BALD HEAD!

I remembered when I was young, of about 4 to 5 years of age, I used to be bald. Whenever my aunt shaved her husband, I would then ask my mother’s permission to do so. My mother did not object and agreed. I was happy with my bald head.

When I started schooling, I seldom shaved and have to keep my hair short. During those years, our barber was a Chinese man who knew our family. My father would just ask me to go to the barber whenever I need a hair cut. It costs only 50 cents per head then compared today.

I am now 65 years old, and have never been bald ever since my younger days. It so happened that I make a wish and promise to be bald again, and when the wish was fulfilled recently, I have to keep my word. On the 29th February, 2012, I went to the barber despite comments and reluctantly agreed by my family. I told them that this was what I promised for and that the day was to celebrate the Leap Year. Thus if I want to do it again, I’ve to wait another four years!

It took almost my age to be bald again. I am happy with it and in the meantime I am carrying an “air-condition” unit on my head, at least until my grey hair grows back to normal. My wife had intended to dye my hair then using the henna leaves, but I am sure it would only be temporary. If you have grey hairs, it will still grow grey. She does not like my new look and told me to wear a cap whenever I have to go out of the house, to avoid the heat of the sun or at least been seen by our neighbours of which I have no problems.

I sacrificed myself being bald just to satisfy myself and to let you know that I would do anything to keep my promise.

This is no “Kojak”, (remember this character?) but plain me!

MAMA, SAYA BALIK ... ...

Hari Khamis, 9 Februari 2012 yang bersejarah. Sejak dua tiga hari sebelumnya, saya sendiri sering mengalami debaran di dada dan ketidaktenteraman di hati, yang saya sendiri tidak tahu sebab musabab dan asal usulnya. Ia membuatkan saya tidak tentu arah, malah isteri saya “bersimpati” dengan keadaan saya sedemikian.

Dalam pada masa saya memikirkan apakah debaran ini akan berpanjangan, handphone saya berdering. Apabila dilihat nama pemanggilnya, ia membuatkan saya tertanya apakah ini yang menyebabkan saya keresahan? Apakah benar ia yang menalipun saya pada ketika ini? Apabila saya menjawab panggilannya, lantas kedengaran pertanyaan “Abah sihat?”. Sememangnya saya “sihat” dan tanpa disedari, air mata yang mengiringi kerinduan turut sama menyokong saya.

Berlanjutanlah perbualan itu sehingga agak lama juga, dari satu perkara ke perkara yang lain, dan terzahirlah keceriaannya yang sudah lama tidak kedengaran. Di akhir perbualan, saya memintanya supaya menghubungi ibunya yang senantiasa menanti berita dan suaranya. Dia berjanji akan berbuat demikian, dan menyatakan akan balik dalam sehari dua berikutnya. Dari kata-katanya, saya nampak keikhlasan dihatinya yang juga merindui kami.

Detik-detik yang menjadi kenangan … …

Akhirnya, setelah sekian lama, kami menjemputnya

di Terminal Putra Gombak pada Sabtu, 11 Februari 2012.

Dengan senyum ia memeluk Mamanya,

betapa rindunya kami tiga beranak.

Hari kesampaiannya, Mama belikan Pizza kegemarannya,

dan kami menjamu selera bersama.

Ketika mengunjungi Pasar Malam …

Apa tengok-tengok! nak beli, beli ajelah…

Wow… Terkejut besar!

Tutup…

Pilih... pilih... biasalah, Mama bayar…

Lewat malamnya kami mengunjungi Uptown Seri Gombak

Sambil mendengar “Kira-OK”, berborak dengan Mama

Pada 14 Februari 2012, kami menghantar anak yang dikasihi ke Pejabatnya di MGCC, Bukit Jelutong.

Breakfast di kedai mamak berhampiran MGCC

Lepas breakfast, Mama hantar ke depan pejabat MGCC.

"Selamat menjalankan tugas, sehingga bertemu kembali ...."

Kami bersyukur ke hadrat Allah swt kerana menemukan kembali kami dengan anak kesayangan kami. Mudah-mudahan kedamaian ini akan kekal sepanjang hidup kami, Insyaallah.

Nota Kaki: Artikel ini disediakan selepas menghantar Fifi ke Pejabat tapi belum di “publish”. Dalam pada itu, Fifi juga menyediakan catatannya sendiri dan dipamerkan dalam blognya. Gambar-gambar hampir sama tapi tak serupa, yang pasti sama ialah kenangan.

Tazkirah Jumaat : Dosa Besar

Hari ini, Jumaat, 27 Januari 2012. Seperti biasa saya akan pergi ke Masjid di kawasan perumahan ini agak awal juga, lebih kurang jam 12.30 tengahari. Saya ambil kesempatan untuk sembahyang sunat dan kemudian seperti biasa saya mencar-cari apa jua buku atau rencana yang menarik perhatian saya. Saya jumpa satu naskah yang ditulis secara ‘booklet’ dan selepas sembahyang sunat, saya terus membacanya, lembaran demi lembaran.

Saya terhenti seketika apabila terbaca satu perenggan yang menerangkan “Sesaorang itu telah melakukan satu dosa besar jika ia menderhaka terhadap ibu atau bapanya”. Saya mengingati kesalahan yang dilakukan oleh seorang anak terhadap ibunya. Berlinangan air mata saya ketika menghayati perenggan itu sambil mengeluh dan mengharap agar anak ini cepat sedar dari “tidur-lenanya”.

Dalam saya mengamati buku ini, penceramah yang menyampaikan tazkirah pada hari ini, Ustaz Rozali al-Hafiz juga memperkatakan perkara yang sama, mengenai anak yang menderhaka kepada ibu bapanya. Seolah-olah berjanji pula, secara kebetulan, buku yang dibaca dan tazkirah yang disampaikan memperkatakan perkara yang sama, walhal, tiada sesiapapun yang memberitahu tajuk yang dibincangkan. Saya mengikuti dengan tenang dengan linangan air mata apa yang diperkatakan oleh penceramah, dan ianya amat menyentuh hati saya.

Khutbah disampaikan oleh ustaz yang sama juga selaku Khatib, memperkatakan perkara yang sama dengan panjang lebar. Dengan nada jelas, khatib meningatkan, kesalahan dosa besar yang kita lakukan seperti “mensyirikkan Allah” dan seumpamanya akan dibalas oleh Allah swt di Hari Kiamat kelak, TETAPI, kesalahan melakukan DOSA BESAR dengan menderhaka kepada ibu atau bapa, Allah swt. akan membalasnya dengan cepat tanpa kita sedari hari dan waktunya. Saya tafakkur seketika, mengingati betapa besarnya dosa jika kita menderhaka kepada ibu atau bapa kita. Khatib menerangkan bagaimanakah perilaku yang ditafsirkan sebagai “menderhaka”, dan mengingatkan kita kepada beberapa ayat Al-Quran yang menerangkan perkara yang sama.

Saya sempat memohon ampun dan maaf daripada ibu saya semasa hayatnya. Malah setiap kali saya mengunjunginya, saya akan memeluk dan menciumnya sambil saya memohon ampun dan maaf atas apa juga kesilapan saya dari saya kecil hingga kedewasa ini; mohon dihalalkan segala makan minum dan susu-ibu yang membesarkan saya. Saya tahu ibu saya memang “manjakan” saya dan memanggil saya “ATAN”, iaitu nama timangan yang amat unik. Setiap kali saya akan mendapat jawapan dari ibu saya. Ibu dengan penuh tenang menerima dan membalas permohonan saya dengan kata-kata yang menyejukkan hati saya. Alhamdulillah.

Saya tidak berhajat untuk memanjangkan cerita dan kisah ini, saya serahkan kepada pembaca untuk menilai dan memikirkannya. Saya tidak juga berhajat untuk menujukan contoh dan teladan ini kepada sesiapa, cuma saya berharap, cerita ini akan menyedarkan kita semua untuk menghormati ibu dan bapa kita, meminta ampun maaf dari hujung rambut hingga ketapak kaki, atas apa jua kesalahan kita selama ini; menghalalkan semua makan minum, juga susu-ibu yang membesarkan kita dari sebesar dua jari telapak kaki hingga kedewasa kini. Setiap permohonan mesti ada jawapannya, dan kita harus menunggu dengan penuh sabar dan menerima jawapan balas dari ibu kita. Jawapan ini kelak akan memberi ketenangan dalam hidup kita, Insya-allah.

Kita harus mengambil kesempatan ini semasa kedua-dua ibu dan bapa kita masih ada bersama kita. Jika mereka sudah tiada kelak, kesesalan tidak harus dizahirkan, kerana semua itu sudah tidak ada ertinya lagi. Kita akan menanggung segala dosa atas kesilapan kita sehingga akhir hayat kita.

MY LIFE AS A KAMPONG BOY

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.

OUR NEW MAILBOX

We moved into our current residence some 25 years ago. We bought a new plastic mailbox and it has been attending to our mails for the many years. It is still strong and ready for the postman, and not to forget all the junk mails and newsletter that comes in once in a while.

Browsing the internet looking for a new mailbox, I found one that is popular in the United State, a half-cylindrical with a flag. I like this model, some of which are made from steel. I found few other mailboxes made from wood of various models. Looking at one model and its specification, I decided to make one by myself, with some modifications, on a DIY principle, or course.

I am not a craftsman myself and I do not have enough tools but I am confident that whatever I have is enough to start making a new mailbox for our home to replace the current mailbox. A few years back, I bought a working table, an electric jig-saw and an electric drill that I seldom used. I knew now that my jig-saw could cut beveled (slanting) at a few degrees as illustrated in the manual. It will take sometime for me to finish this “project” as I have my own chores to do daily. It will be built with my own blood, sweat and tears and no-one else could claim its rights, for sure.

I bought the materials needed, pieces of planed planks and wood, wood glue, nails etc. Before getting started, make sure that the planks and wood are dried enough, or it may crack and shrink later. I started by preparing the box piece by piece. I have to use strong paper clips to clamp the planks when gluing, as I don’t have the right clamping tools. With a lot of patience, it worked. I have to prepare all the parts separately before fixing it.

The first step I did was to glue three pieces of planks with the specific length to form the back of the box, prepared the two sides and the bottom piece. The glued back part was cut beveled at one side and cut off to a standard length. The sides too have to be cut beveled at a 30º at one side. After a careful measurement of all the three components, the back, both sides and bottom were then glued to form a basic box. Once the glue dries, these parts are then nailed to permanently bond them together.

Another two pieces of the planks are then glued to form the roof of the box. The roof has to be measured accurately and when the glue dries, cut off to the exact size with extra length on all sides. It would look nice to cut bevel on all sides except the back of this piece.

Then comes the frontage part, that is the frame, the door and the slots for the incoming mails have to be prepared. The top of the frame have to be cut beveled for the roof. Get the right measurements for both sides of the frame, diagonally and horizontally. Making the slot is a bit tricky but I managed to cut off a piece of wood with a 30º beveled and that the slot would be wide enough for an A4 envelop. Thus our postman will not have to fold any magazines or other documents to fit in the mailbox. Cut another piece to join the bottom of the frame. The length of the frame is measured accurately with the inner length of the box and cut off. The bottom part is then glued to the frame.

Two pieces of plank of a reasonable length and fit the frame has to be glued for the door. When the glue dries, it has to be cut off with the accurate measurement fit into the frame and with enough room to fix the hinges. Nailed a piece of wood horizontally on the inside of the door, both top and bottom to bond them together. Fix the slots to the frame with glue, with the accurate measurements and take into account the size of the door. It could be stapled to fix it permanently to the frame.

A small window of about 5” by 2” has to be cut off at the lower part of the door. A piece of glass or plastic of the same size would fit the hole that can be decorated with a piece of plywood glued to the front part of the door. Maybe personal creativity would help. A lock and key may be fixed for the door, a door knob or handle, and a magnetized door catch could also be installed.

All cracks and holes were covered with filler, and once dried; all parts of the box would be polished with sand-paper. The right color for the external of the box would be the “post office” red. If you want to paint the internal, you may have to spray the paint before fixing the frame to the box. It would be much easier then. Before painting, cover up those joints and strips you want to glue later with tapes. Anyway, you may choose whether you want to paint it or not, but painting would help to protect the box, come rain or shine, especially our weather here in Malaysia.

When all these items including those of the frontage of the box are ready, fix the frame to the box with glue and later nail it together. The roof then be glued and nailed to the top of the box. The door is also fixed by two hinges or piano hinges to the frame. I cut off the house address from the former mailbox, glued and screwed it to the door, as a remembrance of the old faithful.

It’s up to you where you want to install the new mailbox, and maybe it needs your creativity. Cut a piece of wood, preferably 4” by 2”, beveled at a 45º with the length of the box horizontally to give you two pairs of cleats. Fix one of the pieces at the back of the box and another to where you want it to be. The box may be permanently screwed.

At last, after almost 2 months, on this day 1 January 2012, there it is our new MAILBOX for our HOME, SWEET HOME. We hope our letters, books and magazines would fit in this new mailbox. We are sure the junk mails, notices and newsletters though are not welcome, would fit in too. We do sincerely hope that letters from MARA and PTPTN will not reach our new mailbox. We know that these letters are those claiming unpaid loans, and there is no person indebted to those agencies at this address, so sorry! After all, there are only two persons here at this address, Uncle Tan and “ibu d’tinggal”.

I introduced my new mailbox to the local postman. Thank you, bro postman, Encik Surain, the regular guy with whom I used to chat and say “hello” to.

It is a tedious job to build this new mailbox, and I did it to the best of my ability. It was my first experience. Experiences could not be bought, we have to do it ourselves to get it. Anyone interested?

The Legend goes:

I do not know how to grade this new mailbox, but whatever it is, this is what I have done and I am proud of it. This is my first home-made wood working item that I long to do. It would be better someone else would do the comments.

My grandfather’s name on my mother’s side is “Burok” which means “Ugly”. I remembered someone in my family once said that whatever our grandfather did, the final result would be a bit “ugly” or flawed here and there, and thus his name came from. I did not know how far the truth in this story. I hope, as his grandson, what I have done would not be classified as “buruk” or “ugly”.

MY LATE MOTHER, ALLAHYARHAMAH HAJJAH ZABEDAH BINTI BUROK.

I was awakened from my sleep by the ringing of my hand phone. When I looked at the screen I knew that it was from my brother and I knew that the news would be of my ailing mother. I just said “hello” when the other end straight away told me our beloved mother had passed away peacefully. It was about at 2.20 am on Thursday 15th December 2011. The only word that came from me was “Inna-lillahi-wainna-ilaihi-rajiiun”

I was stunned as I have planned to visit her the coming weekend. I was not able to travel to my hometown earlier as I was stuck with other responsibilities. I sat by my bed and told my wife of the news. We sat and did not say a word. We packed up a few items we need and prepared to leave for my hometown which is about 150 km away. It was already about 4.00 am, withdrew some cash, filled up my car, bought our prepaid top-ups and off we drove through the cool misty morning.

An hour later, we stopped at my wife’s home in Bentong, waking my mother in-law who was surprised by our arrival. We told her the news and we rested awhile before we took our morning prayer. We continued our journey and reached my mother’s home at sunrise. The other members of the family were already there lead by my eldest brother, and with my elder sister, were by my mother’s bedside to her last breath. My sister told me that our mother has made herself ready by giving her gold necklace, rings and whatever she wore to my sister. Last but not least, she gave her gold bracelet to her maid and said to her that she does not have any cash to give but gave the bracelet instead as a “thank you” gift for taking good care of her. That how’s a mother’s love is.

All the other arrangement for the burial was done as scheduled. The prayer was attended by more that the hall could take, and there was a second session to accommodate the rest of the congregation. My mother was laid to rest at the same area where our late father was. It was attended by our relatives and close friends.

At this juncture we would meet a few whom we haven’t seen for a long time. This is the time to recall our memories and closes our bond or relationship. I met a niece and I recalled of an incident a long time ago, when we were at a very young age that makes a scar at my toe. She could not remember it but I do as I was the one with the scarred toe. A saying says that we would meet with one another during marriage ceremonies; when someone is bedridden with sickness; death or such, or else we may not see each other as frequent. I met those relatives that I have never met for quite a while and I feel that the respect and love remain strong.

There was a time when a young girl, about 4 years old, nicknamed my late mother as “Wan Nenek”. It was a surprise as she was new to the family then, told me that the word “Nenek” is already commonly used and “Wan” is mainly used in Pahang. So she insisted to call my late mother as “Wan Nenek” and both words means “grandmother”. My late mother was fondly of this girl; she was the girl who used to hold her hand whenever she was surrounded by my mother’s geese. When my mother was bedridden she asked me the where about of this young girl whom she missed and hasn’t seen for sometime. I could not answer my mother as I did not know where that girl is then.

Our mother left us with all her love that will remain in our heart forever. She left her nine (9) children to pray for her under the care of our eldest brother. For three (3) consecutive days, we arranged with the local mosque to have the special prayer (Tahlil) for our mother.

May Allah grant our mother peace and give His blessings, forgive all her sins and place her among the inhabitants of Al-Jannah. Al-Fatihah, Amin.

MY SCHOOL DAYS

I started schooling in a Malay School in Rantau Panjang which was situated about 2 miles from my hometown, Lanchang, in Pahang. It was in 1952 and I was 5½ years old when I enrolled in Standard 1. This school was built with palm leaves for the roof and bamboo for the wall. During those days, sometimes we had our class under a tree as there were a limited number of classrooms. My father, retired as a teacher from different school, bought one table and chair for me during my first year. There were not enough furniture and most of the students sat on the floor. We used tablets or slate (“papan batu”) instead of books or paper, for us to write on. The tablet was marked with single line on one side and double lines on the other as guidance when writing. Care had to be taken as these tablets may easily break, and once broken; we had to buy a new one. Most of the reading was in Jawi, and spelling it correctly would make you leave the classroom early at the end of the day. Sometimes the teacher asked us on mathematical tables to test his students. During those years, if a student failed the year-end exam, they may not be promoted to the next class.

Going to the school and return was by bus, but if the bus failed to arrive, which usually happened during the emergency era, we have to walk to the school or back home. Sometimes, my friends and I would take a lift from any police vehicles that passed by the school. There were time we just walked home and on the way we would stop by this tamarind tree (Picture; 2008) to get some of the fruits to nibble along the way. When I passed this road a few years ago, this memorable tree was felled to make way for a new road. I think the tree was almost 100 years old!

Every morning, before going into the classroom, we did gardening at the vegetable plots at the back of the school. We planted vegetables and collected manure from a goat’s den nearby. At times, we did some gardening in front of the school planting various species of flowers to beautify our school. We were asked to bring along to the school a pole to fence the school area to avoid buffalos that encroached into the school compound at night.

Accident did happen during the gardening; a fellow student accidentally hit my eyebrow with a hoe when he turned around. I was attended by our teacher and the scar remained until today. When a dentist came to visit our school to do their monthly check on the students, many of the students, when they saw the mobile clinic in the school compound, would ran away to their homes as they were afraid of their tooth being extracted. Our headmaster (Cik Gu Sidin) was a very strict man. Whenever a student gave “sick” as an excuse for not coming to school, he would insisted that we took a tablespoon of quinine, not only as a medicine for the “sick” but as a punishment for being “absent”. We hate the taste of the quinine!

During the school year, our school closed for 1 month during the month of Ramadan and re-opened after the Hari Raya celebration. There would be another month of year-end school holidays. We were once instructed to come to the school on a Saturday, and at the school field our headmaster presented a box of chocolate to every student to commemorate the birthday celebration of the Queen of England. Malaya (or Malaysia) was at that time under the sovereignty of England.

When I was in Standard 3, I was sent to sit for an examination in a school in Temerloh, which is about 15 miles from my hometown. I was about 9 years old then and did not know why I was asked to sit for this exam. My father and brother accompanied me.

When schools opened for the first term in 1956, I was sent to Abu Bakar School in Temerloh. It was an English language school and I was enrolled in a Special Malay Class 1 or SMC 1. At that time I did not know any English word, and this was a “cultural shock” to me. I have to start learning English which is a foreign language to me. Everything is in English and I have to bear with it, whether I like it or not.

That was the beginning for me to learn the English language. As time goes by, I manage to understand and able to read, write and converse the new language. I was taught to use the dictionary and now, at this old age, whenever I need to refer for a word, either its spelling or meaning, a dictionary is always by my side. My wife used to ask me the meaning or spelling of a particular word, and I obliged as I knew she was from a Malay medium class, and at least she is willing to learn. A young lady, who studied in a university, used to refer to me whenever she wanted to know the meaning or spelling of a word. I told her that this “walking dictionary” has its time limit, and that she has to adapt herself using a dictionary whenever there is a need to.

As years went by, I moved on to the next classes, SMC 2 and Standard 6. Those 3 years were the primary level. It was a tough journey for a kampong boy schooling in an English school for only 3 years that normally took 6 years. The year-end exam would decide as to whether I would continue to the secondary level the next year. I managed to pass the exam and continued to the secondary classes, which were Form 1, Form 2 and Form 3. At the end of this third year, I sat for the Lower Certificate Examination (LCE).

Our headmaster was Mr. C. Sivapakiam (Late), a serious but kind-hearted man. Whenever he passed our class on his daily check, and the teacher was not in the classroom, we would pretend reading or did something that may please him. Sometime he would come to our class substituting a teacher. He is a sportsman himself. When our school football team loss to the visiting team, he was so frustrated, threw his cigar and left the stand. If we had won, he would declare a school holiday the next day. He retired and went back to his hometown in Klang, Selangor.

I moved on to Form 4. This is a boarding school and I was given a place at the hostel. I stayed in the dormitory with other students who came from various villages in the Temerloh’s district. Hostel life was something that everyone cherished, where you would obey all rules and regulations. You have to wash your clothes, make up and clean your bed, always in time to the dining hall and make sure you did go to school. For your evening tea, you would have a mug of tea and with only 2 pieces of cream crackers! During the month of Ramadan we had our “sahur” at about 3.00 am. When the bell rang, you won’t be surprise, out of those sleepy eyes; a few would run the wrong way instead of going towards the dining hall. Among the many friends I still remember were from this photo taken in 1963. Anyone you know? I still remember the names, but sorry to say, it’s almost 50 years now and I have lost contacts with them. (From Left – Mohd Zahir Seman, Baharuddin, Jamal Mahmud, Mohamad Ismail, Myself, Abu Samah and Nazri Othman).

The final year was Form 5 and I sat for the School Cambridge Certificate and Malaysian Certificate Examinations (SC and MCE). That was the year 1963, the final year as a student at Abu Bakar Secondary School, Temerloh, Pahang. I left the school and hostel with lots of memories.

My English may not as good as the others, I presumed. When I started to work in a Government Office in 1967, the English language was still used mostly in correspondence among the top level offices. In the 1980’s I was transferred to a Federal Department in Kuala Lumpur where the use of English is still a priority besides the Malay language. I told a few junior staffs, who were graduated from the local universities and was from the Malay Medium classes, to improve themselves with the English language and to leave their dialect behind. They were working with various projects for the government along with the foreign counterparts and they have to speak and write good English. When I retired, I happened to meet one of them who thanked me for the advice.

Anyway, I am glad to be able to read, write and converse in English.