A Ke-la-the story
This writer remembers the Kelantan of his childhood as a melting pot of cultures which has enriched his life.
“SO, you are from Kelantan, ah?” A typical question whenever I met somebody from the west coast (of Peninsular Malaysia) during my undergraduate years in Universiti Sains Malaysia. The next enquiry would either be, “Not many Chinese in Kelantan, right? How did you survive?” or “Oh! Kelantan boy, show me your loghat ke-lateh.”
This could go on and on but, to me, it was not insulting. Rather, the queries served as an impetus to tell my story about this land that, for decades, was generalised as poverty-stricken and tagged as one of the most backward states in Malaysia.
My late parents, both Pahang natives, decided to build a new life in Kota Bharu in the early 1960s. Being an enterprising and easy-going person, my father befriended the local Malays, Peranakan Chinese and Thais to jointly start his ventures in petty trades. Therefore, it was not unusual to see folks of different races patronising our shop house located at No.3812, Jalan Hamzah, on a daily basis.
Being brought up in a traditional business family, each and every one of my nine siblings has been entrusted to mind the shop after school hours, on a rotational basis. Some of the best lessons learned were ways to communicate with the different races in their own languages: Kelantanese Malay dialect, Hokkien, Cantonese, Hakka, Teochew and even Thai.
Somehow, I felt the proper approach always won the day in closing a deal. For example, it was best to greet the lady first whenever a Malay couple walked into the shop, as the wife would always be the one making decisions on household needs – a common cultural thing with the local Malays.
Being sensitive and respectful of other cultures was the way of life. Amazingly, we did not have to rely on mega campaigns to promote racial harmony; the spirit of togetherness and tolerance were already inside us.
Listed below are a few interesting characters I remember vividly, the ones I shared part of my childhood days.
Pokcik Husin (Pakcik Hussein), my father’s closest acquaintance in many business ventures. Originating from Pattani, Thailand, Husin was well-versed in both Malay and Thai. His elusive appearance sometimes puzzled me; he would always be there when my father needed him most, especially in matters dealing with government agencies. Occasionally, he would pull me aside and pinch my nose, jokingly telling my siblings that he was trying to refine the ugliest nose a boy could ever have, much to their amusement.
Mat, our family’s resident carpenter and handyman, a man of few words. Once, my mother threw him a challenge to construct our family altar. Not only did he complete the job beyond expectation, but painted a lively dragon and phoenix as a bonus.
Pok Su (Pakcik Su), the owner of the stall serving the best Daging Kerutuk in our neighbourhood. The generous portion of daging, giant-sized fried anchovies matched with salted egg and rice was the ideal feast for breakfast, lunch, dinner or even supper. Yes, the Kelantanese ate rice at every meal. Pok Su’s Nasi Lauk was the best “tonic” to keep me awake during preparations for school examinations.
Abe Deng (Abang Din), Pok Su’s neighbour, served the best Sup Tulang in town. He was my elder brother’s close friend. Both shared a common interest in stock investment. Whenever my brother dropped by for supper, they would chat in local dialects till the wee hours of the morning.
Ah Teik, a god grandfather of mine. A 70-year-old of Peranakan Chinese-thai parentage. He spoke flawless local Malay and was well-versed in Southern Thai dialects. He took charge of my father’s feed mill in Kuala Besut, a small fishing town bordering Kelantan and Terengganu.
The mill also served as a place to accommodate workers of various races, mostly individuals held under Akta Buang Negeri (Restricted Residence Act). That was how “inclusive” my father could be.
Lau-pan (Uncle Foo), a Hainanese who ran a typical East Coast kopitiam a few doors away from my house. One could find packets of Nasi Lauk, Nasi Dagang, Nasi Lemak and kuih on every table during breakfast. Nevertheless, outside food was allowed. Usually, you would find more Malay patrons than those of other races. My favourite seat was always a small table in the kitchen. I would be chatting away with Abe Meh (Abang Man), the chef-cum-barista, or observing him making coffee and frying mee goreng over an old charcoal stove.
Mek Si-eh (Makcik Siam), a local 50-yearold Siamese lady was my father’s chief operator in salted egg production. Her son, Aklong, so capable a man that my father seemed to rely on him for many assignments. Both mother and son could be quite chatty, no matter how tough the situation. From them, I learned the values of hard work and perseverance.
Ah Soo, the Chinese “teksi” (as Kelantanse called the trishaw) pedaller who married a local Malay lady. We chartered his service for trips downtown and occasionally to attend co-curricular activities in school. Once, his teksi overturned when I tried to pedal it for fun. Not only did Soo not get mad, he patted me on the back and said, “Baguh mu cubo, buke se neh kayuh teksi ni
(good that you tried, you should know by now handling a trishaw is not easy).” Mejoh (Hamzah), the talkative Malay lorry driver and Ah Ooi, the quiet assistant, a Peranakan Chinese. Both were ever willing to work beyond their job scopes and pressed on during the massive economic downturn in the mid 1980s. “Kalu begak sangak, kito samo-samo mikul (If it is a very heavy load, we will bear the burden together).” Words of wisdom by Mejoh, which I can recall vividly until today.
There are many more beautiful characters and encounters that I’d love to share, that have enriched my childhood in my hometown of Kota Baru. My son would lament whenever I relate these stories to him, “Dad, I wish I could go back to your childhood and be your best friend, so I would not miss any of those beautiful moments.”
Today, even without any artificial campaigns and reminders from the higher authorities, we can be a big harmonious family we once were.