I was born in Kampong Lanchang, Pahang. My father retired when I was only 3 months old, built a house on a piece of land he owned. The only problem was that this house was located far from the protected area. That was during the emergency era in our country where our movements were restricted and bound by the rules and law of the country. The villages were guarded areas, usually fenced up.
In front of our house was a rubber plot belongs to a Chinese family whom we were very close, especially with their children, until today, they still called me by my pet name. Our house is nearby a river, but there were times we took our bath at this family’s well. We knew each other’s family and always dependant with each other.
We were instructed by our headman to leave this new house and move into the protected area. My father was given an area and permission to build a different house in this enclosed area. There were times we heard the “emergency bell” rungs from the police station urging the kampong folks to hide in a pre-built stockade, usually under their houses. It was to inform the villagers that the “communists” were around the area. We heard gun shots and I did saw some people running among the rubber trees at the back of our house. During the emergency, I used to see bodies of the communist being brought to the town before being taken away.
One day while I was walking from my home, I saw a beautifully designed “belt” lying across my path. I bent down to take the “belt”, but to my surprise, it was a snake, with its head stood up on my left, it slide away. I screamed and the assistant headman, whose house was just nearby, rushed out and came to check on me. It was a shocking experience that reminded me to be always alert.
During my younger days, I liked to be bald. Whenever my aunt shaved her husband, I would run home and asked my mother’s permission to do the same. She never objected and I was very happy with my bald head. Last year I promised myself to be bald again, at least once after all these years. I kept my hair long enough for seven months but my wish did not come true as I hoped for (Photo; Not the “bald” I wished for!).
At my young age, I was given a baby monkey by an aborigine who knew my father. I was persuaded by my uncle to have the monkey’s tail for his belt. To fulfill his wish, I took a small parang and cut off the monkey’s tail. My mother screamed at me to what I did and the tailless monkey was later given to someone else.
I learned how to swim in the nearby river. My first try was to jump off from a float upstream and float yourself until you reach the next stop. While floating, you tried to swim as you move until you reach the bank. By time you would able to master it. My friends and I swam across the river and reached the other side. On this bank there are a lot of water apple (“Jambu Air”) fruits that were ripe and tasteful. We enjoyed our self and when the time to return, it will be another problem to swim back. While swimming, we were only afraid of the trunk or globe-fish (“ikan buntal”) as it would bit off part of our toe which looked shiny in the water.
One day the headman came to the river and shouted to us on the other bank to return back. He took all our towels, clothes and whatever we left to his house. We had to go back home, of course, naked. My mother, as always, scolded me and asked me to go to see the headman and get back my towel. Actually, the headman was a good man; he respected my father and was ready to help anyone. What he did was right and I knew what I did was wrong.
I remembered saving a young Chinese boy who came to bathe at the river. He was struggling and his mother was shocked. Seeing this, I jumped in and pulled the boy ashore. I assumed he was wearing his towel while swimming, because I found it being washed ashore later and sent it back to his father’s shop.
Whenever the Ruler of the state came to visit our village, the headman was the person responsible for the welcoming reception. There would be a fish catching activity using a type of poison made from the roots of “tuba” plant or creepers. The whole village would be enjoying themselves trying to catch as many fish as they could, which later would be salted that could be kept for a long period. We would fry the fish and served it with drops of lemon. Nowadays these delicacies are sold in open markets.
I learned to read the Koran starting from the “Mukaddam” with the village Koran teacher. The class usually started at night, between 7.00 pm to 9.00 pm. We went to his home with kerosene lamps, where all the students gathered and learned from one lesson to another until we could recite each and every Surah. Once we had completed the Mukaddam, we would continue with the Koran. I continued to read the Koran when I stayed with my aunt. My uncle taught me the right way to read the Koran and I never forget it as he was very fussy indeed and that makes me remembered them well.
My eldest brother cycled to work daily. I did take the time to learn to ride his bike because its size did not fit my age. I used to ride this bike by going down the hill from the Police Station. There was a time when I felled from the bike after going down the hill towards the main road and nearly hit the electric pole. Luckily there were no vehicles passing through at that time and I was not hurt. When I stood up, I saw an Indian man who wanted to help me but turned away when he saw I’m back on my feet.
One of my friends was an Indian boy whom we just called him “Tambi”. He was a nice guy, knew my family and used to bring fresh cow’s milk for my mother. The cost of a bottle at that time was only 20 cents, and sometime he told my mother that his father gave the milk and did not take any money. We used to gather at the community hall where we talk and play. We used to share “roti canai” we bought from the shop nearby that belongs to Mr. K.V. Mohamad. His retail shop was among the few in this small village and very popular with the villagers.
These were some of my memories. We remembered our young life which is something that may or could be a lesson to our young generations today. What we went through in life during those years may not be the same as what would be today. But there won’t be today if there is no yesterday; there won’t be any tomorrow if there is no today. That is, if we were not there yesterday, experienced the life we had, we won’t be here today to tell the stories to our children, and if we are not here today, we won’t be there and do the same for tomorrow. We cannot just forget what had happened “yesterday”. It will always be in our mind, whether it’s something good or otherwise, and it’s up to us to choose wisely. I do believed whatever we went through “yesterday” will be the valuable experience for “today”. Those experiences then will help us to live our life for the many years to come.
The hard life and high cost of living those days may be the same experience to us today, only it comes in a different way and manner. I hope we would remember all the sacrifices of our parents. They make sure that we are safe and sound, able to live a happy and healthy life, get the best education there is, may be to the highest level, and with enough food and good shelter, or almost everything there is. When we were young we do not care how hard life was, and what we knew was that whatever we need will be there for us. We do not know how difficult and hard life was to our parents to make it possible.
Let’s be grateful to our parents and respect them as it should be; just the way we want others to respect us. We would not isolate ourselves as we are no different from anyone else either. We should do whatever we can to make sure our parents are happy, at least while they are still here with us. Don’t ever let our mother cries, because a drop of her tears will make our life miserable, until we ask for her forgiveness, so they say! Take your time to refer the Holy Koran, Surah al-‘Isra’ 17: 23 – 24, and Surah al-‘Ahqaf 46:15, the least.
Note:
Last December 2011, we held a special prayer or “Tahlil” for our late mother at the kampong’s mosque where I met the Imam. He knew me and was my junior of 5 years at Abu Bakar Secondary School, Temerloh. He recalled of our times, our friends and the memories we went through. At the mosque I met a few more of my childhood friends.
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