Feminist dikir barat

You can take a boy out of the village but you can't take the village out of the boy - hence "dikir barat", one of the many proud cultural heritage from Kelantan and southern Thailand. It is somewhat resembles that of a choir from the western tradition. Partial to dikir barat that I am, I used the following dikir in some of the classes I taught to illustrate certain concepts and ideas and it often prompts lively discussion among my American students.

The above dikir tells about her singing her fortune: being married young to an irresponsible guy who divorced her and that she was left with two small children (toddlers) to raise. Because of her socioeconomic status background and without any education and skills, she was left wondering how to sustain them and to make a living - what to do to earn a living and sustain her and her two young children. She poured her heart at the injustice of gender inequality that exists in her society where "men can literally have their brains in their butts", whereas women have to grow up early, be mature and responsible. She sang about her own vulnerability and temptations following and coping with the divorce but her strong faith and adherence to morality kept her from going astray.

To me, this dikir outlines the cultural mileau that exists in almost every corner of the world regardless of culture. She defines feminism within her own cultural context.

Hooray for Shila Amzah!

The young lady, Ms. Shila Amzah strikes a code with me. She exemplifies what I believe: that man-made boundaries are just that - superficial at best. If we believe that we are good, then when we land on the ocean, we will become an island and when we fall on land, we will become a mountain. If we believe in ourselves, be pragmatic and true to our own dreams, geographic location is a moot point.

Excellence and striving for it, are what endure us. Muhammad Ali, (the boxing legend), Nelson Mandala, and Dalai Lama, come to mind, for some reasons. I think in order to us to do so, we have to be true to ourselves. Yes, be authentic is an important ingredient to any meaningful achievement.

I so enjoy listening to this young lady, Ms. Shila. To me she did exceptionally well singing English, Malay and Chinese songs. She is a performer and she sings to her audience, capturing their hearts and at least their undivided attention while she sang. However, while viewing her performance, I could not help myself and as I scrolled down the webpages to read the comments from others, my heart was pounding hard with disgust and downright anger. Instead of celebrating the spirit she shared souring across the man-made geographic boundaries and her accomplishment, we should be rejoicing the triumph of how such one individual managed to touch a whole lot of others through whatever she loves doing, in this case singing and performing. To those millions of Chinese television audience, Shila was from Malaysia. Rejoice. Yes, she was so recognized and acclaimed on a stage away from her home land but the recognition was genuine and authentic. If you were to read those comments especially those written in Malay, a common theme emerged that is very telling about the state of affairs of our Malaysia. To lump them all as if the writers are under the tempurung would be too kind. They have no qualms about imposing their versions of a belief system on to her and others as if their interpretation of their religion is THE truth. Humble and insightful they are not, and they care less, but collectively they reveal their true self that do not inspire nor inviting, let alone inclusive. Over all, they project and perpetuate the myths of their own religion and culture. I truly wonder what is there that those writers are proud of?

As a response, perhaps if they were to pay closer attention to the words of the following, they would learn something. Those words exemplify the substance of what I want those arm-chair critics to hear and reflect on their know-it-all attitudes and an ever narrowing worldviews.

I am hopeful that it would not be too much to ask.

Nature boy

Ella Fitzgerald remains one of my favorites. Nature boy, the song she sang seems descriptive of my life. Listening to it over and again lifted my spirit and deepened my search for existential experiences.

Yes, I wondered very far, over land and sea, wanting to live my dreams and living an authentic self. I do not, in doing so, forsake my loved ones especially those in the land of my birth. They remain close and important in my life but staying put was not an option to this restless soul.

While browsing the web, I found an article (in Malay) in this link which is of great interest.

http://bm.harakahdaily.net/index.php/berita-utama/5545-mengapa-anak-kelantan-suka-merantau

"Mengapa anak Kelantan suka merantau" or "Why sons and daughters of Kelantan are more likely to emigrate?" The article resonates with me. It describes me somewhat albeit not completely.

[more to come]

Childhood friends

Listening to Billy Joel's song, James, reminds me of a childhood friend, Rahim. Rahim is a successful businessman and financially stable while I, an educator, am living paycheck to paycheck. Perhaps there is some envy, jealousy and competitiveness that I am experiencing. The lyric of the song, as I often imagine, exemplifies what I thought Rahim would say to me, words per words.

The picture below is that of Rahim on the left and Ezani on the right. They came to meet me when I was in Bangi during the time when I was serving as an external reviewer at the Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia.

We first met when we were about 13, both were classmates of mine. I came from Sekolah Kebangsaan Pak Badol whereas Rahim and Ezani came from Sekolah Rendah Kamil. We were together in form 1, equivalent to grade 7 in the States. Rahim and I were together and on to upper grades and also in scouting. We sat for a national examination during grade 9 and the results influenced the route of our next journey. Whereas Rahim and I went on to Sekolah Menengah Sains Pulau Pinang, Ezani went to Sekolah Menengah Teknik (if I am not mistaken). That was the first time I met Ezani since 1972. I saw Rahim last when he came to my sister's wedding in 2007. Rahim and I share a unique bonding. Our contacts are far and few in between but when we met, it was as if we never left or be away. There is something about him that I feel an affinity with and close. Whenever we are together or in contact, he may not agree nor like what he has just heard or observed but I know his concerns and caring are genuine and real. He may not realize it but on occassions, his words that he uttered touched me profoundly. I truly feel his warmth and regards toward me. He is the one person whom I feel is truly a phone call away - dial his number and he would be there. For some reasons and unable to adequately articulate myself, I do know that he is in a special place deep within me. I just know that I do. 

I joined him and his father and a few others soon to be classmates travelling from Pasir Mas to Sungai Golok, on to Hadyai to Padang Besar and we arrived in Penang, staying a night at his father's friend who was a policeman somewhere in Keramat. Yes, those were the days when travelling from Kelantan to Penang was arduous to say the least. We Kelantanese have to travel via Thailand in order to reach the other side of the Titiwangsa mountain range. There was no highway linking east to the north west of peninsula Malaysia. The highway came much later, perhaps a decade or so later. The next day we went to Penang Free School to register. I remembered the year was 1973, the year when P. Ramlee passed away.  In 2007 I took my wife and daughter to travel the highway from Kota Bharu to Penang on a commercial air-conditioned express bus. My wife swore never to travel of an express bus again especially in Malaysia after that trip. She was concerned about the highspeed the bus was travelling in the winding mountainous highway with deep valleys just inches away. The air condition was a bit too cold even to a mid-western American wife of mine. I have to give her my jacket to wear for her comfort. The driver seemed to be in perpetual mode of being in a hurry and  I was sure my wife would be in a constant prayer throughout the journey. In 2009, I flew a direct flight between Kota Bharu to Penang, some 45 minutes ride. All these advancement in traveling mode is very telling of how much progress we are able to witness in a peaceful country of Malaysia.

Rahim was there in person on the day my father died but I was not with him in person on the day when his parents passed away. I only managed to converse on the phone when he was busy trying to purchase airtickets to attend to his parents' funeral in Saudi Arabia. I visited Rahim and his father in 1986 when I was about to leave for the United States for the second time. That was the last time I saw Cikgu Hussein of Sungai Petai who later ran for state representative from Semerak and became a state assemblyman.

Rahim may not realize it when he visited me in 2007 at my mother's house in Pak Badol, he remarked that he was reminded of his mother when he saw mine. His words touched me. We may not be blood related but in spirit, he is my brother!

[more to come]

Jasmine is 16

It seems like it was only yesterday that we rushed to the hospital in Clarksdale some 30 miles north of Cleveland, Mississippi where we were then. She was way past due and the doctor thought he may have to induce the birth. After an agonizing hours of waiting, I was allowed to come in to the operation theater where Tracey was and surrounded by medical personnel. With a video camera in hand I proceeded to videotape the procedure. We have such video of when Tracey's stomach was sliced and out came Jasmine.

Later, she was cleaned and kept in the nursery. Tracey, the mother has not even had the chance to touch nor feel Jasmine yet. We forwarded the request to the nurse but it was ignored and later she explained that it was the hospital's protocol. I called Tracey's doctor and complained and immediately after, the same nurse brought Jasmine to the room where Tracey was. Tracey's mother (Wanda) and stepfather (Sonny) were with us. I also recalled that my department chair (Dr. Virginia Hollimon) was there to join us in the celebration; and I brought the baby in my hand to show her.

Now that we are in Arkansas, she is celebrating her 16th birthday! I dreaded the day when she would fly out of the nest and how would I fair?

Thanksgiving 2011

We spent our thanksgiving travelling to Texas visiting San Antonio and Galveston.

The three of us at Joe's Crabshack on the Riverwalk.

Galveston, Texas. We always visit Benno's whenever we were in town. My favorite mom and pop seafood restaurant by the ocean front.

Perhaps because I am an Aquarius, I just love oceans, lakes, rivers and water in general.

with Jasmine and Tracey at Galveston, Texas.

Budu and gout: An experience this Anak Kelantan now has to bear!

I always cook up excuses to visit mom: it's good for my soul, it's rejuvenating and that I need my battery charged up!! Time between semesters, that is, at the end of one semester and before the next one begins, is always an opportune time to take off and travel to the Far East. Because of the cost and surviving on a merger salary of an educator, I can muster only enough to pay for a ticket, not typical three for all of Mohdzains. At the end Summer semester 2011 and while waiting for Fall semester to begin, off I went.

For months before I reach my mom's, I have fancied and dreamed of eating all the foods I enjoyed during my childhood days. Budu is the one I always savoured. Budu is a brownish thick sauce or a dip made of marinated anchovies. Just like durian, the taste has to be acquired for it smells much too much that hotels and buses would not want you to bring it on board! Budu can be used as a dip for a variety of fried, baked or charcoal-roasted seafoods such as crabs, squids, fish or even meat or hardboiled eggs; but Kelantanese savor it with "ulam", that is, fresh vegetables such as wild ginger buds (bunga gantang) or petai with budu served in sour durian, hot chillies and a slice of lemon and a spoonful of crated coconut. How can one be an authentic Kelantanese if one escapes devouring on budu especially if one has been away much too long as I do. Somehow, budu from Kelantan has more amps and kicks relative to those similarly made in the other parts of Southeast Asia such as Vietnam, Thailand, or the Philippines. I was in the Philippines in March 2011 and I found they too serve budu on their buffet table. I enjoyed budu whenever I was in Thailand and Vietnam too. Whenever I shop at oriental groceries in the States, I found budu manufactured in Vietnam and that will do as a substitute.

I recall my childhood days when I saw how my grandma made budu from anchovies and let it marinated months afterwards in  big jar (tempayan) with wooden cover. She lived in Perupok, a village on the seashore facing South China Sea some fourteen miles from where we were. My younger brother and I visited grandma often after school on Thursday and took an afternoon bus to Perupok from Pak Badol. We returned to Pak Badol on Saturdays after having rumbustious and a whale of a time playing on the beach in Perupok. I was often made to bring home some budu, kerepok and of course coconuts. Travelling on buses to reach home was quite a journey. Budu was nicely bottled in a jar and afraid that the glass jar might break, I often hand carried it and placed it on the lap throughout the journey. There I was, a skinny kid of about ten or so with a younger brother trailing having a jar of budu on his lap on the bus. Never once I spilled it. Looking back, I don't think parents nowadays would allow small kids like we were travelling by ourselves. But that was in a different era: different time, space and cultural mileau of pristine innocence.  Once home, mom was often generous with neighbors and freely shared the famous grandma budu with them. 

Thinking that I wanted to make use of all these times I was away and to chow mainly with budu throughout my stay was foolhardy. Upon my return to the States, I realized there were something within that was not quite right and off I went to my family physician. He was sure that I have gout and prescribed me some medications.

Having gout can ruin your daily plans. All of a sudden, your joints stiffened and ached whenever it decides to attack you. For the first few days, it created havoc in my daily routines. There I was in pain and tried to pretend that everything was OK and I continued carrying on with my daily tasks. What a big mistake. Perhaps it is that male thing in which gender socialization instills in us not to tolerate and accept pain. Powerful realization but what that got to do with the present painful predicament? Prescription of medications is both an art and science. Give or take a few days or weeks and see how it evolves and helps - an antithesis of cultural mileau of a quick fix for anything and in the meantime, you sustain a quiet but agonizing pain or if you are lucky and the stars are aligned in your favor, a minor discomfort now and then.

I thought I was healthy all these years. It was only when I reached 55 years mark when organs in my body start to break apart unannounced and unexpectedly and the system is not working right.

But nevertheless, once you tasted budu, it stays with you. The following is a dikir barat about budu:  how delicious is it and the different ways of consuming it and its effects on everyday life. Enjoy the dikir (you have to understand or at least visit Kelantan to truly appreciate it).

We drove to Shreveport Louisiana yesterday, Saturday, October 13, 2012, some 80 miles away. One was to get out of a small town of Magnolia and two, more importantly, to visit oriental or seafood restaurants or perhaps a justification for Jasmine to shop to spend her dad's money!. We lunched at Danh's Garden, a Vietnamese, Thai and Chinese restaurants. I ordered my favorite: seafood Tom Yam, Tracey went for Thai curry, Jasmine was less adventurous with fried rice and Hope with Chinese noodle soup. After that we ventured to find Asian grocery store and found Bao Bao Market with plenty of Vietnamese food. For the first time in all these years, I found "ulam jering" or "look neng" in thai (at least that was stated on the label. Frozen they may be, but I felt like I found gold. This ulam jering was devoured as soon as I got home. However, instead with budu, I did it with "sambal belacan" added with lime juice and bean sprouts. Of course I also bought "ikan kering" (dried fish) and the whole house took it unkindly and in order to return the favor, the house did not seem to want to let go off the smell for it lingered on and on  for several days.

Below is the closest budu I could get. I bought it at an Asian Grocery Store in Shreveport, Bao Bao, The owner said that his parents were from Vietnam. He identified himself as Chinese Vietnamese and that he was born in the United States but his parents emigrated from Vietnam during those horrific days of the Vietnamese war. I asked him if his parents were among those who landed in Trengganu and were placed temporarily at Pulau Bidong. His immediate reactions let me to perceive that he wasn't comfortamble talking about it. After all, I was only a patron of his grocery store ans I let it go and dropped the subject. 

Getting a bottle of bu-do sauce is close enough. I immediately imagined that this product was made somewhere in southern Thailand, close enough to tasting the old familiar budu, the Kelantanese version, the one that my paternal grandmother used to make and put the tempayang (big jug container where the anchovies mix was left fermenting for several months) next to the tangga at her house in Perupok Kelantan. It tasted somewhat sweeter than I would anticipate, but enjoying it I did all the same!

Ella Fitzgerald : One note Samba (scat singing) 1969

I love the "impromptu" and this kind spontaneity plus the simplicity of it all, is what distinguished the great from the mediocre. I am all for cultivating new generations of such greats in our youngs.