Trip Back to the Old 'Hood (Part 1)
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Over the weekend I took my mother visiting to the place where I grew up, in Kampung Bukit Kuda, Kelang. The story goes that a long time ago there was a white horse that had the run of the place but I doubt the reality of the story. I mean, a horse in Kelang. And a white horse at that. Come on.
We went to the house of a good friend of my mother’s, a certain Cik Nor, as we call her. She lives in one of the two big brick houses there, the other one belonging to a certain Cik Yun. When I was growing up, being able to enter either house was a treat and I never failed to be amazed at how nice, big, bright and cosy were those houses, very much unlike our semi-wooden house. Usually I’d get to enter courtesy of WI, the Women’s Institution, of which my mother was a member and Cik Nor would be leading the group in their cooking or sewing activities. Other chances would be provided by Cik Nor’s son, Rahman, or Man as we know him. Naturally, we know him as Man Cik Nor.
Man is one year older than me and being from the local rich family, he was well known and respected, yes respected, but he carried himself well growing up. He was Cik Nor’s step grandson actually but she looked after him since he was a baby and is like a mother to him. He used to stutter a bit when he was young but lost the stutter as he grew up. Being the from village’s well to do family was no handicap to him and he was a tough bugger actually, placing his foot under the passing bicycles of friends, showing his toughness but that stopped when one of the bikes had rather under-inflated tyres and as a result it was the metal rim that actually ran over his foot and he did a rather good impression of one of the three stooges, jumping around on one foot and no more Mr. Tough Guy acts.
Near Cik Nor’s house was the surau and the surau that they have now is a beautiful brick surau, unlike the old one which was made of wood and built on stilts. The surau was located next to a muddy stream with nipah trees on both sides and that place had a spooky reputation and no kid in his right mind would pass by the Alur, as we call it, after dark. But somehow the surau, being a place of worship, must have negated that assumption because we’d have no qualms about being by the Alur, as long as we were in the surau’s vicinity. That was also the surau where I learned to read the Quran, then taught by an ustazah, Kak Iti. She would have about twenty kids around her reading the Quran and would be personally coaching one of the kids in front of her but she could detect a mistake made by the others and would remotely correct whoever it was within the group. I remember her son, who was a few years younger than me and at that time we thought he was a strange kid, with us not knowing better, because he’d be able to run around the surau with us one minute and the next minute, one of us would have to lead him to his place, for he would be unable to see. He’d sit down for a bit, read, or rather recite from memory, phrases from the holy book and a few minutes later would be running around again and then the earlier events where one of us would have to lead him to his place, would repeat itself. He would eventually go totally blind when he was in his late teens for I remember seeing him with a white cane in Kelang town a few years later.
That was also the surau where we kids enjoyed praying together and do silly things to each other. More of the silly things actually. One of the kids, who could not stand the pranks the other kids was playing on him, started crying aloud like a siren and to this day he is known as Fuad Bomba.
My old house was about 300 metres away from Cik Nor’s house – it’s not there anymore, another house has take its place but the old cherry tree was there. It used to be that the lowest branches were just a few feet off the ground and if we were to sit underneath it quietly at night, it was a perfect place to scare anyone passing by. I was just sliding into the motions making that a career when my elder brother, wanting to teach me a lesson and also intending to steer me towards a better future, pulled the scare on me instead and I screamed all the way home, through the hedges, into the cactus tree, dented the Volkswagen and nearly tore down the door in terror.
A few years later, until I left, I used to have to run the last 50 metres home as fast as I could, thanks to Ong Choi, my best friend Ah Chong’s dog. It was a good thing that the bridge that spanned the drain in front of his house was made of wood with empty spaces between each timber. Now, Ong Choi, whenever he wants to cross, would have to step gingerly on each timber, lest his paws would go through the space between the timbers. That delay provided us with was just enough time to save our lives, by the time he gets over the bridge, we’d be safely home, knocking like mad on the door. Good thing Ong Choi never never really dared to venture far from his house, otherwise I’d be growing up with a few pieces of me missing. Ong Choi was part German Shepherd and part nasty. Ah Chong himself had part of his right ear bitten off by, yes, Ong Choi. The whole kampung heard Mok, Ah Chong’s father, beating the doggy bag out of Ong Choi after the incident.
.
Over the weekend I took my mother visiting to the place where I grew up, in Kampung Bukit Kuda, Kelang. The story goes that a long time ago there was a white horse that had the run of the place but I doubt the reality of the story. I mean, a horse in Kelang. And a white horse at that. Come on.
We went to the house of a good friend of my mother’s, a certain Cik Nor, as we call her. She lives in one of the two big brick houses there, the other one belonging to a certain Cik Yun. When I was growing up, being able to enter either house was a treat and I never failed to be amazed at how nice, big, bright and cosy were those houses, very much unlike our semi-wooden house. Usually I’d get to enter courtesy of WI, the Women’s Institution, of which my mother was a member and Cik Nor would be leading the group in their cooking or sewing activities. Other chances would be provided by Cik Nor’s son, Rahman, or Man as we know him. Naturally, we know him as Man Cik Nor.
Man is one year older than me and being from the local rich family, he was well known and respected, yes respected, but he carried himself well growing up. He was Cik Nor’s step grandson actually but she looked after him since he was a baby and is like a mother to him. He used to stutter a bit when he was young but lost the stutter as he grew up. Being the from village’s well to do family was no handicap to him and he was a tough bugger actually, placing his foot under the passing bicycles of friends, showing his toughness but that stopped when one of the bikes had rather under-inflated tyres and as a result it was the metal rim that actually ran over his foot and he did a rather good impression of one of the three stooges, jumping around on one foot and no more Mr. Tough Guy acts.
Near Cik Nor’s house was the surau and the surau that they have now is a beautiful brick surau, unlike the old one which was made of wood and built on stilts. The surau was located next to a muddy stream with nipah trees on both sides and that place had a spooky reputation and no kid in his right mind would pass by the Alur, as we call it, after dark. But somehow the surau, being a place of worship, must have negated that assumption because we’d have no qualms about being by the Alur, as long as we were in the surau’s vicinity. That was also the surau where I learned to read the Quran, then taught by an ustazah, Kak Iti. She would have about twenty kids around her reading the Quran and would be personally coaching one of the kids in front of her but she could detect a mistake made by the others and would remotely correct whoever it was within the group. I remember her son, who was a few years younger than me and at that time we thought he was a strange kid, with us not knowing better, because he’d be able to run around the surau with us one minute and the next minute, one of us would have to lead him to his place, for he would be unable to see. He’d sit down for a bit, read, or rather recite from memory, phrases from the holy book and a few minutes later would be running around again and then the earlier events where one of us would have to lead him to his place, would repeat itself. He would eventually go totally blind when he was in his late teens for I remember seeing him with a white cane in Kelang town a few years later.
That was also the surau where we kids enjoyed praying together and do silly things to each other. More of the silly things actually. One of the kids, who could not stand the pranks the other kids was playing on him, started crying aloud like a siren and to this day he is known as Fuad Bomba.
My old house was about 300 metres away from Cik Nor’s house – it’s not there anymore, another house has take its place but the old cherry tree was there. It used to be that the lowest branches were just a few feet off the ground and if we were to sit underneath it quietly at night, it was a perfect place to scare anyone passing by. I was just sliding into the motions making that a career when my elder brother, wanting to teach me a lesson and also intending to steer me towards a better future, pulled the scare on me instead and I screamed all the way home, through the hedges, into the cactus tree, dented the Volkswagen and nearly tore down the door in terror.
A few years later, until I left, I used to have to run the last 50 metres home as fast as I could, thanks to Ong Choi, my best friend Ah Chong’s dog. It was a good thing that the bridge that spanned the drain in front of his house was made of wood with empty spaces between each timber. Now, Ong Choi, whenever he wants to cross, would have to step gingerly on each timber, lest his paws would go through the space between the timbers. That delay provided us with was just enough time to save our lives, by the time he gets over the bridge, we’d be safely home, knocking like mad on the door. Good thing Ong Choi never never really dared to venture far from his house, otherwise I’d be growing up with a few pieces of me missing. Ong Choi was part German Shepherd and part nasty. Ah Chong himself had part of his right ear bitten off by, yes, Ong Choi. The whole kampung heard Mok, Ah Chong’s father, beating the doggy bag out of Ong Choi after the incident.
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posted by dudae_simboyo at 01:19
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