Chapter 26: He 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 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. And the latter still remain as a part of Sabah economic activities.

On a lighter note, this ice cream man of the old 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 25: The Case of Being Called "Immigrants"

It is sad that after 62 years of Malaya's independence and 56 years of the formation of Malaysia, there are still people (sadly purportedly educated people) still clinging on to the idea that Malaysia belongs to a particular race and the minority who migrated from China and India years ago prior to independence are deemed foreigners. The saddest part is that even the prime minister of the day considered such extreme view as "balanced"! (Read here).

When Sabah (North Borneo then) was under the British colonial rule in late 19th century, they needed a sizable number of labourers, agriculturists, timber cutters etc to help develop the lands. I believe my paternal great grandfather came to Sabah in response to this invitation and opportunity.

My grandfather was a teenager when he left China for Sabah with his father in early 1900's. I have no knowledge of my great grandfather, Lee Kon Hee because he died long before I was born. I was told that he is buried in Basel Church Cemetery in Beaufort. However, I have yet to locate his graveyard.

My great grandfather, my grandfather Lee Thau Lim with his wife Chu En Lan and two children (a boy and a girl) and other clan members first settled down in Beaufort. He was probably involved in opening up land for rubber trees plantation and rubber tapping. Unfortunately, his wife died at a fairly young age in 1937 when my dad was only 10 years old. It was said that she died of an accident when a tree fell onto her possibly during a tree felling operation. My grandfather never talked about the incident and it must have been a very traumatic experience for him. Whether it was his deep love for his wife or other reasons, he remained single for the next 31 years until his death in 1968.

I located my grandmother's graveyard when I visited the Basel Church Cemetery in Beaufort on 23 March 2016. The refurbished tombstone was erected by my dad in 1994.

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It was possible that as the aftermath of the accident, my grandfather decided to move his family to Sapong in the interior of then North Borneo. Sapong is well known for coffee plantation and his employment in the coffee plantation was what sustained his family livelihood until he and his son moved to KK (Jesselton then) around 1947/1948.

After moving to KK, they immediately rented a small piece of land in a small rubber plantation from the Voo family at a valley not far from Harrintgon Road (now Jalan Istana). They built a simple timber house with attap roof in preparation for their new lives in KK. A separate annex single room unit was built next to the house for the sole occupation of my grandfather (Read here). Soon after, my dad married my mom through an arranged marriage, he started working as a trainee tailor in a tailor shop in Gaya Street.

To earn some extra pocket money, my grandfather also started ice cream peddling around the little town of KK and its neighbourhood. With carrying pole balanced on the shoulder, one end was hung a cylindrical tank filled with ice cream while the other end was hung the ice cream cones and a small stool. As he walked, he would ring his small bell to attract customers especially boys and girls. The high demand areas were usually outside the school gates. By nightfall, he would head for home after the ice cream was sold. Sometimes. there could be a little bit of unsold ice cream. The grandchildren would have a fun filled evening savoring the little bit of ice cream scrapped from the bottom of the tank.

Typical peddler in the 1950's.

Family photo taken probably in 1967 with my grandfather 

seated at front row. Mom and dad are at the back row 

2nd and 3rd from right.

After more than 110 years and the birth of the 6th generation since the arrival of the first immigrants in the case of my family, the continued labeling of the new generations of Malaysians of Chinese descent as "immigrants" is truly absurd and outright derogatory. This is particularly so for Chinese who have inter-married with the local indigenous people.

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 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 reading my earlier blog on my March's visit to Stanley (Read here) where we visited the former residence of the former prime minister of Australia, Joseph Lyons. That brief tour allowed me to see first hand that great minds and exceptional leaders can emerge from anywhere irrespective of how remote, simple or faraway the place of their birth. The simple timber house where Joseph Lyons once stayed is part of his legacy left for all future generations to cherish. It also enabled me to have a glimpse of how Australian families lived in the late 1800's. That old house to a certain extent helps to draw in some tourists to visit this outback town, Stanley who otherwise may not have decided to come. On dollars and cents, their arrivals also helps the locals to earn some extra money.

Former residence of Joseph Lyons.

The idea of whether to keep a former family home or some tangible items associated with the deceased may not be a simple and straight forward case sometimes. This could in rare cases evolve to become a deadly family feud and turn siblings to arch enemies. The recent most prominent case involving the former residence of the founding prime minister of Singapore, LKY is testament of this possibility (Read here). Indeed handling deceased's assets is not a simple matter. Could the LKY's case be more than what we read in the news? The challenge is always what is deemed fair and equitable. This may be a problem of perception. What is deemed fair and equitable by the older generation may not be seen as fair and equitable by the next generation.

A recent topic of conversation is will writing and inheritance. The senior citizen fellowship, "Golden Joy" has again planned to invite a speaker to talk about this subject. Honestly, it may not be sufficient just to educate the seniors. Subsequent generations may need to be imparted with knowledge on this as well.