‘Sadin pusu’- any canned food is a ‘sadin’ of any kind for ethnic Iban longhouse folks – is no longer as tasty as it was in the 60s.
When the ‘Sambal ikan bilis (anchovies)’ first arrived at a tuckshop by the river bank at our old Kedap longhouse, it cost about one ringgit for the small can. I can recall there were few times five of us students from Nanga Assam Primary School upriver at the confluence of the Assam River about 30 minutes on foot from Kedap putting in 20 sen each to buy one can from Ah Chik, the tuckshop operator, whose wife was an Iban. We would bring our own share of rice from the boarding school and took the rice with our share of ‘sadin pusu’ that was the considered our tastiest meal for the week.
Sometimes they were six of us sharing with the sixth person eating for free in lieu of going to the shop to purchase the item on our behalf. The rest of us were waiting about 800 metres from the shop in the woods, thereby saving our energy to walk the extra mile. There were a few regular trips for the purpose of getting the tasty ‘sadin pusu’ or other ‘sadins’ including ‘sadin kaya’ that we used as spread on cream crackers – a loaf of luxurious bread was a rare sight up the Melupa River where Kedap was and still is the first settlement going into the Melupa and the final stop of the pomp-pomp motor launch but shallow up to the knee off the tiding hours. And now that the longboats manned by the likes of Mercury, Johnson and Evinrude engines have long deserted the Melupa, the river kings are aplenty and once even going up on land but failed to prey on my relative who was in the midst of enjoying barbequed chicken wings with my two brothers an two others by the Kedap waterfront.
Once Ah Chik had too much of the local brew ‘chap langkau’ with an uncle of mine, I happened to run errand to buy a few canned stuff from his tuckshop at around 7.30pm.
He said: “Tidak dagang, suka hati ambik (no sale; up to you to take).”
Stubborn and naughty as well as hungry too, I just took three items comprising ‘sadin manuk kari’ (curry chicken from China), ‘sadin sapi’ (Great Wall corned beef – 150 per cent nicer than its present counterpart) and a ‘sadin ikan’ (Sardine China made) which, if put together were to cost around RM3. But because of ‘tidak dagang’ I left without paying returning Ah Chik the same courtesy. So when I brought the three items and giving back my father Salok – whose eyes looked green when he was in the mood to ‘kill’ you (but later failed to intimidate me) – he wanted an explanation why I did not pay for the three canned items. He just laughed it off and said he would go and pay the next day when Ah Chik became sober. There was no proof of him honouring his promise for it was said in front of family members only.
I noticed at other times, some canned food for sale must have exceeded far their expiry dates but then longhouse folks knew nothing about this fact and did not care. One could see the rusty edges and other ‘aging’ signs on those canned stuff. After all, most families could not afford tinned stuff and had little need for them as fish, prawns, birds, wild animals were aplenty during those years. Most families reared chickens too – at our farm house upriver above Nanga Assam, we usually had around 200 chicken of all sizes roaming around a fenced area of about 30 acres. But the tasty canned stuff in those years was a shortcut to enjoying a tastier meal, provided on could afford it.
All throughout our varsity days, canned food served as the time saviour when cooking was not allowed in the hostel. Even when we stayed outside campus, a meal comprising one packet of Maggie mee plus a small ‘sadin ikan’ (Sardine in tomato sauce) was sufficient for a hungry undergraduate bent on beating the dateline for assignments.
Upon graduation in 1979 with a waist size of 27” and a week later increased to 29”, and becoming 32 inches in three months, I told myself to take it easy on canned food. My cupboard was full of tinned stuff, especially those of four-legged items to satisfy my crave for them all those growing up and schooling years. After four months if overfeeding with tinned items, I put an abrupt stop and spent some money cutting new pants for sizes 32” and 33”. Since 1983 my waste size has fluctuated between 32” and 35”. Now it is a cool 33. I still can use pants I made or purchased 30 years provided they are still in good condition. And they certainly are though they have seen better days. Durban, Levis, Camel, Crocodile, Lee, Alain Delon, Elba, Valentino, and a few others won’t let you down.
Once in 1982 while accompanying a bus full of teacher trainees to Kabong’s Tanjung Kembang Beach we brought a lot of bread loaves and Great Wall ‘sadin sapi’ (halal corned beef). Just for the fun, a male trainee suggested we have a bread and ‘sadin sapi’ eating contest. About ten or so took part, including two Iban female trainees. One of them won as I refused to be counted as a participant for being the only lecturer around though I easily finished taking the whole loaf of bread and one can of ‘sadin sapi’ much earlier than her, thanks to my ‘private training in the confine of my home’.
Married life sees some shift from the cans but they are still a very much part of us, especially when one’s wife is from the same species of cans’ dependence. We usually have a good stock of them and readily open one or two whenever necessary.
As a psuedo bachelor in the sultanate for nearly a decade the cans’ dependence took centre stage again. My flat mate, also a pseudo bachelor from Manila, also followed suit. We had a good time enjoying the tinned stuff there especially with wide choice of the stuff to cater for the international community in Bandar Seri Begawan.
Now almost two decades later, the cans are always around to satisfy our needs. If my children prefer the likes of ‘sadin manuk kari’ (curry chicken), I go for ‘sadin sapi’ from Brazil as the Great Wall ones don’t taste like they use to be. Of course one can of ‘sadin ikan’ ‘Ayam Brand’ is always in my office bag to go any time with Maggie Mee.
