires, sombrero, pistols in his hip holsters; pushed the swinging saloon door; stopped for a second as his eyes squinted and surveyed the room, amidst a feeling of suspense, fear and silence, approached the bar; slammed his fist on the bar top and demand for "...shandy...chin chin shandy..." and his face broke into a wide smile when the fearful bartender served in Anglia Shandy, the atmosphere changed into laughter and revelry after that.

So Shandy... how could we be denied our curiosity? With the boss leading the way we would have our share of shandy too, albeit secretly. I honestly thought a time when Piruz and I and maybe one or two other friends lying on the floor in our bedroom, feeling intoxicated after our shandy binge. (But my son, Mark, said: “Thats lame papa, shandy contains less then 1% alcohol"). Well maybe I have no tolerance for alcohol.

We were boys, growing boys, and we needed energy from all the activities and running around. And, trust me, there was lots of running around in the spacious kampung. So naturally we would forage for food and drinks all the time. Outside of raya time, Milo drink was most craved after. The Milo tins had to be kept well hidden from Piruz and myself. We loved our Milo in any form. We could just dip our spoon and enjoy the plain Milo powder as it is. Or we would enjoy our Milo drink thick and rich with milk powder (klim, dumex, nespray, etc), hot or ice cold Milo. There were times, when denied our Milo, Piruz and I would lie down in the bedroom and imagine when we grew up and got our own jobs and money we would fill up the 'tangki' in the bathroom with ice Milo and we would enjoy our Milo to our hearts’ delight. (...the tangki in our bathroom was where we store water for our bath; and it was made of concrete, 6 feet long, 3 feet wide and 3 feet deep. That was going to be one big Milo container).

It did get worse, our mischief; as the next contraband item that would start tempting us would be cigarettes. Being the inquisitive misfits we were, we succumbed to this temptation too. The cigarettes available in the house then would be my grandfather's Rough Rider and Camel, dad's 555 or Capstain. During raya there would usually be extra stock of these to offer visitors and guests to the house. The boss, I and a few friends would smuggle this precious foul smelling contraband and had our puff either in the bedroom or hidden somewhere outside the house. This was one adventure that we found difficult to escape capture as there were just too many tell tale signs - the smoke, the matches that went missing, the coughing from inhaling the smoke, the smell of tobacco smoke on the bajus, the tobacco left over in our shirt pockets, etc. And this would earn us maximum and usually immediate punishment.

Growing up in the kampung we had our share of being bullied just as we were bullies ourselves. Because of our mixed parentage and had a surname like Macpherson we expect to draw attention, flaks and brickbats from the kampung bullies, though there were really not very unpleasant experience. Betty was called batman just because her name sounds like 'bat-ty', Piruz would be called 'bango' meaning crane because he is very tall. However we held our own and earned the respect of most of our peers. Still there were a few we would enjoy dishing out some extras. These boys would invariably come to berjarah raya at our house despite the spats we had. Piruz, Betty and I would gleefully wait for them, as they were the more mischievous boys we anticipated that they would not refuse cigarettes nor deny an opportunity to 'steal' the ciggies when we were not looking. Boy, were we prepared for this. Camel cigarettes are the most sought after, as they are expensive , and it suited our scheme perfectly. Camels do not come with filters so it was easier for us to take out the tobaccos, put in the small mercun padi (available in abundance during raya) and packed back with tobaccos. I bet they had a BLAST!!

Less mischievous acts targeted at adults or children alike would include having their raya shoes and slippers hidden. The meaner the neighbourhood adults were to us the worse the treatment. There were one or two busy bodies who liked to report to our parents or to grandma of our naughty deeds in the kampung. They might find their shoes or slippers wet and no tell tale signs of what happened.

The 'really baddest' of the mischief conjured by Piruz, Betty and I was when we did a prank while one of our uncles was asleep. I won't elaborate what we three little kids did. .Wow!!! Nasty! It was capital punishment meted out instantaneously for us.

They were lots of 'gaming' activities going on in the kampung during raya too. These would include the harmless game of marbles and rubber bands. There would surely be the game of 'tungko' using the 'tudung lemenade' (lemonade bottle caps). Tungko was a game where we would draw a small rectangle (about 12 inches by 6 inches or so) on the floor preferably against a wall or anything upright like piece of wooden planks, etc. Four of five kids place a tudung lemenade each into a pool. Each kid at a time would take turns to throw the tudung lemenade at the rectangle from about four feet or so. The other kids would indicate which tudung for you to target with a 'cue' tudung lemenade like a cue ball. The cue tudung lemenade would be filled with candle wax or clay. If you hit the target and remain in the rectangle you win all the tudung lemenade. If your cue ended out of the rectangle or hit a tudung other than the target you would lose or 'tungko' as we called it. Well, it was something like that la...

The innocence of tungko may dissipate as the kampung boys graduated from tudung lemenade to 10 sens, 20 sens, 50 sens coins and even RM1 shillings. Some migrated to cards especially 21 and maybe poker at times. A practice they saw and participated with the Hap Jo, Teng Wak and Oh Nga when they celebrated Chinese New Year. But these were all in good fun and with very little money exchanging hands. The older boys were also quite honourable in that they never allowed the younger boys to participate. It was always restricted to those in the late teens and early twenties. The younger boys earned tips serving drinks, buying cigarettes or by just giving moral support, etc.

I guess we had our share of mischief, our experiences add colours to our lives and as our career and goals brought us further and further away from each other; hopefully reminiscing over these experiences would keep us close as brothers and sisters despite our differences.

As I worked on this post I remembered names and faces of the boys and adults from Kampung Gita who featured in all those activities and interactions. I hope to write about the people and faces of Kampung Gita some day.

Next have to be about my first day in school - Catholic English Primary School.

[Editor’s note: I know what they did to earn capital punishment…]

Selamat Hari Raya 4 - Berjarah Raya (Raya Visitng)

When I was in primary school, Raya would usually occur during the long school holidays at the end of the year. To an eight year old, Raya was a wonderful mixture of holiday mood, special posa atmosphere, raya shopping, nostalgic takbir raya and raya songs, colourful world of pelitas and coloured bulbs, sparklers and mercun padi, smells of fresh paint and scented sticks or garu, and the spread of delicious raya feasts. Raya was so special to every child then. I hope it still is now.

Everything that happened in posa month, all the fun, hype and activities led to the finale on raya morning. I can never get enough sleep on raya eve due to anxiety, but would still wake up in high spirits. We would normally be up on raya morning around 6.30am and waking us up on raya mornings was definitely easier then waking us up for school. We would be flocked off to the 'bilik mandi' which was a small outhouse made of zinc roof and zinc walls. Within that zinc bath house was a large rectangular cement 'tangki' where water is stored. I remember it was usually mum who gave us our baths; green milo tins and red or blue plastic cans called 'gayong' were used to dip into the the tangki and splash us with the icy cold water. If left to our own devices the shower would be invariably short and swift, 'mandi burung' my parents would say (literally translated to mean bird bath). With mum in charge we would get a full lather of soap and body scrubbing which would leave our skin pink and smarting.

Dressing up and getting into the new yellow, orange or brown teluk belanga took no time at all, right down to tying the 'samping', socks and shoes, topi melayu on our head and a face dabbed with Cuticura or Johnson baby powders. Sometimes when we overdo the powder part, my grandma would remark: 'macam tikus masuk dalam tepung'. Freshly showered, fresh faced and dressed in refreshingly coloured teluk belanga, I would be ready and waiting for the ride to the state mosque for raya prayers from uncle Kamarudin.

We lived next to the kampung's surau and my dad would be at the surau very early. I remember the surau was an elongated rectangular shaped building, made of wooden planks, painted blue with dark belian shingle roofs. The kampung folk would turn up at surau in droves, all dressed in teluk balangas in different colours and shades. The teenage boys and girls would sell stickers to collect funds for charity. Most homes would also have sent food to the surau for those who wished to have raya breakfast at the surau after raya prayers. Straw 'tikar golong' (rolled mats) used for prayers would have been rolled out since the night before to be ready for prayers.

My uncle however, would come to get me on his motorbike (I am trying remember the name of his bike) and we would head to 'masjid negri' in town instead. I remember the original masjid negri had a huge dark dome and that it was demolished some time in the late 60s (or it could be early 70s). The current masjid was built on the exact site.

The masjid negri still sits majestically on top of a small hill, surrounded by the cemetery where Muslims from the time of Raja Muda Hashim or earlier have been buried. The masjid is right by the Sarawak river next to Brooke Dockyard and Engineering Works (BDEW) where my dad worked and retired as the Superintendant. We visited BDEW many times while growing up; most of my dad's colleagues knew us by name, watched us grew up and kept tabs with how we did in school etc. I remember tales of spirits and yellow mud thrown from the adjacent cemetery in the middle of the nights. There was a case of a security guard at BDEW known as Pak Assan who fell sick after one such incident because he went to check and touched the mud.

In front of the masjid negri stood an old wooden shop, kedai Haji Sihat, selling an assortment of curry powders and traditional Sarawak malay kuihs like 'penyaram', 'jala', 'sarang semut', 'edam', 'kuih sepit', 'kuih cina', etc. The old wooden shop is still there today and still looked as old and decrepit as it did forty years ago. The curry powder from that shop is renown till today, I remember my family referring to the 'kari munggu kubur' (munggu kubur means cemetery). My uncle would usually park his motorbike next to the 'kari munggu kubur' shop and we would walk the short distance up the small hill, through the cemetery and reciting 'Al Fatihah' as 'sedekah' to the 'penduduk kubur'.

On raya morning, scores of the 'kampung munggu kubur' boys would be paid to look after our shoes. For 10 or 2o sens we got a plastic bag or a numbered pigeon hole for our shoes. Lose your number, scribbled on pieces of paper cut out of cigarette carton pack, and you will lose your precious raya shoes. It was not uncommon for people to lose or mistakenly take other peoples' shoes, sandals or slippers as there would be thousands of muslims attending raya prayers. I am sure there would be thousands of footwear that were of the same design, size, shape and colour. The flip flops were called 'slipar jepon' then and there were all blue or red or other colours. These days the shoe boys are still there, their business expanded beyond shoes to helmets ever since helmets were made compulsory.

Uncle Kamarudin is mum's eldest brother among seven siblings. There is a younger brother name Shah Jahan, who later studied medicine in Canada and migrated there. There were five sisters - Zamrud the eldest aunty, the late Mummy Esah who lived in Singapore who was such a lovable aunty, my mother - Chi Mohidin and her two younger sisters Mak Tuyah who later married and moved to Labuan, Usu Misiah who married and moved to Singapore. Usu Misiah is the mother of the singer actor Maizurah Hamzah (my closest claim to celebrity).

Anyway, as the eldest brother my uncle would be addressed as Abang Kamarudin by his siblings. Somehow for reasons I cannot remember, the nephews and nieces, all grew up referring to him as Abang Kamarudin. Today, our children, nephews and nieces would refer to him as 'Cik Bang', short for Pakcik Abang Kamarudin. Abang kamarudin worked in the government clinic in Kuching, now renamed Polikinik, as a senior attendant and was the union leader; Secretary General I think. He was very popular in the kampung and even dispensed vitamins and maybe even tablets and creams for simple fevers, headaches, rashes etc.

After raya prayers, it was customary for Abang Kamarudin and I to go visit my aunty and grand aunt who lived in Kampung Muda Hashim, on our way back from town. 'Berjarah raya' as we refer to these visits in Sarawak would begin immediately after the raya prayers. Berjarah (or Berziarah, as it is actually called in Malay) is the form of greeting among Malays where we would extend both hands and we 'berjarah' instead of the handshake in western society. Berjarah with our elders would involve us bowing and kissing their hands too. 'Berjarah' with the parents and grandparents usually involves them sitting on a chair, and the children or grandchildren would bow to kiss their hands and knees as we 'berjarah'. I cannot recall my children berjarah with me this raya, much less kissing my hands and knees...Hmmmm!

[Editor's note: I beg to differ, I tried to berjarah with you first thing in the morning but you told me to check on Adam's teluk belanga. I did manage to catch you later in the day, though.]

Abang Kamarudin and I usually concluded our 'berjarah' and arrived home by about 11am. At each relative's house that we visited we would have been feted with ketupat, lemang and fizzy drinks. That would not stop me dipping into mum's cooking as soon as I reached home. However the raya breakfast for the family cannot happen till after we 'berjarah' with grandma, mum and dad and asking for forgiveness for all the things we have done wrong over the last one year.

Usually by this time we would already have guests flocking to our home by the droves. They customarily arrive just as mum finished cutting the raya cakes and displaying them on trays and plates on the table along with the curries and the rest of the feast. The first batch of visitors would normally be my dad's staff from BDEW and their families.

Lucas and his wife and sons from Matang would always be the first. Lucas,was a very cheerful, chirpy man with a ready smile and a good hearty laugh. He had a distinct voice and spoke extremely fluent Malay. He was a very close friend of my late father and would come visit my dad long after they had both retired. The big Peter Chin and his family was another colleague of my dad who never missed raya at our house. I remember Peter Chin as a big guy with a gentle and quiet demeanour. His sons and daughters were also quite tall and big.

Then we had a contractor friend, Kho Kak Beng, who would never fail to come berjarah raya. As I recalled Kho Kak Beng was a small contractor providing manual labourers 'banging' on the rusty ships hulls that docked at BDEW. BDEW was a dry dock and ships would be steered into the dock, propped with bako woods on all side before the river water was drained out of the dock. The process of dry docking ships were a treat to my brothers and sisters. Kho Kak Beng is now a major corporate businessman with a company carrying his initials, KKB Bhd, now listed on the KLSE mainboard. There were many more colleagues and friends of all races from BDEW, PWD, DID, Marine Department, etc that would come berjarah raya at our house at No. 35, Jalan Bunga Rose, Kampong Gita.

The hustle and bustle of serving dad's staff and friends would be over by late afternoon. Then it would be the kids turn to go berjarah raya. Berjarah raya in the kampung for me would entail a group of friends of about the same age (between 7 to 10 years old) from the neighbourhood. We berjarah to almost ALL the houses in the kampung till late at night everyday for the whole of raya week.

We went berjarah street by street in the kampung - Jalan Bunga Rose, Jalan Bunga Cempaka, Bunga Kenanga, Bunga Raya, Bunga Teratai, etc. It did not matter whether we knew the families of the houses that we visited but after a few years of doing this I came to know most of the population of Kampong Gita anyway. Likewise, we welcomed everyone with open arms whether they knew us or otherwise. The process of getting to know will follow thereafter.

Usually the elders would ask us "kitak anak sapa?" (who are your parents?) and every family in the Kampung would know my family and would exclaimed...'Oh anak Bujang Macpherson dengan Chi' or '..cucuk Hj Smah'. Till today if I return to my kampung and stop by the masjid (the then surau) next to my house most of the elders would still fondly remember us when we were kids.

Neighbours and family members from afar would continue to berjarah during the later part of the raya week and sometimes the whole raya month of shawal. The practise of berjarah raya is still alive but probably not exactly the same as it was when I was an eight or ten year old boy. It would be unthinkable to allow our children to roam freely all day long till late at night, going house to house, in view of the security risks. But then I admit that raya really is special to kids of all ages.

However I am glad we still practise opening our doors on raya day to staff and friends of all race and religion. My first day raya spread in KL now still includes chicken curry, beef and mutton rendang, dhal, ketupat, satay and lemang PLUS our very own Laksa Sarawak! No berjarah for the kids though; except for Nabiya and Marko who spent their second day raya onward in Kampung Gita this year.

Selamat Hari Raya and do come berjarah raya!

(I wish my 'dependable' editor is back from berjarah raya in Kuching)

[Editor's note: Better late than never, papa, I'm back... didn't get much duit raya this year though... heh heh]

Selamat Hari Raya Part 3 - Raya Shopping and Petang Raya Phenomena

Like most boys, one of the most awaited events during posa months was the Raya shopping for baju and shoes. I was much too young to remember the earlier raya shoppings when I was seven or younger. I don't believe there were many children or adult clothing stores in Kuching in the early 60s. However I do remember the raya shopping at Ngiu Kee Store at the spanking new Electra House then. It was probably in the late 60s?

Long before Ngiu Kee and Electra House, my parents would proudly shop from nothing less then The Sarawak Trading Company. I presume The Sarawak Trading Company must have been a purveyor of high quality items as mum would vouch for the quality of the imported leather footwear and apparel from England.

Baju melayu or 'baju teluk belanga' proudly tailored in Kampong Gita would be the primary apparel for raya. The teluk belangas came in the colours of the rainbow and more. The men and their sons of each family would usually have their teluk belangas in matching colours. Dad, Piruz and I were no exception. Different colours each year. The shopping for songkok or 'topi melayu' as we called it in kuching then would be from India Street and usually during the last few days of posa.

The shopping expeditions for raya clothes would normally be completed as early as one to two weeks before raya. The teluk belangas on the other hand were often delivered on raya eve itself. On one or two occasions they were even delivered on raya morning itself. There were just not enough tailors in the kampong to cope with all the orders for baju kurungs and teluk belangas.

Our raya shopping trips would bring us to India Street, Ngiu Kee in Electra house, Khoo Hun Yeang Street and also Carpenter Street. Years later it would lead us to Sin Ah and Jen Hing tailors. I recall having a woollen t-shirt with red and black stripes, a brown cotton shirt with a printed motif that I remember was so comfortable. Chequered shirts in strong red, green or blue were my mum's favourite choices for me and cotton shorts in various colours. Our raya attire would not be completed without socks and black or dark leather laced shoes. Mum took pride in her taste and choice of clothings for us, remarking that we were always outstanding. Mother's love!

How I wish I had as strong a say in my children's dressing as my mother had over ours. I often jest about my son Mark's loose jeans which would drop below his hips and the boxers showing. Arrrrgh!!!! And kids these days would prefer tattered converse canvass shoes over a black leather pair. My sons Mark and Adam would have their own say over their haircut and styles too. In contrast when I was their age, I had no say at all. Haircuts would mean trips to the village barber, Pak Tinggal, whose wooden 'salon' was located next to bicycle shop at the junction near teh entrance to Kampung Gita. I guess times are different and I have to move on, unwillingly.

The first pair of long trousers I owned were a grey slack pair which my parents bought for me for raya in 1973, matched with a white long sleeve cotton shirt with two pockets. I can still recollect putting them on every night before raya. Hands in the pockets, admiring myself in the mirror from all angles. Man, I was hip personified...hehehehe!! And my first jeans were a pair of TEXWOOD, when I was in form three! I could not afford an AMCO. AMCO was The brand of jeans then! I do believe my sister Betty had a red or maroon corduroy AMCO. Well, I could not resist the AMCO temptation and did 'curi pakai'. Sneakers came in the form of North Star from Bata at the time. No adidas for me until I was in university, purchased with my first scholarship funds.

As posa came to a close the whole cycle of activities like visiting and cleaning the cemetaries; watching the 'anak bulan', declarations of raya by the 'mohor', beating of the 'bedok', etc started all over again. This time around the beatings of the bedok would normally have a much more upbeat mood to it. Either that or it was probably just the raya mood.

Visiting the cemetaries - or 'ngabas kubur' as it is referred to in Sarawak - involved bringing a pail of water with marigolds (bunga nerjas), bourgainvillas (bunga kertas) and pandan leaves; all from grandma's garden. The water and the flowers would be poured on the graves of our elders and loved ones after the reciting of verses from the Quran.

A chore assigned to me on the eve of raya was to catch the chickens and bring them to the 'tok imam' to be slaughtered. Part and parcel of that responsibility was holding the chicken while the tok imam conducted the ritual. There was a year when the 'mohor' only announced at 10pm that raya was the next day while most people had anticipated that raya would fall a day later. There was complete pandemonium, chickens being rounded up and brought to the 'tok imam'. Imagine the ruckus that ensued, chickens everywhere in the middle of the night.

The three chinese shops in the kampong normally closed by 8pm. But on that occasion it had to be reopened till well passed midnight to sell curry powders, coconut cream and assorted condiments. It was quite a scene at Chop Hap Joo, one of the three shops; the kampong folk lining up with their 555 book at midnight racking up stuff at the last minute.

[Editor's note: Visiting "Kedey" Hap Joo is a tradition that is still upheld by my generation! My cousin, Azie (Aunty Betty's daughter) and I never fail to visit Hap Joo whenever we're in Kuching. The thought of not going there is considered blasphemous! My brother, Mark, and cousin, Naeem (Aunty Lalita's son) used to HAVE to visit the shop EVERY single day for their Sugus and "Ayek Gas" - a result of Nini's indulgence.]

These three shops played quite a part in the lives of the kampong folk. The shopkeepers who went by the names of Hap Joo, Teng Wak and Oh Nga, regularly donated to the kampong folk during weddings, funerals, and to the surau during rayas, awal muharam, mauludil rasul or maulud nabi as we called the occasion then.

Hap Joo in particular, also provided employments to the handicap youths in the kampong, as delivery boys or shop assistants. There was a particular deaf and mute chap, that stood out, whom I remembered only as 'Mat Bebek'; an extremely pleasant boy who delivered rice, sugar, flour, groceries and gas tanks.

Preparing the home and getting it squeaky clean and ready to receive guests on raya day was tough work but amidst the raya songs playing on the radio and the 'takbir' from the surau next door made all the hard work fun. Polishing the wooden floors and stairs with wax and coconut husk brushes was something I remember doing on nights before raya. The ladies would be busy with new curtains to be fixed and new cushion covers to be fitted. And of course the familiar smell of fresh paint which stemmed from mum's hobby to paint the house, especially the living room for raya. Until today I still associate the smell of fresh paint to raya.

Mum and Nek Smah would be busy till late into the night cooking for raya. There were some serious cookings that went on before raya then. Our raya spread would typically be chicken curry, beef kurma, mutton dhal cha, yogurt (tairu) salads, sweet pineapple chutney. Just as well that raya is only once a year because the amount of ghee that went into the dishes and the 'nasi minyak could send one's cholesterol and blood pressure sky high. In addition we would have lemangs, Hj Samat's satay (or my grand uncle's Wa Mat's satay), plain and glutinous rice ketupats, biscuits and assorted cakes. Fizzy drinks, carbonated drinks that came in various labels -aeroplane, ships, etc - which were replaced in later years by Green Spot and then the F&N range, Coca Cola, etc.

Sparklers or bunga api, firecrackers especially the 'mercun padi' ruled the night of raya. All these sparkling fires and fireworks added more colours to the already wonderland of rainbow coloured bulbs that decked the houses and streets lined with pelitas and decorated archways. Rising above the din of the meriam buluhs, bustling sounds of excited children and harried adults was the nostalgic takbir raya which signalled raya has finally arrived...."Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar......Allaaahu Akbar; Allaahu Akbar Wallillah hilham...."

It would be well past midnight before we slept, our raya baju all neatly laid out ready to be worn next morning. I suspected the ladies would continue cooking way pass midnight perhaps till 3 or 4 in the morning.

To be continued...with berjarah raya.

Apologies for grammatical errors as my 'editor' is still on raya leave in Kampung Gita. Inaccurate information is entirely due to my memory failure.

[Editor's note: The editor was able to refresh her own memories of the beloved Kampong Gita over the past week, and managed to visit Hap Joo (though his daughter now mans the shop) for fizzy drinks and 20cent ice-cream with Azie]

Selamat Hari Raya Part 2 - Posa Yok Yok, Bertuntung, Meriam Buluh and Malam Tujuh Likur

As a young boy in the 60s, the eagerness to wake up for sahur dwindled after the first week of posa and I would rush through my early morning meals, eyes closed and head propped. Sleep was more valuable then having a meal but my grandma, Nek Smah would have nothing of this. Sahur was non negotiable.

I recall the years when posa coincided with the long school holidays in November and December. During those occassions we would become nocturnal creatures staying awake at nights and sleeping through the days. It was not uncommon to sleep till 6 pm in the evening till just before sungkei and skipping the pangs of hunger.

Nek Smah would grumble all day about our sleeping habits, telling us that our posa would not be counted and so forth. All these were soon forgiven come sungkei and after helping with the dishes, wiping the tables and sweeping the floors. Piruz would normally be the boss and delegated the chores to Betty and myself. Betty usually did the dishes and I seemed to be assigned to sweeping the floors most of the time. I remember an occassion many years later when Piruz and Betty quarrelled noisily over a transistor radio. Those days a teenager's life was centered around a radio just as ipods, laptops or mobile phones are to teenagers today. How else would we catch Credence Clearwater Revival. Anyway, caught between this 'terrible' fight over a radio, my trusted broom came in handy, swinging into action, hitting nobody but effective in breaking the fight. Betty and Piruz had a comical recollection of that incident.

The term 'posa yok yok' came about to refer to kids (me included) who posa but quietly raided the 'periok' (pots) during the day. Such raids were done stealthily and we thought we got away without Nek Smah's knowledge. Later we realised that she somehow must have known because how else can we explain the fact that she referred to our posa 'yok yok' on the very days the periok raids were executed.

We were often assigned chores during posa that I referred to as relief assignments by Nek Smah and mum. Such assignments included going to the 3 chinese shops in the kampong to buy stuff like bananas, ice blocks, sun valley orange squash, etc. On other days these assignments took the form of distributing to our neighbours the bubur kacang, bubur pedas and kuihs that Nek Smah have prepared. Our neighbours would in return give back other dishes that they had prepared. This practise of sharing dishes among the neighbours allowed us to enjoy added varieties for sungkei.

As these chores were normally done in the evening close to sungkei after a full day of fasting, resisting the temptation to dip your fingers in the goodies was not easy at all. I can recall at least 1 or 2 occassions when I completely 'forgot' (not conveniently forgot I must add) that it was posa month and ate one full banana before realising it. Nek Smah would say we were excused because it was not intentional and therfore it was our 'rezeki', thus our fasting that day would still count and not 'batal'.

On the occassions when we were awake and not hibernating during the days posa turned most of us into zombies especially in the afternoons. Nek Smah would remind us that we were supposed to remain active as usual and to work as hard as ever during posa as it is meant to test our resolve. Hmmm!

The nights of posa month however were totally different. We transformed, along with the entire kampong as all kinds of nightly activities unfolded. Small hawker stalls sprouted all over the kampong, selling stuff like 'sotong tutok', dried squid pounded on belian wood block with a hammer into threads of shreaded squid and eaten with hot chilly and black soya sauce. This would later be replaced with the machine pressed squids but they never tasted the same.

By mid posa month the kampong would be bathed in a sea of light and colours. Homes would be decked with rainbows of coloured bulbs. The home owners went to great lengths to outdo each other to be the best lighted home. And the streets would be lined with kerosene lamps or 'pelita' that were hung on wooden poles, the flickering lights emitted by the pelitas were a delight to the eyes (but not so the black smogs that clogged our nostrils). The more active young men of the kampong would often construct wooden arches and archways across the streets and lighted them up at night. The competition to be the best lit street at times pushed the friendly, amiable kampong folks a wee bit beyond friendly competitions. By 'malam tujuh likur', around the 27th day of posa, the kampong would be lit up like a delightful little 'disney land'.

The community activities during posa month would be powered by the young men and boys of the kampong. We started young and there was a clear hierarchy of duties. The young men constructed the arches and planted the wooden poles along the streets. The older boys filled the pelitas with kerosene, hung them on the wooden poles and lit them up. Meanwhile the younger boys' responsibility was to ensure that the lamps remain lit and policing to ensure boys from other streets do not sabotage their work.

In the midst of all this the boys of the kampong would have home made bamboo cannons or 'meriam buluh'. Dangerous contraptions filled with kerosene and lit with fire to create minor explosions. All to increase the din and noise during posa month.

The kampong streets would be filled with adults and children alike. People coming and going back from the surau. Kids selling and buying sotong tutok, families walking about admiring the lights and pelitas. Malam tujuh likur was indeed a sight to behold in those days. Betty was always in her element during those times with her friends Zaiton, Hasmah and many others and her usual comical mimicking of radio djs and raya greetings over Radio Sarawak.

To be continued..

Selamat Hari Raya Part 1 - Posa, The Build Up To Raya

Yeay!!!! Raya! "Dam Dam Doom bunyi mercun...kanak kanak berduyun duyun..." or so went the lyrics of nostalgic raya songs of the good old days.

I don't think you can hear this particular song on the radiowaves anymore as firecrackers were banned in Malaysia during all festive seasons. But there were many great raya songs which could trigger your nostalgic raya mood along with the memories of raya.

Raya as a child in Kampong Gita, and I imagine everywhere else, was not just the one day or week after fasting month. It stretched from the eve of ramadan, througout ramadan to the eve of raya and culminating on the week of raya.

My early memories of raya began with the anxious wait for the results of the sighting of the moon or rather the 'anak bulan' to signify the start of fasting or 'posa' in the local Sarawak slang. The kampong folks would be busy clearing and cleaning the graves of their families and loved ones at all the mosques one or two days before. Adults and childrens suddenly thronged the cemetaries and all fears of 'hantu tinggu', 'hantu bangkit' or whatever else just disappeared into thin air. We believed that during the holy month of ramadan spirits and ghosts were kept in 'jail' by God so there is nothing to fear and kids would wander out at night freely.

I remember my dad would wait for the announcement on Radio Sarawak around 7.30 to 8pm of the sighting of the elusive 'anak bulan'. I swear you could have heard sighs of relief among us kids when dad would say: "ok, fasting will start the day after tomorrow; they can't see the anak bulan". Phew! Another day of eating before we go hungry and thirsty! Lame jokes about 'anak bulan' would circulate during these times as there were at least 2 or 3 persons that I knew whose names were Bulan ... and their children would be 'anak bulan'. Poor kids, come to think of it they probably did not enjoy those jokes at all.

However if the 'anak bulan' was sighted the announcement of 'posa' over the airwaves by the 'pemegang mohor mohor diraja' (we just called him 'mohor' those days and I noticed his script has not changed till today) would trigger a bustling of activities that reverberated through the kampong. Our home was adjacent to the mosque, a small wooden surau those days, and we could hear the adults arriving at the surau. The beating of the drums or the 'bedok' would begin soon after. The 'posa bedok' beat is distinctly different from the normal 'bedok' beat calling for the 5 daily prayers. I tried my hands at that too. The normal call for prayers 'bedok' beat is done with one rotan drum stick while a 'posa bedok' beat would typically be done with two drum sticks. Impressive knowledge of the technicalities here.

The surau is the centre of activities especially at night thorughout the posa month. It would be filled to the brim with rows and rows of kampong folks coming for the 'terawih' prayers that follows the isyak prayers. Somehow the rows decrease as the posa month progresses. Isyak is typically around 8pm in Kuching and the 'terawih' prayers would last till around 9 to 9.30pm. Kids as young as 7 years or younger thronged the surau and usually assigned to the last row with an adult assigned to 'supervise' us. A small rotan is not unusual. Kids being kids, we were quite a handful, there were murmurings, burps, giggles, even bursts of laughter, pushings and shovings etc which the adults found distracting.

Kids flocked to the surau during the posa month as there was a sense of celebration at the surau during the month. The surau would be lit up with multi coloured festive bulbs. 'Hantus' and evil spirits are 'kept in jail by God', and all sorts of delicious traditional cakes or 'kuih' and 'teh susu' (no teh tarik in Sarawak then) were delivered to the surau nightly. After the 'terawih' prayers adults and kids would be served these delicious 'kuihs' which the kampong folks used to take turns donating to the surau during posa month.

Thinking of the 'kuihs' is making me drool. They was the all time favourite 'kuih bingka' of all flavours, my personal of all time favourite 'kuih seri muka', 'kuih kosoi', 'bahulu', 'kuih sepit' and many more. Yummy!!! Adults and kids alike were encouraged to stay back after 'terawih' prayers to recite the Quran ('tadrus' it was called) every night during the posa month. Some kids stayed behind while others left soon after they had their early share of the kuihs. The tadrus would culminate in a Quran recital competition during the last few nights of 'posa' month. Sufficed to say I did not have any trophy to show.

The days of posa month are trying times for kids. Really trying. We began posa from as early as 7 years old. My grandma Hasmah (Nek Smah) was the grandmaster of 'posa' in our home. The breaking of fast or 'berbuka puasa' or 'sungkei' in local Sarawak dialect. Sungkei was just out of this world to us children. A typical Nek Smah's sungkei spread would have our dinner table full of different dishes! Kurma dates preceded arguably the king of sungkei dishes in Sarawak which is the 'bubur pedas' and attending court would be 'ikan terubok panggang', 'telur ikan terubok', chicken curry and variations of chicken dishes, fried 'ikan kembong', 'tenggiri masak kicap', uniquely Sarawak's 'sayur midin' and 'umai', assortments of vegetables and the desserts.

Oh the desserts!!! Nek Smah's sungkei cannot do without the Kuching Open Air Market 'kacang cendol', 'ice kacang special', and her original 'air selasih' which came in various colours and flavors, 'bubur kacang', 'kuih koci', 'seri muka', home made 'tapai' and the endless list of mouth watering desserts. Oh grandma's desserts...what can I say. And herein lies grandma's catch!! She had a simple rule for the kids which was consistently adhered to over the years without any exception - you have to posa to earn the right to sit at the table from the start of 'sungkei'. Kids who do not posa had to wait for their turn after those who 'posa' were done. Man!!! She had the best incentive scheme going there...we all started to posa as early as seven years; even partial posas would count for my dear Nek Smah as long as we made an attempt to posa.

Sahurs are usually leftovers of the sungkei spread. Nek Smah would be up and about as early as 3am preparing for sahur. Just as well that she had a lengthy head start over us because I cannot forget how much time it took to wake us sleepy heads for sahur. Dear Nek Smah persisted in waking up my elder brother Piruz and sister Betty. Sometimes it seemed like forever to wake us up but she would keep at it, lovingly nudging us. She was an effective alarm clock. You just could not shake her off. Sahur was not negotiable.

Selamat Hari Raya Part 2 would reminisce over 'posa yok yok', 'bertuntung', 'meriam buluh', raya shopping, 'sembahyang raya' and 'berjarah'.

(this posting is still to be edited for grammar mistakes by Nabiya; blame her for taking off for raya break in kuching and abandoning her poor old dad)
Nabs: Edited... I guess.

Any inaccuracy in the postings is entirely attributed to the blooger's lapse of memory and noone else's.

Kampong daze

September is a busy month for my family. My sisters, Marina and Lalita, were born on 10th & 18th September and so was my eldest girl, Nabiya, on 22nd September. She will be celebrating her 22nd birthday in two days.

I too will be celebrating my birthday on 28th September!

Birthdays are usually a time of reflection for me. This coming birthday is no exception. However this time around I wish to approach it differently. It moved me to start this blog to be a repository of my memories from as far back as I can remember before I lose them for good. Stories of my early days from my elder sister Betty and my elder brother Piruz hopefully will fill up the gaps, of course assuming that their memories have not failed them. Betty's tendency to be sensational is legendary and most times her imagination does get carried away.

My mum and late grandmother used to fondly talk about the night that I was born. It was some time around midnight in Kampong Gita (a village named after Margharita Brooke, wife of Charles Brooke - the second of the White Rajahs of Sarawak). This is in Sarawak, which is situated on the island of Borneo.

In 1959 there was no Malaysia yet, as Sarawak and Sabah only joined Malaya to form Malaysia in 1962.

Kuching in 1959 must have been a small, quiet town hogging the banks of the lazily meandering Sarawak River. The mixture of English-styled colonial buildings and pre-world war zinc roof Chinese buildings along the narrow streets with throngs with trades, trishaws and bicycles. The wooden houses and their thatched roofs typified the Malay kampong houses in their unique traditional designs which would have dotted the river banks.

Kampong Gita however is not any where near the town centre but somewhere in between Kuching town and Matang mountain. Back in 1959 it was a new settlement carved out of a rubber estate. Years later when I was attending in primary school the kampong was still surrounded by rubber trees.

To access the kampong at that time, one would have to cross the old Satok Suspension Bridge across the Sarawak River. Jalan Matang would be hot and dusty on a dry day, turning into a thick stew of yellow muddy river after the frequent tropical afternoon rains.

There was a Matang transportation company which operated a rudimentary bus service. I remember that the bus was small, not unlike the 'tut-tuts' but much smaller, probably half the size and without any of the decorative facade. The seats were benches along the sides which faced each other, open windows with a green canvass rolled up or down which acted as windows. The buses were painted yellow...I imagine to camouflage the dust and the yellow mud of Jalan Matang.

Kampong Gita at night was quiet, as dark as night can be when the moon has not risen. Street lights came only 10 to 12 years later, if I am not mistaken, and the nights were so dark that when we looked up in the sky we could see the stars like little diamonds scattered on a deep, black velvet blanket. Rubber estates and abandoned rubber estates that were turned into secondary jungles and underbrush surrounded the kampong. Villagers would turn in early, shut their doors and shutters and settle in for an early dinner and the favourite after dinner entertainment would be to tune into the popular dramas of Radio Sarawak. No television and no other distractions.

Rumours of headhunting was still rife though no one could attest that it was, in truth, still occurring. These rumours were fuelled by beliefs that the spirits needed to be appeased as new buildings and bridges were being constructed. Coincidentally a new bigger bridge was being built across the Sarawak river with the intention to replace the old suspension bridge.

The surrounding rubber estates and jungles of Kampong Gita were said to have 'inhabitants' of spirits of various kinds such as the dreaded 'pontianak' (long haired blood thirsty vampires after the blood of young men and mothers giving birth), 'sengkalang' (spirits who are men by day whose head will detached from their body at the neck and scoured for victims at night), 'hantu bangkit' (men and women from certain accursed families who raise from the dead during the first forty days of their death and come back to visit families and friends) and a multitude of other spirits.

On the night that I was born my father was away in the seaside village of Santubong where the installation of the new British Governor of Sarawak, Sir Anthony Abell was being comemorated. I guess that explains how I got my name.

It was against this backdrop that my mum gave birth to me around midnight of 28th September 1959. My mum and grandma would talk about how my grandma and my aunty had to rush in the dead of night looking for the kampong midwife. They painted a picture in my mind of my grandma and aunty rushing in the middle of the dark night. Spirits watching them and my mum left alone in the large wooden house in labour. They swore that they heard the sounds of the chains of the 'jin berantai' in the jungles that night.

Among my earliest memories was my experience of my mum teaching me the alphabets and numbers...I remember my elder brother and sister were at play schools at the time while I was being taught my ABCs and 123s at home. So I presume I couldn't have been more then 4 or 5 years old. That is as far back as I can remember.

Contrary to the dark stories of spirits and jungles etc, what is really interesting though is that the early memories of my early experience tend to have a bright and sunny backdrop...I must have had a very happy childhood. I remember vividly the light blue or very light green walls of our wooden house. I guess our family house was still new too.

Dad who was a mix of a scottish father and an Iban (and supposedly Chinese descent) mother, was a very easy, cheerful person with lots of lighted hearted jokes...a lasting trait of his until he passed on 2 years ago. My memories of my dad has always been of a cheerful and positive person. My dad was a NICE man, a very responsible husband and a great father. I always felt comfortable in my dad's presence. He would understand if we made mistakes and support us if we failed. He was the superhero 'Mr Reliable' to me. And he was such a handsome man. He was said to look like Clark Gable, hollywood heartthrob of the time.

Mum is equally exotic and pretty; of Northern Indian (mongolian ancestries) and Malay descent. Mum strikes me now as a picture of a very focused person clear on what she wanted her kids to be when we grow up. A very firm visionary and no nonsense person and my pillar of strength. From my earliest memory I remember that my mum had a clear picture of me doing well in school, university and moving on to be a successful person. This character of my mum is deeply etched in my life making me one for clear goals, objectives and dreams.

There are lots of wonderful experiences of my parents which I hope to piece together.

Wonderful experiences with my brothers, sisters, aunties, uncles, grandparents, friends are coming back as I write this piece. Pieces of a jigsaw puzzle I hope to put together as I go along to cherish and share with my children. Memories of the fasting month and Raya are always sweet and tomorrow's Raya should be a wonderful addition to this. I trust it will be the same for my four wonderful children, Nabiya, Mark, Elyza and Adam.

fresh from the oven

the beginning...