Chapter 27: My Grandfather Chose Sabah as His Home

Continuing from Chapter 25, my grandfather was a man of few words. His story telling to his grandchildren would mostly be about his punishment and beating by his strict father.

He stayed alone in the detached single room unit. As far as I could recall, he had never joined the rest of the family for any meal, be it in normal days or during festivals. We never asked about the reason for such an arrangement but accepted it as the unwritten understanding of the family. From Day 1 as far as I could remember, all meals and snacks were delivered from the house to his room by one of the grandchildren. Before breakfast or dinner, one of the grandchildren had to go to collect the plate, bowl and cup from a makeshift cupboard for filling/topping. Upon finishing his meal, he would proceed to do the cleaning of his utensils.

Every morning at week day after breakfast, he would leave and walk to the town to collect his cylinder of ice cream from the supplier for peddling. Even in days when he was not doing his trade, he would still leave and spend the day out. Unless he had fallen ill, he would have his lunch out in the town. Whenever he went out, he would put on his favourite pith helmet to shield against the sun and drizzle. This look had become a trademark of him in the neighbourhood.

Typical pith helmet.

Occasionally, he would invite and take one or two of his grandchildren out for a treat of a drink or beef noodle. Of course, as common practice in those days, young kids could never expect to enjoy a full cup of drink or a full bowl of noodle. For drink, the kid could only drink that little amount poured from the cup onto the saucer. The bulk of the drink would be reserved for the senior. Likewise, the youngster could only expect to eat a small portion of the noodle transferred to a smaller bowl from the main bowl. Still, we felt super happy to have such privilege of eating out in the shop which was considered a very rare event.

Lat captured the essence of the drinking culture of
 senior with his junior at old time.

My grandfather would be at his best attire came Sunday and major festivals, like Chinese New Year. He was not in the habit of going to Church every Sunday. But when he did, he would put on his white long sleeve shirt with cotton buttons and completed with a pair of white canvass shoes.

His health issue was asthma. Sometimes, his coughing could be heard deep into the night and interspersed with spitting of the phlegm. It may have been this health problem that caused him to refrain from joining the rest of the family for meals. By 1968, his health had significantly deteriorated. In the morning of 22 August 1968, a Thursday and I was getting ready to go to school. I was at my usual routine to collect the plate and cup from his room for breakfast. When I opened the door, I found him lying motionless on the floor, Instinctively, I reached out my fingers to check for any breathing through his nostrils. There was none. He had passed away peacefully. We didn't go to school that few days nor did my dad reported for work.

There was no funeral parlour in those days. That morning of 22 August 1968, my dad wasted no time to seek help from relatives to arrange for the funeral. The key task was to secure the service of pall bearers who were then commonly being referred as the "Eight Fairies". The service of pall bearers included purchase and delivery of coffin, digging of burial pit, encoffining the remains, transporting the coffin on an open lorry to the cemetery until burial.

I was present to witness my dad acting as the "mortician" in cleaning up the remains and putting on the final attire for the deceased. He performed the tasks like professional and with utmost respect to the deceased. My grandfather's final resting place is the KK Basel Church Cemetery in Likas.

My grandfather was neither a celebrity, a scholar nor a successful businessman. He was just one of the sojourners through this planet earth liked millions and millions before him. He is just a name in the long list of the family tree. From my conversation with him, he had never uttered a word about going back to China. He chose Sabah as his home and he is entitled to be counted as one of those pioneer Malaysians who tolled and worked hard in some of the earliest agriculture endeavours of the land like rubber and coffee. Coffee planting is still an economic activity in Sabah.

On a lighter note, this ice cream man of the old KK town did make many children grinned with happiness after they paid a couple of cents and were handed cones of ice cream!

The trait of adventurism and migration for better pasture typical of the Chinese is still ingrained in the descendants of the patriarch. Some in the 5th generation have already moved and made other countries as their homes.

Chapter 26: The Case of Being Called "Immigrants"

It is disheartening that even after 62 years of Malaya's independence and 56 years since the formation of Malaysia, there are still individuals - disturbingly, even among the educated - who cling to the notion that Malaysia belongs exclusively to a particular race. They view the minorities who migrated from China and India before independence as outsiders or foreigners. What is most troubling is that the Prime Minister of the day described such extreme view as "balanced"! (Read here).

During the 19th century, when Sabah (then North Borneo) was under British colonial rule, there was a pressing need for labourers, agriculturists, timber workers, and others to help develop the land. I believe it was in response to this call for manpower and opportunity that my paternal great-grandfather came to Sabah.

My grandfather was just a teenager when he left China and journeyed to Sabah with his father in early 1900s. I never knew my great-grandfather, Lee Kon Hee, as he passed away long before I was born. I was told he was buried at the Basel Christian Church Cemetery in Beaufort, though I have yet to locate his grave.

My great-grandfather, along with my grandfather Lee Thau Lim, his wife Chu En Lan, their two children (a son and a daughter), and other members of the clan, first settled in Beaufort. My grandfather likely took part in opening land for rubber plantations and worked as a rubber tapper. Sadly, in 1937, his wife passed away at a young age when my father was only 10. It was said that she was killed in an accident - possibly during a tree-felling operation, when a tree fell on her. My grandfather never spoke about the tragedy, which must have been deeply traumatic to him. Whether it was due to his enduring love for his wife or other personal reasons, he remained single for the rest of his life until his passing in 1968 -  31 years later.

I located my grandmother's grave when I visited the Basel Christian Church Cemetery in Beaufort on 23 March 2016. Her tombstone, which had been refurbished, was erected by my father in 1994.

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It's possible that, as a result of the accident, my grandfather decided to move his family to Sapong, located in the interior of what was then North Borneo. Sapong was well known for its coffee plantations, and it was likely his employment there that sustained the family for several years. Eventually, around 1947 or 1948, he and his son relocated to Kota Kinabalu (then known as Jesselton).

Upon arriving in KK, they rented a small plot of land from the Voo family in a quiet valley near what is now Jalan Istana (formerly Harrintgon Road). There, they built a modest timber house with an attap roof, marking the beginning of their new life in the city. A separate single-room annex was constructed beside the main house specifically for my grandfather's use. (Read here). 

Not long after settling in, my father entered into an arranged marriage with my mother and began working as a trainee tailor at a shop called Chu Chu Tailor on Gaya Street.

To earn some extra income, my grandfather took up ice cream peddling around the small town of KK and its surrounding neighbourhoods. Balancing a carrying pole on his shoulders, he would hang a cylindrical container filled with ice cream on one end, and on the other end, a basket holding ice cream cones and a small stool. As he walked through the town, he would ring a small bell to attract children - his main customers. School gates were among his most popular stops, often drawing eager crowds. 

By nightfall, after selling most of the ice cream, he would make his way home. On some days, a small amount of unsold ice cream remained at the bottom of the container. Those evenings were a special treats for the grandchildren, who gathered with joy to enjoy every last scoop scrapped from the bottom - a sweet reward and cherished memory from simpler times.

Typical peddler in the 1950s.

Family photo, like taken in 1967 with my grandfather seated 

in the front row. My father and my mother are at the back row, 

2nd and 3rd from right.

More than 110 years have passed since the arrival of the first immigrants in my family, and we are now into the sixth generation born and raised in this country. Yet, it is both absurd and deeply offensive that newer generations of Malaysians of Chinese descent continue to be labelled as "immigrants". This notion becomes even more nonsensical when considering those of Chinese heritage who have intermarried with local indigenous communities, further cementing their roots in this land. Such labelling not only disregards our shared history and contributions, but also undermines the spirit of unity that Malaysia aspires to uphold.

A Season to Live and a Season to Die

It is rare to receive news of the passing of three individuals whom I personally know in a mere three days interval, but it happened.

On the 3rd, I read from FB of the passing of a friend, a professional whom I have known through professional dealings as well as serving together in the committee of a professional body. It was a news unexpected because he was not considered old and without prior health issue. On the 4th, I was informed that the stepmother of my colleague has passed away. This was not unexpected as she was by then 91 years old and with poor health. Then on the 5th, the daughter of my uncle of my extended family called to inform of the passing of her mother, my uncle's spouse, aged 69.

That series of news instantly triggered the phrase, "There is a time to be born and a time to die...". The saying of King Solomon rings more vividly now that many of my peers are in their late sixties and seventies. News of passing is likely to be more frequent rather than less as this is the inevitable process of life.

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When I met my uncle, Wesley Pai on the 6th November at the funeral parlour, his teary eyes spoke volume of his sadness over the passing of his wife. His wife, after struggling with health issue since 2016, finally succumbed to her illness on 5th November. His daughter told me that earlier on, the doctor had recommended an operation be carried out to address her medical problem but her dad refused to sign the consent form. I believe he had come to a realization that it was better for her to "go" than to linger on with suffering and pain.

I was glad that I am one of the people he remembers. According to her daughter, Esther, his first reaction upon learning the death of his wife was to pull out my name card from his wallet and passed it to her to notify me.

Typical timber/bamboo

hut built on farm.

It's been quite a while since I first visited him in his family house in Kiulu in early 2013 (Read here). Now, even in his 80's, he is still sharp and physically fit. When we met, he was happy and eager to recall his unforgettable moment spent with my mother. With smile on his face and nostalgia, he told me of the private moment he spent with my mom when he was only seven and my mom then twelve. In one evening in 1940 in Kampung Pulutan, they were in a small hut in the fruit farm when he suddenly needed water to quench his thirst. Instantly, my mom left the hut alone to the nearby stream to get water for him. After some time, she came back walking gingerly and holding water with cupped hands. That gesture of my mom never left his memory!

He told me that with his spouse gone, it is unlikely that he would stay alone in his family house in Kiulu. He prefers to stay with his youngest daughter in KK.

With the patriarch, Wesley Dungko Pai
at the funeral parlour.

Besides wedding, funeral is probably another occasion to meet members of the whole or part of the family. I managed to meet five of the nine surviving children of Wesley.

Left to right: Linda (eldest), Esther (3rd),
Esther Paula Peter (wife of Moody),
Moody (2nd), Wesley Pai, Rudy (6th),
blogger, blogger's spouse,
Felecia Kajok (wife of Rudy),
Rachel (9th).  

The Idea of Leaving Something Tangible for Posterity

I was revisiting my blog from my March trip to Stanley, Tasmania (Read here), where I had the privilege of visiting the former residence of Australia’s former Prime Minister, Joseph Lyons. That brief yet poignant tour offered me a powerful insight: exceptional leaders and brilliant minds can emerge from the most unexpected places, regardless of how remote, humble, or far-flung their origins might be.

The simple timber house where Joseph Lyons once lived stands as a testament to his enduring legacy - a legacy that future generations will have the chance to appreciate and learn from. It was fascinating to step back in time and experience, even if just for a moment, how Australian families lived during the late 1800s. That house, with its rich history, not only connects us to the past but also serves as a magnet for visitors - many of whom might not have considered venturing to this peaceful outback town of Stanley otherwise.

From a practical perspective, the presence of this historical site also provides an economic boost to the locals. Tourists visiting the site contribute to the town’s economy, offering an opportunity for residents to earn extra income and for the town to share its unique story with a broader audience.

Former residence of Joseph Lyons.

The decision of whether to preserve a family home or keep tangible items associated with a loved one who has passed away is rarely a straightforward one. In some cases, it can even evolve into a bitter family dispute, turning siblings into fierce adversaries. A recent, high-profile example of this is the case surrounding the former residence of Singapore’s founding Prime Minister, Lee Kuan Yew (LKY), which has sparked much debate and media attention (Read here). This case is a powerful reminder that managing the assets of a deceased loved one is never simple.

Could there be more to LKY's case than what we’ve been told in the headlines? It raises the critical question of how we determine what is considered “fair” and “equitable” when it comes to inheritance. Often, this isn't a matter of legal clarity but a matter of perception. What one generation views as fair may not align with how the next generation perceives it, creating a gap that can lead to tension and misunderstanding.

A topic that has been coming up more frequently in discussions is will writing and inheritance. The senior citizens’ fellowship group of BCCM KK (E), “Golden Joy,” has once again organized a session to invite a speaker to address this very issue. But, to be honest, simply educating the older generation may not be enough. It’s equally important that the younger generations are also equipped with knowledge and an understanding of how to handle these matters sensitively and wisely. Without this shared understanding, the complexities of inheritance could continue to fuel conflict across families for generations to come.