Balik Kampong.

The house where I was born.

I lived in this house from Dec 1945 to 1959.

I told you, I was a kampong boy.

The house and the Estima doesnt belong to me.

I left the house with black hair and I came back with white hair.

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Over breakfast, I finalized my plan with Malek about the trip to Perak on 26 July 2010. Azhar overheard and he was interested tagging along to buy Perak durian. He volunteered to use his car, fuel sponsored and I was more than happy. Malek will take the wheel. That would be great.

We left at 0900 hrs and stopped for breakfast at Rawang R & R. Since we had the whole day to ourselves it would be free and easy trip, taking our sweet time and no hurry.

Suddenly I thought of my old kampong house where I was born and I wanted to revisit the house. Sometimes this house appeared in my dreams. We exit at Sungkai and entered Kampong Bikam. The kampong landscape had definitely changed and new houses sprung along both sides the once lonely road. The old house is now abandoned with no electricity but there is water supply. I stopped and took several shots of the old house and stood numb silence in disbelief. My memories went back to the good old days where I had to close all the windows at dusk preventing the mosquitoes from sucking the occupant blood. The mangosteen tree on the right where I used to climb is now taller and the house kitchen section was missing. The well was covered with undergrowth. My presence attracted the curiosity of the front neighbor and after introducing who I was she recollected her memory. I don’t blame her, who was this stranger on someone property?

Maybe this would be my last visit to this house. Who knows? It was unfortunate I did not have the opportunity to run up the familiar staircase, open the thick wooden doors and venture into the house. I have no authority to do so. The house is now belongs to an individual in the family clan but the house is not open to the members of the clan. Very much regret that this “Rumah Pesaka” is rotting away and my future generations will not be able to see where I was born and bred. That’s the trouble when someone just do not value heritage. This house should be repaired; infrastructures in place and turn into weekend retreat for everybody in the family clan who wants to get away from the hustle and bustle of city life. We therefore can claim of “Balik Kampong”.

Next, I stopped in Bidor to buy some local fruits for my folks back home in Ipoh. Greeted my mother in Ipoh and told her personally of my pilgrimage to the Holy Land during Ramadan. She wished me the entire best of my ibadah umrah and safe journey. I promised her that my wife and daughter would visit her during Ramadan. I handed her the gifts from my wife.

Since Azhar was interested about durian I called my acquaintance Haji Nasir at Kampong Kubu Garam. Haji Nasir whom I knew during my 1999 Haj has a big durian orchard. I was shocked when the receiver on the other end told me Haji Nasir had passed away. I managed to talk to the arwah’s wife Hajjah Hamidah and she told me the husband had passed away three (3) years ago. I felt guilty and sorry. Guilty for not contacting and communicate with the family for these past years. I offered my sincere condolence, apologetic and regret. Some days I would drop by to visit her who is now on wheel chair and not too good health wise.

After tea we left for my paternal kampong of Padang Tenggala at Bota Kanan. That was one of the two (2) main itineraries - to visit my late father’s grave. On the way we had lunch at Sri Iskandar. I was fortunate I had “gulai tempoyak ikan patin”, my favourite delicacies which seldom found in Port Klang. Azhar and Malek enjoyed the grilled fish with the cili padi sauce.

I arrived at the Graveyard just after zohor and by my late father’s grave I recited the doa for his safe and Allah protection at “alam barzakh”. This is my routine, without fail every time before I leave for my Ramadan umrah, I must pay a visit to his eternal residence. I will seek for Allah blessings in front of the Kaabah to accommodate my late father in Janatul Firdaus - the best among the Kingdom of Paradise.

I called Haji Wahab at Manjong and it was unfortunate that he urgently had to go to the Thai border to get a new stock of cows for his farm. He had to get a new healthy stock of cows for the Aidiladha under the supervision of his children while he would be away with me in the Holy Land during Ramadan. So, the trip to Lumut was called off. Most unfortunate as my wife had told me to buy Lumut anchovies.

Along the road back to Port Klang, Azhar managed to buy some durians by the road sides at Pasir Salak and Sungkai. It was quite cheap comparatively as they sold the durian by the number not by kilos as in Port Klang. Instantly I remember Shasha used to say, “Atok………..nak duyan”. For that little girl, I bought five, three for her and two for me. Cost me RM 25. When recollecting, I used to play under a durian tree and those days, I gave away durian for free. Now I have to buy durian and moreover I have no more “dusun durian” to go to. Only memories and nostalgia lingers.

At Bukit Jelutong R & R we stopped for our zohor and asar qasar prayers. At the R & R I had a drink at Pak Berahim Coffee Kiosk. Pak Berahim was the former Security Guard at Wisma Guthrie and he was shocked when he learnt about the demise of Dato Ismayuddin Manan.

We reached base just before Maghreb safe and sound but tired. Missions accomplished except meeting Haji Wahab - the Cowboy of Manjong.