The men of Terengganu

When I was a young girl, there was this man, whom we called “Ppok”, or simply “Pakcik” in standard Malay. “Ppok” could also well be a term of endearment towards father, as that is how I addressed my father, but that’s another story. If you have several uncles, you could call them all Pok – Pok Long, Pok Ngoh, Pok Su, Pok Chik, Pok De, and the list goes on. Pok could also be the term of addressing taxi driver or bus driver as I sometimes do, even until now, “Pok, bereti kat sejid puteh deh (Sir, please stop at the White Mosque)".

This ppok that I am talking about was neither my uncle or a taxi or a bus driver. According to my mother, Ppok is my grandmother’s youngest brother, hence he is my great uncle (a discovery I just made about a few minutes ago through a quick phone call). He was also well-known among the villagers and relatives as Pak Ghani or more accurately in Terengganuspeak, Pok Ghoning.

I don’t know if it’s just me or if this happens to other people, but I have very little knowledge of the whos and hows or connection among my relatives. I know their faces and names and probably their children’s names but often I got confused because relatives from both my late maternal grandmother and grandfather all resides or used to reside in Kampong Mengabang Telipot, Kuala Terengganu.

Anyways, let’s get back to my story. I remember Ppok Ghoning as a bulky man about my height, dark skinned, always walking around in white or beige Arabian jubah or robe with turban neatly rolled up on his head, probably a habit he picked up after coming back from performing hajj many, many years ago. Because ppok lived in Ngabang Tlipot and we live in Seberang Takir, we didn’t always meet, and in the many occasions I got to see him, they’re among the happiest childhood memories I have.


Among the things that I remember most about Ppok is his smile, and how he would always give me a hug, a really big bear hug every time I met him. And every time he did, he would say “bbesor doh mung!”. The fact that I have always been the giant in the family didn’t occur to him as his gesture means more of “Look at you! You’ve grown so much!” instead of “You’ve grown so big!” I still remember the musky scent that was probably a mix of minyak attar and rokok daun (a hand-made cigarette, where tobacco is filled in a rolled up dried palm tree leaves) .


When I was in standard 4, my mother and I, Ppok, Ppok’s son Pok Ali and his family went on a trip to Langkawi Island together in Pok Ali’s Vanette van. Of course we had to take the ferry at Kuala Kedah so Pok Ali’s van was parked there for a few days until we returned from Langkawi. Actually the trip was more like a visit to Ppok’s daughter who was working in Langkawi at that time.


Ppok, being an old man and a real Terengganu men at that, made a lot of memorable things, at least to me, during the trip.

One of the many things that happened in the van was Ppok’s many doings which forced us to ride in the van with the air condition turned off and the van window wide opened. Ppok is a man who cannot live without his rokok daun, hence once in an hour we would have to suffer while he puffed nonchalantly. And at other times, we not only have to breathe the rokok daun smoke, but also him having to pass motion once in a while!

Once we reached Langkawi, it was already night and we went straight to bed. The next morning, we woke up and found out Ppok left the house. I was wondering where he went and after about an hour he was back. You see, Ppok lived by the rule that going to the beach every morning is a ritual. Everyone asked where he went and he said “Aku gi berok ppata!” (I went to do my business in the beach!).

Now, if you are older than me and if you live by the beach, do not tell me that you have never heard about the story how the people who live in the beachside area sometimes do their business by the beach, and how the waves that landed on the beach would swoosh away their “remainings”. After the trip, should anyone ever mention Langkawi Island to Ppok, he would proudly say “Langkawi? Tepak aku berok!” (Langkawi? It was where I did my business!)

For a girl who grew up without a father, Ppok is a significant character in my life, a character that sometimes made me long for the presence of my own father. It was by fate that I did not grow up with my father but every God’s doing is fair. He took away my father but he gave me Ppok who had brightened up my childhood.

So when one day in July 1999 we received the call from his daughter, saying that Ppok has left us forever, I felt like there was a big hole in my heart. Ppok was found lying down in the beach near his house, with his hypertension pills scattered around his foot. He probably had an episode during his ritual morning beach-walking and was trying to pop the pills into his mouth when fate decided that we should no longer receive his bear hug anymore.

To my dear Ppok, Al-Fatihah.

*The title reads “Men of Terengganu”. I wanted to write more of the Men, but I’m sorry I have to clear these dusts in my eyes. Please excuse me while I go blow my nose.

Budu in USA

There’s a story about this guy who used to be the parliament member of our kampong, who went to the US of A in the 80’s (I could only guess) to further his study. This story was told in many occasions where he would tell people about the shortcomings he had to go through when he furthered his study in a foreign land. Here it goes.

A young man, of about 18 excelled in his SPM (or was it MCE) examination. He went to further his study in the USA in the 80’s (it could be 70’s, I’m not so sure). He went there alone, and as at that time there weren’t many people from Terengganu who had the chance to further their studies abroad, he found himself alone in the streets after getting off the airplane.

There he was, walking with his heavy luggage, probably filled with clothes that no one in the US of A would wear, and maybe belacan seketul dua (just play along with me on this OK?), and suddenly a car honked at him from behind. He was shocked! This was his first day in this foreign country and he was already honked at!

He turned around, and he felt a little bit apprehensive, and he barely saw the driver. Because his knowledge of English was so scarce, he didn’t dare say anything, fearing that his mother tongue dialect would interfere. Suddenly, the driver called out...

“Budu?”

“Budu!”

The young man smiled. He found a little comfort in this foreign land at last.

-END-

From Blog to Book

When I first read Growing Up in Terengganu, written by Awang Goneng or the man behind the pseudonym, Wan Hulaimi, I felt a sting in my throat. Sure, there were times when the book managed to make me laugh out loud especially when he mentioned how Cik Wook Payong Loccoh got her name, but when I arrived at the last page, I found myself asking the question “Wasn’t I supposed to do something after reading this book?”

Well, there are several things I could do. First I can shut the book and forget about it. After all, it is just a book, a recollection of someone else’s childhood memory. Second, I could go on a raging mad protest, standing under the hot sun in front of the once there old buildings along Jalan Banggol that were demolished to give way to newer, modern skyscrapers in Kuala Terengganu, but I’ll burn my skin and in the quiet, almost uneventful Kuala Terengganu, it would be too much.

Or, my other option, I could start writing about my own experience of living in Kuala Terengganu. I could write about things I love, what my family members do, what my mom cooks, what the folks in the kampong street in front of my house talks about when they are out on the gerre [pangkin in standard Malay] during one of the many hot nights in Seberang Takir, and since I tend to be forgetful of things [blame the journals I’m reading for my thesis], this might be a good way of making sure that someday I can look back at what I wrote and rekindle those memories.

This post was started about a month ago but it stays as a draft as I find it difficult to sit down and sit, unlike few years back where I would just sit and think of a topic and bam! – I’ve got a new post in my blog.

I went back to my hometown a few days ago, and upon arriving at the KT Bus Terminal, I had this strange, elated feeling of taking the pencil out from my backpack and start to write. I will post what I feel that morning in another entry. For now, here are the photos taken at Awang Goneng’s book signing event of his second book, A Map of Trengganu which happens about zillions of years ago (see the point of exaggeration? That’s how much I feel glad of being able to write again) at Borders, The Gardens, Midvalley. I met many interesting people at that event.

 Awang Goneng in his own element.

 Almost a full house!

 Pak Usman Awang, who said that the turnovers for the event is considered quite big for a Malaysian writer.

 Tea break provided by Wau Penyu, in which the owners are Kelantanese wife and Terengganu husband, hence the name "Wau Penyu". Nice "akok".

 I think many people had fun talking to each other in a relaxing manner, and despite Mr Wan Hulaimi being so busy that he didn't even get to sit and finish his keropok, everyone else had a good time.

 Awang Goneng and his plate of unfinished keropok.

 Adik Ahmad Ali Karim, a very very young blog writer. You can find his blog here.

 Uncle Lee reminiscing his younger years in London when he studied Law and met Awang Goneng at Malaysia Hall. Next to him is Pakcik Bustamann the owner of the blog "Di bawah rang ikang kering"

 People talking, eating, standing, having fun.

 More people.

I had a great day. I feel that it is quite joyous to see people coming, giving support to this writer who wrote in detail about his happy childhood memory. I too, would like to be able to do that someday, to write about my own memory of living in Terengganu, as Awang Goneng did when he lived in Trengganu.