The Kampong Boy.

I was born in December 1945. The World War II had just ended and Malaya then, was under the BMA (British Millitary Administration). It was early dawn and I decided to enter this world. My late Grandfather went running to fetch the Kampong Midwife (Bidan) but I did not want to wait for her. Only my late Grandmother was in attendance. It was a normal entrance to this world and the household was joyous. My Grandparents never had a son and there you are, a son from their eldest daughter, my Mother. I am sure they had a small thanksgiving or kenduri for the whole kampong folks. Time were hard, then. Remember...the WW II had just ended.

According to my late Grandma, whom I called Opah, I was a very sickly child and the best option, my Grandparent decided to take care of me. It lasted until I was in Standard 6 in school, that was the end of 1959. When I was in Standard 3, there was hue and cry when my Father took me away from them to educate me in Town. Three days in the town school, my Grandparents kidnapped me from the school and took me back to the Kampong. My Father was fuming and set condition that I had to be sent to an English School otherwise he would take me back. During modern days, there would be a court battle. My Grandparent compromised and I was sent to an English School at the nearby town. Unfortunately, I had to start all over again to Standard I. I wasted 2 years of education and I did not know a single word of the English language. It was a cultural shocked, for the first time I had a non Malay Teacher. The first few words I learned, "plis sir, may I go ot". Thats what I had to say when I wanted to go out and pee. To Mr Tan Chin Guan, thank you, Sir. I will never forget you.

Life in the Kampong - there were greens everywhere, fruit orchards, rubber trees, clear flowing river and the kampong house I stayed was on stilts. Once a year, there would be a flood and I enjoyed swimming and bamboo rafting from house to house. There was no such thing as eletricity or pipe water. The drinking water was from the well and the night lighted by kerosene or carbide lamps. I bathed and learned to swim in the river. Mosquitoes were plenty, like helicopters and at time we had to burn coconut husks. The smoke would chase away the mini heli. Sleeping by mosquito net was a must. Once a year the kampong folks had a tuba festival. By squeezing the tuba roots they went upstream and poisoned the fishes and all living things in the river. As a small boy, I enjoyed scooping the half drunk fishes. The kampong folks would clean the catch thourougly, salted it to make pekasam. Later when its fried, its a good appetizer. Vegetables in the kampong was plentiful, tapioca shoots, young bananas, pucuk paku, young jack fruit and mind you, even rubber seeds could be eaten. By the river bank, we planted maize and tapioca. Monkeys used to sneak in once in a while and this kampong boy always had the lastick ever ready around his neck. I was just frightening them, did not aim the target straight as my Grandma would forbid me from doing so. I enjoyed most, watching the Passenger Train, we call it "Mail Train" then, passing by on its way to Kuala Lumpur or Prai. I was dreaming, when I grow big, I would ride on that train to go to Singapura. Weddings and Hari Raya were the best moment to happen in the kampong. We got to eat meat, chicken or beef. One week before any wedding, the whole kampong folks got together to assist the wedded family. They would worked together to set up the attap shed (bangsal) for the guests and each family would donate in kind, like a kati of sugar, a gantang of rice, five live chickens, biscuits, you name it, even a coconut tree. The coconut shoots (umbut) when cooked, is very tasty. The Rebana group would be hitting their notes, after the Isyakh Prayer to the break of dawn. The children, including me would play the "police sentry" game. Group into two, one group must catch the intruders without the post being captured. When I looked back, it was really fun, how I missed those days. During the fasting months, to welcome the Hari Raya I was free to play the bamboo canon. I just need a thick bamboo, carbide, water and a kerosene lamp. My Grandfather used to strap the bamboo with wires to prevent the bamboo being splintered. The Old Man never left me alone, he was watching me from a distance. Remember....I was the only boy in the family beside him.

After completing my Primary education, my next destination was secondary School and this time, no way, I could stay with my Grandparent anymore. I would be spoilt and my parents decided to put me in a Hostel. I am no more a kampong boy. I have pipe water, study by eletricity and a decent bathroom.

Whatever, I still cherish my days staying in the kampong and those were the days, my friends. I went back to the kampong once in a while but its different now. There is pipe water, eletricity and of course wc. The Mosque where I learned how to pray and read the Holy Koraan had shifted and the House I stayed now abandoned, near rotting. It is inherited by my aunty. My grandparent should have given it to me. They only gave me, the durian orchard and the trees are all calling it a day. Some of my friends had already gone back to meet the Almighty and some have migrated. I finally got to see Singapura, infact even further.

Both my children were born in First Class Maternity Ward of Government Hospital and they never get to taste the childhood life that I went through.

Its the kampong life, the hardship, the cooperation, the lack of infrastructures and its people that make me a better man going through this life.

Kampong Bikam......you are always in my mind. When this kampong boy looked up at the Eiffel Tower and the Pyramid of Gaza, I always remember, the first soil I stepped on,was on you. I dont forget that.