The X Factor

We're familiar with the 24th letter of the English alphabet in words like x-rated, x-ray, 'x' as the unknown factor in mathematics or Mr. X as someone whose identity is not revealed to the public.

'X' is such an elastic letter and can be adapted to describe a variety of aspects, ranging from the sacred to the irreverent to the undisclosed.

When used for words like Xtian, Xtianity and Xmas, the letter 'x' comes from the Greek letter chi, the first letter in Xpiotoc  which means Christ.  'Christ' as in Jesus Christ means Messiah.

More crucially, for many today this extraordinary letter is very popular with the media in their search-for-talent programmes.

For me, at the moment, the letter 'X' is appropriate to recount my 1978 one-month stint at ACJC (Anglo-Chinese Junior College).  It was indeed an odd trip (quite acidic most of the time) into the sacred and almost secretive world of the affluent and privileged.  Together with the new non-ACSian (pronounced Xsian) Pre-U I students, I found myself embedded in a kind of nursery or crib for the elite, rubbing shoulders with the scions of the Christian and mainly Chinese Gentry of Singapore.  These students were seconded to this Made-in-Singapore Eton because there were not enough places for them in the Government JCs.  Like me, these newcomers represented the "hoi polloi" in the eyes of both students and staff of the blue-blooded ACSians - and were regarded with patrician aloofness as if they were barbarians knocking at the Squire's portals.

The ACSians had good reasons to be sniffy.  Founded in 1886 as an extension of the Methodist Church by Bishop William Fitzjames Oldham, their school grew into one of Singapore's most prestigious English medium schools.  It produced very successful men in both business and the professions.  It had a very powerful and committed Alumni who were prepared to dig deep into their pockets for the betterment of the Alma Mater.  Former students were also encouraged and assured of getting appointments in the school -except, that is, for the 'vernacular' Malay and Mandarin teachers.  Both staff and students had a strong sense of exclusivity and loyalty to the school.

ACS as a Junior College was just one year old when I was there.  Because of my proletarian background, I was quite overawed by the ambience and facilities of the College.  It was the first JC to have a sports complex and a 400m bitumen track on the campus itself.  The Shaw Sports Complex left all the other JCs standing.  They had state-of-the-art lecture theatres, a state-of-the-art air-conditioned library and a huge state-of-the-art Tan Chin Tuan Auditorium.  For the first time in my life I got to fondle a large grand piano donated by a former ACSian!  My Ford Cortina Station Wagon looked out of place compared to some of the students' cars!

Like poor country mice, the new non-ACSian students and I were quite prepared for the classy habitat of the well-heeled town mice.  But we did not anticipate the cultural shock on our first day.  On that first day, we were assembled before the Singapore Flag to read the Pledge, a daily, secular requirement to affirm loyalty to the Republic.  That over, we were all (except for the true-blue genuine ACSians) ready to march to our respective classrooms when we were stopped in our tracks.  We heard a Senior student reading The Lord's Prayer accompanied by a chorus from the ACSians.  I must admit I was stunned, and I saw it on the faces of the other 'alien' students there.  Like them, I was not informed  by the MOE (Ministry of Education)about this additional religious requirement in a secular state like Singapore.

Today I can still recite the Girl Guides' oath off the top of my head.  The National Pledge before the Singapore Flag, both in English and Malay, is still ringing in the recesses of my 68 year old brain.  And after one month in ACJC  The Lord's Prayer kept echoing in my head for months after I had departed for foreign shores.

And I was there for just one month.  I shudder for the non-Christian students who would remain there for the next two years!

I have often wondered.  What if I had no choice, if there was no alternative of another job in Brunei?

But first let me relate a true story to complement the above.

Once upon a time (in 1982 actually) in the city of Hull, there was a 5 year old spunky little boy called Shah.  Here he is - with his old man Mus - posing in his school uniform trying to look like Mr. Atlas.



His first school was Newland St John's  Church of England Primary School:

On his first day at school during the School Assembly, when they were reciting The Lord's Prayer he cried out loudly for all to hear.

"I cannot say this.  I am a Muslim."

Shah's parents were called up for a talk with the headmistress.  She said that Shah still had to attend Assembly but he did not have to recite the Lord's Prayer.  She also said there were other Muslim children in the school but this was the first time she had encountered such a protest.

You see, this was not just another little Muslim boy.  He was Cucu-si-Hamid,  the grandchild of Hamid!

How on earth do you expect a child or a Pre-U I student to mentally shut out a daily religious mantra?  Shah's parents taught him to read the Fatihah instead.

For that month of January, during the daily morning Assembly at ACJC,  I psyched myself to switch off the incantation but it was hard - very, very hard.

But this was not all.  I met head-on the next challenge to my faith .........!

Another Tale or Two.

.........  and to continue where I left off.  I was writing about the nail in the coffin that the Nanyang cabal at Jurong Secondary School had prepared for Miss Hamid.

But first, here are a couple of images from that inglorious era.  JSS had grand plans such as  running seminars during the school holidays to rejuvenate and inspire laid-back and browned-off  members of staff to be better teachers, to turn the school into the A-Team of Education.  That of course assumed that the teachers did not "know better" before this.  At thirty-two, I "knew better" : you can't teach an old dog new tricks.



Oh Yeah?  Tell us something new!

Blah! Blah! Blur! Blah! Blur! Blur .....zzzzzz

Of course every seminar must have a theme.


Towards Change for Betterment

 Remember, this was 1976 - so little old JSS was quite a pioneer in catchy slogans and self-advertisement.  But that "Towards Change for Betterment" was not my idea.   In response to the wishes and objectives of the gaffers the words were chosen by Mr J,  another  English medium teacher who was in JSS way before I turned up.   He was 'appointed' the general factotum for any task requiring the English language - doing tedious and time-consuming tasks that nobody else in the English stream wanted to do - like writing the minutes of every Staff Meeting.   Poor Mr J!  He 'co-operated' with the system because he was given the hope by those in power in JSS that they could help to expedite his application for Singapore citizenship.  Mr J. was from Johor.

By late 1976 and early 1977 I was feeling the strain of being a minority Malay in a minority English medium in an Integrated Chinese-English School  like JSS.  I was getting weary, having constantly to look out for my kids in the English stream, having to negotiate a way out of every nook and cranny of overt and covert discrimination.  This was like a re-run of my years in Yusof Ishak Secondary  School  (1967-1974)  when I played out the role of a 'bouncer' for the Malay medium kids vis-a-vis the English medium.

Sometime in early 1977 I responded to this advertisement  for teachers in Brunei.

I was called for an interview at Shangri-La Hotel on 12 April 1977.   In mid-1977 I was informed that my application was successful.  I got cold feet and tucked that letter away in a file.  They sent me another letter asking for my reply in November ( if my memory served me right).  I kept on thinking of  SLL's - my good friend and confidante - advice:  "Maz, as a Malay graduate, you won't go far in Singapore.  Your future would be better if you were just a factory worker.   If I were you I'd leave for Malaysia."

Well, as usual, circumstances and fate (?) helped me to make the right move.  Just a few days before January 2 1978, the beginning of the new academic year at JSS, I received a letter from the MOE (Ministry of Education) stating  that I had been transferred to ACJC (Anglo-Chinese Junior College).   I knew something sinister was afoot.   It was a plan that the Nanyang Mafia had drawn up to get rid of the craw in their throats.

In the first place, such transfers were usually given out weeks before the beginning of the new term.   This was like the rabbit that the Nanyang Mafia had pulled out of their hat.  Secondly, as a teacher in a Christian Missionary Sixth Form College, albeit one of Singapore's pukka schools, my future was doomed.  Moving you sideways meant that your upward mobility was extinguished.

I was told that during the first School Assembly at JSS,  no mention was made of the whereabouts of Miss Hamid, one of the school's Senior Teachers.  Usually the Principal would announce the arrival of new teachers and thank those who have been transferred.  I was quite simply airbrushed out of the picture.  I would  whenever possible, make several visits to the school to meet up with my former colleagues.  At times I would 'bump' into the Nanyang Mafia and their cronies on the school premises but they very quickly slunk away for an escape hole when they see me about.  I do enjoy re-visiting my /their sins!!


I dutifully reported for work at ACJC on 2 January 1978.  The day before, on 1 January I handed in my one month's notice of resignation to the MOE.  On that same day I wrote a letter of acceptance to the post of Education Officer in the Government of Brunei's Department of Education.

That transfer would be the biggest favour that the MOE of Singapore had given to me.

Syukur Alhamdulillah.

To be continued .......

Time Traveller

I fancied having a little break from recording life's travails.

Take a trip with me into the past. 

This is Guitar Berbunyi, a 78 r.p.m. vinyl  played on my 1950s/1960s  player.  I regret I cannot recall the names of the singers because the record is kept in Kuala Lumpur and all I have here is the video.

During our courting days the spouse introduced me to Tino Rossi (1907-1983) a  popular French (actually he was Corsican) singer.  Guitar D'Amour  (1935) was my absolute favourite and I fell in love with this song as soon as I heard it. 

Years later in Kuala Lumpur we were sorting out our collection of  Malay 78s and imagine our surprise and joy when we heard  Guitar Berbunyi.   We allowed our minds to wander to the mid-1930s thinking  how someone from Indonesia or The Straits Settlements heard Tino Rossi's Guitaire D'Amour  and decided to record it  in Malay.  It's all the more fascinating because this is a French song.  Just imagine!!

Here is Guitare D'Amour by Tino Rossi




Sit back.  Let your mind drift to the 1930s.  It's something I indulge in, more and more.

A Tale or Two

In the light of the recent brouhaha about the "Christian threat" Seminar in Johor,  I recall some instances of my encounters with Christians and Christianity.

Like the merchant houses and various types of carpet baggers,  missionaries and Christianity came to our part of the world on the coat-tails of  Portuguese, Dutch and British invasions and imperialism.  One very potent vehicle for lubricating the colonial system and for conversion of the natives was the setting up of schools - for both boys and girls.  The missionaries undoubtedly contributed a great service to education in the far corners of the British Empire but it was a very successful enterprise which brought in bountiful dividends, both  financially and spiritually.

One very, very successful story is that of the Anglo-Chinese School in Singapore.  It could even be regarded as the Eton of Singapore.

I can claim  two very peculiar  flings in my education in Singapore.    The first - which also marked the beginning of my education -  was my one-day sojourn at Pasir Panjang Malay School - that beautiful school by the sea at 6 milestone Pasir Panjang Road.  The last was at Anglo-Chinese Junior College, better known as ACJC.  That was just for one month, for January 1978.  That year also marked my final break from teaching in Singapore and the beginning of a new, wonderfully weird and wandering life.  Like my ancient ancestors who were maritime nomads, I became a terrestial one.

The background goes like this.  When I came back from my study leave at London University in 1975, I was posted to what the likes of the wealthy well-scrubbed boys in ACS would describe as a sink school.  Jurong Secondary School was initially a Chinese medium school tucked away in the 'jungle' of Jurong.  It expanded when Jurong became the hub of Singapore's industrial revolution.  It had to take in the English medium teachers and students but the reins of 'power' were held - or should I say, monopolised - by the Chinese stream Nanyang University graduates.  After a year spent in JSS, I dubbed them the Nanyang Mafia and sometimes the "Gang of Four" (as in Chairman Mao's PRC at that time).

The English stream students were treated like second class citizens.  They were constantly picked upon by the Disciplinary Teachers, mainly  Nanyangians.  Those from the Chinese stream were treated with kid gloves. 

My best friend  KT  was a brilliant English Literature teacher but she was relegated to teaching English as a Second Language in the Chinese Stream.  As she was not a Graduate she had to give way to someone who was .  KT and I will never forget this Graduate's excuse for not wanting to teach Shakespeare's  "As You Like It".  She did not study that particular play while she was in University!!!!  Do they still make graduate teachers like that today?

So  KT went to her first ESL lesson in  Secondary Two  Chinese Stream .  When she greeted them with the usual "Good Morning Class" , they responded with grumpy mutterings - almost hostile.  Then one of  the girls stood up and haughtily asked KT,  "You are Chinese, why do you teach English?"  For a moment, KT was stunned.  She simply told them,  "I am here because I was given this duty by your Principal.  Whether you like it or not, English is an  important language for you to learn."

A few days later as KT was walking past these Chinese stream classes the students had prepared another greeting for her.  They snapped shut very loudly one by one, a series of louvred windows as KT walked past every classroom on that floor.  She was assailed by the sound of snap, snap, snap from the louvres of each window frame as she walked along the corridor.  There was no one to be seen - just that serial clattering of  snaps.  KT kept calm and when she got to the Teachers' Common Room, she broke down.   How cruel, these snaps of bigotry from such young souls.  All said and done, the Principal attempted to assuage KT's anger and explained to her why these Chinese stream students did what they did  blah, blah, blah and all they had to do was to make a curt apology to their  "Sen Sen".

Hats off to you Malaysia - in making Malay the National Language and the medium of education.   Fifty-five years on and I can still hear those snapping louvres!!

By my second year in JSS, I was promoted to  Senior Teacher for the English Stream.  I made it my duty to 'correct various anomalies' in the administration of the school.  For instance, the winners of the oratorical and story writing competition were usually given prizes of Mandarin Dictionaries.  I put a stop to that practice.

There was "a problem", they said, of getting the right prizes.  I offered to get it done, to select the most suitable English  language books for each  level .    That would be too costly, they said.   I asked them how much they allocated for the Chinese stream.  On that basis, I had no problem getting the kids the right books.  It took me several  trips from Jurong in the west to MPH and other bookstores in the  city centre, but they loved what they got.  That did not win me any hearts from the Nanyang Mafia.

When the school was organising a trip to West Malaysia for the students who had done well,  I stood my ground and made sure the English stream students were duly represented.  And on the first lunch break of that 'holiday' in Malacca, I blew my top when the non-Chinese students were told to have their meal in a Chinese restaurant with the rest of the entourage. The Organising Committee lumped everybody's diet to be the same as theirs.  I remembered one statement I made which made them turn purple with fury.  "Is it that difficult to get Muslim and non-Chinese food for us in West Malaysia?  This country has more Malays and Muslims than Singapore!"   So I bundled my non-Chinese ( not just Muslim) students off to a suitable place to eat. And  I did that for every meal at every stop.  The expense came from my own pocket.  The Committee expressed no sympathy or culpability.  I made no claim because it was all too dingy and sickening.

I reckon that was the last nail for the coffin the Nanyang Mafia had prepared for me, for Miss Hamid.  As a Senior Teacher, my next step was to move up - to a Principalship.  I had all the qualifications, the experience and my CV was immaculate.  But they had other plans.

The link with Christians and Christianity?  Wait for the next instalment.

The Second Try - The Beginning of Tanjong Kling

Yabada - badoo!!!!  Finally  this geriatric genius (?) managed to get it right.  In Kuala Lumpur I could rope in Faiz my nephew-in-law,  but here I'm on my own and bodged the job again and again.  That's why the video took days to see the light of day on AsH.

I must apologise for the poor quality.  It was done on my little hand-held camera and it gives the shakes because of unsteady hands  and not enough 'mee rebus' !  But it was worth it!  Terima Kasih Ma'cik.

I know it's a long video  (almost  10 minutes), longer than the normal 3- minute attention span.  But this little story by Ma'Cik Alimah is a historical gem: by an 86 year old bumiputra of Singapore recounting the life and times of a 'deleted' people.  No history book or academic exercise can match her account.

So please give her your attention right to the end of the video.  Thank you.

P.S.  There is nothing derogatory in the use of the word 'kling'' here.  It was never ever meant to be - it's just PC gone mad.  In fact the name 'Kling', given to Ma'cik's kampong is a tribute to someone who is not a Malay.

Alimah bt Awang - Anak Jati Singapura

Talking to Alimah bt Awang at her home in Boon Lay was an unforgettable experience.  At 86 she remains  one of  the very, very few remaining voices of the history and birthright of  Malays in Singapore, specifically the Orang Laut or what we Malays in Pasir Panjang describe as the Orang Pulau.

I call her Ma'cik and she has always referred to me as Che'gu because in Jai's family I am known as the teacher from Yusof Ishak Secondary School or Sekolah Menengah Yusof Ishak.  Mariam, her daughter, was one of my students and we became close friends with Ma'cik because of our close friendship with her son Jai.

Jai has been in and out of my blog in my postings :

Read  http://anaksihamid.blogspot.co.uk/2010/11/jailani-abu-bakar.html

We  went to Singapore to keep company with Lely  (one of my former students from Jurong Secondary School) when she had a stroke.  Glad to say she is now back home and undergoing more therapy.  She has been putting heart and soul into getting better and I know she will. She is one young plucky lady.

We caught up with another plucky lady of 86 and we got her talking about her childhood days growing up in Tanjong Kling.  She's a wonderful story teller and  a fount of information about her people, the Orang Pulau or Orang Laut.   The topographic map below shows the significance of Tanjong Kling as a landing post for connection to the Southern Islands.

. 

Tanjong Kling is located near the number 68 on the map.  PS (just above the letters Tg) indicates a Police Station and Ma'cik Alimah's late husband was a policeman.  Ma'cik and her husband come from a line of the  "Orang Laut; the aboriginal seafaring people in the Malay Archipelago since an early time."    There was no  intermarriage with people from the Malay Peninsula, or the Bugis or the Javanese or the Boyanese or Chinese or Indians.

Tanjong Kling, Pasir Panjang and Pulau Samulun have been immortalised in this Lagu Melayu Asli - 'Nasib  Panjang' :

Pasir Panjang Pulau Samulun,

Nampak lah dari Tanjong Kling.

(Nasib lah Panjang)

Hilang sebulan rasa setahun,

Bagailah mana hati tak runsing.

Listening to Ma'cik makes me realise - too late - about the tragedy that fell upon  her people and her islands. I don't pretend to be a historian.  However, as I begin to read  about the pre-Raffles inhabitants of Temasek, people like the Orang Laut of the Rhio Archipelago, people like the Orang Galang (Geylang), Orang Seletar, Orang Selat and Orang Biduanda of Kallang, I soon realise just how their place and existence in Singapore's history have been marginalised and relegated into insignificance by both the British imperialists and the PAP machinery.

We care and battle for the rights of the aboriginal tribes on terra firma in  Malaysia.  But the seafaring people of the Archipelago, the maritime nomads of the Malay world have been ignored and denied their 'human rights'.  They were always a threat to the Imperialists' trade and profit.  They were conveniently labelled as pirates - as pests to be controlled and confined.

This map, however, might make us rethink our perception of the Orang Laut, of the aboriginal Malay seafarers and how they construct their world and their  'homeland'.  They, like the Malays, perceive their place of origin not as a homeland  ('tanah/rumah' ).  For them, home is 'Tanah Ayer' -  Land and Water.  How do you demarcate boundaries and allocate  deeds and titles of ownership over such a maritime topography?

The Malays'  'Middle Kingdom' - the Riau Archipelago. The Southern Islands of Singapore in the Northwest corner have been circled.

I shall write more about the demolition job done on Ma'cik Alimah's world.  But first do listen to her oral history of Tanjong Kling.  Jai and I are determined to draw out out as much story and history as possible from this lively lady's recollections - from this Anak Jati Singapura.

P.S.   I have spent all morning trying to upload a video of Ma'cik Alimah - but it has ended in tears.

I shall try, the next session, be it in print or video.

'Oh come all ye faithful'

On Saturday 25 February, the spouse was walking to the local pharmacy at Setiawangsa for a pack of Panadol. We were flying back to Singapore on the 26th to look in on Lely at the Hospital before we departed for Leicester on 7 March and plane journeys always give the both of us headaches.

As he walked past the football field he heard a Malay young man, not a young boy,  yelling 'Kafir' at him!  I taught the spouse to use the word 'pengecut' (coward) the next time this happens.  But Iain just shrugged his shoulders and said, "What's the point?"

The day before, I was walking past Ali Maju Restaurant when this poster caught my eye.

This is certainly one way that Malay-Muslims should not score, so the youngsters have been warned.  But there's hope.  This other poster near Diva's restaurant at Jalan Bukit Setiawangsa is telling Malay-Muslims how - for both children and adults!!

They do say 'the road to hell is paved with good intentions'.

Back in Leicester - Saturday 10 March.  Just after suboh on Saturday morning I heard  the distant sound of a reading from the Quran.  Could it be a radio - not in Leicester and in my neighbourhood?

I looked out of the window and there was this young man, an African, humming softly the holy words as he walked serenely along a road in this Kafir city.