When life gives you a hundred reasons to cry, show life that you have a thousand reasons to smile.
– Stephenie Meyer, American novelist
There was joy during last Gawai, especially after a two-year hiatus. And sadness too – my relatives in Munggu Embawang, Saratok, my late dad’s birthplace, were still mourning the demise of my first cousin Patrick Aman Nyireng who passed on just weeks before the festival.
His passing was due to an illness and not related to COVID-19 even though the funerary arrangement was under the close scrutiny of the authorities. I was not able to attend due to some constraints.
Aman and I were very close and were classmates for six years (primary school) but were in different classes in Saratok Secondary School. Just older by a year or two, than me, he join the Sarawak Rangers (Eighth Rangers) after finishing Form Three. By the time he was posted to Suvla Line Camp in Tambun, Perak he was already promoted as corporal. There he was the clerk-in-charge of Eighth Rangers) and was not part of the jungle combat.
I have fond memories of visiting him and family at the camp in 1976 and 1977. My first trip in 1976 was joined by a distant cousin Jonathan Bedindang Ensu, who is now practising law in Miri. Then I was in second year (Humanities with Education) at Universiti Sains Malaysia, Minden campus, Penang while Bedindang was in first year (Social Science).
There was a bit of hilarity when recalling our entrance at the camp. Upon our arrival there in a taxi from George Town, we needed to register our entry with the men on duty at the guard house. One was certainly an Iban as his throat tattoo was easily visible. And I also noticed his nametag was Kuyah, a typical Iban name.
So, he was Corporal Kuyah as he was wearing two stripes on his arm. I started the conversation by asking some questions in Iban. Of course he obviously understood but he answered back in Bahasa Malaysia. My initial questions in Iban were answered in BM. He was obviously taken aback when I started speaking in BM using the Penang dialect also known as ‘loghat utara’ or northern accent (spoken in Perlis, Kedah and Penang).
We were then escorted by another guy who walked with us over a short distance to the barrack. Aman’s wife Ukie, who is also my distant cousin, was very happy to see us. That evening, a good number of visitors among his colleagues were eager to greet us and one of them was Kuyah – I later reunited with him when playing cards at Rumah Dayak in Kuching circa 1986 (he died a few years later).
The evening was a mini celebration of sorts as alcoholic drinks – that came cheap for the Malaysian army – were flowing endlessly.
Kuyah said: “Sorry for answering you in BM just now. It’s the service policy we have to comply with. Whaa…your Penang dialect is impressive. No one would know that you are an Iban.” We became friends immediately.
I can’t remember the names of the others but I can recall one of them was WO 1 Beliang Bali, the most decorated warrior of Eighth Rangers as he was just awarded the PGB (Panglima Gagah Berani or Star of the Commander of Valour), the second highest gallantry award. Another was Sergeant Ambau from Simanggang. By the good number of guests, it showed Aman was a popular and likeable character.
During my second trip a year later, I was alone, making sure that I came on time – wives of army personnel receive allowance twice monthly and Ukie was a generous cousin. It was a semester break for USM undergraduates. On the second day I joined their fishing trip to Ulu Kinta, a popular spot.
Coming in two cars, we were led by Sgt Ambau. A few were bringing the jala (a fishing net). Our vehicles were parked at a spot but we needed to pay a 20 sen fee. Two Orang Asli kids (including a girl whose swelling bosoms were uncovered) eagerly received the fee. We had a good catch.
That evening I joined Aman, Ambau, Beliang, Kuyah and two or three others for an outing to a Tambun open air eatery. We really enjoyed toddy drink at the place (it is a sweet, mildly alcoholic juice extracted from various palms, including coconut palm trees). One jug of toddy then cost RM1.50. Not only was it cheap but it was really very nice too.
All these rendezvouses at Tambun and Ulu Kinta were courtesy of my late cousin Aman. After retiring from the army he worked as a security officer in Bintulu. He left behind his wife and children, including a teacher son who is a varsity graduate.
May his soul rest in everlasting peace.
