Chapter 5: The Lady from Lumpoho

My grandmother's maiden name was Lotimboi Binte Gumpai. She was a petite woman, typical of the small-frame rural Dusun women of her time. It is believed that she married my grandfather in 1927, when she was just 14 years old. By then, my grandfather was already in his mid-forties. Such early marriage was quite common among indigenous communities in those days!

13.8.1913 - 28.1.1981

After the marriage, my grandparents settled in a traditional bamboo house in Kampong Pulutan, Menggatal. My grandmother had two children with my grandfather - my mother, who was born a year after marriage in 1928, and my uncle, born two years later.

In 1950 when she was 37, her husband (my grandfather) passed away at the age of 68. Unlike many Kadazan women of her time who remarried after losing their spouses, she chose to remain a widow, living alone for the next 31 years. She passed away in 1981, also at the age of 68, in the same village where she had spent her entire married life.

Though married to a Chinese, my grandmother remained, in many ways, a quintessential rural Dusun woman. She preferred walking barefoot in the fields, chewed betel nut, and smoked traditional leaf-wrapped cigars. She became fluent in Hakka and learned to cook a variety of Hakka dishes, blending the two cultures in her daily life with quiet grace.

These are photos of my grandmother at her younger days. Although she was Dusun, I never once saw her dressed in Dusun attire - instead, she always wore the classic Chinese blouse, a reflection of the cultural blend in her life.

I vividly remember her sitting among her grandchildren, calmly puffing on her homemade cigar.  For some of us, the strong, earthy smell was almost unbearable. She once explained that one reason she smoked was to keep the mosquitos at bay while working in the fields and orchard - a practical habit rooted in her daily life.

Ingredients & tools for betel chewing.

My grandmother was a remarkable enterprising woman. On her modest plot of land, she cultivated a variety of fruit trees - durian, rambutan, langsat, tarap, and bambangan. During the fruiting season, she would harvest some of the produce from her orchard and bring it to the local tamu (market) in Menggatal to sell. 

At times, to maximize her profits, she took it a step further. She would buy durians from neighbouring orchard owners, pack them in two large baskets suspended on a long wooden pole, and take a bus to Jesselton (later renamed Kota Kinabalau following the formation of Malaysia). From the bus stop, she would carry the heavy load by foot to the market, where the fruits could fetch significantly higher price than in Menggatal. 

During the off-season, when fruit was scare, she tapped rubber to help support the family. Her determination to market local produce never waned - not even after her two children had grown up, married and started families of their own. Her industrious spirit was unwavering and deeply inspiring.

When my then girl friend first visited KK back in 1978, she was taken to the tamu in Menggatal - the very market where my grandmother used to sell her produce. In the photo, my GF is seen at the left. Remarkably, the tamu hasn't changed much by then; it still retained the rustic charm of earlier days!

Every two months or so, she would visit our house on Harrington Road (renamed Jalan Istana) to spend an afternoon with her daughter and grandchildren. Her visits were always a delight for us children, as she never came empty-handed - bringing along fruits, and treats that we eagerly looked forward to.

One vivid memory that has stayed with me is how her presence seemed to linger for days even after she left. This was partly due to the red stains scattered around the compound - marks left behind by her betel nut chewing. For fun, we grandchildren would sometimes chewed betel ourselves, competing to see whose spits turned out the reddest!

Looking back, my grandmother left a quiet yet enduring impression on me. She was a gentle and patient soul who rarely expressed her inner thought aloud. In all the times we spent together, I never once saw her raised her voice in anger or lift a hand against us - even when we misbehaved.  

Sometimes, I still missed her. I wished I had taken the time to know her better.

Bambangan

Langsat

Tarap

P.S. The indigenous people living north of Kota Kinabalu -  in areas such as Inanam, Menggatal, Kiulu - typically identified themselves as Dusuns. Traditionally, the Dusuns settle close to the jungle fringes. In contrast, the Kadazans were predominantly found in regions like Penampang and Tambunan. Following the formation of Malaysia, the term KadazanDusun was introduced as a unifying identity to represent both the Dusun and Kadazan communities.

Phrase of the Month: When I Speak, You Listen

Malaysia is never short of  morons. Some even believe that O-level pre-degree holder must listen to the degree holder. Are they more mature or more superior? Well, sometimes even baby has more maturity than degree holder.

Fortunately, we also do have plenty of talents to make us laugh, really laugh.

So Listen.

Chapter 4: The Pulutan Connection - Part 2

As a young boy growing up in the 1950s and 1960s, the greatest excitement in visiting my grandmother's farmhouse was the stream that ran beside it. It was a magical place, full of adventure and wonder, and easily the highlight of every trip.

Back then, travelling from my old house at Harrington Road (now renamed Jalan Istana) to Pulutan felt as time-consuming as flying from KK to KL today. A couple of days before we left, my mother would make a trip to the town to buy some items - small treats for the cousins, dry food supplies and perhaps a few pieces of fabric for my grandmother or aunt to sew new garments.

The day before our departure, my mother would go through her checklist to ensure nothing was left behind - gifts, daily change of clothes, toiletries like toothbrushes and combs. One of the most important item was the baby sling - a simple sarong used as a wrap carrier for my younger brother, who was just over a year old at the time. Unlike the wide varieties of stylish and ergonomic baby carriers available to mothers today, our version was basic but practical. A baby stroller was completely out of question - it was a luxury far beyond our means.

Despite the long journey and all the preparation, the excitement of visiting the farmhouse and playing by the stream made every effort worthwhile. The memories remain some of the most cherished from my childhood.

Sarong as baby wrap carrier.

The trip usually began at 10 in the morning. We would walk about 2Km from our house to the town's bus station, each of us carrying our assigned items. From there, we boarded a bus heading toward Menggatal or Tuaran. As was the routine, the bus would stop at a road junction just short of Menggatal town, where we disembarked and continued on foot.

The final leg of the journey was a 2.7Km trek along a graveled road. Most of the time, we walked the entire way. On rare occasions, we were lucky enough to catch a pirate taxi - an unlicensed vehicle that operated along the route. 

During dry season, we had to endure clouds of dust kicked up by passing vehicles. Yet, despite the heat, dust, and long walk, our excitement never waned. The anticipation of spending time at my grandmother's house made every step worth it.

By the time we finally arrived at my grandmother's house, it was usually well past lunchtime - often around 2pm. But we never stopped to rest. Without wasting a moment, we rushed straight to what we had been dreaming about the entire journey: jumping into the stream. 

We would spend hours splashing, swimming, and playing in the cool water, completely lost in the joy of it all. It usually took repeated shouting - or the threat of rotan caning - to get us to return to the house, and even then, we did so reluctantly.

Just like in the charming illustrations of cartoonist Lat, children growing up in kampongs near rivers or streams all seemed to share this simple yet unforgettable joy!

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The stream that once gave us so much cherished memories has changed significantly over the years. Its flow has diminished greatly, a quiet casualty of progress and development. Perhaps this is the price we pay for modernity!

Chapter 3: The Pulutan Connection - Part 1

When Serene suggested I write about my childhood memories, one of the first things that came to my mind was the idea of  revisiting some of the places where I had spent parts of my early years. I hope that returning to these places would help refresh old memories and give me a sense of how they had changed over time.

Recently, with the help of my cousin Yee Sze Moi, I had the chance to revisit the kampong (village) where my mother spent her childhood before marrying my father. The place has undergone so many changes that, without my cousin's guidance, it would have been nearly impossible to find. What was once familiar has now been transformed almost beyond recognition.

2005 view

2011 view

Coordinates: 6⁰ 00’ 36.78”N, 116⁰ 10’ 17.57”E

Vast expanse of flat land (once used for wet padi planting) to the east of the house. A stream traverses at the west of the house.

Vehicles are now able to be driven right up to the door step. In the past we had to walk an earth track to reach the house.

But the moment I stepped into the land on 09.01.2013, certain familiar features in the landscape confirmed without a doubt that I was at the right place. Setting foot there after a 32-year absence stirred a flood of memories and a deep sense of nostalgia. 

It was almost surreal to imagine that the very spot where I had parked my car was once where my fiance -  now my wife - stood proudly carrying a basket full of durian freshly picked from my grandmother's farm. That visit in 1978 marked the first time she had ever set foot in Sabah!

The last time I visited was in January 1981, when I returned to attend my grandmother's funeral. She had passed away alone in the old house she loved so dearly. In the years  leading to her death, her children and grandchildren had gradually moved away - with each pursuing careers or seeking better opportunities elsewhere. Though she had been invited to stay with her grandsons, she chose to remain behind, unwilling to leave the land that held so much meaning to her.

Tragically, her passing went unnoticed for several days. It was only when one of her grandsons visited the old house that her body was discovered. My mother was deeply affected by this loss, and I believe the emotional impact stayed with her for the rest of her life.

Since then, the land has been sold to a neighboring landowner who has taken great care to improve and maintain the area. What was once wild and overgrown in now neat and well-kept. A new house has been built on the exact spot where the old house once stood, its entrance now reoriented to fact the northwest. 

Since then, the land has been sold to a neighboring landowner who has taken great care to improve and maintain the area. What was once wild and overgrown is now neat and well-kept. A new house has been built on the exact spot where the old house once stood, its entrance now reoriented to face the northwest.

The new house verses a typical traditional looking house.

Bamboo House Memory

Bamboo was a common building material in the area, as the surrounding land was rich with bamboo trees. The old house I remember well was a large bamboo structure, much like the one shown in the photo above. Its main hall was elevated on a 12-feet-high stilts, and attached to it was a spacious balcony measuring 12ft by 18ft. The front door of the house faced east. 

Constructing a bamboo house is labour intensive. First, a large number of bamboo trees had to be cut down. The bamboo was then split into strips by forceful pounding and laid out to dry. Once the main frame of the house - typically built from sturdy tree trunks - was completed, the walls and floors were formed by nailing the flattened bamboo strips into place. Except for the main door, which was made of timber boards, the windows were also constructed from bamboo strips. The roof was usually thatched with attap leaves. One downside of this type of construction was the lack of insulation: cold night air and mosquitos could easily slip through the gaps between bamboo strips, often causing discomfort and irritation to the occupants.

The main hall of the old house measured approximately 25ft wide by 40ft long and was open-plan, without any internal partitions. In one corner stood a large bed - roughly the size of a modern king-size - made of timber boards and raised about 2.5ft above the bamboo floor and covered with a mat. This bed was used by my uncle and his wife; he was my wife's only brother. The rest of the family slept directly on the floor, with mats for bedding. Privacy was minimal - limited to the use of mosquito netting, which also served to protect sleepers from bites during the night. 

The only other piece of furniture I remember clearly was a small dressing table, complete with a mirror used for grooming and simple make-up.

Life at the Old House

When we met with our cousins, we always preferred to sleep together out in the open rather than inside the mosquito nets. It felt more fun and adventurous, even if it meant braving the occasional mosquito bites!

The kitchen was a small bamboo hut, about 8ft by 8ft, with an attap roof like the main house. The bathroom was another bamboo hut, roughly 4ft by 5ft, but without any roof at all. Inside, there was a metal tank filled up with water that had to be carried in buckets from the nearby stream - a short walk from the house. As far as I can remember, I never actually used the bathroom; almost everyone, except the adults, bathed directly in the stream.

The dining area was an open space just outside the kitchen. A rectangular timber table stood at its center, surrounded by wooden stools and benches. Beside being used for meals, the table often served as a makeshift study desk where my cousins did their homework in the afternoons after school. However, during heavy rainstorm and strong winds, this area became unusable.

The space beneath the main hall was used for storing firewood, harvested fruits and padi. It was a practical use of the shaded, dry area under the elevated structure.

A 4-foot-wide timber staircase connected the dining area to the elevated balcony. There was no handrails on the staircase, and the balcony itself lacked any protective railing. Yet despite the absence of safety features, I don't recall anyone ever suffering a serious accident - something quite remarkable in hindsight.

One of my favourite pastimes at the old house was sitting with all the kids at the edge of the balcony, enjoying the wide, open view. We would watch the changing scenery and the many activities taking place in the padi fields. The landscape transformed throughout the day and with each season, offering a beautiful array of colours and shades. It was truly breathtaking.

The memories live on!

Everybody Loves Nathan

The Complete Picture

The complete picture was made possible during the recent Christmas 2012 season. Thank you all for making the picture complete:). This picture truly makes me the happiest man!