THE WONDER YEARS - PART ONE
I miss my childhood spent with my late grandma, whom I fondly called wor-wor and my grandfather whom all the cucus (grandchildren) call Ayoh. Due to the nature of my father's job, I spent many memorable years with my grandparents, in a fishing village called Beserah, about 10 minutes drive from Kuantan.
Wor-wor was never one who expressed her affection well openly. She was alway a bit on the stern side. And Ayoh has a funny way of showing his love for his grandchildren. On top of that, he speaks in proses. As a child, I always found that amusing, trying to unlock the secret code hidden in our many conversations. We spent many afternoons talking on the pangkin (elevated wooden platform) under the pauh tree in front of the house.
Ayoh is also a well known traditional healer. So, our house in the kampung was always filled with strangers. My task was always to rush to the nearby pisang goreng stall, ran by wor-wor's sister-in-law and buy some banana fritters and keropok lekor. Our guests seldom left the house with their stomach empty. It's always teh o' panas, pisang goreng and keropok lekor. Occasionally, there'd be kuih akok (a mixture off eggs, sugar, flour baked in brass mould). Kuih akok is yummy, especially the one baked by this particular lady who was my mom's cousin (I honestly forgotten her name and she has since passed away). The popularity of her kuih akok reached epic proportion when a local tv station interviewed her, many, many years ago. She was supposed to hand down the family secret to one of us but sadly, she passed away before it could be done. Since then, it's rather difficult to find yummylicious kuih akok.
I was also sent to kelas mengaji (Quran recital classes). The whole procedure and tradition were so intricate that, looking at it retrospectively, I can't help but feel proud to be part of this rich cultural heritage. A child will usually start the class at the tender age of four or five. In my case, I started when I was 5 years old. I remember the day quite vividly; Wor-wor prepared yellow glutinous rice with chicken rendang. She also bought some bananas. After our morning prayer, we had breakfast and later she placed all the food on a round weaved rattan tray. As we got ready to leave the house, she placed the tray on her head and we started the walk to my tok guru's house which was about 1 kilometre away. And mind you, we lived by the sea so it means wor-wor had to walk on sand with her feet buried at every move and at the same time carrying and trying to balance the tray on her head!
My tok guru (teacher) was also wor-wor's close friend (the significance of this relationship shall reveal itself soon). Upon our arrival, we gave our salam and soon enough I saw other kids around my age sitting in line, at the living hall, all of them reciting verses from the Quran at the top of their lung. I was so nervous I wanted to run away, but I knew wor-wor would chase me around the village and I'd be given some good spankings. So, with all my limbs shivered, I tailed her from behind trying not to make any eye contact with any of the kids.
We were ushered straight to the kitched by one of the daughters. Wor-wor placed the tray on the floor and we all sat in front of my soon to be tok guru. This is akin to the official handing over of the child to the teacher. Usually the guardian would tell the teacher to punish the child, spank if necessary, if he or she is not obedient enough. The rule is: so long as you don't wound the kid, the teacher is free to do almost anything to discipline the student. And the rule is especially true if the child is your relative or the granddaughter of your close friend.
Soon after and before she left, wor-wor asked me to behave and not cause any trouble there. I wanted to cry but was too afraid to do so. And so, my mengaji days officially started. There are so many stories to tell, I could not even begin. I guess I just have to take my time in sharing those experiences.
What I find amazing about this institution is that it was free of charge. These learned man and women did it as part of their contribution to the community. There was never any mention of money. Nowadays, Quran recital classes do not come cheap. And it's not quite the same anymore. I know, I know...time has changed and I can't expect things to be like what it was before. It's a pity my kids will not know of such experience. I'll make sure they hear the stories...to let them know that their mother comes from kampung and life did not actually start in the city for her. Deep down, she will always be the kampung girl from a fishing village and she is proud of it.
For some odd reasons, I'm missing my wor-wor greatly today. Al-Fatihah...
- Many more tales from my childhood to come.
Wor-wor was never one who expressed her affection well openly. She was alway a bit on the stern side. And Ayoh has a funny way of showing his love for his grandchildren. On top of that, he speaks in proses. As a child, I always found that amusing, trying to unlock the secret code hidden in our many conversations. We spent many afternoons talking on the pangkin (elevated wooden platform) under the pauh tree in front of the house.
Ayoh is also a well known traditional healer. So, our house in the kampung was always filled with strangers. My task was always to rush to the nearby pisang goreng stall, ran by wor-wor's sister-in-law and buy some banana fritters and keropok lekor. Our guests seldom left the house with their stomach empty. It's always teh o' panas, pisang goreng and keropok lekor. Occasionally, there'd be kuih akok (a mixture off eggs, sugar, flour baked in brass mould). Kuih akok is yummy, especially the one baked by this particular lady who was my mom's cousin (I honestly forgotten her name and she has since passed away). The popularity of her kuih akok reached epic proportion when a local tv station interviewed her, many, many years ago. She was supposed to hand down the family secret to one of us but sadly, she passed away before it could be done. Since then, it's rather difficult to find yummylicious kuih akok.
I was also sent to kelas mengaji (Quran recital classes). The whole procedure and tradition were so intricate that, looking at it retrospectively, I can't help but feel proud to be part of this rich cultural heritage. A child will usually start the class at the tender age of four or five. In my case, I started when I was 5 years old. I remember the day quite vividly; Wor-wor prepared yellow glutinous rice with chicken rendang. She also bought some bananas. After our morning prayer, we had breakfast and later she placed all the food on a round weaved rattan tray. As we got ready to leave the house, she placed the tray on her head and we started the walk to my tok guru's house which was about 1 kilometre away. And mind you, we lived by the sea so it means wor-wor had to walk on sand with her feet buried at every move and at the same time carrying and trying to balance the tray on her head!
My tok guru (teacher) was also wor-wor's close friend (the significance of this relationship shall reveal itself soon). Upon our arrival, we gave our salam and soon enough I saw other kids around my age sitting in line, at the living hall, all of them reciting verses from the Quran at the top of their lung. I was so nervous I wanted to run away, but I knew wor-wor would chase me around the village and I'd be given some good spankings. So, with all my limbs shivered, I tailed her from behind trying not to make any eye contact with any of the kids.
We were ushered straight to the kitched by one of the daughters. Wor-wor placed the tray on the floor and we all sat in front of my soon to be tok guru. This is akin to the official handing over of the child to the teacher. Usually the guardian would tell the teacher to punish the child, spank if necessary, if he or she is not obedient enough. The rule is: so long as you don't wound the kid, the teacher is free to do almost anything to discipline the student. And the rule is especially true if the child is your relative or the granddaughter of your close friend.
Soon after and before she left, wor-wor asked me to behave and not cause any trouble there. I wanted to cry but was too afraid to do so. And so, my mengaji days officially started. There are so many stories to tell, I could not even begin. I guess I just have to take my time in sharing those experiences.
What I find amazing about this institution is that it was free of charge. These learned man and women did it as part of their contribution to the community. There was never any mention of money. Nowadays, Quran recital classes do not come cheap. And it's not quite the same anymore. I know, I know...time has changed and I can't expect things to be like what it was before. It's a pity my kids will not know of such experience. I'll make sure they hear the stories...to let them know that their mother comes from kampung and life did not actually start in the city for her. Deep down, she will always be the kampung girl from a fishing village and she is proud of it.
For some odd reasons, I'm missing my wor-wor greatly today. Al-Fatihah...
- Many more tales from my childhood to come.
posted by Ms O at 12:59 pm
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