Breeding Like Rabbits

In 1798, the priest and economist Thomas Malthus (1766-1834) concluded from a study of plants and animals that man's excessive rate of reproduction would lead to overpopulation and eventually cause a shortage of food supply resulting in famine and poverty.

He suggested a reduction in family size, especially for the poorer class.  ( Does this remind you of Singapore's worry in the 1970s and 1980s onwards over the poor fecundity of the Republic's graduates?)

The study of overpopulation has resulted in copious and diverse academic research.  The subject has also been taken up by environmentalists and racist/religious fanatics to warn the world about the bogey of a rising birth rate and overpopulation in the Third World -  amongst the poorest classes of the globe.

There's a growing concern in the West about its low reproductive rate and its increasing elderly population.  It has been predicted that by 2050, 40% of Europeans will be over 60.  The typical population pyramid where the young form a large base and the elderly make up the the tiny peak will be turned on its head! 

More worrying is the idea that all forms of social problems can be solved by cutting population growth.  Even more disturbing is the belief of celebrities like David Attenborough, and environmentalists like Jonathan Porrit, that population growth has to be curbed  to preserve the ecological balance of the globe.  In 2009 the UK based Sustainable Development Commission regarded that human reproduction contributed to global warming.  The Optimum Population Trust ( a Malthusian Population Campaign  Group) calculated that each baby born in Britain will cost 2 acres of woodland in terms of the CO2 they will burn!!  And Malthus only had to worry about food supply!

Let's look at one real reason for the fear of these western pundits.   In 1900 the West ( including Russia and Eastern Europe) made up 35% of the world's population.  By 2012 this had dropped to 17%, and by 2050 it is expected to be 10%.  On the other hand, by 2050, Africa's population will be more than four times Europe's population.   How terrible!   Imagine the economic and ecological strain on the planet.  Think of the 'carbon footprint' stamped on the planet by these rising millions of Africans!

But, there is another issue - more important than overpopulation - that the developed countries are not willing to own up to because this places the responsibility for global warming at their doorstep.  It is the unsustainable consumption of the world's resources by the wealthy West and other non-Western countries like Japan

1. Out of 6.5 billion people in the world today, the 1 billion  in the developed countries  (North America, Western Europe, Japan, Australia, New Zealand) have a relative per capita consumption of 32.  This means that 'the average rate at which people consume resources like oil and metals, and produce wastes like plastics and greenhouse gases" is 32 times higher than  the developing world.   Numbers in the Third World may be increasing at a higher rate, but it must be remembered that the average American/Briton consumes as much as say, 32 Kenyans.  (From Jared Diamond, Professor of Geography at UCLA)

2.  In terms of carbon emission, the world's richest half-billion (about 7% of global population )  cause 50% of the world's CO2 emissions.  However, just 7% of CO2 emission is created by the world's poorest 50%
(From Princeton Environment Institute)

OR, to put it another way.  India, China, Pakistan, Nigeria and Ethiopia will be responsible for most of the world's population growth.  But, the CO2 emission of one American is equivalent to 4 Chinese, 20 Indians, 30 Pakistanis, 40 Nigerians and 250 Ethiopians.

3.  On the use of land for maintaining a sustaining lifestyle, the average American takes up 9.5 hectares, 7.8 for Australians, 7.1 for Canadians, 5.3 for Britons, 4.2 for Germans, 4.9 for Japanese, 2.0 for Chinese and 1.0 or below for India and Africa.

So we need a rethink.  Should we really be paranoid that the developing world are breeding like rabbits?  Or that the well-off parts of the world are gorging like pigs?

But there is an even more dire scenario.    In my next posting I'll tackle another 'population' fear - that the Muslims are "copulating like barbarians at the gate".

Back again, like two bad pennies

The view from my window during our stay throughout most of April, May and June

Well, what a journey!  Firstly the flight from London to Abu Dhabi  for 1445 was delayed by half an hour .  When we finally got going to board  the plane we found ourselves in a  slow moving queue.  Passengers were directed through just one of the two entrances to get to their seats.  The other entrance was blocked by a collection of people, passengers and crew, huddling over some sort of problem.

  When we finally settled down in our seats awaiting departure, we were informed that a passenger had fallen ill and there would be a further delay.  That explained the blockage during boarding.  Flight EY 020 did not leave until 1615.

We were pleased when the Travel Agent informed us that transit at Abu Dhabi would be just two hours.  Because of the one and a half-hour delay leaving London,  we got to Abu Dhabi with just half an hour to spare.  A wheelchair awaited the spouse at Abu Dhabi, and it became a Formula 1 Wheelchair Race to the boarding gate for Kuala Lumpur.  It was at the other end  of the airport and I must have shed kilos of fat in catching up with the speeding wheelchair!

At KLIA, another 2-wheel limousine awaited the three- legged spouse.  He got through the fast lane for Immigration  and I had to wait only five minutes for  his clearance.

But it was worth it just to see Maria and Hidayah waiting for us.  The two girls took over - not only the luggage but also the geriatrics - ma'ngah and  Uncle Iain in his wheelchair.  Our nephew-in-law Nadzim was waiting  (with the little rascal Ilyas) in his People Carrier and we eventually drifted along KL's roads, like the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh on the Jubilee Royal Barge sailing on the Thames just a few days ago.

Maznah and my brother-in-law Harun, were already at our house with pisang goreng and tea and asam pedas ikan merah, sambal goreng tahu/tempeh and ikan goreng for our dinner.  My brother popped in before he left for College.

Certainly our welcome home reception matched whatever the Queen received for her Jubilee celebration - with one difference.   There was no rain on our parade.

Tis good to be back - and to rummage through the contents of three suitcases!

Eight hours ago we made a call to Jack , our dear friend in Leicester and he said it's raining buckets - it's supposed to be flaming June.



It's four in the morning and I'm still a lert  (alert). HELP!!

Trains and Boats and Planes

We have taken many great train journeys, from big ones like the journey across the Deccan Plateau from Bombay to Madras to little ones like the North Yorkshire steam train.    And  I remember with special affection the little rail journey in 1983 from Beaufort to Tenom in Sabah.

Tenom Railway Station

We have enjoyed spectacular sea crossings too -  from Wellington to Picton in New Zealand and on my own I made the romantic journey from Marseilles to Corsica in 1972 where I got as sick as a dog and threw out my dinner into the Mediterranean Sea.

As for planes, that started in 1972 as a huge thrill and now it has become one big yawn, herded like cattle from one airpen to another.

Now, when you get to the autumn of your years, one's mobility is circumscribed not by distance but by the state of the knees, the back, the hips and umpteen other parts of the body.  It is no more a question of traversing wild open spaces by trains or boats or planes.  It has been reduced to modest little steps  (with the aid of various thingamajigs like a Zimmer frame, walking sticks and a wheelchair)  like hobbling from the bedroom to the bathroom, from upstairs to downstairs and vice versa.  Little sorties to the kitchen for a cup of tea are such a treat.

And when you refuse to succumb to the impediments of a decrepit body and you make a dash-it-all  traipse to the Park or the shops, then you deserve a pat on the back  (Ouch!) even though you pay for it later with a pain that yells at you for being foolhardy.

But then you observe a friend like Loz, a few years younger than us, stuck in a wheelchair for the last 30 years.  He never fails, whatever the season, to 'take a walk' to Victoria Park with his dog every morning.  His gloves are worn from grasping and pushing the wheels of his wheelchair as he 'strides' to the Park.  His dog doesn't need a leash.  He knows how to walk at the same pace as his master on the pavement and when he gets to the Park, he goes hell-bent-for-leather for a good run, while Loz 'ambles' along the path in the Park.  Looking at that dignified joy for life, why should we complain?

On June 12th, we take another plane trip to Kuala Lumpur.    This time the spouse has a wheelchair - and this time he travels upmarket so that he can keep comfortably horizontal for most of the 16-hour journey.  I shall keep a close eye on him from the other side of the partition to make sure he doesn't run around chasing the stewardesses!!

Just two days ago, Maria and son Ariff, Hidayah and hubby Faiz played musical chairs in the KL house.  They have been shunting boxes of books, a huge bookcase, and a heavy metal 'treasure chest' to make room for a single bed in the Library - to make a day care room for Uncle Iain.

From here Unc can stagger along to make little forays into his garden,  totter to the kitchen where he will brew loads of  teh tarik for the young ones.  Most of all, the cats .........


Rusty and Socks



Professor Socks the academic reviewer

Comot the resident hedonist

.............especially Comot and her little fellow-travellers (aka fleas) to give him mental stimulation and buckets of love.

I cannot end this post without thanking with all our hearts Maria (orange top in the back row), Hidayah and Faiz  ( the laden couple standing to the right) and little (?) Ariff  ( in the greenish-blue t-shirt  in the front row)  for all  the caring help and support.  Bless your cotton socks!!

We will miss summer and our home in Leicester but it will be wonderful to get home too - on a plane and on the wings of a prayer.

ACJC - The Finale

In this last episode of my shortest teaching stint, I want to begin with what is perhaps my biggest regret - before I pick up the thread of my tale of "culture shock" at ACJC.

My sojourn at ACJC lasted for the duration of my one month's notice of resignation to the Singapore Ministry of Education ( MOE ).

On my last day, 2 February 1978, I was presented with a  'Thank You' card, signed by about a dozen students who wanted to let me know that they appreciated my understanding and support for their situation as outsiders at ACJC.  They were all non-ACSians - 'imports from other schools'.  Alas I have lost or misplaced that precious card.  I have searched for it, high and low, in Leicester and Kuala Lumpur but to no avail.

However there was just one ACSian - a sweet, timid Chinese lass who assured me that she would see me before I left.  A week before, she plucked up the courage to confide in me about how she had been regularly abused and raped by her businessman stepfather since she was 13.  She could not talk to any one, not even her mother,  and at 17 she wanted to expose and perhaps cauterize the pain.

I listened to nearly 2 hours of tears and pain and anger from this gentle, fragile child as she relived all over again her years of agony and trauma.  It was heartbreaking and all the more so because I could not do more to help - I had just about a week to be at hand for her and I was leaving Singapore almost immediately.  I had no choice but to convey the case to the Senior Teacher or Class Tutor, just which one I could not remember.  It seemed a breach of trust on  my part, but she needed urgent professional help.  I looked for her just before I left but she had been recorded as absent for a couple of days.

As a retired teacher, I have had ( and still have ) misgivings and regrets about some of my students whose lives I have touched.  My inability to minister to this tortured child, however,  was my biggest frustration and failing.

Now back to my finale.  In a previous posting I had mentioned  my experience of the the Lord's Prayer every morning during the flag-raising ceremony.  See  http://anaksihamid.blogspot.co.uk/2012/04/x-factor.html  

Other than the 'secular' flag-raising ceremony, it was normal for every school to conduct a weekly Assembly to inform and to publicise various activities in the school's calendar.  In ACJC this took place on Monday mornings and I duly attended.  I cannot remember the precise order of events.  But I recall how all members of Staff stood in a row on the stage behind the Principal.

Then each of us was given a book, and so were all the students in the Hall.  I glanced at it and noted it was a book of Hymns and Prayers.  Such a thing had never happened in all of my previous schools.  I held my breath and waited.  Then the Principal or the College's Chaplain gave a little religious homily.  We were then instructed to turn the page to a particular Hymn.  The Hall was filled with the sound of a Christian choir singing Christian Hymns.  This was a Church Service, there can be no other explanation!!  Those of us who were not pedigree ACSians and non-Christians were taken aback.  I felt we had been ambushed.  Again, no one from the MOE had informed the teachers and new students about this extra duty in this top-drawer Junior College.

I closed the Hymn book and simply stood still.  I glanced at my colleagues left and right.  They were all singing away, including the Malay language teacher who I reckoned  was employed by the College's Board of Governors.  There was Amin, another teacher seconded to the College like me.  We looked at each other.  He was also doing what I was doing.

Well, I attended Assembly the following week just in case it took on a different tone.  It was exactly the same as the previous week.  I did what I had done then and looked straight ahead across the rows of students standing and singing in that vast Hall.  Suddenly, my eyes caught the eyes of an Indian sixth-form student - located almost in the middle of that 'Choir' -  singing and holding the open Hymn book in his hands.  Our eyes locked, almost transfixed in an odd empathy of our plight.  A communion, you might say in Christian parlance.  It was quite 'electric'. as people would describe it in today's electronic language.

The student stopped singing, closed his Hymn book, and like me, he just stood still in attentive respect.

It was uncanny, it was like magic!!  I can feel goosepimples on my arms whenever I recall that spellbinding moment.  Very, very unforgettable.

And so I saw no point in attending Assembly/Services at all.  I decided to stay in the Teachers' Room to do my marking.  I was later called up by the Principal about the date of my departure and also to enquire about my lack of 'participation'  during  Assembly.  He expressed concern about how this would affect discipline in the College.  I simply told him that non-Christian students should not be subjected to Christian rituals especially as most of the new students were from government secular schools.  I further added  that such dispensation should include members of Staff too.  He was glad to see the back of me and the feelings were mutual.

EPILOGUE
The moral is clear and this I emphasise with another little story.

I wore a baju kurung on my first day at ACJC, and for most days I would be garbed in this or the baju kebaya.  In the Common Room, a sweet Chinese lady teacher welcomed me and said,  " You must be our new Malay language teacher."
I told her I wasn't.  I was the new Geography and General Paper teacher.
She looked shocked and uttered, "You're a graduate?"
"From Singapore University, 1967,"  I replied.
She then made a sweet, quick retreat.

It's like that in Singapore.  If, as a Malay, your presence is above the usual  level of gardener, driver, peon, ( or Malay language teacher in the case of ACJC and other secondary schools) it can cause a bit of consternation.  Maybe things have changed now but old habits die hard.  How can Malays be at par with those people who  are inheritors of '3,000 years of culture' ?  (That cultural description of the Chinese was made by Mr LKY )

My late brother Akim was an accounts clerk at NOL ( Neptune Orient Lines) in the 1970s.  He was not only the sole Malay in the Accounts Department but he was also good at his work.

"Hey Akim, you must have Chinese blood in you aah?"  said one of his colleagues who was attempting to pour scorn on Akim's ability to solve an accounting problem that he himself could not.

My sharp-tongued brother retorted,  "You are 100% Chinese, how come you cannot do what I can?"

Just another AnaksiHamid!  We go for the jugular.  We don't take prisoners.

Broken Hip and Abandoned Nests

This April has been the wettest since records began.  Gone are our hopes for a splendid springy R  &  R in Leicester.

So far, 2012 has not been an easy ride for some folks who are close to us, both young and old.  The stress and strain of the 7 weeks' mission to Singapore  had  precipitated  damage to the spouse's one good hip.

Then on  Friday  27 April he had  to take an 11-hour journey by train and ferry to Jersey to see to his dying aunt, Joyce.  Although he was two hours too late, he managed to 'see' her and to help  arrange the details for her funeral.  The return journey took longer as the ferry was delayed by three hours due to bad weather.  Train travel was adversely affected by strike action.  He was supposed to be home by Monday midnight but I had to wait until Tuesday afternoon when I opened the front door to a bedraggled man standing in the pouring rain - with an additional leg - a walking stick donated by Joyce's Rest Home!

The trip to Jersey aggravated the damage and it sealed our worst fears.  Another operation will be in the pipeline , we will have to be back in KL sooner than planned.  Tung Shin Hospital, here we come.

But I have managed to complete bits of my homework here like tidying the backshed, sorting out the paraphernalia in the kitchen, shopping at Animal Rescue Charity Shop, cataloguing my Files and Folders and Cuttings and clearing out the books and clothing to give away to the Charity Shops.  I had cooked 3-star dinners for Jack, Dorothy and Ann and later on for Doug.  Next week we will deliver 15 home-made samosas for Colin and his colleagues at Leicester University Central Photographic Unit for helping us out with an important printing task.  We have re-connected with friends like Yasir and his wife Rafiah, Mr Kadri (our electrician) and his family and with Jagdish my young workmate from CPI days.  The wonky central heating boiler, water heater and telephone land line have all been repaired.  Phew!!

As for Fish and Chips, that will have to wait for better weather.

Time and tide  they say, wait for no man.  But during the interim, they also hurl unwelcomed sticks and stones into our space.  As we have the benefit of being older and wiser (?) we have to put up with what is thrown at us and acknowledge life's uncertainties.  We cannot assume that  last year's birds will be back in the same nest.

Although it is still Spring when .......

All things are new, - the buds, the leaves,
That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest,
And even the nest beneath the eaves;-
There are no birds in last year's nests.  (From  It  is not Always May by H.W. Longfellow)


But Everything ends in songs. according to Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais , 1793-99.



This popular Italian tango Chitarra Romana  or Roman Guitar, composed by Eldo di Lazzaro (1902-1968) has been sung by such well-known singers as Pavarotti,  Placido Domingo and Connie Francis.  But for me the best version is by Carlo Buti, recorded in 1934.

The translated lyrics :

Purple shadows are creeping and the fountain is weeping.
Hear the trees gently sigh while the winds murmur by as they arrive from afar.
All my memories are waking 'neath each watching star
Like the one who's forsaking, oh my Roman Guitar.

This lovely tango takes me to the late 1980s when we were 'merayap-ing' along Arab Street, Singapore.  We found a shop displaying a box full of Malay songs on 10 inch long-playing records.  These were mainly songs from the 1950s and 1960s.  The Chinese shopkeeper was selling them at $2 per album and we bought the entire collection.  Altogether there were three sets of eight albums.

At that time I had a friend from Singapore University days who was working as a senior librarian at UKM.  He was telling us how he had great difficulty in trying to enlarge the University's collection of Malay records.  During one of his 'hunting' trips in Penang, he found one Malay 78 rpm record - dusty and badly marked with scratches.  The shopkeeper wanted MYR10 to part with this one record!  Hussein was over the moon when we gave him, for the Library, one set of those Malay albums.  I often wonder if they are still in the Library.

Here's one of those fabulous albums.

When we showed it to my mother, she informed us that S. Abdullah was quite a popular singer in the 1930s/1940s.  (My mother was born in 1923).

The spouse recognized the tune of S.Abdullah's 'Guitar Melody' and for some time we thought it was similar to Tino Rossi's Guitare d'Amour.      http://anaksihamid.blogspot.co.uk/2012/04/time-traveller.html

After more searching through his memory and the Internet he finally found the sister song, the Italian Chitarra Romana.  That was another successful piece of musical sleuthing.

I hope you will enjoy this beautiful melody from the 1930s/1940s - a meeting of East and West - from when most of us were just twinkles in our fathers' eyes.

Never mind about this year's empty nest, we discovered a beautiful bird-song from the nests of a misty long, long ago.

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 .......