Kenang Daku Dalam Doamu (Forget Me Not)

    (I met this draft when I was browsing the dashboard.  I feel it's a waste of effort if I did not post it.  So, here it is.  I did not edit it again.  May be I will, some day)

     When I was small, I could not listen to the radio as my Dad's only antique radio was out of order.  However, that did not prevent me from listening to songs as most of my neighbours possessed a radio each.  Since at that time most of them owned transistor radios which when the volume was raised to maximum was very loud.  The sound reached my eager ears.  Through their radios I learned to listen to songs.  But I was brought up in the country where all of the villagers were malays, therefore the radio which was called 'Radio Malaysia' only broadcast malay songs.  One of the songs that I used to hear was 'Kenang Daku Dalam Doamu' (Forget Me Not).  In this song, the singer pleads to his beloved who has gone for good, not to forget him.  I didn't pay much attention to this song when it was aired on radio, but one day, after hearing it being sung by a cousin, it brought back sweet memories to me.  It reminded me of the good time when I was a kid.

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      Dad's house where I was staying was situated along Jalan Bakri, the road leading to Johor Bahru, the capital of Johore State in Malaysia.  On its left was Mak Andak's (my auntie) house, on the left Mak Usu's (also my auntie; my mother's younger sister) house.   Behind Dad's house was Mak Itam's (another auntie; my mother's elder sister) house.  Since Mak Itam's house was about 150 metres behind Dad's, there was ample space for us small boys and girls to do our activities.  Another place that sometimes we gathered to do our activities was on the left of Mak Itam's house.
    

Becoming a Form Six Student (Part One)

The Pre University students had just ended their 'Academic Village for 2011'.  They commended the initiative by saying that the activities strengthened their skills towards facing their STPM examination which is only more or less a month away.  Before this, Form Six students had their gathering outside the school premise but due to tight budget, the venue had changed.  Whatever happened, the objectives of immersing them with activities to keep the momentum seemed to achieve its target.
     However, I did not intend to write about what the students had undergone in the 'village'.  I only want to share with the readers my experience being a pre university students after the MCE (Malaysia Certificate of Education) results came out.
     In the seventies, form three students who failed in their LCE (Lower Certificate of Education) was not permitted to continue their studies in form four.  Similarly, form five students who failed MCE had to take the examination again if they wanted to go to form six.  Those who got grade three couldn't register for form six in a government school, but they can study in a private school if they wanted to sit for HSC (High School Certificate).

This is a copy of my Certificate.  The results are not bad, it was not good to secure me a place in the government school.

     Due  to these criteria, I couldn't get a place in the government school to enroll in a form six class but I did not have to sit for MCE again and I didn't want to.  So, the best choice for me was to register in one of the only two private schools in Muar that offered form six courses.
     Physically, the school of my choice was quite a small one.  Offering forms three and five Malay and English classes in not so big two wooden buildings that were connected with a wooden a bridge caused the premis to be packed.  All classes could not fit into the two buildings at one time.  Therefore, we the form students had to have our classes in the afternoon.
     Studying in the afternoon was not a big problem for me as I had experienced doing so when I was at primary school and in forms one and two.  Furthermore, I accepted that as a blessing as I could start earning my own income since my father had allowed me to start tapping rubber at his one-acre rubber plantation.
One more interesting thing was, my father allowed me to ride his scooter to school, something that was very rare that occurred in our village.  This was so because at that time, out of  fifty families, only four villagers owned scooters (my father was one of them), none owned any car and the rest only owned bicycles.  A large number of primary school pupils walked to the primary school nearest their kampungs 'Sekolah Kebangsaan Bakri Batu 5 Muar'.  A lot of them started riding their bicycles to school only when they enrolled in secondary schools in the town five miles away.  Due to this reason, I felt a sense of satisfaction when I saw my friends wave to me when we met on the road; I on my way to school and they cycling home from school.
     But something happened while I was at form that made me decide to drop out of school.

This picture is my view of the once private school where I studied.  Now, the school was there no more.  The place had been turned into a futsal court

Prayer Room

      As a muslim, one of our duties is to say our prayers five times a day regardless of the situation we are in, as long as we are still conscious.  May be we feel unhealthy, we still have to say our prayers.  We are unable to get up from bed, we still have to say our prayers.  If you cannot stand while performing them, sit up, or sit down.  If you cannot sit, lie down.

     In the Malay version of my posting dated Monday, June 13, 2011,  I wrote about my surprise at finding that the prayer room that I had used a few minutes before was not the type of prayer rooms found in my home country.  In Malaysia, we call these prayer rooms 'surau' (the malay word which means a place where muslims perform their prayers five times a day.)  When I, or any other muslim traveller wants to perform our prayer at a RnR (an accronym for 'Rehat Dan Rawat' or stop to rest) on our journey along the PLUS highway, there is always a surau for us.  Non-muslim travellers do not go there or, if they happen to go, they do not perform their prayers in this place.  After seeing the prayer room in Changi Airport, I have opened my eyes wider.  Now, a prayer room in Malaysia may not serve the same function as a prayer room in Singapore, or probably many other countries around the globe.

Part of a praying room situated at the north-south highway

     Before writing about my experience at Changi Airport, let me explain about the 'prayers' I used to see Chinese people performing when I was small.  In the good old days, I used to see Chinese people waving a handful of burning sticks (now I know they joss sticks) in front of their shophouses while citing or mumbling something that I couldn't hear.  Soon they finished their prayers and put those still lit sticks (they produced a kind of typical smell, mind you) into a piece of container. 

Joss sticks

      Now let us go back to my experience at Changi Airport.  After performing my Maghrib and Isya' prayers in the praying room at the airport, I waited for my son who was still doing his duties.  While waiting, I looked around and soon my eyes fell on the noticeboard by the door of the room.  On it was written "Multi-Religion Prayer Room  1.  Passenger of any religion may use this room to pray or meditate..."  What I read surprised me because I realised that a prayer room in Singapore means a room where travellers of all faiths can use it either to perform their prayers or meditate.  I don't mind sharing the room with other travellers if they, who happen to be non-muslims meditate while I was performing my prayers.  However, I don't know whether I would feel comfortable when my Chinese co travellers acted out their prayers like what I have described above since the incense coming out from the stick would make my nostrils suffer and as a result, I would not be able to concentrate on what I was doing.

The notice board

   
     In addition, a place where muslims pray must not only be clean, it also should be cleaned according to the procedures required  in Islam.  This requirement is too abstract to be described, therefore I choose not to illustrate it in this limited space.  What I would like to suggest to fellow muslims is, probably we can bring along our praying mat where ever we go, and pray on that mat when the need arises.  Is that okay, dear brothers and sister?  Tarra for now.  Salam alaik!

A Mother's Love

     (Before writing this article, I would like to thank Tn. Hj Hassny for commenting on my posting.  I didn't realize that when I posted the malay version, it was already 'Mother's Day'.  Therefore, Hj Hassny's pledge is very relevant.  While our parents are still by our side, always face them, look at them (God Al Mighty has promised us, and He said is always true).  Talk to them nicely.  Treat them nicely, shower them with tender care and love, just like we treat our children.

     Just like looking at the quran and Ka'aba, we Insya Allah get 'pahala' just for looking at our parents.  What if we 'look after' our parents with gentle care and love?  Insya Allah we get a lot more if we are sincere.  Some people say, 'if we look at our parents' picture, we still get 'pahala'.  Wallahu a'lam bissawaab.

     Recently I was listening to radio Malaysia 'Klasik Nasional' while driving back to Muar from Segamat.  the Disk Jockey at that time was Hamami Yusof.  A few listeners called the radio and recited some poems praising their mothers.  (It was 'Mother's Day', remember?).  Some of the callers were emotional; in fact, a few were sobbing when talking about their mothers. But what attracted my attention most was a call from a mother.

     This unfortunate mother was very sad as her daughter (whose name she claimed as Norafikah bte Omar but called her by her nickname 'Adik') had left home without any news.  She only said

     "I'm going away, don't look for me.  I won't come back, although if you d*e!"

     The caller promised that if her 'Adik' came back,

     "I would embrace her tight, passionately.  I miss her and long to look at her face before I closed my eyes for good"

     Dear 'Adik', return to you momma before it's too late.  Forgive and forget.  Bury the spade.  Don't regret.!

Nasi Ambeng

     'Nasi Ambeng' and chicken rice, two delicacies which are quite popular among Malaysians, were brought into the lives of Malaysians by the Javanese and chinese respectively.  Nasi ambeng [^m beng] consists of white rice prepared with chicken currv or chicken cooked in soy sauce, vegetables, fried noodles, some salted fish, fried coconut flesh, and so on.  Everything is put on a round tray which has been laid with fresh banana leaves, and served to guests, four people to a  tray.  Although only four people are assigned to one tray of nasi ambeng, it can be eaten by more than that number.  Therefore, guests are given plastic bags in which they can put the 'berkat' (food from the pan that they have secured in plastic bags) to bring home for their wives and children.  During the good old days, plastic bags were not issued as they were not produced yet.  Instead, hosts prepared old newspaper and banana leaves so that guests could use them to wrap and pack the food.  After that, they used strings made from banana bark to tie the pack since plastic string were not invented.

Nasi ambeng or Ambeng Rice.  Notice the banana leaf?

    Usually guests are invited to feast at dinner time.  In those difficult olden days, most of the villagers in my area only had a bicycle each with which they used as a form of transportation. Therefore, they put the packed 'nasi ambeng' on the handlebars of their bicycles, or sometimes tied it on the carriers of their bicycles using a bicycle tube. 

'Berkat' or food that guests brought home on the handlebar

Their houses were quite far apart from each other, their roads were bicycle paths under rubber trees.  Going back to their homes, they cycled their bicycles on the gloomy paths under the rubber trees, sometimes using their bicycle lamps to show the way, but most of the time, using their instincts.  Sometimes they ran over rubber tree roots that protruded on the ground, causing them to fall and the 'berkat' scattered on the ground.  Pity to their children and wives!

Riding a bicycle under rubber trees.  This picture was taken in the day.  How would the situation be if it was taken at night?

Condolences

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Condolences

    I am saddened to read about the accident that happened on the PLUS highway near the Simpang Ampat Tol Plaza.  Long ago, vehicle accidents did not take so many lives.  Victims were 'slightly injured', 'badly injured', some 'died on the spot' (I did not make any inquiries, only based on my childhood experiences as a 'kampung boy').  Now it seems more people died in road accidents.  

     I remember when I was small, an uncle of mine commented about a car which appeared to be moving very fast.  "At least he is doing 60 (60 miles per hour)," he said.  It dawned on me that cars were not moving as fast then as they are nowadays.  Of course at that time there were no highways in Malaysia.  We only saw highways on TV; CHiPs (California Highway Patrol) starred by Larry Wilcox and Erik Estrada in the 70s.  Our winding roads and the heavy traffic prevented drivers from speeding.  On lonely roads, I did not know.  At least I thought so.   The speed limit was 30mph (30 miles per hour) in urban areas.

     Nowadays, the speed on the PLUS highway is 110 kph.  Based on my experience, if I were to heed the speed limit while travelling along the highway, I would only be able to overtake heavy lorries, small motor cycles and cars moving slower than 110.  However, a lot of cars would be overtaking my vehicle, sometimes a string of them.  It shows that breaking the speed limit is nothing to be worried about to most drivers, regardless of their ages and gender.  In fact, driving a Honda Civic at the speed of 140 kph along the highway doesn't make me feel worried about the circumstances that I would have to face if anything bad happens.  I feel so safe behind the wheel, I don't hear the sound of the wind.  The car is so stable.  No wonder if an accident happens, the impact is so great.

     Therefore, I think drivers should abide by the traffic rules.  Do not overspeed.  Care about other people's lives if you don't give a damn about yours.

(Err... what do you say Laili?  Thank you for monitoring my blog.  May Allah protect you and give you a leeway in performing your Haj.  Ameen)

Posted by Borhan Mohamed Dali at 6:50 PM 0 comments Links to this post

Water Closet ,, Toilet, Outhouse

Water Closet ,, Toilet, Outhouse

     See the picture above?  The caption underneath reads:
"Can you guess what are they doing?
If not I can explain, though the thing is really shocking. The story is that this Russian girl has dropped her cell phone into… into this hole that they use in villages as a toilet (it has no drain or sewer system - just a hole and all the people drop there), probably you have seen such system at least once in your life. So she dropped her cell phone occasionally and it got right inside this thing. She got a choice - to forget it or to try to get it from there. She has chosen the latter and…."

     I was browsing the net to find a picture of an old village toilet in Malaysia because I wanted to relate one with my experience as a small boy, when I underwent my practicum, and when I started my service as a government servant.  However, the few pictures that I found (one of them is what you see above) caught my eyes.


     That reminds me of the 'toilet' I used when I started my service as a government servant in a remote area in Pahang, Malaysia.  There was no electricity and pipe water.  So what I saw and used was acceptable.  To make a toilet, or an outhouse, a hole around three or four feet deep was dug at the back of a house.  A stone slab with a hole in the middle was then put on top.  After that, a wooden cubicle was built.  He presto! The 'toilet' was ready.  While staying at one of the houses for three years before being transferred to another place, that was the kind of toilet that I used.   Usually, I used that thing before going to the river. (I bathed in the river, mind you).  I covered my head with a towel, leaving only my eyes to see where I was going.  Entered, 'dropped', quickly walked out, straight to the river.  Fortunately, I did not share the outhouse with anybody else, so, although it was not so 'fragrant', it was only mine.

     Another 'toilet' that I used when doing my practicum was a little bit different.  The toilet was situated at the corner of the house compound.  More or less the same as the one that I had described in my August posting 'Sakit Perut Waktu Tarawih (1)'.  The only difference was a pail or bucket was placed under the hole so that that thing could drop there.  Every morning, a old man would take the bucket, scrapped the content into his big bucket, and put it back under toilet.  I would wait until I could not stand the urge anymore.  Then, covering my nose with a towel and taking a deep breath, I quickly rushed in, dropped the 'bomb', and rushed out to wash.  Hah... (relieved)

      Nowadays, I doubt it if the same scenario can still be seen in Malaysia.  In remote areas, perhaps?