Chapter 20: Desperate Situation Demanded Desperate Measure

Back in our village on Harrington Road, the greatest fear in my parents' mind was a child falling ill in the middle of the night. At that time, there were no telephones to call a taxi, no emergency hotline, and certainly no ambulance service. When illness struck unexpectedly, one had to act fast. In such desperate moments, hesitation could mean the difference between life and death.

 

If a child suddenly began crying in the night and a quick touch to the forehead revealed a burning fever, action had to be taken immediately. I vividly remember one such night when one of my brothers became seriously ill. My father, flashlight in hand, rushed frantically around the house, flipping through piles of old boxes and newspapers - not to find medicine, but cockroaches. 

Once caught, he would extract the dung pouch from the insect's body, mixed it with some Chinese medicine, and feed the concoction to the sick child. My parents believed this traditional remedy treated high fevers brought on by fright (驚嚇). I never questioned the origin of the formula - it was likely passed down through generations. 

Interestingly, cockroaches do have a place in traditional Chinese medicine. Still when I think about it now, I shudder at the memory. The idea of ingesting part of a cockroach - a creature notorious for thriving in filth and spreading disease - makes me recoil. Yuck!

 ***************************************************

Back then, bananas trees grew in front of my village house. Whenever a bunch of bananas ripened, my father would chop down the whole tree for harvesting. I clearly remember an incident that happened when I was about seven years old. After one such harvest, we kids each plucked  a large bananas leaf and began waving them around like the head of a unicorn, pretending to perform a lion dance. 

Suddenly, I felt a sharp, needle-like pain in one of my fingers. Within minutes, I became dizzy and stumbled back to the house to lie down. My father noticing my sudden disappearance, rushed back inside to check on me. By then, the finger had started to swell, and he immediately suspected I'd been bitten by an insect. He return to the spot to investigate and eventually found the culprit - a spider. Needless to say, the unfortunate creature was swiftly killed. 

For my treatment, my father firmly slapped the bitten area several times, then squeezed it hard to force out the venom. After that, he applied a type of Chinese medicated oil specifically used for treating insect bite. Thankfully, I recovered.

 *************************************************

I recall another incident that happened when I was about six years old.  I was running near the chicken coop when I tripped and fell. As I hit the ground, my hand landed on a rusty nail, which pierced about 10mm into the flesh just above my palm. 

Fortunately, it was a Sunday and my father was at home. As was his usual remedy, he struck the injured area hard to force the blood to flow out, presumably to flush out any contaminant. Then, in a rather unconventional treatment, He applied a piece of Chinese mushroom soaked in urine to the wound. 

Somehow, I recovered without developing tetanus. Whether that outcome was due to this unique treatment or simply luck, I'll never know.

 ***************************************************

The saying "A mother would do anything for the well-being of her child" certainly applied to my mother. My eldest brother suffered from occasional seizures from a young age, which my mother believed were the result of prolonged high fever he had experienced earlier in childhood. Throughout his growing years, she tirelessly sought out all kinds of treatment in the hope of finding a cure. 

At one time, on the suggestion of my maternal grandmother, my mother sought the help of a bomoh (traditional healer), arranged through her Muslim relatives in Kampong Darau. I still remember the day the bomoh came to our house. He prayed over a small pebble and dropped it into a bottle filled with plain water, instructing my brother to drink only from that bottle. The water was to be replenished whenever it ran low. He also suggested my brother's name be changed from Ah Tet to Ah Nyee, believing it might help with the healing. Unfortunately, none of this succeeded in curing his condition.

 

Later, my mother turned to a woman from the True Jesus Church in Kota Kinabalu, who was known for her prayer of deliverance for those suffering from illness. She visited our home several times to pray for my brother and eventually suggested our entire family convert and transfer church membership to ensure full deliverance. My mother, desperate and hopeful, was ready to make the change - until someone advised her, at the very last moment, against it.

 

Desperate times can push even the most rational among us to try anything - no matter how unorthodox - in the hope of relief. My mother was no exception. Her actions, though sometimes unconventional were always rooted in love.

Chapter 19: Footwear

In the 1950s and 1960s, almost every child walked to school. A few of the older boys owned bicycles and would cycle, but seeing a student dropped off by car was as rare as witnessing a solar eclipse. In fact, at my school - which served families living around Signal Hill - I can't recall a single child ever brought to school in a car.

 

Most of the children in our area came from humble backgrounds. Their families made a living as vegetable farmers, pig farmers, bean curd (taufu) makers, small-time traders, or tradesmen such as painters, tailors and carpenters. 

We all wore white canvass shoes to school. But with all the walking we did -  often along unpaved dirt paths - those shoes never stayed white for long. The wear and tear were noticeable, and during the rainy seasons, keeping them clean was nearly impossible. Muddy puddles dotted the tracks, and by the time we arrived at school, our once-white shoes were often stained a dull brown or grey.

**************************************************

At home, we were occasionally given Japanese slippers to wear. However, when a pair broke, a replacement wasn't always provided right away. In the meantime, we had to go barefoot around the house. On one such occasion, I accidentally stepped on some wood splinters. I didn't tell my parents and tried to remove them myself. Unfortunately, I didn't manage to get them all out. 

Over time, a lump began to form at the bottom of my left foot. It gradually grew larger and eventually became so painful that I could barely walk. By the time I was in Primary 4, my father finally took me to Queen Elizabeth Hospital for a minor operation to remove it. 

After the procedure, my father took me to school on his Raleigh bicycle. For a few days, I had to rely on a crutch to get around at school and walk home.

***********************************************

In the village, many children often went barefoot and spent hours playing in dirt fields. As a result, some became infected with tapeworms. The common treatment back then was a type of Chinese herbal tonic believed to "drive out" the worms. In most cases, the parasites were expelled through the stools - but there were rare and horrifying instances where the worms emerged through the mouth. It was a truly revolting sight.

Among the adults, traditional Chinese wooden clogs were a popular choice of footwear. They were especially practical for use on kitchen floors, which were often nothing more than packed earth.

***************************************************

Owning a pair of genuine leather shoes was out of question - we simply couldn't afford it. A decent pair made of imitation leather was the most I could hope for, and even that was usually given once a year, either for Chinese New Year or as a reward for securing first place in the annual class exams.

Malaysians Have Spoken

 

More than 50% of the Malaysians have "spoken" through the ballot box on 5 May 2013 that they do not want BN to be the government of Malaysia.

 

Sadly, our electoral system has been drafted in such a way that a "losing" party with less than 50% popular vote can claim power to rule!

 

 

Of course, BN was quick to use their racial mind-set to say that Malaysian Chinese have rejected the BN. This is grossly misleading if one is to look at the racial composition of Malaysia. It was reported in 2004 that Malaysian Chinese made up of only 25.4% of the total population. In fact with the declining birth rate among the Chinese, that percentage is even lower today.

It is obvious that in the GE13 election, even assuming that all Chinese voted against the BN (which is definitely not possible), a very significant number of non-Chinese have voted against the BN and not what BN has tried to make many to believe.

Exercising our Right as Malaysians

 

We have just exercised our right in choosing a new government for Malaysia!

Chapter 18: Primary Education

In the 1950s, there was no kindergartens. Formal education began with Primary One when a child turned six. Even before I reached that age, I eagerly longed to go to school. At just five years old, I would proudly carried a makeshift school bag filled with old papers and pages torn from calendars. My "classroom" was a quiet spot beneath a jackfruit tree, about 50m from our house. There, I would sit, flipping through the papers and examining the printed numbers on the calendar sheets. After my little ritual of pretend learning, I would pack up my things and head back home.

A typical jackfruit tree

In those days, children were enrolled in either a Chinese-medium or an English-medium primary school. My parents chose the Chinese school route for all their children. I began Primary One at Lok Yuk Chinese Primary School in 1958 when I turned six. At the time, the school was located on Signal Hill, where the Sabah Theological Seminary now stands. 

The school had six classes, one for each year from Primary One to Primary Six, with about 25 students per class. We sat two to a table, sharing a long wooden bench. Since it was a co-educational school, boys were allowed to sit with other boys - at least until Primary Three. That year, our female class teacher decided to change the sitting arrangement: each boy had to sit with a girl. We found this incredibly embarrassing. At that age, girls were like aliens to us - completely unappealing and strange! Some of us even drew dividing lines down the middle of our tables and the benches, warning our new seatmates never to cross them. A breach of that invisible boundary was nearly grounds for war.

The rule was finally lifted in Primary Six when the teacher allowed us to choose our own seats. It felt like a small but significant victory - a perfect way to end our primary school years.

Back then, private tuitions were practically unheard of. The only extra lessons offered were by the school itself, and only Primary Six during afternoons after lunch. This extra class was considered essential, as all Primary Six students had to sit for a government assessment examination in order to proceed to secondary school.

Primary Six was easily the most exciting year of my primary education. As the seniors of the school, we were looked up to as daiko and daije - big brothers and big sisters. The best part of the day was the break between the morning session and the start of afternoon tuition. During that window, we played all sorts of games. For the boys, "police and thieves" was a favourite. Those who played the thieves would hide in the most unexpected places - none better than the thick forest at the base of the hill below our school. 

Some boys were so masterful hiders that they weren't found even by the time classes resumed at 2.00pm. When they finally appeared at 2.15pm or later, they would walk sheepishly into the classroom knowing punishment awaited them. After a stern scolding, they would either be caned on the palm or, if lucky, made to stand for 20 minutes or more before being allowed to sit down again.

I'd be lying if I said that I was never punished. While I managed to avoid trouble most of the time, there was one memorable incident in Primary Six in 1963. Our male English teacher, a young bachelor, seemed particularly friendly with one of the girls in class. One day, I teased her by saying: "The English teacher loves you and wants to marry you!". She was so mortified by the comment that she burst into tear and reported me to our class teacher - who also happened to be the school principal. Needless to say, I was promptly caned on the palm a few times for my mischief.

The high point of my primary school years came in 1963, when North Borneo joined with Sarawak, Singapore and Malaya to form Malaysia. To mark the historic occasion, a grand lantern procession was held in Jesselton town (now Kota Kinabalu). Students from our school made a wide variety of lanterns, the most common being the five-pointed stars. The highlight, however, was a massive school project; a 40-foot-long lantern in the shape of a crocodile. It took about 25 students to carry it through the streets. A few of the stronger boys were assigned the most demanding task - operating the jaw of the crocodile, moving it up and down throughout the entire procession.

In retrospect, my primary school years remain some of the most cherished moments of my childhood.

It's Now or Never

Never before, Malaysia has seen such determined desire of people of all creeds and ethnicities to see a total change in the way Malaysia is to be governed.

Every night, waves and waves of the battle cry: "Ini Kali Lah" reverberate in the ceramah put up by the opposition. Of course, the power of the day would resist being uprooted and resorted to all sorts of tricks either more goodies or even threats!

 

This time around,  I see an unprecedented number of young or first time voters who want to use their votes to initiate real change in Malaysia. They come back from overseers to exercise that right.

 

People are truly disgusted with the number one scourge in Malaysia: Corruption which has permeated into every level of the society. The perversion and abuses in the implementation of the so-called affirmative policy have driven scores of talents out of this country and benefitting many of our neighbours. In this era when every country including the Arab countries are yearning for better governments with inclusive policies. Sadly, Malaysia has regressed over the years. Many believe that if left unchecked, Malaysia will become a failed nation.

 

Every right thinking person would know that something is awfully wrong with our system of government when our neighbour's currency which was same as our some 50 years ago has risen sharply over the years and is now more than two and half time stronger than ours. This is especially unacceptable when our neighbours have no natural resources while ours is blessed with so many.

 

All well intentioned Malaysian genuinely hope that a new Malaysia will dawn after 5 May 2013!