a trip to Jakarta (part 1)

Last week, I made a trip to Jakarta. One, to look for business opportunity and two, to attend a wedding. It was my second trip. The first made in 97 (or was it 98?) to study the Padepokan Pencak Silat Indonesia, after which Gerbang Persilatan Terengganu was modeled on. As I passed by the Padepokan, while visiting the Taman Mini Indonesia, I saw that the center was still alive for what it was. Back home in Terengganu, the Gerbang Persilatan is no longer the home for Pesilat Terengganu. Soon after its completion, it went into ownership turmoil and sadly as a result failed to be what it was meant to be originally. But then, Gerbang Persilatan was built with Government’s money unlike the Padepokan that was built by three generous individual as a gift to the nation. I would not comment more on that. This is not what this blog is for.

The time of the trip coincided with some important events. The Ambalat Block - Sulawesi Sea incident, the ‘Ganyang Malaysia’ demonstration (2 Mac 2005) and the continuing seismic activity of Gunung Talang (beginning 12 April 2005). Jakarta too was about to host the Asia Africa Summit (22-23 April). Against the background, military present were felt. Armed personnel were obvious on the roadsides. Cars into hotels and shopping complexes were searched and entry into buildings was through metal detector. The Indonesian host when asked about the incident diplomatically answered, ‘Apa bikin ribut, Pak. Kita kan serumpun.’ (Why the noise. Are we not of the same race?). Our driver when asked about the demonstration laughingly explained. ‘Di sini bisa aja Pak - pokoknya dibayar’ (It’s normal here, as long as they are paid). Against the background I chose not to walk on the street - something I love to do when visiting foreign places. Instead I rented a chauffeured car. Even then we were constantly reminded. ‘Jangan guna telefon di simpang Pak, nanti dirampok.’ (Don’t use hand-phone at the junction Sir. We might get robbed)

Because we are ‘serumpun’ – of the same race, we share the same language. Despite so, the meaning of words may differ to a hilarious consequence.

As we were leaving the immigration checkpoint, queuing for custom x-ray, a security officer called out, ‘Mas, lorong sini.’ (Mas, this lane please) Almost everyone of MAS flight from Kuala Lumpur went to a single lane. Then someone laugh. The call was not for Malaysia Airline passengers but for everyone. ‘Mas’ was their way of saying Mister or Sir. They might also call you ‘Bapak’ (father) or Ibu (mother) for the ladies.

I had a good laugh on my second day in Jakarta. I had the night before booked for a car. In the morning I went to the concierge asking for it. ‘Pak, saya menunggu kereta.’ (Mister, I’m waiting for a car). He gave me an ‘are you crazy?’ look. Sensing something amiss, I quickly added, ‘Never mind, please put me to Pak Jaya.’- the man who made the arrangement for me.

Thing went smoothly until late afternoon. As we were passing a railway track, Yati asked, ‘Keretapi tu ke mana Pak?’ (What’s the train destination?).

‘Oh, kereta tu ke Bandung’ (Oh, the car is to Bandung) said the driver.

‘Kereta?’ (Car?) I asked.

‘Maaf Pak. Di sini, ini dipanggil mobil. Kereta itu kereta-api.’ (Sorry sir, this (the car) is called ‘mobil’ here, kereta (car) is the train)

I laughed. No wonder the concierge was looking wierdly at me.

the malay college (part 2)

MCKK, its environment, its teachers and students, to a great extent, made me and many others what we are today. For a Malay ‘kampung boy’ from Sekolah Kebangsaan Kemasek, (where?) I may not be writing this in English if not for a painful punch in the stomach by the ‘mad’ Mr. Terrence Ng and maybe not an architect if not for ‘Mr Lee Sai Soo’. I was so bad with my Quran reading that I opt out of Pendidikan Ugama Islam and took up Art instead. In Form 5, as the President of Art Club, and one of the few science class ‘artists’ (who took art in exam) I had the privilege and the key to the Art Room; a great place for getaway and sleeping. Funny how fate intertwined – shaping up your future. It was ‘art’ (and some essay writings too) that gave me the chance to walk-up the stage receiving awards on Speech Days, almost without fail; despite my academic hopelessness elsewhere; something a particular teacher noticed.

Only recently when I delivered a career talk on architecture, a girl stood up to ask. ‘Sir, how do you yourself get to be an architect?’ That fateful day I decided to be an architect kind of flashes by. I said, ‘Well, let me tell you the story.’ It was the story of Mr Lee Sai Soo.

If Mr. Lee was the reason for my career, Mrs. Lee was instrumental in my learning of the meaning ‘long arm of M-Chop – the Law. She reported to M-Chop our headmaster of some missing Terengganu boys, near one Raya holidays, and M-Chop personally gave us his best hand once the holiday's over.

Business exposure too began for me in MCKK. (I would count selling ice cream during primary school too.) In 1979, Che’gu Ghazali started a cooperative movement. I was an active founding member and its secretary the next year. Running the coop means having to go out to town to buy stocks (plus a quick detour to …….. for coke and chicken-chop). It was a post that interestingly gave me privilege to go out to town almost every day on the pretext of buying stocks for coop. It too was an excuse that saved me from DC (Detention Class – MCKK’s own brand of detention without trial) or maybe even the cane when caught by Sab the head-boy out in Kuala one day. Che’gu Ghazali’s belated signature on the ‘town-leave’ form saved my butt.

School co-op sells only exercise books and stationeries. It was boring and brings little money. 1980 was the 75th anniversary. We grabbed the opportunity to print T-shirts and souvenirs and made a handsome profit of over RM3000 that year. The Cooperative ‘posts’ gave us some ‘air’ of importance. I remember some of us feeling so important that they (it was Shah and Hamdan I think), in smart but ‘borrowed’ blue blazers, took a MAS flight from Ipoh to Subang ‘representing MCKK’ to make a deal on souvenir printing. Of course it was not on the coop expense.

One may wonder how rarely teachers were mentioned in my memories of MCKK. But that was the way of the school and we were free to run things our own way. Teachers were there on the sideline; as advisors, guiding but seldom interfering. It was the wisdom in the education system that allows character development, independence and making mistakes. It was the wisdom that has no parallel in local education and sadly missed with the introduction of AUKU (University College Act) and its gross misinterpretation in the education system. Funny that AUKU introduction was attributed to some extent to an MCKK ‘terrorist’ – Saudara Anwar and Co. and the students’ riots of the 70’s.

About teachers.

To think that the fierce Malayness of the MCKK students was attributed to its teachers was a half truth. Yes, there were Malay teachers with a very thick ‘semangat Melayu’ but there were equally many non Malays, Indians, Chinese, Singh, Mat Salleh and one or two very ‘anti-Melayu’ teachers that at least one we nick-named ‘Komunis’. Remember we were then in the early decade of National Economic Policy (NEP) and its affirmative action. Special treatment for Malays were not truly endeared us to other Malaysian. But then even as boys, we don’t go crying to our parents for the insults, ridicules and even the punch on the stomach. We don’t even go to anyone even when we fought one another. Our junior-senior rivalry sometimes meant taking a personal fight in the Squash Court but hey, that’s our business.

Looking back, I think (at least for myself) that those ‘challenges’ made us tougher and more aware of ourselves. The teachers, the ‘komunis’ included must have meant well in their own peculiar ways. Truly that was ‘wisdom’ teaching so very early in life. I would not think twice of sending my own son to MCKK given the chance for I know he will learn as I once had.

of brand, branding and selling

Yesterday, Pak Lah went on front page of the major dailies. I found it worth noting ‘yesterday’ for unlike Dr M, he wasn’t on front page often. ‘Go sell Malaysia’ he said. ‘We are an unknown brand.’ At least that’s my unqualified summary of his speech.

Cheekily, I hope that the wakil rakyat if not the rakyat will listen. Politicians too. With Pak Lah as the boss wakil rakyat and politician numero uno, they have little reason not to. They have been ‘branding’ too long but not selling. I mean selling Malaysia, contracts excluded.

We have been too long in our habit of branding people. Here in Terengganu (and I am sure elsewhere too) we especially the Malays brand people in either green or blue, ‘orang kita’ or ‘orang dia’. Then there was the branding of worse kind, ‘Mung kape! (kafir) – (You Infidel)’ and of late a much more sophisticated ‘ugly Malay’.

Perhaps if care to look at all the beauty and good qualities in the ‘goods’ around us then there’s plenty to sell. Let’s take from Pak Lah and be done with ‘branding’. Let’s go selling.

the malay college

I went to MCKK at the age of twelve, spent the best part of my growing years until the age of eighteen and even after many years of having left it behind, felt like I have never been away from it; The Prep School, the Big Tree, Hargraeves Hall, Big School, M-Chop and Mutalib’s Highway. How can I ever forget ‘Fiat Sapientia Virtus’ – Let Manliness Come Through Wisdom’ – it’s motto. Last January 2, this year 2005, MCKK was a hundred years old. The celebration however was set on March 26. I would be there again InsyaAllah, to be among all those that had been there once upon a time, a boy among boys, proud of growing up in its ancient compound, walked out of its gate a man, older but not necessarily or maybe not even wiser.

MCKK began for me on a day when my excited father took me on his ‘basikal norton’ to tell the great news to my grandfather. For many-many years later, Aki would proudly tell everyone of the grandson who went to the ‘great school of the royals and leaders’; introduction that often had me squirming with embarrassment. I was amused with the special attention I was getting; all the preparation - the shopping for white baju melayu, white school uniform and white pillow cases and bed sheets and white ‘kelambu’. I was too young to understand that it would soon become my new home far away from home and much more. And I would be spending my first Hari Raya Puasa away from the family. An experience I would not want to repeat and one that cost me a ‘hands-on’ experience with M-Chop but that is for later. Now, I think I must have been very lucky. With only a 4A and a B in the Penilaian, I must have made it on the rural quotas, having later found out that almost all others went in with 5A’s. My sister went to Tun Fatimah two years earlier and I was kind of continuing with the boarding school tradition which almost all the fourteen of us siblings dutifully followed. I was too young to understand its significance and despite my seemingly studious nature, I was lazy to boot and spent more time scribbling away.

MCKK was to me so much more sophisticated than any environment I had previously known. There, beginning with the regal but squeaky floor boarded Prep School, I had learnt to live among boys of the same age; experienced living in a world of electrical light, took shower by piped water and do that ‘big’ thing in a ‘flush’ toilet. It was to me a whole ‘brave new world’. I am not exaggerating but the world I left behind was still a world of ‘air telaga’, ‘lampu gasolin’ and ‘jambang cuah’ (water drawn from well, gasoline lamp and bengal toilet).

MCKK was modernity in every sense.

MCKK too was a cradle for everything ‘Malay’ness. Baju Melayu with sarong and songkok every night, full baju melayu with ‘sampin’ on Friday and ‘BRU’ nights, and baju melayu with the maroon blazer over for those occasions I represented ‘Kolej Melayu Kuala Kangsar’ in debating.

Yet it too was a cradle for personal independence, or brotherly interdependence depending on which way you look at it. A brotherly spirit translated into a special lasting kinship of the old school tie as old boys. Those five years of learning everything or nothing (also depending on which way you look at it) made us leaders in our own way; vocal, bold and confidence to the point of snobbishness. We became the prominent sore thumb in the emerging boarding schools citizenry not so much for the way we carry ourselves but just by being a ‘budak koleq’. If even we were snubbed, we were what we were. We put our heart and soul in everything we do. We cried when we lost and we belittle others when winning. From the fringe of the playing fields or the halls whenever we won, we stood proudly to sing our school anthem against the jeering from the losers. And then came our turn to turn on our brand of the jeers. For the arch rival from Ipoh, the STARians we have the sweet ‘Twinkle, twinkle little Star….’ For standard fare, it’s ‘Bung Wak, Bung Wek wek, Bung Kak Bung Kek kek. Who are we? Malay College. Hoah!’

It too was (at least in my time) a fertile ground for Islamic Revivalism. For this MCKK had his own hero, one no other than ‘Saudara’ Anwar Ibrahim. BRU I had mentioned earlier stood for Badan Revolusi Ugama, an Islamic student movement founded in MCKK by Anwar. The late Allahyarham Ustaz Rahman, personally and endearingly told me once that even when he was in Form Six, Anwar was sought after by the Special Branch for giving ‘talks’ in local suraus and printing T-shirts emblazoned with ‘Badan Revolusi Ugama’. Revolusi Ugama? That brother sure knew how to be in trouble.

Problem was, there were little to separate heroes from trouble makers. In the long history of MCKK, the heroes or the ‘terror’ as they were known were as popular as the ‘terrorist’ on the other side. Then in the seventies MCKK had plenty of both; kings and sultans, ministers (at least one with the distinction of being convicted for murder of political opponent), civil and corporate leaders; their name abound. On the other side were the ‘terrorists’ like (then jailed) Anwar and (then on exile) Hishamuddin Rais.

......to be continued.

on the bicycle again

A few days ago, my youngest son Adlan, pestered me to take off the extra wheel from his bicycle. At six, he was still riding with two side tyres; earning ridicules from his brother and sisters. At the same age, they were all cycling and swimming like duck to water. I didn’t believe him as he was normally afraid of roughing out but he persisted. Because I don’t have any tools, I took the bicycle to the shop. As soon as the side wheels were taken off, he took to the bicycle and zoomed away. Now, he was beginning to surprise me. Swimming lessons, next.

Adlan and his bicycle remind me of my own cycling lessons a great many years ago. Then there were only three types of bicycles. The ‘basikal norton’ or ‘basikal tua’ some would call, ‘basikal laki’ and ‘basikal pu’ang’. ‘Basikal laki’ (the male bicycle) was called so as it has a ‘batang’. [Batang, bar in English has a different connotation in Malay language]. The ‘batang’ of a bicycle has endeared itself to elderly Malay men. Ask them (discreetly) and they might tell you what it means.

A gender for bicycle was for those days of grace, elegance and strictly 'baju kurong'. Ladies’ pants, was yet to make its entrance. Then, ladies don’t ride ‘kekeng’ on a bicycle. So the top bar was removed and they have two lower bars for ladies bicycle instead. The adventurous girl who rode ‘basikal laki’ anyway was regarded as ‘macang jatang’ (tomboy) and any boy who ride a ‘basikal pu'ang’ would be sneered as ‘pondang’ (sissy).

Most of us learn to ride a bicycle on a ‘basikal norton’. The name ‘norton’ I guess was after the famous huge motorcycle long before we ever heard of Harley Davidson. Because it was huge, we have to ride ‘celah batang’ – between the bars. That requires a great balancing act and quick jumping off should the bicycle veered away. We all learnt the science of center of gravity pretty early. Once we master the balance, it was time to ride on the saddle. Because it was so high up, a sudden stop means landing hard, groin on the ‘batang’. ‘Aduh’!

Those years, the only brand of bicycle I recall was a ‘Raleigh’. Walk into a bicycle shop these days and bicycles were so varied its’ like a shampoo display. There are bicycles now for toddlers up to the big boys. Brands from local made to America to Italy to China. There are still some lady-like bicycles but even my daughters don’t take a second look at them. The choice was between ‘road-bike’, ‘mountain bike’ or ‘BMX’. Call it gender equality but Atin must get what Amir had. The big boys’ bicycles price mind you, can get you a secondhand Kancil. Then there were the gadgets, jerseys, helmets, sun-glass etcetera. If golfers wear Tiger Wood’s attire and use his endorsed golf clubs, the big boy cyclist competed on the latest of Team T-Mobile. Cyclists look to ‘Tour de France’ as golfers look to PGA for style.

Cycling reminded me of the story of Malaya’s early entrepreneur – Boon Siew, who started with a bicycle shop and ended with an empire of Honda agency. It reminded me too of Ah Kiang, the bicycle shop men in my village. In his standard attire of singlet and khaki shorts (they call it Bermudas these days) he was there making a living mostly by ‘tapung tiub’ for thirty cents or changing the ‘sumbu’ for ten. We would not change the tyre until it really ‘pancat’. I can still picture him, sitting on a wooden stool, pumping the leaking tube with air, dipping it in the trough, a 'tin minyak gas’ cut in half; of oily blackish soapy water, checking for bubbles, once found he set to sand with a ‘kikir’, applied the stinking glue and pasted a piece of cut tube over. He would turn to you and say, ‘Bocor sikek je. Mung tunggu kejak ah. Biar kering betul dulu. Baru buleh pang anging.’ He could have like the present days mechanics simply ‘tukar baru’ but he didn’t. He knew that we are all poor as he was not much better. Once in a while, when the fish catch was good would he be able to sell some bicycles. But he was always there to keep our bicycles moving, even on a Friday when a shout to him upstairs on his shop would see him coming down. ‘Mung sokmo’ he would say, ‘kacau aku nok tido je’. He was and will always be to me a picture of honesty. I wonder if he is still there, I wonder if it is still thirty cents to ‘tapung tiub’ of the bicycle.

‘the free extra’

As someone who spent twenty years outside Terengganu, my homecoming was in itself a journey of self-discovery. Suddenly, my classrooms were everywhere. ‘Pasar Maghrib’ included.

I returned after being away for twenty long years since the tender age of twelve. Against such background, Kuala Terengganu was to me a strange place. To my other half, a Kedahan, the environment was even more alien.

Within the quiet environment, I found more time for reading, for attending the ‘baca kitab’ sessions or talks after the prayers, and to join in quiet ‘lepak’ at the ‘lambor’ of ‘surau’ waiting for isya’ when the speaker fails to turn-up. I took up cycling too, but that’s years later and another story.

As strange as it may be, this was a lovely place to be, the sky is always blue (even when KL was shrouded in haze), the air fresh, the beach captivatingly beautiful and best of all the people are very friendly. They are your friends after just a single encounter, even without you knowing their name. That friendship means raising your hand greeting the guy at the other end of ‘Kedai Payang’; waving at the driver in the next car, calling each other ‘boh’ (for boss), a ‘salam’ and shake-hand all around. That friendship means consistently free lunch when eating out, that you soon join in the race to 'belanja' or to pay first. And that friendship means an extra fish or two at the market; extra scoop of ‘beras siam’ (siam rice) at Pasar Payang; extra packet of ‘nasi dagang’ and extra ‘tulang’ over the half kilo of meat you bought. Those are ‘free extras’.

That ‘free extra’ I later discovered was more than just a friendly gift. It underlines a deep understanding of religious principle of purity in wealth, of right and wrong and of things ‘halal’ (permissible) and ‘haram’ (forbidden). Principles so deeply ingrained in their life that it became a culture. Principle based on the doctrine oft repeated in the Quran; ‘Perfect thee, thy weight and measure’ (sempurnakanlah timbangan dan takaran). Something we all had taken for granted and even dismissed as petty.

These days of profit orientation, shareholders return and growth percentage, we took to all means to better the margin. Even if that mean denying the rights of others, trampling on the environment and forgoing all sense of human decency. How else can we explain why on the day a major conglomerate announced a profit of billions, it too front-paged a major dismissal plan of their workers, once their very source of existense. Call it retrenchment, VSS or whatever, it is still as good as taking away their dignity. How, automated, computer generated bills must be paid without fail even if the week supply of food rot in the fridge after a black-out and murky water in the pipes stink to high heaven. We have all lost the virtue of others above self.

But here, in the small market hall, there are people who still care. People who still worry that their weight and measures were reduced somehow and the money earned blemished to a point it is ‘haram’, and they want no part of them. Let it be to them that they give more, the more to made up the shortage and as a ‘sedekah’ – gift of ‘ikhlas’ and from the heart.

That was truly the lesson and challenge of the ‘free extra’.




Footnote
Pasar Maghrib is located at Jalan Pasir Panjang close to Maktab Perguruan Pasir Panjang. It was called so as it operated late afternoon and well pass the sunset, time for Maghrib prayer; something extraordinary in Kuala Terengganu as other markets are usually closed at five. It was a group of shanty huts until its redevelopment in 2001. Despite being renamed ‘Pasar Bukit Besar’ it remain to the locals as Pasar Maghrib.

‘pil samo’

Malaysian health care has certainly come a long way.

Every time I took my kids to their favorite doctor, I shudder at the thought of having to pay a considerable amount of RM for medicine and consultations. But it had to be at their favorite doctor because the clinic is beautiful, complete with a play area and the lady doctor was always generous with ‘lollypops’. While the consultation has not improved much from the standard, ‘Adik, apa sakit?’ (What’s wrong with you?), the medications were now aplenty. It certainly was a far improvement from the day of ‘pil samo’.

When I was a kid, there was only a government’s ‘Pusat Kesihatan Kecil’ in my kampong. The ‘doctor’ was a ‘H.A’ and he was so assimilated in the community that the clinic is virtually open 24 hours a day. Best of all we don’t have to pay. Everything, from consultations to medicines were free.

The medicines available then were limited. If I recall correctly, there were only ‘pil samo’, ‘ubat biru’ and ‘air-ding’. Plastic medicine bottles were unheard of. To visit the clinic, one must always bring a clean bottle or two. Bottles can mean ‘botol kicap’, ‘botol air lamned’ or ‘botol tomato’. The latter preferred because of its clear glass and come with a reuseable cap. But ‘tomato’ was a luxury and you can find few of them bottles. If you have to bring ‘botol kicap’, don’t worry because the clinic will provide you with the ‘gabus’ (cork).

‘Air-ding’ (iodine) was the brownish orange liquid used to clean cuts, as well as a cure for it. Getting cuts were frequent occurrence because most of us kids were using ‘selipar jepun’. The only shoes we have were the white school shoes; it must be kept clean and white so using them for playing was out of question. ‘Selipar jepun’ are also not good for running so we played ‘kaki ayam’ (bare footed) thus, the frequent cuts on the sole. If the cuts were dirty, the attendants will first clean them with spirit methyl. It was ‘pedih’ like hell. Because it was so dreadful, rather than visit the clinic, many of us kids would just put in the ‘serbuk kawe’ (grounded coffee) on the cuts, wrap them with ‘kain buruk’ (old cloth) and played on. Amazingly it does work wonder. In a sense, iodine was significant in a Malay boy’s journey to manhood. Ask them about their great adventure of ‘bersunat’ (circumcision) and you will know what I mean.

‘Ubat biru’ (literal translation - blue medicine) was an ultramarine blue liquid used for ‘kudis’ – all kind of skin diseases then common.

The panacea of all ills then must have been the ‘pil samo’.

‘Pil samo’ as the name implies were tablets pink in color. I remember them being the only medicine prescribed be it for fever, headache, toothache, flu, whatever. If adults were given pills, we kids were given ‘obat air’ of the same ‘pil samo’ but grounded in water. So shake well before use. Amazingly the same ‘pil samo’ were grounded into paste for ‘ubat gatal’ (skin disease medication). I knew this because I was always a curious kid, and the attendants don’t mind me peeking into their ‘laboratory’.

The ‘laboratory’ – if you can call it such, was hardly one we are now familiar with. The basic they had were probably the ‘stone and mortar’ for grinding the pills into everything else; the pots for boiling utensils, needles, syringes, knives, scissors etc; a stainless steel container for sterilised utensils and a fridge for keeping some special medicines, mostly those applied by injection. It scares the wit off you, when the H.A opened the fridge and said ‘Ning kena cocok ning’ (I need to give you an injection).

Despite the rudimentary facilities and dependency on ‘pil samo’ we survived. There were no ‘lactose intolerance’, ‘obesity’, high cholesterol or diabetes. Most of us survived the environment to now be the ‘forty-somethings’.

Sometimes I wonder aloud, if the advancement in health care and medicinal technology came because of the new diseases or was it the other way. Maybe, just maybe, we should take a good re-visit to the days of ‘botol kicap’ ‘air-ding’, ‘ubat biru’ and ‘pil samo’.

of ihram and equality

In Mina, within the cramped fire-proof tents, we felt the meaning of equality of men. There, as in the whole of ‘Tanah Haram’, some small deeds gain immediate retributions. Wrong-doing too. You got paid in cash they say.

In the tents, space was such a premium that the mattresses were laid overlapping one another. One can only sleep if he can stand sleeping close to his snoring neighbor. So close that a complaining pilgrim described it in his Perak slang as ‘bernapeh dalam telinge teman' (breathing in my ear)’ But everyone was tired and everyone was snoring. So what difference does it make?

With more than three hundred pilgrims sharing the same tent, it was impossible to know everyone. So when the wives come calling, checking on the husbands, asking for the spare ‘ihram’ or whatever, they better know not the name or title but their husband’s mattress number.

A lady’s voice was heard from outside the tent. ‘Boleh panggil Haji Nawi?’ (Can you call Haji Nawi?). Instantly and almost in unison came the response, ‘nombor berapa? (what‘s the number?’)

Reduced to numbers certainly made us all equal.

Oh, about the spare ihram?

For the uninitiated, ihram is a garment of two pieces of white cloth without any sewing that every male hajis must wear while in ihram. You don’t get it? Well, the ritual of Haj, requires a male pilgrim, to wear only that two pieces of cloth. Absolutely nothing else! Not even the underwear. That two pieces of cloth is call the ihram. Ihram too is the term describing the state of restrictions that all pilgrims must observe as a condition for Haj. Restricted among others are acts of hunting, killing, fighting, arguing, sex, shaving or putting on perfumes. In ihram, all the pilgrims from kings to paupers are equal. As soon as he donned the garb, made a ‘niat’, and set out to Arafah for ‘wukuf’ he is required to remain in the same garb until he completed his first stoning at Jamaratul Aqabah and cut or shave his hair. Women? Their ihram (before you start imagining ‘bukan-bukan’) is the regular prayer garment not like the men. Because the ihram is normally made of towel, it made a good blanket as well.

As soon as the pilgrims arrived in Mina from Arafah, most went straight to stoning, cut their hair and change from the ihram to normal wear. But, discarding the garb then does not free the pilgrim from another restriction that is abstaining from sex or any conducts leading to it. In short, man and his wife are still restricted from being together. That is until they returned to Mekah and performed the ‘tawaf’ and ‘saie’ when all the restrictions are lifted and you are officially a Haji.

At night, in the tent, Mina was rather cold. Blankets provided by ‘muassasah’ were rather worn out. So the ladies seek for their husbands’ ihram as alternative. So when the first of the ladies peek into the tent asking for her husband’s ihram, some guys were quick to pass a remark. ‘Tak dapat Haji Din, dapat kain ihram Haji Din pun jadilah’ (Can’t get Haji Din, it’s good enough to just have his ihram). Others laughed.

Soon, it gets hilarious as one wife after another came asking for her husband’s ihram and almost no one was exempted. Retributions were certainly swift.

Footnote.
The story was based on real event. The names of the characters were changed to protect the identity and privacy of the real person – Editor.

naik haji (part one) ‘the leap of faith’

Until I had performed my Haj, I was fearful that thing I write or muse on its ritual may cause me to face some form of retribution when I am there. Even those who had been there were very secretive about their personal experience. Ask too much and they will hush you into silence. ‘Awang kena gi dinung baru Awang buleh rase.’ (‘You must be there to experience it.’) Such was the mystery associated with the fifth and final testimony of Islam. After all the Baitullah is the House of Allah and the mystical stories, some chilling, were abound.

My earliest memory of pilgrimage was about an ‘orang lurus’ (a simpleton) who went to Mekah by jumping down a coconut tree.

Once upon a time, there was a village simpleton. Let us call him Si Betul. He attended a ‘pondok’ (religious school) somewhere in Besut. Because he was so trusting, so straight a character likened to ‘betul bendul’ (straight as a door frame), he was often the subject of ridicule even by the ustazs. One day, the subject was about ‘faith’. The ustaz stressed that those with absolute faith is capable of achieving anything just by a wish; nothing is impossible. Maybe because it was the Haj season, Si Betul became excited. So he asked, ‘Ustaz. Doh kalu kita yaking, kita rase nok gi Mekah, kita sapa Mekahlah?’ (Teacher. So if we have faith and we feel like going to Mekah, we can get there?) He kept repeating the question until the teacher became fed-up. ‘Ho lah! (Yes, of course)’ the ustaz said. ‘Mung naik pokok nyor, kejang mata, baca Bismillah, pah tu terejung. Sapa lah Mekah. (You go up a coconut tree, close your eyes, read Bismillah, then jump. You’ll get to Mekah.’) The next day Si Betul went missing. Days turned to weeks and weeks to months. He was almost forgotten. About four months passed. Now was the time for the ‘kapal haji’ (pilgrim ship) to return with pilgrims from Mekah. As was customary, the ustaz and most of the ‘pondok’ students were at Port Kelang to greet the arriving Hajis. Those ‘kapal haji’ days, a pilgrim was sent and greeted by at least a busload of well wishers. There, on the deck of the ship was Si ‘Haji’ Betul, in ‘jubah’ and ‘serban’ grinning from ear to ear.

Indeed, he had taken the leap of faith.

of riches and hardship

A friend of mine who happened to be 'filthy' rich, (Din) related this story. He was walking out of a heart specialist clinic when his 'not so friendly' friend (Man) saw him and the following jest took place.

M: Mari m’ane Ding? (Where from Din?)
D: Klenek. Mari wak ce-kak sikek. (Clinic. Just some check-up)
M: Ce-kak? Napok sehak je. Kena ce- kak gok? (Check-up? You look fine.
Still have to check?)
D: Nok wak guane (What to do)
M: [sarcastically] Susoh jadi orang kaye ning! (It’s hard to be rich eh?)
D: Mung kaye ke Mang? (Are you rich Man?)
M: Dok. (No)
D: Aku kaye dok susoh pong. Mung dok kaye mung tahu mane susoh kaye?
(I’m rich but I dont feel any hardship. You’re not rich, how do you know it’s hard to be one?)

back again

The problem with having too much time at hand equal that of having too much to do. At least for me.

Whenever I am in either, I procrastinate. Meaning- I laze. waiting for some 'heavenly' inspiration or for the eleventh hour be pressing. I know at the back of my head that soon, very-very soon I must do something about it or else.....

Its not that I am lazy, (Bukannya malas) but I am reluctant (tapi culas). Just to keep me wary, I repeat in my mind my favourite 'peribahasa' - ' Kerja tertangguh tak menjadi, kerja teragak tak tertahan. Translated to roughly mean ' A work delayed is never done, a work without commitment is never sustained.'

The Haj trip was a solid two months of bliss; of practically total detach from work, business, commitment and even family to a certain extent. It was a time solely devoted to rituals of 'ibadah' and eating and sleeping in between with the latter two much more outstanding. What a 'holiday' it was.

And like after all other holidays, it is hard to get back to work. It is hard to go back to blogging. It is harder to go back to cycling.

And before I can go back on the road, cycling, my bicycle need a thorough cleaning and greasing.

So am I.

I'll do it tomorrow.......

a journey

Labbaik Allah hummalakalabbaik,
Labbaikala syarikalakalabbaik.
Innalhamda wannikmata lakawal mulk.

La syarikalak.

Tomorrow is the second day of Zulqaedah 1425 H. Tomorrow is the day I will set out to make the journey I had awaited for years, to be once again in the House of Allah and the City of Rasulullah. This time I pray that I would be welcomed as His guest, a soul among a few million other guests, a soul from among over a billion that proclaim ‘There is no god but Allah’. I pray that I will be welcomed to fulfill the fifth and the final pillars of Islam. If the last time was for a visit, performing the umrah, a small optional pilgrimage, this time it would be for the obligatory finale.

I could not imagine in the true sense how insignificant one would be among the millions, how small a man in the vastness of Arafah. But I will be there InsyaAllah; in a moment where a peasant and a king is garbed in physically similar garment of two pieces of white cloth, sans any sewing, calling out the same ‘talbiah’ – Labbaik Allah; where everyone an equal in the eye of Allah.

Once I had stood on the roof of Masjidil Haram, looking below at the Kaabah; I saw the circumbulation like that of an endless swirl of water, flowing from the edges, drawn towards the center, circling and after a while flowing out again. The flow in, the circling, and the flow out again happening ever continuously one can’t guess which was the beginning or which was the end. Not a moment has the flow halted but for the time of prayer. But then the halt was like a momentary pause before the flowing and circling begin yet again.

Soon, it will be time for Haj again. A ritual of a thousand and four hundreds of years will be performed again. Some say that it was the same ritual performed by angels since the beginning of time. All as a mark of obedience. Whatever one had seen at the time of umrah, will be too minute compared to the happening of Haj, people say.

I pray that I will be there.

naik b’ulang

On July 20, 1969, the human race accomplished its single greatest technological achievement of all time when a human first set foot on another celestial body.
Six hours after landing at 4:17 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time (with less than 30 seconds of fuel remaining), Neil A. Armstrong took the “Small Step” into our greater future when he stepped off the Lunar Module, named “Eagle,” onto the surface of the Moon, from which he could look up and see Earth in the heavens as no one had done before him.
He was shortly joined by “Buzz” Aldrin, and the two astronauts spent 21 hours on the lunar surface and returned 46 pounds of lunar rocks. After their historic walks on the Moon, they successfully docked with the Command Module “Columbia,” in which Michael Collins was patiently orbiting the cold but no longer lifeless Moon.
(Quote from ‘NASA Apollo 11 30th anniversary website www.hq.nasa.gov/)

I had lunch with RI few days ago. He is an aspiring ‘yet to accomplish’ politician. I say ‘yet’ because I personally believe he got what it takes to be a good career politician; education, political experience, charm and vision. But sadly enough, most of the good one like him ‘dies young’; missing on opportunities to be the coveted YB’s. In the troubled water called politics, a ‘broye’ just can’t match the ‘nage’. No, I am not saying he is either of one, but best wishes to him anyway.

RI was lamenting about the challenge of motivation. See, he is a ‘penceramah motivasi’. To him, motivating the Malay youth by telling histories of Malayan Union and Independence is outdated. Those are something they did not went through and could not understand. Instead he says, the approach is to talk about something much closer in their history. I could not agree more. If ever I told my kids that I used to have only ‘seposeng’ a day to school they would remark ‘cakak mende gok hok zamang kirong tu, ni zamang laing doh…’ Imagine what a group of troubled youth would retort to. When he talked about the time when man first ‘naik b’ulang’. Salwa, Shida, ‘Braheng’ and Embong were there. They listened politely; but I saw only amusement on their faces. To the children of 70’s, even the history of 1969 were not really believable. But that part of history was true. I was there then as a ‘nearly’ five years old but I remember.

My recollection of the event.

In 1969, there was not a TV in my kampong. Only radios – and we listened to it just like you would to watching Astro of today. Then at nearly five years old I already could read and I read the Utusan Malaysia which my father devotedly buy daily (even to these days). Moon landing was a big thing; almost fully capturing the headlines and the radio airtime. Because of the news, the sensation it created, we were looking to the heaven, searching for the orbiting ‘rokek’ around the moon.. Of course we saw none, how can we believe the landing to be true. At the ‘kedai kopi’, at the ‘wakah’ while playing ‘dang aji’, at ‘b’asa’ while sorting out’ ikang rebuh’ or ‘be’ki pukak’ and even at the surau, moon landing captured our imagination. Among the elders and among kids, we were arguing. ‘N’awok’ (Lies), some would say, ‘bakpe dok napok pong? (why can’t we see it)’ Others may reply, ‘N’awok g’ane, gangbo ade kang, dok kang gangbo pong n’awok! (It can’t be a lie, there are pictures, pictures don’t lie)’ Then someone chipped in, ‘Tok Imang pong kate n’awok (The imam said it was a lie)’. The village imam (or was it another of the visiting Ustaz?) had passed his verdict. I was there at the surau when the Ustaz was ‘n’gajor kitak’. I was not there to learn any ‘kitab’ actually but to join the ‘makang’. The argument however was captivating. Otherwise how can I remember it to these days.

‘Orang kape belake tu wak cita orang naik b’ulang. Nok n’awok s’ape? Dalang kitak kate doh kang, nok naik langik tu ada berapa lapih? Ada tujoh lapih. Tiak-tiak lapih ade mele’kak tunggu. Nabi naik langik pong kena soal. Kalu orang kape kene soa, nok jawak mende!. Dok leh jawak mele’kak lepo slalu nge api. (Only the non-believers make up stories about the moon landing. In the Books, how many levels of heaven were mentioned? Seven! At every level there was an angel guarding. Even the Prophet was stopped and asked on his way to heaven. If the non-believers were asked, what would they answer? If they can’t answer, the angel will immediately assault them with fire.)

Then he added, ‘Ni ayak Quran ade doh ni. Dok dang sapa langik pong ada doh lapisang api’, (It’s stated in the Quran, there is a ring of fire below the heaven) quoting from the Quran.

In another occasion (and at nationwide too) the debate rages when someone asked ‘Kalu gi b’ulang nok semayang hadak m’ana? (Where do we turn our face to pray on the moon).’

On hindsight that was interesting. Even in 1969, before the introduction of war-cry ‘Malaysia Boleh’ there were already interest among Malays to be on the moon; and a strong desire not to miss the obligation of prayer even while in outer-space.

"That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind." - Neil Armstrong


Footnote.
Even until now there are skeptics of the moon landing. The Van Allen Belts of radiations fits the bill of our ustaz own definition of the ‘lapisang api’ (ring of fire). Film buff may recall ‘Capricorn One’ (1978) starring James Brolin, OJ Simpson etc about fake Mars (not moon) landing. Recent lunar conspiracy theorist may refer to Mary Bennet,and David Percy (2001) Dark Moon: Apollo and the Whistle-Blowers; Philippe Lheureux (2003) Moon Landings: Did NASA Lie?. For current web offering on the ‘bluff theory’ please check ‘Ground Zero (batesmotel.8m.com)

talking architecture (part 2)

I was stumped when Ajik sms’ed me asking about ‘relong’. Few days before, he was talking to me about some pieces of his in-laws land in ‘Aloq Staq’. For those in the dark, ‘relong’ is a measurement unit for land normally used in Kedah for ‘bendang’ or ‘dusun’. The more ‘relong’ one has, the richer he was, the more expensive the ‘mas-kahwin’ should you ask for the hand of his daughter.

‘Hang nak menikah anak Pak Chad tu, hang ada beghapa? Yati tu keluaq yunibesiti, Pak Chad pulaq bendang depa ratuih relong. Hang buleh ka?’ (So you want to marry Pak Chad’s daughter, how much money do you have? Yati was a university graduate, Pak Chad on the other hand has few hundred relongs of padi field. Can you afford it?)

I knew about ‘relong’ but never find any need to use it. Certainly, I was not made to pay the mas-kahwin in any ‘relong’ of ‘bendang’ when married to Yati.

The solution was to sms around. Help came from Hang Lekiu (my senior draftsmen; yes his name is so) who had worked in Kedah for few years. Q (as he is known) explained that a ‘relong’ equals to 484 ‘jemba’. What? Well, that was seven-tenth (0.7) of an acre or 30,976 square feet. A ‘jemba’ also equals an area 8 feet by 8 feet or 64 square feet. That was getting interesting.

In Terengganu-speak, ‘jemba’ means ‘to reach down’ or ‘lurge at’ or simply as ‘go’ or 'rush'. If used as j’emba’ it means in the negative.

‘Musing kemara ning, air t’lage tu toho sikek, mung kene jembe lah kalu nok kara.’

‘Jage anok tu!, nye jembe tengoh jalang kang langgor l’ori’

‘Mujo ambe dang jembe p’aso, kalu dok, dok makang ikang le kite.’

‘Nok tengok mok yong gane Mek Nah ooo! Dok dang j’embe nye k’ite.Padang basoh kaing nge jage anok je kite niiing…’

In Kedah-speak, the word ‘jemba’ means ‘depa’; measurement of outstretched arm (like in crucification). Since average ‘depa’ was only about 6 feet, ancient Kedahan must be big indeed. The measure must have been based on the ‘gergasi’ of the legend Merong Mahawangsa. But why ‘jemba’ and not ‘depa’? Not to confuse it with ‘depa’ (meaning ‘they’) perhaps?

Anthrophometric-based system of measurement was the original of all system of measurement. In Malay architectural tradition we have the ‘jari’ ‘jengkal’, ‘hasta’, and ‘depa’. In the English Imperial System, an inch was based on the width of your thumb, the feet on the length of your sole. A yard interestingly was decreed by English King Henry I (1110-1137) as the length from the tip of his nose to the end of his middle finger. That was some royal measure. In 1324, Edward II decreed that the inch was the length of 3 barley corns placed end-to-end

I had first thought that ‘relong’ was near equivalent to English ‘furlong’. I was wrong. Furlong was a measure of length not area. Now what was ‘furlong’? A furlong is a "furrow long" or length of a mediaeval field used for the lengths of some horse races. It equals 220 yards.

Architects who chanced on ancient land titles or grants often found measurement in chain, rod, pole, rood or furlong. A chain is 66 feet. A link in the chain is 0.66 ft. Old surveyors said so. But while at UTM (in 1981) we were given two different sets of chain; one a 100 link chain measuring 66 feet and the other measuring 100 feet. The 66 feet was the true chain while the 100 feet was known as Ramsden’s or engineering chain. Chain measurement is still widely used today despite the metrication. I guess with most of the country’s land already measured before, the task of converting would be near impossible. So we have the one or two chain road reserve everywhere and most housing lots, bungalows especially; measures 66ft in width.

A rod normally of five and a half yard interestingly originates from the poles used by farm boys. ‘Medieval ploughing was done with oxen, up to 4 pairs at a time. The ploughman handled the plough. His boy controlled the oxen using a stick, which had to be long enough to reach all the oxen. The term rod, pole or perch actually refer to the same thing but each term was used in different time. And, believe it or not, the legal rod of the 16th century was 'the combined length of the left feet of 16 men as they left church on a Sunday morning.'

A rood equals 1210 square yards or 19,890 square feet or 40 square poles. Rood was also one furlong times one pole (1 furlong x 1 pole). 4 roods made up an acre.

So how much was all that in square meter? Go figure.

Footnote
Some facts of the Imperial System reproduced in the article quoted from www. gwydir.demon.co.uk

the quran class

In the old days, a Malay child is sent to the Quran teacher with two items and a pledge. The items being a cane and a 'buah tangan' be it 'gula sekati' , beras secupak' or 'pisang sesikat'. In giving away the child to the teacher, the father normally remarked 'Ustaz, saya serahkan anak saya untuk ustaz ajar biar jadi pandai. Buatlah macamanapun asal jangan buta jangan cacat sudahlah. Rotan ni buatlah pukul anak saya kalau dia jahat.' (I gave you my child for you to teach till he's good. Do whatever you have to, so long he's not blind or disabled. This cane is for you to strike him if he's bad.) That was a legend even in my time.

I remember my father sending me to read Quran at the house of 'Tok Bilal M'bong' just a short distance from my house in Kampung Padang Polis. I can't recall the cane or the pledge, but the 'gula' was there. I was not a good student, a regular 'kaki tuang' (truant) - always finding all sorts of excuse to miss the lesson, prefering to join in the game of 'petik-mate', 'main to' or 'bedil'. There were other games too, 'galoh panjang', ...... To these days, I regret not attending those quran class properly. I end up not completing or 'katang' the Quran until I was much older. Not even the 'jehama' (juz amma) or Al-Baqarah despite being promoted to read 'Quran besor' rather early. That too after realising my own children were growing and in need of a good example.

I remember the day my father chased me around the kampung with 'lidi n'yapuh' when report came that I was often playing truant. The cane was there any other way.

When Tok Bilal M'bong moved to Kampung Feri, near the Masjid, I went to a new teacher I recalled as 'Che' Jah' at Kampung Feri. I remembered her for she was making 'paung' (pau) that my father sold at the school canteen then. I also remember her for crying the day P. Ramlee passed away.

Unlike now, there was not a standard fee for Quran lessons. My kids even have an Ustaz coming to teach at home. The fee then was 'ikok panda' depending on the ability of the parent. Paying with money was unheard of. Often it was with gifts mentioned earlier or whatever parents can afford to spare. For us kids, there were other fees though. No one can read the Quran until they have completed a chore. At Che' Jah it was either 'akuk air' (taking water from the well) or 'beloh kayu' (chopping firewood). Ocassionaly one or two were selected to accompany her husband to look for 'daung palah' (daun palas) to make ketupat. The older and better-behaved girls got the easier work of 'ayok tepong' or cutting 'daun pisang'. The 'paung' were normally prepared in the day time and cooked at dawn to be just ready for breakfast. I guess that was why we never get to 'rase' otherwise there would be little 'paung' left to sell.

Of the Quran lessons, I can't recall more. I must have 'tuang' so much.

To my Quran teachers, and all other teachers for that matter, thank you. You were the first light in my days of ignorance. To all of you Al-Fatihah.

in place of a picture

A picture paints a thousand words. A picture, better still a video tells aplenty about anything and everything. But a picture without accompanying story is devoid of expression and punch-line, there were little of moods, excitement, joy or sadness. When children asked, especially of our personal history, the microcosm of our life experience, there often was little time or space for pictures, only words, but words were what kept them listening attentively.

Even when given a picture of the time passed, they will still ask for the story. So go, - tell them in a thousand words.

It is the thousand words – that truly paint a picture.

talking architecture (part 1)

As an architect trained in metric system, I found it hard enough to convert to the imperial system of foot and inches. I have to, more often than not. The older ‘tukang’ can’t decipher the mm, cm and m, while we can’t talk about ‘hung’, ‘kaki’, ici’ or ‘ela’. Somehow we learnt and became ‘bilingual’. On the ground, in Terengganu the system of measurement took another detour. Coupled with local terminologies, it gets even more difficult to follow.

‘Kita paka plewook tige hung padang doh’ (We can just use the three ‘hung’ plywood) the tukang would say. ‘Hung’ is one eight of an inch. Carpenters of the older days use two main measuring instruments, a 's’siku' and ‘kayu lipat’. The first a steel L-shaped ruler and the later as the name implies, a foldable wooden ruler with brass end and swivel joint. Both type of rulers uses a division of eight for an inch, thus the commonly use term of scale ‘sekil se-lapang’ describing the imperial one eight (1/8) scale; that one eight is ‘se (satu) hung’. Lapang (eight) ‘hung’ is thus ‘sici’ (se inci), ‘dua belah ici’ (twelve inches) made up a foot. The ‘s’iku’ together with ‘timbang air’ (spirit level) made up an amazingly simple way of determining accuracy of angles. Artful positioning of the s’siku and timbang air assures every members of the building to be ‘makang s’siku’. Literal translation of makang s’siku is ‘eating the elbow’ but makang here denotes ‘ngam’, perfect, fit; the s’iku also mean elbow or angle. Makang s’siku thus means ‘perfectly fit to the angle. Anything ‘dok makang s’siku’ is ‘sengek’ (tilted).

Anything ‘dok makang s’siku’ was also the reason for numerous faults in a building, the roof may ‘b’alik air’, the beam may need to be ‘kene b’aji’, the tiling may end with ‘ekor tikuh’.

‘B’alik air’ means backflow. Roof not properly constructed, at too shallow an angle, or ‘atak berombok’ (the roofing material badly laid wavy, uneven roof surface), easily caused water to backflow into the house. Rain water supposedly flowing down the roof surface is often pushed by the upward wind causing water to splash upward in between the roof sheets or roof tiles into the house. This is nightmare. Normal leaks can be solved by ‘tepek belakeng’ (pasting tar) on the holes but ‘b’alik air’ requires re-roofing.

A shallow roof is said to be ‘tare’ (less than 15d) while a steep roof ‘ceruh’ (more than 45d). A 25d to 35d roof are considered ‘biase’ ( normal ). Roof is normally formulated at ‘sekaki akat sici’ (an inch elevation every foot) So a ‘tukang’ when looking at the plans will comment, ‘Tare do’oh atak ning, ujang sikek pung tobak b’alik air. Wi ceruh sikek, baru napok yeng’ (Atap ini terlalu rendah sudutnya, hujan sedikitpun sumpah akan berbalik air. Buatkan lebih tinggi sudutnya barulah bergaya / The roof angle is too shallow, I swear it will backflow when it rains. Make it steeper, it will look grander)

Another term is ‘koye’ - used to describe an area measuring 100 square feet or 10’ x 10’. ‘Koye’ is often used to measure works like ‘m’elah’ (plastering) or ‘pasang mozek’ (tiling) or ‘ikak bate’ (brick laying).

Khije se kong, dok ‘oh dok leh siak se koye ikak bate. Makang taing dok ‘oh le tu.’
(Kerja satu ‘kong’ takkanlah tak boleh siapkan ikat bata 100 kaki persegi. Rehat berlebihanlah tu.’ / A day’s work and yet can’t finish a hundred square feet of brick-laying. Must have taken a break too long)

‘Kong’ is a measure of a day’s work of normally eight hours. The word originated from Chinese’s ‘kong’ to describe worker. ‘Kongsi’ is a workers’ quarter. In Terengganu it's often pronounced as 'k'osi'. 'K'osi' can also mean to share. 'Awok-awok Pok Soh dok k'osi blake, taing makang ye pakak k'osi ma'sok.' (Pak Soh's workers stay in the quarter, come meal time they share the cooking task) ‘Buku kong’ is a card recording attendance of workers that must be signed by a ‘p’ala’ or ‘mandor’ (kepala / head). ‘King-kong’? The number one worker in Phua Chu Kang. Oooops.

(to be continued)

thinking of old surau

Except for the mosque, most if not all the old suraus in my village were built by individuals. Thus they were known as ‘Surau Haji Awang’, ‘Surau Pok Su Mat’, ‘Surau Pok Teh Ali’ or ‘Surau Pok Su Jusoh’. These individuals too became the imam and sometimes were the ‘siak’ and ‘bilal’ as well. The suraus served as a place for prayer and ‘mengaji Quran’ for the children as well as a place to borrow ‘kawoh’, ‘tuku’, and ‘pinggang-makuk’ come time for ‘makang pulut’. Without government’s money, the structures were modest and the facilities were basic. A well and a toilet were about all there were. Inside, few pieces of ‘sejadah’ normally for the front ‘saf’ and the floor if covered with ‘tikar getah’ was considered a luxury. For the times when ‘jemaah’ increased, normally in Ramadan or when there was a ‘ratik’ (with some ‘makang’ of-course) the rolls of ‘tikor k’uang’ sufficed. Modernism saw the tikor k’uang replaced by plastic ‘tikor gulong’. If anything else, the suraus were clean and well looked after. Haji Awang, Pok Su Mat, Pok Teh Ali and Pok Su Jusoh were important individuals, they were the village elders, next in importance only to the ‘Tok M’ulu’ or ‘Tok T’ua Kapong’. Their attendance at any functions were a must, be it for ‘makang pulok’, ‘ratik’, ’bace yasing’, ‘semayang ajat’, ‘s’unak’, and occasionally even to help to ‘semelih ayang’. For us children, surau was an important place of rendezvous. It was the place that parents would not object and a perfect excuse to leave the house. Well there was a river near Surau Pok Su Jusoh and a dip after the ‘mengaji’ was almost a must despite the scare of ‘broya k’atok’.

Perhaps it was the simplicity of the surau, or maybe the simplicity of the people that us children were tolerated despite our noise and annoyance. ‘Teraweh’ in Ramadan was a fun time. Always there were some ‘kueh’ and ‘kopi O’ for the jemaah but ‘makang’ was delayed until after the completion of the ‘twenty-one rakaat’. The ‘p’ala pengak’ among us would take a peek under the ‘tudong saji’ and loudly declare the feast. Normally it was a simple serving of ‘roti canai’, ‘pulok nyor’ or ‘wajik’. On lesser days it would be ‘biskuk balok’ je’, someone would proclaim. Not joining the ‘terawikh’ prayer’ however was not an excuse for not joining in the ‘selawat’. But ‘Sal’Allah wassalam Allaihi’ became something else. Sometimes it became ‘soh lah buleh makang wajik’ or at another time, ‘Pok Lah wi salang Pok Ik’. Such ‘daja’ were we.

Time changes everything. The suraus now are much nicer, built with government money, in brick and concrete. Now a ‘jawatankuasa’ runs them. Because there are now ‘luxury’ items, speaker system, clock, good carpets etc. inside, the suraus are often locked, at times at prayer time too. No longer are suraus ‘open’ physically and spiritually. Children are somewhat inadmissible with some suraus ‘inappropriately’ displaying a ‘no children allowed’ sign at the entrance. When allowed, they were at prayer time relegated to the back rows and noises are frowned upon. Once I saw a man actually lifting a boy to the back ‘saf’ when he (the boy) had already started praying. I look at these changes feeling sad.

My children, outspoken as they were, complained when they were asked to leave the front ‘saf’. Amir even retorted when told that kids were regarded as unclean. ‘Bakpe???, Amir ‘sunak mase umor lima tahung kang!’ (What? I was circumcised when I was five!). ‘Did you not tell me that we should aim to be early for prayer and the front ‘saf’ accord the greatest pahala?’ he may add.

I may be very much a ‘jahe’ when it come to religious matters but think my sadness is warranted. In our over-zealousness to protect the sanctity of the suraus and mosques we are instilling in the children’s mind a kind of aloofness that could later psychologically distance their heart from the house of Allah. A friend even remarked that such over-zealousness is turning our suraus and mosques into temples and shrine; a remark unkind but true in a sense. Maybe I should add that I saw in Masjidil Haram, children treated with remarkable kindness, families were actually having ‘picnic’ during Ramadan or on the fasting days of Mondays and Thursdays. The children of Quran classes in Masjid Nabawi in Madinah were equally noisy. Fact is children are children the world over. Are we too not once children ourselves?

Perhaps if we care once again to open our suraus to the children, we may be ‘vaccinating’ against future social disorder. For that, all our mosque and surau officials, the imams and bilals should once again be like ‘Tok imang’ Haji Awang or Pok Su Jusoh; for that matter.

Glossary
Kawoh; kawah; couldron
Tuku; tungku; three legged steel stove
pinggang-makuk ; pinggan-mangkuk; bowls and plates; utensils
makang pulut; makan pulut; kenduri; feast
ratik ; ratib; tahlil; group rememberance (zikr’)
makang; makan; feast
p’ala pengak ; kepala pengat; a term to denote leader of the ruffians
tikor k’uang; tikar mengkuang; mengkuang mat
tikor gulong; tikar gulung; rolled mat normally of plastic
Tok M’ulu; Tok Penghulu; villages’ group (mukim) headman
Tok T’ua Kapong; Tok Ketua Kampung; village headman
bace yasing; baca Yasin; majlis bacaan Yasin; Yasin (a chapter in the Quran) reading session
semayang ajat; sembahyang hajat; special prayer
s’unak; bersunat; berkhatan; circumcision
roti canai; roti canai; what else ?
pulok nyor; pulut kelapa; glutinous rice with grated coconut
wajik; wajik; another type of pulut cooked in brown coconut sugar
biskuk balok; biskut balak; dried bread
Pok Lah wi salang Pok Ik; Salam Pak Lah untuk Pak Said; Greeeting from Pak Lah to Pak Said
Daja; dajal; devilish
Jahe; jahil; ignorant

snippets from ‘kursus haji’

InsyaAllah, by the Grace of Allah, Yati and I will be leaving for our Haj in about a fortnight. Today was the conclusion of Ceramah Haji Perdana (Grand Haj Seminar) where we; all the 3000 odds Terengganu pilgrims were made to go through a full dress rehearsal. That includes the wearing of ‘ihram’, ‘melontar’(pelting of stones) at the ‘jamrah’, ‘tawaf’ (circumbulation) around the Kaabah and ‘saei’ (walking) between the hills of Safa and Marwah.

The whole rehearsal was orderly executed under the experienced guide of Tabung Haji personnel, a feat I found daunting. The 3816 pilgrims from Terengganu made up a mere fraction of Malaysian contingent of 52000 and a mere drop in the expected 2 to 3 million pilgrims in the ‘Haram’ this season. If three thousand was an endless flow of people, what more the few millions. The management, the planning, the logistic and everything else must be exponentially strenuous even with more than a thousand and four hundred years of management experience. Since the very day of pilgrimage by Rasulullah saw into Mekah, liberating it from paganism, the haj has been regularly carried out without fail.

For Yati, it was also an experience with a difference. In her group were the elderlies from Kuala Berang, northern hinterland of Terengganu. Those who know Terengganu know that people in Kuala Berang speak in a totally alien slang that even those in Kuala Terengganu could not easily understand. I could not myself. The way out she said was to diplomatically acknowledge herself as another one of the ‘mek’ (Terengganu for ‘miss’; the sweet way of addressing a younger lady), joining in the laughing and smiling; nodding at every words even though she ‘dok pahang satu sa’ (cant make out anything).

Kuala Berang folks were often at the end of Terengganu jokes, not unlike the Irish to the Brits or the ‘Parit’ and ‘Bota’ to the ‘Perak’ians. A popular one was about a ‘Kuala Berang’ian going to haj.

In the days before KLIA and its aerobridges, pilgrims from Terengganu had to take a flight from Kuala Terengganu to Subang before taking a pilgrim flight to Jeddah. Those were the days when passengers were ferried on buses to the terminal. On arriving at Subang, the pilgrims were orderly alighting in a row. An older man stopped at the door, looked around and let the other passenger passes, one by one until he was left alone. A stewardess noticed the confused old man, approached him and asked, ‘Maafkan saya, Pak Cik tengah cari apa?’ (Excuse me uncle, what are looking for?). The man answered, ‘Pok tengoh cari kasut’ (I am looking for my shoes). ‘Mana pak cik letak?’(Where have you left it?) the stewardess asked. ‘Dok ingak doh. Dok silak pok, mase naik takdi, Pok tok tangge.’(I can’t remember but if I wasn’t wrong I left it at the stairs when boarding) he answered.

The joke took a slight variation when KLIA was completed. The Kuala Berang’ian now was a little more savvy. Reaching the door of the plane, he stopped, turn around and call for a stewardess. ‘Mek, mek, tangge pah kuane?’ (Miss, where has the staircase gone). ‘Kenapa Pak Cik? (Why uncle?) she asked. ‘Tok j’upo payon. Tadi, Pok sakuk tangge.’ (Cant find my umbrella. I hanged it there.)

I wrote about a Terengganuan never having the ability to completely erase the ‘g’ in their ‘ucapang’ in my earlier blog. I noticed that in Halim (of Radio Era, Roda Impian) and in Wan Kamaruddin (NTV 7). The speaker at the haj’ seminar (a Terengganuan) related his personal story. In one of his seminar in Selangor, he was bewildered when the crowd laughed heartily at him after he had stressed a point. Confused he turned to his fellow speakers and asked. They too were laughing. Apparently he had ‘spread-eagled’ himself on the text of ‘saya tekankan depan tuan-puan’…… In his spirited speech he had unconsciously Terenganu-nised the sentence to ‘saya te(r)kangkang depang tuang-puang…..’ thus the laugh.

remembering ‘Pok Mang’

(with apology to the ‘aruah’ and their generations)

I used to live in Kemasik; a small village somewhere between Kerteh (famous for it oil industries) and Kijal (famous for its durian and lemang). I can’t remember what my village was famous for, perhaps none. For those who remember the movie ‘Fenomena’ (starring M. Nasir and Ramona Rahman; not John Travolta’s ‘Phenomenon’), that ‘beach’ was Kemasek.

Despite it not being famous for anything, I have many a fond memory. One, is of all the many ‘Pok Mang’ in my village.

‘Pok’(Pak – short of ‘Bapak/Bapa’) is a term to denote fatherliness. Terengganu elders seems to prefer ‘Pok’ over the more standard ‘pok cik’ (pak cik/uncle).

‘Ilmu menda gok pok paka? Napok gagoh sokmo’ (Ilmu apa pakcik pakai? Nampak gagah sentiasa’. / What’s your secret uncle? You are looking strong all the time’.) ‘Tak dok ilmu satu sa heh, memang keturunang hebak doh.’ (Tak ada apa ilmu pun, memang pakcik dari keturunan yang hebat. / ‘I have no special secret, just hereditary.)

‘Mang’ is a shorter call for Rahman (Deramang), Othman (Semang - not the ‘kueh’), Lokman or Sulaiman (Lemang – not the food). So ‘Pok Mang’ was appropriate to address all the elderly Mang’s (Man’s) in Terengganu. But because of the profusion of the name Rahman, Othman and Sulaiman, spelt and pronounced in various versions, a need arise to be specific lest one ‘Mang’ could be mistaken for the other. With the many ‘Pok Mang’s’ in Kemasek then, the need was present and clear.

My grandfather was ‘Pok Mang Bah’ (Pak Man Bas / Pak Man the bus driver). He was after all the driver of ‘Bah Tong Aik’ (Thong Aik Omnibus Co Ltd buses) plying the route between Kemaman – Kemasek – Air Jerneh. Together with ‘Ah Guang’ the conductor, they were kind of an ‘institution’ in the area, that I was known more as ‘cucu Pok Mang Bah’ a term ensuring free rides on Thong Aik buses anytime. Those days, he took the bus home in the evening so that he can set out early on his first trip to Kemaman. The red bus is treated almost exclusively his.

There was a ‘Che’gu Mang’ whose love of ‘ayam laga’ (fighting rooster) earned him the nick name of ‘Che’gu Mang Ayang’ (Cikgu Man Ayam / Cikgu Man the chicken). I can’t remember much about the ‘laga’ event but I remember well my uncle (not much older than me really) going to Che’gu Mang’s house challenging his son to a fight. Those days fighting among boys under the big jackfruit tree in the school compound were common and somewhat tolerated. If the fight was inconclusive – they never were; the fight continues outside school or repeated again the next days. With an ‘ayang’ (chicken) nickname already given, a new teacher also a ‘Mang’ coming to teach in Kemasek later were naturally called ‘Che’gu Mang Itek’ (Cikgu Man the duck).

The village coconut picker was ‘Pok Mang Nyor’ (Pak Man the coconut man). He would ride his faithful old bicycle, wearing a ‘kaing pelekak’ shirtless, a semutar on his head. The kain pelikat lifted and knotted into a ‘cawak’ before every climb. He goes round the village looking up at any ‘nyor tua’ and asking the owner if they would sell. When picking took place, us kids would normally hang around for some treat of ‘nyor muda’. ‘Ambik nyor mude etek, Pok Mang!’ (Take some young coconut too, Pak Man) we would call and he would always oblige. Not only he picks coconuts and climbs all those tall coconut trees (rather than employing a ‘beruk) he too operates a ‘rumah salai’ to dry the ‘kopra’. Those days when harvest was good, we kids could earn a few cents to ‘colek isi nyor’ (picking the coconut flesh from its shell).

In the coconut business is another man, not a ‘Mang’ but a ‘Pok Soh Nyadak’ (Pak Soh penyadat kelapa). Many of the new generation have not heard of ‘penyadat’ or ‘sadat’, a technique of collecting ‘nira’ or ‘air tuak’( juice) from the ‘mayang’ (coconut shoots). The juice is collected in a ‘tukir’ (a bamboo container) left on top of the tree. The tuak in the ‘tukirs were regularly collected and kept for making the ‘menisang’ (gula melaka). When the collection of ‘tuak’ is enough, Pok Soh would set out to make his ‘menisang’. Maybe once in a week. This was occasionally an event, with the kampong kids gathering around for the ‘kerok’.The bigger kids helps to ‘kucau’ (stir) the ingredient in the big ‘kawoh’ (kawah / cauldron) – very similar to the making of ‘dodol’. After all the works were done, the ‘menisang’ poured into its ‘kerek’ (a ring made of mengkuang leaves) us kids would be given chance to get the ‘kerok’ – whatever left in the ‘kawoh’ (cauldron). Of course he never disappoint us with some treats of the hot liquid ‘menisang cair’ along the way. Sometimes he makes ‘menisang nyor’ also.

The school gardener was ‘Pok Mang Tukan Kebung’. Together with ‘Pok Awi Tukan Sapu’ . Together they occasionally make some mean off-the-cuff, un-planned ‘b’alah patung’ (berbalas pantun) while cooking at ‘kenduri’. Of course ‘Pok Awi’ himself rearing some head of water buffaloes is known as ‘Pok Awi Khuba (Kerbau)’ a call he disliked but accepted good-naturedly.

The rich man of the village was 'Pok Mang Porong’. Beats me how he got the nickname.

Nicknames are a way of endearing a person to the society he lives in. Whether or not the nicknames are liked, the simple kampong folks are normally good natured enough to accept them; name-calling and bantering in their life. They were all like my father or grandfather to me. Such was the closeness of our society. If in my fond memory of them something I say was offensive, from the deepest of my heart I say ‘I am sorry’.