About Me                                                                                                                                                                                         

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Posted Monday, August 07, 2006
Taking a break

A friend told me that he was accused of sabotaging his superior. He, my friend has not given an opportunity to talk to his superior, he fell victim of rumourmonger.

This happens all the times in any organizations; I called it, the works of those incapable of looking after themselves verses the capable ones.

Knowing my friend from young age, that is not his kind. I believe he is innocent.

That reminds me many years go when I was still with the state government establishments. One, during Berjaya government I was asked to write down and submit report to my superior when ever and if ever I returned home. They wanted a written report  if I was talking politics in my kampong. That was very weird indeed!

The other was quite in a modern era, I would say. I was grounded and  not to visit certain places in the state. The reason was identical to the former. When I think of it now, that must be among the craziest works by certain people, and my superior was equally as stupid as stupid person could be.
Picture taken infront of Parliament House-Canberra

There are no short of people watching you enviously over your shoulder whatever you do, whatever you say, wherever you go and whom you mixed around with. They manufacture news for their own consumption and purpose.

The methodology now is much easier and efficient with modern communication technology via sms, the process is within seconds.

But then again no matter how serious people say  about the abuse of  this technology I still disagree with the authority to ban or put the person in jails or frames anyone under ISA without trail  just because they are  spreading unsolicited news via sms or blogging in the internet. If our authority is pursuing this as highlighted in the printed media  we are in fact going backward instead of forward.

At the end of the day, I believe, people should be able to make their own judgement as to the factuality and worthy of the news they receive.

People who resort to rumour mongering to me, also as mentioned in some studies are people who have problem of feeling insecure and inferior. They are not able to face reality  in the context of office politics.

I normally would not engage in discussion with my boss or anyone based on romour mongering. But some superiors do take it very seriously because they haven’t got much work to do except talking. You know what I mean? Unless it reaches to a boiling point I will look for the origin of it otherwise they can go to hell.

Once I felt so disgusted, I thought I need to defrank my head before it explodes. I took a short course in Australia’s University. The idea was I have to be away to see thing differently, in other  words,  you see more things when you don't see them. I chose  law  subject not because I like it so much but  I thought it could valuable for me at least  I wouldn’t be bullied of not knowing about this subject.

I told a young lady at the Embassy’s office that I have enrolled at Australian National University –ANU. “Ya, but you are sick according to the record, and there is no confirmation from the University” she said,

“That was then you can call my doctor now, and at the same time I will ring the University so that some one will fax you the document you wanted” I said.

I didn’t know whether she rang my doctor but faxes from university arrived in good time.

This was unplanned journey, if I find something not to my liking I can just go home. I am not tied to any one.

I spent several hours at Sydney Airport waiting for connecting flight to Canberra, though this wasn't my first time  here. Should I roam around in Sydney and stay a few nights ? No I could always come back whenever I wish.

But this was my first time to Canberra the Capital Territory of Australia, also a place of all diplomats and embassies from all over the world.

I was told by friend in Kota Kinabalu Canberra is just like Papar a little town on the West Coast of Sabah. It isn’t much excitement, a tiny place has no night life, ha ha…this is the kind of thing I am looking for not excitement because excitment doesn’t trigger my brain.

I embarked into little Fokker flight, just like going to Lahad Datu by MAS now Air Asia is joining the queue, except no matter how short the journey is they still serve you with something, a glass of orange juice and package of biscuit, you don’t find in MAS or Air Asia. I noticed children were happy enough.

I reached Canberra airport around noon, it was bloody hot, I thought I was somewhere in the middle of Sahara or was I lost?

It’s in the midst summer mate!

Later of my stay in Canberra I learnt, weather  here can be extreme,very hot in summer and very cold  on winter. When I left the city in the middle of winter I read in the news that an army collapsed while parading, I must admit that guy  was much fitter than me.

Someone holding a placard with my name on it was waiting at the alleyway. “You are amde or sidik?”

There is a little different in norm between English and Australian though they are of the same origin.  Aussie likes to be informal as much he or she can.He would like to call you by the first name unless you tell them you don’t want to or perhaps you are allergic to it.

For three nights I couldn’t sleep in student’s dormitory, it was dammed hot; no fan, no air condition and worst of all I couldn’t and no one could open the windows because the windows weren’t meant to be opened.

Someone had to find me a doctor I was sick, that remained me the lady at the Embassy’s office in Kuala Lumpur, she was damned right.

I met a few Malaysian looked alike, during my stay at the student’s hostel. Hei are you Malaysian? No, I’m from Laos. I’m from Vietnam, I’m from Indonesia and I’m from Cambodia.

After that incident I decided not to ask anyone no matter how sure I was. That was the most stupid thing I have ever done.

I stayed at this University for four months. It wasn’t that bad, I had an experienced with my lady lecturer , she didn’t like my  Fijian friend, she failed him because according to her,  this man  plagiarised his examination answers.From where? From me? I never thought he did that  he was a smart guy.

He sued her in the court of law for discriminating student based on race and ethnic. He won, and passed the exam. The lady lecturer now is a magistrate .

 
Posted Saturday, July 29, 2006

A Hideout

I was interested to know more about my friend's doing who is also my relative. For a year  now Atkinson (not his real name) has been very busy driving up and down south about 120 kilometers away from Kota Kinabalu to a place called Bukau in Beaufort district.

He said he is mending his 15 acres of palm oil mixed with pineapples, oranges and a few fish ponds half the size of football field each*.

That isn't a bad idea at all; soon he will reap his labour. He knows exactly what he is doing and most interesting of all he is  taciturn professional who talks less but does more, though less wanted in his department because his superior couldn't read him as much as I.  In other words, the boss doesn't understand him.    

He asked me for opinions, I gave him, may be sometimes I talked rubbish but he can go along with me.

Now other friends started asking me if this is a right way- preparation for retirement. My response is if you have tried other things else and didn't work may be this one is, have a go.

This is going back doing what our fore fathers were doing many centuries ago, toiling land, our only available asset, after all what's the choice?

We don't have friends -minister or YBs who could give us projects  these people  don't even want to sit down with us for a cup of tea let alone serious discussion unless its time for general election, but we don't have general election every year.
Now he bought another piece of land just for the purpose of building a small house not far from his plantation but this one is very close to main road. When I asked him why can't he just build in the plantation area? No he said, he dared not because there isn't  electricity, no water connection yet,  there is no thorough road to plantation-he  still have to walk on foot for ten minutes or so and the  worst of all, he is scared at night  as he is sure there are ghosts lurking around  in that area. I thought ghosts don't care weather it is night or day?

Of lately I asked myself too if I want to be like him. Do I have expertise like him, do I have the energy, and do I have time and most importantly money? The answer is I have only partial of those.

But I like the idea of having a place for hide out. I have no expertise in agriculture but this isn't my real purpose, for me it is enough to have a small acreage of land with a little house on it. It must be away from the town perhaps there I could find a solace to begin with to do serious work which I think I need calamity and tranquility. It sounds ideal.

But in the inner side of me I hear a voice, telling me this is Malaysia and you are in the state of Sabah about thousand miles away from Kuala Lumpur separated by South China Sea no body has ever lived on writing alone in this part of the world. Never, unless a writer works for someone else's media. That's right too.

I don't live on writing but I hope to be serious with my hobby because it's the only way to keep me quiet otherwise I would be another statistics as ISA prisoners. Others would say, no, you are a mild person. Yes, but because I haven't poured them all out.

I was told by Jinnin a friend, that there is land for sale along the way to Sipitang.

I took opportunity to see the place over the weekend with Atkinson.

I left home about half past seven parked my car at his place somewhere near Lokawi.

We went by his Toyota double cabin.

This was our first time came close since leaving local college, something like thirty years ago.

We were in touch from time to time exchanging ideas and information by sms   but have never been able to have serious conversations this was the right occasion to pick up the losing time.

We are both came from the same kampong but he is very quite type whilst I am the robust kind.

In Bukau we decided to do his things first, settling his appointments.

I had problem in contacting Jinnin what we did was roamed around in his kampong  a stranger like  this 20 years ago would surely be called panggait -headhunter.

I lost my hand phone twice last week; Jinnin's hand phone numbers together with others were gone. The only thing I could retrieve was the empty sim card from maxis-service provider. It's most embarrassing to ask friends and relatives of their names when they call you.  

We are the victim of the system. We are too dependent on the system; it's the hand phone that keeps all the numbers, notes and diary. Tell me how many could remember wife's hand phone without keying a hand phone?

A few days ago I went to the office of maxis hand phone service provider, the idea was to ask if they can destroy my stolen hand phone which I am sure that the thief is now enjoying himself, my hand phone which has plenty of songs in the mp3, many movie clips too in the 500Mb capacity  memory card.

Just a few days ago I received an email telling me what to do if our hand phones are stolen first, view the serials number by pressing certain number that's easy. Give the serial numbers to the service provider, the service provider could destroy the set. The set becomes useless and no longer functioning; this is exactly what I want to find out.

The person at the counter of  Maxis office  gave me a funny look with his eye balls propped out upon hearing my query,  there is no such thing.

I cut the argument short, just tell me you don't have such facility in Malaysia, but I know in some countries do have such service.

After more than an hour searching for Jinnin, he was in fact elsewhere tapping rubber, he did quite a sizable amount per day.

We drove around rubber plantation+ its still very much like jungle. My only hope was if the price is right I would pursue the negotiation as willing buyer and willing seller does.

When I mentioned to a friend that I wanted to build a house where there is no electercity, no supply of water and still plenty of wild boars, many give me a strange look some suspect I must be looking for a place to batapa-herbinate typical of Kadayan hundred years ago.
*Picture on the top-scene at rubber plantation
 +Picture below- fish pond at Atkinson's plantation

Posted Friday, July 21, 2006
What a visit...   

Ding! Dong! A man opened the door he must be about thirties. His name was Jojo (not his real name)   “Called me Pak Jojo”. He said
          A scene in Sukabumi District

I introduced mine.
He led me to my room, the first thing he did was to test whether the TV set in the room was in working order. I supposed the room must have been left empty for a while; otherwise he wouldn’t have to check it.
I asked him how many channels Indonesia’s TV had. He replied  instantaneously by pressing the TV remote control and pointed it at the TV set at the corner of the room.

"Yang ini pak Bapak Suharto- this one is Suharto,

Yang ini pak anak lelaki Suharto-this one is Suharto’s son,

Yang ini pak anak Suharto perampuan-this one is Suharto’s daugther,

Yang ini pak kawan Suharto-this one is Suharto’s friend

Yang ini pak…Yang ini …Suharto….”

I was amazed.

I didn’t quite know how to react other than saying you must be kidding!

But reading from the reaction of the people I met in Jakarta, its obvious   that President Suharto’s days were numbered.

I asked Pak JoJo again if Suharto was going to fall this time, He smiled but serious at the same time.

My visit this time was when the people of Indonesia were at the brink to deposing their President.

A number of demonstrations were seen on the main streets.

At one time the van carrying us to the outskirt of Jakarta was stopped by a mob of five people with sticks, parang and stone. The driver dashed without even stopping at the red light.We escaped.

   Lunch at semi open restaurant
I stayed in a bed and breakfast style accommodation somewhere outskirt of Jakarta. The idea of choosing this place was in order to be near to the place where I had my meetings every now and then for a week.

It was only about less than 200 yards a part that was handy enough to walk.

After our meeting Pak Sofian was usually assigned by the organiser -Yayasan Islam Jakarta to accompany me, this kind of treatment was difficult to refuse. That’s the culture they had lived with. Do as told by the superior, they took diplomatic relation very seriously. There were times I wanted to run away.

Pak Sofian was an energetic man of the late fifties. I never asked him about his age but by the look of him my guess wasn’t that far wrong.

He was cheeky once by asking I if I was interested in looking for accompany a cehwee. He meant girl. I said I didn’t have time yet for that.

He was a patient man no doubt. He told me he was once worked assisting professor at one the Universities nearby.

In one evening we went to a restaurant in the city for tea time. The day was so hot and humid I felt like going into a room with a full blast air condition. We have been walking for hours. No real destination but just looking for old buildings in old Jakarta. But I felt my journey was hopeless as my little camera I brought along refused to cooperate with me.

I asked Pak Sofian to take an order. I didn’t want to do myself worried of being noticed my asking would sound too foreign for these people; next, all eyes would be on me. No, I didn’t want to stir up the local atmosphere in a quiet evening.

Came the order, we got some local fruits and local cakes.  Pak Sufian asked if he could order kulit ayam I didn’t quite get him I thought it was something like curry pulp ayam or anything with ayam flavour. I nodded,

After while a lady waitress came, handed us kerupok- like chopped into tiny pieces. Pak Sofian asked me if I have ever eaten this type of food. This was a fried skin of chicken. It tested alright, its crispy like kerupok.

It reminded me with my daughter some years ago, we went to a restaurant in Paris; we were so hungry, I was looking for something soupy. After a long wait the order arrived- a bowl of soup of grasshoppers. I thought frying would be the most appropriate for this creature.  No, Anthony Boudin could probably take it, but as for me I haven’t been trained to swallow anything like that so I wouldn’t mind waiting for another order.

On our journey to Bandung we dropped by somewhere in Sukabumi, the idea was to visit community there which was known for their produce of herbal medicines.

It was cold in Sukabumi especially in the month of August up to December I was told, sometimes it’s difficult to find hotel room during this time.

Indonesia was one of the potential countries that could produce herbal medicines plentifully looking at their enthusiasm at that time. They all agreed the cost of medicine was ever high which most ordinary people in the
                        
kampong couldn’t afford financially even to buy tablets like panadaol. So herbal medicines were the option in lieu of the western medicines, they therefore planted and grew verities of herbal plants.

They had demonstrations of verities of plants which they said contain high properties of medicinal value.

We were received by the Deputy of District Chief so very formal I had to
change my trousers as I was wearing jean earlier on.

I visited Bandung Institute of Technology; this was where President Sukarno obtained his degree in engineering. After roaming around for a few minutes Pak Sofian brought me to an open stall where we had a tea tarik?

I wanted to watch the people from here. It remained me in the 70s when Indonesian movies were famous in Malaysia; actors like Sufan Sufian, Sukarno M Noor and Rachmat Hidayat a like. They were my favorites whilst the ladies were Widayati, Paula Romokuy and Titik Puspa was among them. These Indonesian celebrities were not far from where I sit down.

Something I completely forgot, I used to have few Professors friends in various Universities in Indonesia whom I met in England many years ago but looking for my old friends never ever sprang in mind at that time. I even have a relative a lecturer who migrated from Brunei many years ago. I only remembered this a few days after I came back.

The final night we went a restaurant, Sofian was so eager to introduce me to his favorite restaurant he said this small restaurant was famous for Malaysians, but Sofian didn’t know me, I wasn’t kind of person who like to cling to my own kind, not when I was elsewhere, I would rather be meeting or looking for something I hadn’t encountered before.

Anyway I wouldn’t like to be impolite to my host; we went into the small dark brownish painted restaurant. I saw Sofian was talking to the Manager I supposed, who later came to greet me bringing an album to be signed. I thought this guy was mistaken of me a pop star.

No, he asked me politely to put down my signature in an album because many Malaysian VIPs including Ministers visited his restaurant over the years.

I browsed the pages sure enough, I saw names like Dr Mahathir, Ghazali Safiee, Anwar Ibrahim, and many more, even Sabah state Ministers including Kadoh Agundong just to mention.

I signed, but who am I? I blamed Sofian for this great sin.

Posted Friday, July 14, 2006
My Impression only               

Flying from Kota Kinabalu to Kuala Lumpur will take you weather and condition permitting about 2hr 51 minutes while flying from Kota Kinabalu to Davao (Philippine) is only about 1 hour and 40 minutes? See the proximity! One thing is common; one can only either flies by aeroplane or going by sea to reach the destination.
                     Tok Tok? normal public transport  
At my age I wouldn't dream  of going by boat to cross South China Sea. Apart from having to worry of being robbed by the  notorious and rampant sea gypsies- I meant pirates, I am hopeless at sea. I could probably swim-I had  a training at Mangalong river when I was a kid, but how far could I last ? No, I wouldn't even like to think of it.

The last time I travelled by the sea was crossing Malacca strait going toward Langkawi. A few years earlier my daughter and I went to Labuan-not that far. She thought it could be adventurous taking a Labuan Express boat/ship from Kota Kinabalu. We tried.

In the middle of the sea, we were informed that the ship had a minor technical problem, which meant we had to be a float for few hours.

It wasn't that scary but it wasn't comfortable either, swung back and forth by sea waves. I puked, so was my daughter. I hoped at the time an angel would drop by to rescue us, flying by her wing and she dropped us in Labuan within a wink.

A friend asked me what I could write in a situation like this, there was nothing exciting.

Well, I am not looking for excitement really, I just write what I want to write, boring or otherwise.

Normally I prefer writing about people I met in rural or outskirt of the country.

Rural setting is always wonderful to me. People here I consider more real and less artificial. So far I ignore writing my visits to shopping malls or shopping centers, perhaps one day I would come back to this topic.

We arrived at Davao airport greeted by the Davao Medical School (DMS) staff.

Davao city is unique I would say, I think the first criteria that fulfills its city status is of its sheer number of people in it. It has two million people. One doesn't have to go far to see padi field- I would say  in the middle of the city! The whole island is so compact hardly empty space, any presumed empty space because you don't see anyone in it is a mistaken thing, the land must be owned by rich tycoon.

Its here I saw big durian sculpture of all countries in Southe East Asia region that produce durian fruits.

Eight of us including our division head on a mission to observe how an organization like Institute of Primary Health Care works in rural Philippines.

The situation of rural health here was vastly different than I used to see in Sabah, I think it is understood because the population is bigger and the standard of living was also a lot to do with it

Malaysia has far more medical centers in rural areas provided freely by the government. While in Davao people have to relay on the NGOs or rather self help. To keep surviving they have to be creative they even run cooperatives of various kinds, in return the money is used to buy medicines.

The local folks contribute by putting in their cash according to their ability on average; it was much less than a ringgit Malaysian (US$0.13)

We went around the island for the period of a week.

We normally left our hostel very early in the morning for nearby visits; otherwise we would spend overnights in places that took longer journey.

We started our journey from South of Cotabato to the north of the island Agusan del Norte- our concentration were Mainbo, St Rosria, Sta Maria, St Nino, Balangan and Bolton among others

I found these people though poor but they were quite generous. They would offer you food whatever they have just to make sure the visitors are happy. This is typical in Malaysia too.

In one occasion I was sitting just next a person quite dark in complexion while the organizers were busy and their leader was giving a talk. I had an opportunity to talk to him. My first impression of him was, he must be fisherman, but this place is no way near the sea.

After a few minutes exchanging introductions came the true colour, he told me he used to be a regular visitor to Sabah by speed boat some years ago. He confessed to me he was a ‘pirate’, this was strange!

He shot Malaysian light house for a kick whenever he passed by, in the eastern coast of Sabah. I found out later this was costly affair. He told me how to trick Malaysian Marine Police if and when ever they were chased in the sea by the Malaysian Marine Police, by cutting the net and loosened them so that it would entangle with the propellers of the engine thus slowing down the speed, or even stopped dead.

“But I am a good person now; I am a pastor” he said. I was sweating while watching his face, what about if he suddenly freaked out at me?

My thought of Filipinos just like many Sabahans do, they were notoriously dangerous and unpredictable lots.  This is my experienced with some of the Filipinos in Sabah-which number close to three hundred thousand together with those illegal ones.

These in Sabah  majority of them were from Islands, especially from Palawan, Southern part of Zamboanga del Norte, Basilan, Jolo, Tawi Tawi-the nearest to Sabah are Palawan and Tawi-Tawi Islands a distance about five times nearer from Sandakan to Kota Kinabalu.

They are predominantly Muslims, much unorganized Filipinos.

Whilst, Filipinos in the main islands that usually speak Tagalog, either living in rural areas or cities are completely different people. They are polite and friendly. They don't stare at you as if you are going to be his wholesome meal!

Posted Friday, July 7, 2006

Up North to Thailand

We arrived at Sungai Kolok, the southern most of Thailand about nine o’clock in the morning from Kota Baharu.

It was drizzling; I decided to walk around before heading to Songkhla about three hundred kilometers or so to the north.

I was told we had one or two hours to kill. I didn’t see anything interesting except, looking at Thai’s writings on the sign boards in case any translation in small letters.

If you speak Malay here they speak Kelantanese to you.

I heard the infamous Kolok even when I was at school. People said it has red light area; I didn’t know what red light area meant until one day I was in Amersterdam. To me the term red light is a bit misleading unless one arrives at night than you can see if they put the light on.

It is famous in Malaysia too. Many Malaysians married here. Their brought their ladies all the way to take a bow in Kolok.Paid the local Imam the right amount of fees or a few Ringgits extra caused no harm, minutes later they were pronounced husband and wife.

This is a way of evading Muslim marriage procedure in Malaysia; otherwise they have to undergo thorough interrogation by religious officials besides, there is a need to see an expressed approval from the first wife-I was made to understand, but they were those married with false certificates in Pulau Gaya.

Many people asked me if this is valid marriage for Muslim. My answer usually is, if the Imam is qualified to carry his duty as an Imam to solemnize the marriage in the manner prescribed by Islamic religion why not? Legality in Islamic law in this particular case is quite different than that of the Malaysian civil law.

The problem here is to do with Malaysian Islamic body or bodies, they don't  recognise such marriages solemnized elsewhere. What about if  one  is  married in  Sao Polo, well, it  looks  like just as Kolok. It isn’t about Islamic or un Islamic per see.

I was enticed by the smell of the Durian. I thought of eating them as many as I can. Silly. You get sick who cares? I hired a motor bike together with the rider we rode round and round the durian trees, that's equally silly.

We were traveling in a group of sixteen people from Sabah. I wasn’t really sure what we supposed to be doing and why? As far as I was concerned my name was inserted last in mysterious way to be in the group. I shouldn’t be ungrateful. But my conscience nagged me every moment for not knowing what I was doing.

Not all were briefed; to say there wasn’t time to do it couldn’t be a good excuse.

Those who knew the objectives of our going did tell me. I held to just that.

We were on a mission of lasak programme; lasak in Malay is a test for durability. So this was a programme where we were to be exposed to a kind of training. What training?

To put simply it was just to meet people in rural Thailand, especially the Muslim community.

Southern Thailand is predominantly Muslim populated area. This is where we find the 4.6% Muslim in the country. Majority is Buddhist makes up 94.6% and Christian around 0.7% of the total population of 64 million people.

Muslim community in Thailand isn't like Muslim we find in Malaysia. They are the neglected group. The poor live in squalid living condition. They are in the category of the 10% below poverty level.

Today being Muslim, if you have to travel all over the world you could be subjected to complication if not liability to yourself espcially at the entry points of western countries.

Bearded Muslim exposed to prejudices; if your name has bin appears in the middle in your passport, they surely want to see your face first before stamping it.

Because many non Muslim don’t see that Muslim has many facades. This was largely created by American government as political propaganda. Before the name of Osama Bin Ladin cropped up on the globe or before the September 11 tragedy, many western countries didn't treat Muslim as differently as today, but just like any other believers.

It reminds me reading an article written by David Lamb, he asked, why did the Hanoians let go of their animosity with American who bombed them. The response was the enemy was the American government, not the American people. I quite agree to that. Even with the invasion of Iraq very many American didn’t know the true picture. They were blindfolded by their President's propaganda.See the complication?

Muslims in Thailand didn’t live on handout. They were independent people and that's the only option rather than being stricken to death. For example, no subsidy on medical health bills- medicines are expensive matter, no subsidy on building mosques or religious schools  building and maintaining  rehabilitation centers for  handicap, drug edicts and so on and so forth, it could be different if they were to build temples.

The Thai Muslim relies only on self help and the non-governmental organisation -NGOs to keep them going and to keep them motivated.

Here we are to observe and to learn something  different from ours, in our case nearly everything is spoon-fed.

So this programme is not bad after all ! I have no problem meeting the objectives. But its the way the organiser or organisers going about this trip, which I think much to be desired.

Wow ! I was a slept,  missed seeing  many tittle towns on the beaches.

The road going to Songkhla isn’t bad. We used two 12 seaters Ford-vans, just ordinary vans,  but  were modified in the interior make it comfortable for long distance driving.Thai are good at this.

Thailand has a few foreign car assemblies, like Ford, Toyota, and BMW. And  car accessories like, bumpers, spoiler, skirts, exhaust pipes so on and so forth, all are locally made, plentiful and cheap.

Our driver drove very fast indeed. There were times  I thought we were all dead crashing on something, our flesh scattered all over the mangrove trees in mangove swamp.

I learnt later the dead toll or mishaps caused by cars or a vehicles accident in Thailand were much lower than Malaysia.

We saw a giantic mosque in Narathiwat, we stopped to perform our afternoon prayer, very Asian styled mosque but beautifully designed. Pix above

Pattani was huge and historical too. It was part of Malay Kingdom until one day it was conquered by Thai Kingdom.

We visited a place called Langkasuka, focal point of Pattani Malay Kingdom. And here was the centre for barter trading  from all over  Asian regions  and in particular from the Malay Archepalgo many centuries ago.We could still see the remnants of 15^th century buildings and landscaping.

I went a small old unfinished mosque -it looks and performed my zohore prayer in Yala. A few people looked at me curiously. I asked one old man about the mosque in Malay, but I did not quite understand the reply apart from a word Keresek-name of a place, I think the mosque must have local or  historical significant. It was under repair, money obtained from donations, one said.

Pix on the left Mosque  at Keresek and below  a well Hang Tuah  used to bath and drink

About two hundred meters away from the mosque there was a well with very clear water in it.

According to the local I talked to, Hang Tuah- the Malay warrior of Malacca used to take his bath and drank the water from this well. He came here to represent Sultan of Malacca to see the strength of Pattani's army in person, that was in the early 18^th century.

To round up our day we went to University of Songkhla at Pattani campus. We met by the Director of Faculty of Islamic Studies. We were given light refreshments; the director briefed us a little bit about the history of the faculty.Quite a number of local lecturers here were from Malaysian Universities.

Posted Friday, June 30, 2006

In the middle of nowhere-Kg. Banjar?                       

           The group at a reataurant                                       Part of Kg Banjar, Keningau

    

I did not know what Banjar is; I remember an older generation in my kampong- in Sipitang talked about Hikayat Banjar, sometimes they said Banjar people, in another time Banjar a place or even a country.

I was very young to ask question and it was only normal not to ask question to someone who was ten years or so older than you

I must be in year two or three at primary school.

Kampong people didn’t read book in those days, the only people who could read and write were teachers. Therefore any stories that did not come from school teachers were spread out by words of mouth; this was how they kept Bujang Sigandam a live by memorising it.

By the way Bujang Sigandam is another legendary story originated from Brunei.

In the 60s and early 70s people lived in the western part of Borneo had their source of entertainment only from Brunei’s Radio station-Radio Brunei based in Bandar Seri Begawan. Sabah had its radio station then but it wasn’t that reliable and reception was always of poor quality.

I remember accompanying my aunt and grandma to listen to the radio at night for Bujang Sigandam, an episode, a weekly programme. I didn’t understand it, neither did I have a real interest on the subject but the two ladies were only too eager to interprete it for me if and when ever I was in doubt.

So when I was in England in the late 80s I met a Malay man living in Hull, North Eastern of England who married to an English lady. This old man, about 60 plus always spared me a time after Friday prayer in a local mosque. His name was Hajji Nunung; always spoke to me in Malay. Because of my look he knew it instantly that this ugly brown small man from Malaysia was Malay. When I told him I was from Borneo, a Kadayan, he was ever eager to acquaint with me. From that simple hi he invited me several times to his house for dinner with the family.

He told me he was a Banjar or Banjarese some say, from Johore. I then told him mine. I later noticed a few words in his ethnic language similar to Kadayan like, aiing, ikong and kamih-water, tail and urinate…

Back in Malaysia after having involved with ethnics and cultural activities in the state for quite a while, I heard there is a kampong in Keningau-interior of Sabah about 130 kilometres from Kota Kinabalu known as kampong Banjar. So I thought there must be some traces of Banjar people. Has it got any connection with those Banjar people in Banjarmasin in Kalimantan, Indonesia?

I later found out there are about two million Banjarese in Kalimantan, about 900,000 in Malaysia alone and the whole Malay Archipelago has about three million. That’s surely more than Kadayan, Brunai, Kadazan, Dusun and Bajau put together.

One day I called a friend of mine Zax a Banjarese (not his real name) if he was interested to go to Keningau to see kampong Banjar. And he said that’s good idea but we must invite another Banjarese friend, Asuk (not his real name)

We visited kampong Banjar in Keningau. Zax became the driver and Asuk the rightful leader of the group after all he is a Datuk. But he was and is typical Banjarese. We had another friend not a Banjarese, who left a few days earlier, a local has a kebun in Keningau  volunteered to be a guide.

The missions of these half senile elderly people among others were:  to see Kampong Banjar, to see any Banjarese still living there.  We wanted to interview, why did their earlier generation chose Keningau as their base, at that time Keningau was in the middle of the jungle surrounded by people who believed nothing but pagan. Spent half of their time in aramaiti after eating wild boar killed by
poisonous darts.

Yes, the kampong was only about two kilometres away from the town. We did miss several turns, but determined only to ask for direction after a few wild guesses didn’t work. Our guide wasn’t a licensed, he couldn’t be blamed.

There were no more full blooded Banjarese living here, they were now close to fourth or fifth generation.

We couldn’t meet the village chief that day; he was on a mission in Kota Kinabalu. But we were introduced to his relative; who, by the look of it works at education department regional office. We crammed ourselves in his room to hear what he had to say about Banjar in Keninagu.

He briefed us a bit about their family history and their Banjarese routines like, kenduri and marriages ceremonial practices. But no one could really tell why they chose Keninagu as their first Kampong.

If this were in Tawau, Sandakan and Semporna alike –Eastern part of Sabah, we couldn’t be surprised, because of logistic and proximity to Kalimantan.

Originally, most people lived in this part of the region were pagan or animists.

The interesting part was Banjarese had no problem mingling with these people.

Banjarese didn’t choose religion as their preference for settlement.

The non-Muslim attracted to their religion and volunteerily  converted to Muslim for decades. They shared and compromised living side by side- it was by a sheer tolerance and neighbourhoodness. I must say, they formed  sub culture by product.

No body was untouchable regardless their religion. Yet their religious faith was ever strong and so also to the new converts.

Banjarese didn’t tell the world of their presence, yet they produced a few Islamic scholars, amongst the prominent one was Sheikh Muhammad Arsyad Al Banjari whose influence spread from Borneo to the rest of Malay Archipelago between 1710-1812.

Knowledge and art of living in multi ethnics, multi religious had helped Banjarese easily accepted in a place like Keningau- This is what I am trying to say.

I was told, during the colonial time one Banjarese elder was put in a lock up by a policeman but as soon as the door padlocked that very person was seen roaming and chatting with his mates in the village. Such a mystical thing, and seen by pagan this pious old man did have God’s divine power, many pagans later enthusiasticlly converted to Muslim in the hope of becoming David Copperfield.

Later in the afternoon we met another old friend in Keningau, now ketua kampong-village chief, we didn’t really know what to tell him of our business here. But with a few cups of tea terik at seri keninagu talking the reminiscence of school time at Sabah College such query no longer needed answer.

Posted Friday, June 23, 2006

To see PRamlee
We roamed for several hours, came the last lapse. I told my wife and my son we might as well drive back to Kuala Lumpur if we didn’t find anything special.

Then I saw a signboard to Rumah P Ramlee-PRamlee’s House. 

Hei!  Why can’t I remember the legendary P Ramlee? He lived in this island?

                         Pix below P Ramlee' bicyce
What’s if  PRamlee had any connection with Kadayan? No, PRamlee was from Acheh.

Last night I was informed they were kampong Kadayan in this island like, Jelutong, Rawa, Sungai Pinang and Melintang. I didn't know it earlier, yet  I was called an expert on the subject, a day before I gave a talk.

Kadayan migrated to this island from Borneo some time in 18th century. Among the
prominant Kadayan was Haji Mohamad Salleh Ibni Raturati, who later settled in Permatang Tok Jaya, Sebrang Prai, originally known as Permatang Radin Jaya. Radin was the title from the maternal side of Haji Mohamad Salleh.

The two agreed to follow the direction leading to the house.
                                    Pix below P Ramlee's house
The first thing that caught my eyes was a bicycle chained to one of the pillars under the house.

If I am not mistaken I watched the scenes where he rode this bicycle. It must be Pendikar Bujang Lapuk or something Bujang Lapuk couldn’t be sure.

Some forty years or so ago, Sipitang had no cinema, but for this particular movie it was shown in my village, kampong Pantai.

There was this mobile cinema based in Weston about twenty kilometres north of Sipitang town, they travelled down  kampong to kampong once a month whenever they had new movie to show.

They converted our school football field into open space cinema by fencing the entire area with massive cloth or canvass. If it rained everything put to hold

If weather was fine, night  was an enjoyable one  for kids like us. Usually under the moonlight which was to my mind a  nostalgic and memorable one. There wasn’t electricity then.

P Ramlee’s movie was always long awaited.

He was a handsome actor, with curl hair and trimmed little moustache, his voice was no comparison with others any faint-hearted females would sink - my interpretation after hearing ladies talking about him.

Sometimes he wore black songkok and sarong.

Doesn’t any one notice as Malaysian, how Ramlee organised his name, by convention  his name would be read as Ramlee Puteh in short R Puteh  but he instead styled it  the other way around-P Ramlee.

As my grandmother’s first grandson, I was always given special treatment, going to see PRamlee’s movie was indeed special.  I usually fell asleep half way. I was told. Thus the next morning these people reviewed the story among themselves.  I got lost. This was a way of confirming that I only watched the movie half way.

This tiny house was typical of Malay wooden house. The living room occupied large portion of the house. It has one bedroom and a split-level kitchen.

His short sleeves shirt hung on the wall; the sleeves were rolled upward typical gangster's style at that time.

Some photographs, letters and other personal document like birth certificate; school-leaving certificates were displayed for public to see on the wall.

My son was seven at that time though interested looking at the memorabilia in the house but didn’t quite understand why we came to this place. But now it isn’t that difficult to tell him, as he is one of the fans of PRamlee’s black and white movies.

The bicycle under the house looks aging too, if it isn’t cleaned and polished, it might not last.  I saw the rust started nesting on the chrome part of the bicycle.

After spending about forty-five minutes or so we drove slowly to Kuala Lumpur. This was the first time I drove the car with the whole family from Kuala Lumpur to Penang.

I could effort to be lazy without having to worry about queuing except going to toilet.

On the way back to KL we didn’t stop as many times as we did earlier. It was a heavy downpour all the way and driving along  the infamous Karak High Way during this un kind weather was scary business.

Posted Friday, June 16, 2006
Follow Your Heart  

I didn't decide to go to the jungle this weekend until at the very hour of leaving the house.

Having second thought, this raw idea could bring good surprise to Ameerul-my 9-year-old son.

Since his first jungle day trip outing a month ago he was ever excited, but this time is to sleep under a tent. He had a few times installed my ten year old tent in the middle of our living room mockingly it was in the tropical rain forest.

He is fascinated by the sound of crickets and frogs. However, it is to watch kelip kelip –(insect with blue bulb) by night I think exhilarates him most.

We drove to Sipitang 150 kilometres down south the border Sabah, Sarawak and Brunei yet again.

It was rain almost the whole journey, except when we reached Pantai.

First, we must stop at his grandmother’s house to get my parang-machete and a cooking pot.

From Pantai bridge I saw Mangalong River swelled; it must be flooding at my mother’s place. Sure enough, from distance I could see cars and lorries parked on the high ground.

We parked our car like the rest, walked about 500 meters on foot toward my mother’s house.

This was Ameerul first encounter with flooding, but at his grandmother’s house there wasn’t any water as the ground was a bit high.

We took off our shoes first walked on the high ground on an asphalt road. It was hot like walking on hell, then dipped in the water, then came out again because it was at the higher level and dipped again. Two days after this experience, I still felt my feet on fire.

I told my mother we were going to Kabar again but this time we would be spending a night. “ In the weather like this ” she said.

Next house, about two hundred meters away were my aunt and uncle looking furiously. I had to be courteous by stopping at their house before proceeded our journey. It’s our culture; I had to drop by no matter how short spill it was.

After I told them, we were going to the jungle they both gazed at me with disbelieved I supposed they must have thought I was about to catch an early sign of senility.

My uncle advised me to park my car in a safer place, since I was spending the night and if possible somewhere which couldn't be seen from the main road.

We drove up; tried a few times I just wanted to go a hundred meters or so.

No, my car couldn’t do, Honda Inspire wasn’t built for this purpose. The mudguard stuck and its finder on the left-hand side ripped off. A month ago I drove Kancil here I had no problem reaching about three hundred meters up hiding my car there.

Ameerul wasn’t too happy when I said; we had to postpone this mission. Number one, we couldn’t drive up to look for suitable place to hide the car, two it was dark and rain started pouring.

“Can we not park our car somewhere there on the road?” He said, this was exactly the place my uncle didn't want me to do. Leaving the car at the daytime would be alright, but not by night. A few tried in the past only to find the next morning all the four wheels were gone.

The only option was to park our car in someone’s house that was about two kilometres away. When I explained to Ameerul about the distance, that we have to walk on foot carrying our stuff-backpack- one bag of tent, cooking utensils, some food for the rubber taper, umbrella and bottles of water, we were excessively overloaded for our sizes. Ameerul insisted, he would bring some of the stuff by himself; in fact, it was not more than five hundred meters, when he passed everything else to me.

A four-wheel drive stopped, three Chinese timber men I supposed, asked us where we were heading to, we were no more than a quarter of kilometre away to the junction. We got in anyway. They were kind. I told them we were on a picnic; all three raised their eyebrows.

Ameerul told me after we got off the car, that they said we were mad. By the way, Ameerul attends Chinese school.

Now I realised, when we first came here a month ago we didn’t bring much stuff only a backpack and two bottles of water. My uncle accompanied us. Day was bright.

I found walking uphill  was endless. My mind fickled, either to go back to the car or continued the journey. Going back was almost an equal distance to going a head.

Now was rained and dark. I asked Ameerul to be vigilant and watched out for a lillte bushy uphill junction that led to my late father’s hut.

We were exhausted, we finished our water, and we stopped  every  less than hundred meters. This was no longer proper road; it’s just a trail, quite dark and muddy. We were not more than a quarter of this dark trail when we heard someone following us, from distance about hundred meters or so I saw Usman in dark green shirt -the rubber taper with big long parang. I was shaken and thrilled at the same time. Shaken if it wasn't him, but thrilled because he could ease us a bit by bringing our stuff.

He was actually waiting for his son who left for Sipitang supposed to be back in the same day but now  it was already one day and one night.

We reached the hut about six oclock, I laid on by back on the grass for several minutes to regain my energy.

Usman looked a bit worry because the hut was small for us. He has five kids with him if we were to be squatters for the night the number increased to seven. I told him we had sleeping equipment, he looked relieved or amazed how handy our jungle house was.

I was in the midst of installing our tent when Usman’s kid and a friend arrived.

Thing was back to normal for him.

Ameerul wanted to practice his skill in cooking a package of noodle but unfortunately his gas stove didn't work no matter how hard he tried. In the end, he handed his noodle to Usman.

Later that night I checked  his little gas stove and found out the container wasn't placed properly.

Posted Friday, June 16, 2006

The night was spent

The rain stopped. However, Ameerul was too tired to watch the night passed.

The distance between our tent and the workers’ hut was only a few yards. We could hear their conversation loud and clear.

How far more to go?
I wanted to join them but since Ameerul was a slept, I wouldn’t like him staying alone in the tent.

After feeling a bit relax experiencing night filled by the sound of insects I noticed Ameerul kept on sliding down and I too because the ground where the tent was placed wasn’t flat enough. I worried by morning we could be landed at the foot of the hill, that must be water -a little stream below.

I wanted to call to my wife just say that we reached our mission but my cellular phone didn’t have coverage here I turned the radio instead until the battery turned flat. Now I couldn’t even tell the time because I left my wristwatch in the car. My camera has a clock but it too couldn’t tell me the time, the battery was just dropped when the compartment wasn’t closed properly. I had to reset the timing and the date. It’s all right with the date but not the timing. I just had to make a good guess, when I checked in the morning my guess for time wasn’t bad at all.

Usman’s son and his friend had good conversation in as far as I could tell. I heard them talking well into wee hour.

I was awakened around two thirty in the morning; I saw a light came down from the hut. It was Usman’s eldest son going out to tap rubber. My God! I thought that was early when I checked with Usman in the morning he said it’s their routine. Usman himself started tapping around quarter to four in the morning.

They don’t tap everyday but on alternative day a way of producing optimum latex from the trees.

I climbed the highest peak of the hill top most of my father’s land. Ameerul and Usman’s younger son aged six joined me later.

The land was very flat on the top. It was covered by thick overgrown scrub and tress. Here was our first hut built when my parents first started cultivating hill rice and vegetable that must be around forty years ago.

I planned to build a two bed hut here in the near future. I have asked Usman to clear those trees and grass so that I could visualise the suitable design by the next time I come.

We left the hut around eleven in the morning. Usman and his son accompanied us up the main junction and helping us to carry our bags.

Upon reaching the main road Usman advised that we waited for transport normally it wasn’t long to get one. But I didn’t trust such instinct because today was Sunday there wouldn’t be many cars in the early part of the day going up and own this area.

Usman and his son went back to the hut. We started to walk to get our car. Ameerul was very reluctant to walk. I noticed he got the burn of the journey by now. He preferred waiting for any vehicles passing by.

He carried his own bag pack again; he was at the verge of collapsing. He started carrying and talking about Kentucky Fried Chicken. But I think this experience was good for him, he was one of those who like watching National Geography and Discovery Channels.

I insisted we must walk.

Only two vehicles passing by one carrying logs the other was a lorry carrying a petrol tank.

We stopped countless times every one or two hundred meters.

It was about a quarter toward our car I told Ameerul we should leave our backpack and everything else except my camera. We hid them in the bush along the road. The idea was, we could walk lightly to reach our car and drove back later. Why didn’t I think of this earlier, silly me!

We reached my mother’s house about one o’clock. She was grumbling, she said she spoken to a few people if there was a need to check us in the jungle, after all she said what did I know about jungle. She was worried. She couldn’t remember if I ever had experienced going to jungle beyond the age of eleven.

She cooked for us. Ameerul watch his Astro programme His grandma asked him when would be his next trip. His replied “when I am a little bit older”

I had to rush to the town because a few people from Beaufort had an appointment with me at three o’clock.

Sure enough they were there at mama’s restaurant. Another friend arrived seconds behind me with two big plastic bags of nangka sweat local fruit.

Posted Friday, June 9, 2006
The usual way

I have not been back to Sipitang for the last  six months. My friends asked where have I been not calling them for a long time.

My answer was because I have been elsewhere most of the time.

However, to be honest, my real answer to this question is, I just don’t see any good reason why must I be rushing frequently to a place of more than 130 kilometres away from my home? It makes no economics sense when I get nothing in return   from my doing.

The recent petrol hike in the country is only making my wallet near empty, that is, if I have to drive my 2-litre or so engine to Sipitang very often.

My only valid reason, for the past few years were, to visit my mother. Because she refused to come to Kota Kinabalu, she is living alone. She is old.

I no longer grumble with this crisis, once I insisted that she must come to stay with us. She stayed for three nights. She fell sick. From that day onwards, she never wants to stay in Kota Kinabalu for more than what is necessary.

I asked a few friends if they ever experienced the same fate as me.

They said it was normal. Town or city is not a place for an old generation like my mother but kampong is. She doesn’t like doing nothing at home; she doesn’t understand watching most of Astro programme except for RTM 1 and 2. The channels seldom switched on in my house.

No, not really the reason, she has an Astro at her house installed by my younger sister to help her accompany. To be fair, he doesn’t watch TV very much.

As usual in my overnight visit like this, I would call a few friends for tea tarik. It’s no short of people to join me; usually our rendezvous would last until a wee hour.

My old friends waited for me in town, Joe for Jumaat (not his real name), Bob for Baharuddin (not his real name) and Mat for Matripin (not his real name) were among them.

I didn’t intend to talk anything serious. Not politics, I have abandoned the topic for nearly one and half year. I wouldn’t mind listening to Sipitang politics, just keep my self-updated by these people.

First, question was from Joe, he wanted to know what was I doing in Sipitang. I said I was just inspecting my late father's land near Bukit Jabeh, if the place was good enough for rearing kambing -goats.

All eyes at me, I could read, they didn’t quite believe, because I wasn’t the type.

That’s must be Kabar, said Joe, all of them familiar with the place.

Bob said he and his father used to rear some kambing some years ago. The problem was with the inventory he said.

I like this; Bob was a person who could talk endlessly about mystical things. Typical Kadayan!

Bob continued, “ every morning we normally count how many kambing come out from the hut say twenty, but you see, when they arrive in the evening the number seldom tally. One or two must be missing, it happened three or four times a week, we just couldn’t figure out how and why it happened”

Mat said your kambing must have escaped because your fences were lousy or your neighbours slaughtered them.

Bob insisted that his neighbours didn’t steal them; they were good people if it happened everyone in the neighbourhood would know eventually.

His kambing never escaped because they were watched thoroughly.

Now I knew what Bob was after, he brought up the story of kambing because he knew about the land  I mentioned. Bob said, “That place has an ajaa giin –jinn’s king -residential area-in fact the jinn still live there. You have to see someone who knows about jinn before you can bring your kambing”

For those who have been reading about Orang Bunian written for Kadayan Universe by Arimi Sidek, this is another façade of Bunian people.

What Bob was saying, the missing kambing was taken by the unseen being-the Orang Bunian-in Malay Orang Halus.

Bob said I have to negotiate and compromise with them; otherwise, they would forever disturb my kambing.

How could I negotiate with this unseen Bunian? When I don’t even know they exist. Of course, some of my friends would say, don’t be funny Bunian does exist.

There are so many stories about Bunian. I remember when I was a kid we had a relative who married to a Bunian. That’s what my mother and my aunt said. He was small, only about three in half feet of height, with heavy black moustache and curl hairs. He usually passed by our house stalking at great speed to see other relative at the end of the kampong.

He was good at healing sickness especially for kids. One day one of my younger brothers fell ill. My parent decided to give my younger brother to him-just by pronouncing “I give my son so and so to you and you look after him” It was normal in our old community. The adopted father normally pay a visit once a while to a family who had given him a son or daughter.

The Bunian wife and kids always fascinated me. It must be fun when I can see people but people can’t see me. I always wanted to see my unseen relatives and experience life with them. My mother said to me, once you were in their world you wouldn’t be able to come back as normal person.

But why do they want to harm me after all I am their relative?

Now I see, this was the reason why our relative no longer normal?

This small man usually lived alone by himself; he talked and laughed aloud to himself. Some villagers said he was gila - insane, my mother and aunt never mentioned to me that this man was insane; in fact, that’s how he communicated with Bunian.

Posted Friday, June 2, 2006

Time Flies

Yesterday I was in Sipitang some 150 km from Kota Kinabalu, the South Western most District of Sabah, situated at the border between Sabah and Sarawak states.

However, it was my visit to place called Kabar or Kabaa in my ethnic dialect intrigued me most.

Rubber taper on the left, my uncle  in the middle
In the 60s, my late father (the oldest), his younger brothers three of them and one sister and a few friends opened up land for cultivation in a virgin jungle. In those days, this was very common activity in this part of the region.

It took between four to five hour journey on foot from my village known as Pantai. Now its reduced to about one hour driving and half and hour on foot, I know it because I clocked my journey.

We left my parent’s home precisely at six minutes passed two, I rechecked my watch,   the date was 06/06/06 what a coincidence I thought! No, I am not a great believer of superstition.

I couldn’t really remember when was my last visit to this place, according to my uncle my father's youngest brother now about 66, it must not less than 30 years ago. He said if he remembered correctly I was in my year three or four of primary school. He recalled my losing my way for two hours couldn't pass but circling a big tree fell by our neighbour. The whole family had to look  for me  if I had  rolled  my self down the step hill like a bear. The bear is still real here, we saw the foot print. He pointed at the remaining tree astonishingly big!

From Kota Kinabalu I went straight to my uncle home, he was just come back from attending his sister in law's wedding. Wasted no time I asked him if he could accompany me to Kabar. He was a bit shock, was I out of my mind in midday like this. He gleamed. I knew he didn't mind. But I cautioned him that I have to bring my 9 year old son- Ameerul. He was a bit reluctant at first,  he knew fairly well that this boy is no kampong boy let alone jungle boy. Somehow, I managed to convince him after giving the background why Ameerul insisted in joining.

Ameerul has in fact undergone mental training for weeks, mostly in a car whenever I picked him from school. We have been talking about jungle, mountains, rivers, monkeys, snakes and so on. Now is the time to put the theory in practice

My uncle said, it’s a tough going, very hot and the road is rugged gravel, many bridges are missing, which means we could not drive far and have to leave the car in the middle of nowhere.

Sure enough, first from an asphalt road to a non asphalt one, next to a rugged gravel road. This road was built by logging company to enable them to carry the logs to logging ponds near by, now left unattended for many years because they were no more logs to carry. Hardly two hundred meters, we left the car. Which means, we have to walk on foot for the rest of the journey.

One hour passed, we now came to foot trails. I noticed Ameeruls’ face was red like a cooked prawns in a frying pan. Nonetheless, he looked very cheerful.

After about twenty-one minutes we came to a place, a hut, built by my late father. However, to be honest, I couldn’t recall anything if I had even been to this place. I saw a few faces sneaking and starring at us from the window of the hut. They were the children of the rubber taper; my mother engaged him two months ago.

Nearly all the nineteen acres of the land were planted with rubber trees, but in 1991 a wild fire broke out burnt about three quarters of the plantation, the remaining is no more than three hundred trees. However, the neighbours also have rubber trees and this rubber taper has to juggle with from one owner to another for economic of scale. He told me he has five children and four of them are just as good as him.

Ameerul started asking questions, where was the jungle, where were the hills? Fair enough, the foot trails was in fact fun and exciting, plenty of shades, it’s just a secondary jungle unlike what I experienced 30 years ago. Foot trails are mixed with rubber trees, mango trees and wild flowers...cont. 

Seen below Ameerul (left)  and my uncle-Ameerul's grand uncle

Posted Friday, May 26, 2006

Tragedy

My uncle was impressed with Ameerul; he said he was just like me when I was a kid. I couldn’t remember that, what I remember was, I wasn’t very obedient kid, always trying to be different. That’s perhaps answered why I am as am now.

To my surprise, Ameerul has passed the test with distinction. I overheard they were  talking about scaling the next hill, but I think that must be next time.

I saw the palm trees near the hut were impressively huge unfortunately, there weren’t many. My father didn’t really think at that time that palm trees worth  more than rubber trees. To him as far as I could recall, rubber was still the best and the most viable commodity. In fact I did mention to him to slow it down -planting rubber just before I left for England in the 80s. In a way, he was quite right, I have never heard for decades that the price of rubber is so good now.

After spending several minutes contempleting what and how to do with this land, and  received no whisper in my ears for assistant- one thing I was quite sure of  non-in the family  interested to do anything with the land, so long as the condition remains. I too at lost.

Situated in the middle of jungle without infrastructure, not even a gravel road  fit for a four wheel vehilcle. In other words,  I need to construct a road, before anything else, but constructing road even if it is just basic requires big amount of money.Another problem is, I have to cross three different ownerships of land before reaching my father's land, usually it isn’t that easy to deal with kampong folks.

It is about one and a half kilometres from the sub main gravel and torrential road to where the hut is now situated.

Just before we left, I took my parang rushed to the summit, but bushes were too thick to have a clear look. After creating some space cutting the thick grass a few feet wide, I began to sense that this place felt familiar. Sure enough, it was at this summit that my father first built our hut, not at the present one. I learnt later that hut below was built quite recently. The reason why it had to go down was, my father felt its too troublesome to carry even a bucket of water up hill.

It was from this top I used to watch a lighthouse in the sea of Brunei Bay at nite wheneveter  weather was good. And I could also see the blue sea in a distant during the day time while having my lunch.

We reached my mother’s house almost half past six in the evening. After taking my shower and dinner with my mother, I talked to her about our experience. She hasn’t been there for a very long time. I don’t think she ever wants to go to the place. The memory of my late father could never fade away.

It was in Kabar my father met a fatal accident that led to his death. He and his younger brother –the one accompanied us, in one Friday morning set off to this place with the intention to extinguish wild fire which broke out for several days earlier. The fire was all over the place covering many hundreds acres of rubber plantations in Sipitang District in early 1992.

The two didn’t intend to stay long or seriously to put off the fire, but merely to have a look and later they intended to go  for  Friday prayer at kampong Pantai mosque.

Both of them carried water pumps on their back-the pump used for spraying insecticides, but this time they filled them with water to spray the fire on the grass, to me using pump of this size is a mere sprinkle against the huge inferno.

Not long after after they arrived, my uncle didn’t feel well he wanted to go home early; my father let him go home, he said he  would follow  a little later.

At the time when my uncle left the place, my father was busy spraying the grass with water.

According to my uncle, while still on the way home he felt very uncomfortable leaving him alone, after only less than an hour he rushed back to Kabar.

When he reached the place, to his horror, he found my father was lying unconscious sprawling with blood on the grass. The burning branch of a tree from  twenty or thirty feet high of a size of seven or eight feet in length and about eight or nine inches in diameter fell on  big rock, but the debris bounced and knocked my father on the head.

There wasn’t any body nearby to assist him, my uncle had only one choice, either to carry  him all by himself but knowing the distant and nature of the road he couldn’t go far even if he tried, or left him somewhere safer while looking for help but he had to do it very fast because the fire was getting fiercer every minute.He opted for the later.

He ran to kampong Pantai to look for assistant, this took at least an hour and plus he had to look for someone who  had a transport to take them staright to hospital.

According to him all and all, it must had taken him about two hours before he finally reached my father again together with our neighbours.

My father died in Beaufort's hospital a few minutes after they arrived.He was 63.

                                     
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