Gambaran Hari Qiamat

Buat renungan bersama.

Rujukan: Kitab "Aqidatun Najin" karangan Syeikh Zainal Abidin Muhammad Al-Fathani (Pustaka Nasional Singapura 2004).

Gambaran Hari Qiamat

Selepas Malaikat Israfil meniup sangkakala (bentuknya seperti tanduk besar) yang memekakkan telinga, seluruh makhluk mati kecuali Izrail dan beberapa malaikat yang lain. Selepas itu, Izrail pun mencabut nyawa malaikat-malaikat yang tinggal dan akhirnya nyawanya sendiri.

Selepas semua makhluk mati, Tuhan pun berfirman, mafhumnya: "Kepunyaan siapakah kerajaan hari ini?" Tiada sesiapa yang menjawab, lalu Dia sendiri yang menjawab dengan keagunganNya: "Kepunyaan Allah Yang Maha Esa lagi Maha Perkasa." Ini menunjukkan kebesaran dan keagunganNya sebagai Tuhan yang Maha Kuasa lagi Maha Kekal Hidup, tidak mati.

Selepas 40 tahun, Malaikat Israfil a.s. dihidupkan, seterusnya meniup sangkakala untuk kali kedua, lantas seluruh makhluk hidup semula di atas bumi putih, berupa padang Mahsyar (umpama padang Arafah) yang rata tidak berbukit atau bulat seperti bumi.

Sekelian manusia hidup melalui benih anak Adam yg disebut Ajbuz Zanbi yang berada di hujung tulang belakang mereka. Hiduplah manusia umpama anak pokok yang kembang membesar dari biji benih.

Semua manusia dan jin dibangkitkan dalam keadaan telanjang dan hina. Mereka tidak rasa malu kerana pada ketika itu hati mereka sangat takut dan bimbang tentang nasib dan masa depan yang akan mereka hadapi kelak.

Lalu datanglah api yang berterbangan dengan bunyi seperti guruh yang menghalau manusia, jin dan binatang ke tempat perhimpunan besar.

Bergeraklah mereka menggunakan tunggangan (bagi yang banyak amal), berjalan kaki (bagi yang kurang amalan) dan berjalan dengan muka (bagi yang banyak dosa). Ketika itu, ibu akan lupakan anak, suami akan lupakan isteri, setiap manusia sibuk memikirkan nasib mereka.

Setelah semua makhluk dikumpulkan, matahari dan bulan dihapuskan cahayanya, lalu mereka tinggal dalam kegelapan tanpa cahaya. Berlakulah huru-hara yang amat dahsyat.

Tiba-tiba langit yang tebal pecah dengan bunyi yang dahsyat, lalu turunlah malaikat sambil bertasbih kepada Allah SWT. Seluruh makhluk terkejut melihat saiz malaikat yang besar dan suara mereka yang menakutkan.

Kemudian matahari muncul semula dengan kepanasan yang berganda, hingga dirasakan seakan-akan matahari berada sejengkal dari atas kepala mereka.

Ulama berkata jika matahari naik di bumi seperti keadaannya naik di hari Kiamat nescaya seluruh bumi terbakar, bukit-bukau hancur dan sungai menjadi kering.

Lalu mereka rasai kepanasan dan bermandikan peluh sehingga peluh mereka menjadi lautan. Timbul atau tenggelam mereka bergantung pada amalan masing-masing. Keadaan mereka berlanjutan sehingga 1000 tahun.

Terdapat satu telaga kepunyaan Nabi Muhammad SAW bernama Al-Kausar yang mengandungi air yang hanya dapat diminum oleh orang mukmin sahaja. Orang bukan mukmin akan dihalau oleh malaikat yang menjaganya. Jika diminum airnya tidak akan haus selama-lamanya.

Kolam ini berbentuk segi empat tepat sebesar satu bulan perjalanan. Bau air kolam ini lebih harum dari kasturi, warnanya lebih putih dari susu dan rasanya lebih sejuk dari embun. Ia mempunyai saluran yang mengalir dari syurga.

Semua makhluk berada bawah cahaya matahari yang terik kecuali 7 golongan yang mendapat teduhan dari Arasy. Mereka ialah:

1. Pemimpin yang adil.

2. Orang muda yang taat kepada perintah Allah.

3. Lelaki yang terikat hatinya dengan masjid.

4. Dua orang yang bertemu kerana Allah dan berpisah kerana Allah.

5. Lelaki yang diajak oleh wanita berzina, tetapi dia menolak dengan berkata "Aku takut pada Allah".

6. Lelaki yg bersedekah dengan bersembunyi (tidak diketahui orang ramai).

7. Lelaki yang suka bersendirian mengingati Allah lalu mengalir air matanya kerana takutkan Allah.

Oleh kerana tersangat lama menunggu di padang Mahsyar, semua manusia tidak tahu berbuat apa melainkan mereka yang beriman, kemudian mereka terdengar suara "Pergilah berjumpa dengan para Nabi". Maka mereka pun pergi mencari para Nabi.

Pertama sekali kumpulan manusia ini berjumpa dengan Nabi Adam tetapi usaha mereka gagal kerana Nabi Adam a.s menyatakan beliau juga ada melakukan kesalahan dengan Allah SWT.

Maka kumpulan besar itu kemudiannya berjumpa Nabi Nuh a.s., Nabi Ibrahim a.s., Nabi Musa a.s., Nabi Isa a.s. (semuanya memberikan sebab seperti Nabi Adam a.s.) dan akhirnya mereka berjumpa Rasullullah SAW. Jarak masa antara satu nabi dengan yang lain adalah 1000 tahun perjalanan.

Lalu berdoalah baginda Nabi Muhammad SAW ke hadrat Allah SWT. Lalu diperkenankan doa baginda. Selepas itu, terdengar bunyi pukulan gendang yang kuat hingga menakutkan hati semua makhluk kerana mereka sangka azab akan turun.

Lalu terbelah langit, turunlah arasy Tuhan yang dipikul oleh 8 orang malaikat yang sangat besar (besarnya sejarak perjalanan 20 ribu tahun) sambil bertasbih dengan suara yang amat kuat sehingga Arasy itu tiba dibumi.

Arasy ialah jisim nurani yang amat besar berbentuk kubah yang mempunyai 4 batang tiang yang sentiasa dipikul oleh 4 orang malaikat yang besar dan gagah.

Dalam bahasa mudah ia seumpama istana yang mempunyai seribu bilik yang menempatkan jutaan malaikat di dalamnya. Ia dilingkungi embun yang menghijab cahayanya yang sangat kuat.

Kursi iaitu jisim nurani yang terletak di hadapan Arasy yang dipikul oleh 4 orang malaikat yang sangat besar. Saiz kursi lebih kecil dari 'Arasy umpama cincin ditengah padang. Dalam bahasa mudah ia umpama singgahsana yang terletak dihadapan istana.

Seluruh makhluk pun menundukkan kepala kerana takut. Lalu dimulakan timbangan amal. Ketika itu berterbanganlah kitab amalan masing-masing turun dari bawah Arasy menuju ke leher pemiliknya tanpa silap dan tergantunglah ia sehingga mereka dipanggil untuk dihisab. Kitab amalan ini telah ditulis oleh malaikat Hafazhah/Raqib dan 'Atid/Kiraman Katibin.

Manusia beratur dalam saf mengikut Nabi dan pemimpin masing- masing. Orang kafir dan munafik beratur bersama pemimpin mereka yang zalim. Setiap pengikut ada tanda mereka tersendiri untuk dibezakan.

Umat yang pertama kali dihisab adalah umat Nabi Muhammad SAW, dan amalan yang pertama kali dihisab adalah solat. Sedangkan hukum yang pertama kali diputuskan adalah perkara pertumpahan darah.

Apabila tiba giliran seseorang hendak dihisab amalannya, malaikat akan mencabut kitab mereka lalu diserahkan, lalu pemiliknya mengambil dengan tangan kanan bagi orang mukmin dan dengan tangan kiri jika orang bukan mukmin.

Semua makhluk akan dihisab amalan mereka menggunakan satu Neraca Timbangan. Saiznya amat besar, mempunyai satu tiang yang mempunyai lidah dan 2 daun. Daun yang bercahaya untuk menimbang pahala dan yang gelap untuk menimbang dosa.

Acara ini disaksikan oleh Nabi Muhammad SAW dan para imam 4 mazhab untuk menyaksikan pengikut masing-masing dihisab. Perkara pertama yang diminta ialah Islam. Jika dia bukan Islam, maka seluruh amalan baiknya tidak ditimbang bahkan amalan buruk tetap akan ditimbang.

Ketika dihisab, mulut manusia akan dipateri, tangan akan berkata-kata, kaki akan menjadi saksi. Tiada dolak-dalih dan hujah tipuan. Semua akan di adili oleh Allah Ta'ala dengan Maha Bijaksana.

Setelah amalan ditimbang, mahkamah Mahsyar dibuka kepada orang ramai untuk menuntut hak masing-masing dari makhluk yang sedang dibicara sehinggalah seluruh makhluk berpuas hati dan dibenarkannya menyeberangi titian sirat.

Syafaat Nabi Muhammad SAW di akhirat :

1. Meringankan penderitaan makhluk di Padang Mahsyar dengan mempercepatkan hisab.

2. Memasukkan manusia ke dalam syurga tanpa hisab.

3. Mengeluarkan manusia yang mempunyai iman sebesar zarah dari neraka. (Semua syafaat ini tertakluk kepada keizinan Allah SWT).

Para nabi dan rasul serta golongan khawas juga diberikan izin oleh Tuhan untuk memberi syafaat kepada para pengikut mereka. Mereka ini berjumlah 70,000. Setiap seorang dari mereka akan mensyafaatkan 70,000 orang yang lain.

Setelah berjaya dihisab, manusia akan mula berjalan menuju syurga melintasi jambatan sirat. Siratul Mustaqim ialah jambatan (titian) yang terbentang dibawahnya neraka.

Lebar jambatan ini adalah seperti sehelai rambut yang dibelah tujuh dan ia lebih tajam dari mata pedang. Bagi orang mukmin ia akan dilebarkan dan dimudahkan menyeberanginya.

Fudhail bin Iyadh berkata perjalanan di Sirat memakan masa 15,000 tahun; 5000 tahun menaik, 5000 tahun mendatar dan 5000 tahun menurun.

Ada makhluk yang melintasinya seperti kilat, seperti angin, menunggang binatang korban dan berjalan kaki. Ada yang tidak dapat melepasinya disebabkan api neraka sentiasa menarik kaki mereka, lalu mereka jatuh ke dalamnya.

Para malaikat berdiri di kanan dan kiri sirat mengawasi setiap makhluk yang lalu. Setiap 1000 orang yang meniti sirat, hanya seorang sahaja yang berjaya melepasinya. 999 orang akan terjatuh ke dalam neraka.

Jika sekiranya kalian ingin mengumpul saham akhirat, sampaikanlah ilmu ini kepada sahabat2 yang lain. Sepertimana sabda Rasulullah SAW:

"Sampaikanlah pesananku walaupun satu ayat."

Sesungguhnya apabila matinya seseorang anak Adam itu, hanya 3 perkara yang akan dibawanya bersama :

1. Sedekah/amal jariahnya.

2. Doa anak2nya yang soleh.

3. Ilmu yang bermanfaat yang disampaikannya kepada orang lain.

1Malaysia Hulabaloo.. Part II

Meh sini tengok kisah sebenar pengharaman 1Malaysia. Tak ubah macam sandiwara radio zaman '60an, lengkap dengan de facto MB lagi. Kesian Ronnie Liu terpaksa telan bila dikambinghitamkan.... :D

http://www.selangordaily.com/?p=830#more-830

1Malaysia

Logo 1Malaysia terbentuk dari nombor satu dan berlatarbelakangkan bendera Malaysia. Logo tersebut melambangkan visi negara iaitu untuk mewujudkan satu masyarakat yang berpadu dan mempunyai semangat cintakan negara berpandukan Perlembagaan Negara dan Rukun Negara.

Ia juga mencerminkan rakyat Malaysia yang saling bekerjasama, bermuafakat, berdikari, berfikir dan menghayati satu visi untuk membina satu Negara Bangsa.



Ni dia, lambang yang buat Ronnie Liu & Co. 'panaih pungkoq' dan meroyan sampai keluar perintah 'gam' di Selangor, antara contoh terbaik ungkapan freedom of expression yang dijaja shamelessly tetapi tidak dipraktikkan, di samping selective media banning. Kes cakap tak serupa bikin, as always..

Bridge Over Untroubled Waters...

The first Thai-Lao Friendship Bridge, built in 1994, connecting Vientiane with Nong Khai in northeast Thailand. It's the first bridge to span the lower Mekong between Thailand and Laos.


Traffic on the bridge drives on the left, as in Thailand, while traffic in Laos drives on the right. This is the changeover at the Laotian end, just before the border post.

With journalist Alina Simon (right) in front of Patuxai Monument in central Vientiane, built to honour those who fought for independence from the French. The design took a leaf from Champ Elysee, Paris.

A bazaar selling silks, woven textiles and other traditional crafts.

That's our guide posing with the Laotian version of the tuktuk.

An American Buddhist monk stopped by our table to say hello as we were waiting for lunch at a restaurant in the city centre. We exchanged pleasantries; unfortunately, I can't recall much details about him.

Homeward bound on a motorised sampan, all ready to cross the mighty Mekong back to the Thai side.

Bridge Over Untroubled Waters...

Its ancient name was Sisattanak, which is Pali (i.e. liturgical language of Theravada Buddhism) for "the royal sandalwood grove" or "the city of sandalwood"; sandalwood being the very expensive and highly prized fragrance used in Buddhist and Hindu religious rituals.

The locals commonly refer to it by its Laotian appellation Viangchan (or Wengjan), as do the Thais, its closest neighbours.

To the rest of the world however, it is known as Vientiane, no thanks to its one-time colonial masters, the French, who conveniently romanised the spelling and pronunciation to suit their unyielding European tongue.

The very mention of Vientiane conjures a vision of stark contrasts; wats and stupas, boulevards and sidewalk cafes, shrines and monuments, and working elephants clearing up debris in the heart of the city.

For two decades until the mid '70s, Laos, in particular its capital, Vientiane, saw regular skirmishes between the ruling Royal Lao Government and the communist-inclined Pathet Lao insurgents, in what was generally known as the Laotian Civil War.

In 1975, Pathet Lao troops seized Vientiane, thus ending the protracted war and in the process, drove out the monarchy. Peace has since returned, and along with it economic and structural development, and world recognition.

This charming city nestling on a bend of the mighty Mekong first appeared on my radar in 1996, at the tail end of my four years of service with the Tourism Authority of Thailand (TAT).

My consultancy had handled the PR needs of TAT's Malaysian Office from 1991, until it decided to hire a fulltime public relations officer to cope with ever increasing communications and media functions.

[My consulting partner and former press colleague, a Malaysian of Thai origin from Kelantan, was offered the coveted post; it has been 15 years since and Khun Somboon is still there today, loyally and ably helming the PR department].

Working with TAT had given me an invaluable insight of dealing with the Thais. Their English may be sorely wanting (more so in the Provinces), but they were undeniably a bunch of courteous, good-natured people whose hospitality was as genuine as their smile.

Over the years during our stint with TAT, my consulting partner and I would take turns to lead Malaysian journalists to visit every nook and cranny of Thailand, covering tourist spots, festivals, celebrations and related events and places.

Because of this, I found it necessary to learn Thai, however rudimentary, to facilitate communication, particularly with TAT officers in far-flung provinces, to whom mastering even basic English was an uphill task.

And it was during one of these jaunts that we were given the opportunity of hopping over to Vientiane, albeit only for a day-long visit.

June 1996 saw me leading a group of women journalists to partake Phi Ta Khon, Thailand’s famous “Ghost Festival” (and a religious, merit-making celebration too) held annually in the region of Loei some 520 kilometres northeast of Bangkok.

Because our extensive itinerary included many stopovers, we took the overland route instead of the more convenient domestic flight. It was one of the best decisions ever; the journey was well worth it.

It was a spectacular drive from the flat plains of Bangkok to the mountainous north, taking in the beautiful countryside and spending nights in hotels and guesthouses, both luxurious and plain, along the way.

I vividly recall an unforgettable two-night stay in a nature resort built on the Nan River not far from Phitsanulok, a quaint little town surrounded by temples and rice fields.

Imagine being lulled to sleep by the sounds of gentle flowing waters underneath your chalet, and waking up to a crisp chill in the misty morning air, birds chirping on the far banks, and schools of fish swimming beneath your feet.

There were visits to numerous tourist spots enroute to Loei, the memorable ones being to the old kingdom of Sukothai (450 kilometres from Bangkok), and the three-hour climb up Phu Kradueng (Mount Kradueng) to its plateau top of savannah vegetation.

Our last destination in northern Thailand was the bustling border town of Nong Khai, the country's overland gateway to Vientiane.

Our mission; to travel across the newly completed Thai-Lao Friendship Bridge and spend a full day trampling around picturesque Vientiane, returning to Nong Khai in a motorised sampan across the Mekong, the time-honoured way of travel before the bridge existed.

Better known as Mittaphap Bridge by the locals, the 1,240-metre two-lane bridge, with pedestrian footpaths on each side and a railway line down the middle, connects Nong Khai with Tha Nalaeng on the outskirts of Vientiane 25 kilometres away.

It was the first bridge spanning the lower Mekong to connect the two neighbours, built by Laotian and Thai expertise with US$30 million funding from the Australian Government.

Vientiane was as charming and unpretentious as could be, a place where French colonial architecture existed alongside gilded temples, and where baguettes and french loaves could be purchased next to a stall selling noodles.

Unfortunately for our group, it was a whirlwind tour of the inner city due to time constraint. Still, we managed to take in a few 'must-see' attractions, before wrapping up the visit with some hurried shopping at a well-known bazaar chock-a-block with traditional items.

Fleeting as the visit was, I have never quite forgotten the exquisite beauty of Laos. I have long harboured plans to return, to explore its former capital Luang Prabang (founded in AD 698) and the intriguing Plain of Jars. Perhaps one day soon I will. Insyaallah.

Rezeki

It has been almost a year since this old self sengkang mata (stay up late) to do real PR work, the kind that brings in the dough.

(Propping the eyes with matchsticks just to finish a syiok sendiri [self-indulgent] blog piece that doesn't earn me sekepeng habuk [a single penny] doesn't count..)

I have been out of the PR consulting loop since the beginning of 2010. It was by choice; guess I was just mentally tired and emotionally drained by the antics of some clients to whom gentleman's agreement and my word is my honour were mere lip service.

To sum it up, 2010 has been a pretty good year workwise, simply because there wasn't any. As such, there was no stress, pressure or heartache, and no bickering with clients about payment (they never seemed to have any other issues to argue about besides payment).

Whilst I wasn't generating any personal income, the family and I have had ample opportunities to spend time together, which to me was a worthy trade-off.

Be it trampling in knee-deep snow on China's Great Wall or journeying to the Holy Land in search of inner peace and tranquility, they were precious 'we' times indeed.

I never thought I would see another piece of work so close to year-end but I did, thank be to Allah swt for His generosity.

Funny how rezeki presented itself sometimes, appearing when we least expected it. Be that as it may, Syukur Alhamdulillah.

On Monday, a stack of documents from a public listed company landed on my lap, demanding immediate copywriting attention.

Twenty-four hours were all I had to digest the information within and to come up with two articles (including editing three other sidebars), all slated for media publication tomorrow (Thursday).

The copywriter for whom the job was originally intended was unable to handle it for some reasons; that was how it ended up here, on my dining table.

I could have said 'no' but couldn't resist the challenge somehow. Also, I didn't want to let a good friend down. He needed help and I knew I could be of assistance if I put my mind to it.

Then again, maybe it was because I wasn't averse to living on the edge, I don't know. For sure I liked the rush of adrenaline...

And so it was; Monday was spent in a frenzy trying to comprehend the subject, something I had zero knowledge of; it sent me scouring the Internet for pointers.

Thankfully, it wasn't as intimidating as it had initially looked, and by the early hours of Tuesday (3 am to be exact), one article was completed. After that first effort, the subsequent ones were a lot easier to tackle.

I learned this a long time ago; it all boils down to comprehension. Once you understand the subject matter, everything else will fall into place.

By noon on the same day, the second article found its way into client's hand. The sidebars followed and by dinner time I was back on an even keel.

After enjoying banana leaf rice with Pak Abu at Paandi's in Taman Tun, I zonked out completely, well before the clock struck 12, a rarity under normal circumstances.

This morning I was told everything was accepted in toto. What bliss! Now, if you see me smiling from ear to ear the whole of Wednesday, you'd know why..:D

PS:

For agencies out there - this is not an admission that I like last-minute jobs, ok. I'd do it only for a good reason, and in this instance, helping out a friend is a good enough reason to accept the job.

And dear good friend - please don't make this a habit, ok. Aku dah tua tau.. nanti tumbang aku tak cukup tidor.. hehehe..

Frankfurt On My Mind

In the Arabella Hotel lobby, lounging with members of the Malaysian press.

Nice sunny day by the River Rhine...

A 900 year-old monastery that has fallen into disuse, in the grounds of Petersburg Hotel. Hotel staff said sometimes one could see shadows of long-dead priests lurking around here...!

A stunning view of the River Rhine and its surrounds from my hotel window up on the hill.

Petersburg Hotel. To reach here was quite a climb, by car, that is. On foot it would probably tire you halfway. Hotel legend wrote of a former president of a foreign country who, whilst staying at the hotel, went for a spin in a renowned German marque, and subsequently crashed the car at the foot of this steep hill whilst under the influence of alcohol. Thankfully for all, he wasn't in the least injured, just shaken (as were his secret service men...!)

Frankfurt Children's Museum, unofficially called the "Toy Museum". Our German hosts entertained the foreign journalists to lunch on the grounds of this museum (see the tents on the left).

Opel started business by making, among others, sewing machines...

One of the earliest Opel models... this one rolled out in 1899.

Also another early product of Opel, the tandem cycle (and penny-farthings too).

Yours truly trying out an electric bicycle on the grounds of the Toy Museum. I really fell in love with that bicycle; rode it in a nearby park with a song in my heart. Truly. One would have to fork out some RM3,500 to buy it (in Germany) at the time, and have it shipped back to Malaysia, at extra cost. I was seriously contemplating the option, before reality sunk in, that in Malaysia I would would not have been be able to ride a bicycle (electric or otherwise) in comfort due to the heat and dust and inconsiderate motorists...

New friends.. the press corp from Indonesia..

Frankfurt On My Mind

More than a quarter million visitors (321,958 to be exact) over a period of 10 days. That translates into some 32,100 visitors daily. Not bad. Not bad at all.

An impressive event with participation by big names from all over the world, and with a record attendance too, earning it another mention in the Malaysian Guinness Book of Records.

I'm talking about the recently-concluded Kuala Lumpur International Motor Show (KLIMS) 2010, held at the Putra World Trade Centre from December 3-12.

As it were, this triennial event was a year late; it was supposed to have been held last year, after 2000, 2003 and 2006, but unforeseen circumstances had pushed it into 2010.

No, I wasn’t there in person. All the wild horses in the world could not drag me to join the madding crowd thronging PWTC just to ogle at those sleek, gleaming marques.

I have had my share of excitement in the automotive industry. In my case, the baton had been passed on to younger professionals years ago, to people with a lot more enthusiasm at the mere mention of 'drag-coefficient' and 'double overhead cam' than I ever did.

For five years from 1992 I was knee-deep in auto jargon, consulting for an automotive company. As I was expected to keep abreast of new products, innovations and technologies in the industry, I had no choice but to learn about cars.

That was the time when I was handling the public relations needs of General Motors (Asia-Pacific Office). The Opel brand, to be specific. The year was 1992 and Opel had just returned to Malaysia after a 12-year hiatus.

Those were the heady days when Opel introduced various models in quick succession - the sedan Vectra, the sporty, compact Astra, the four-wheeled drive Frontera, the family sedan Omega, the coupe Calibra, the multi-purpose vehicle Zafira - and the locals were lapping it up like never before.

Frontera ranked as the first CBU (completely built-up i.e. fully imported) four-wheeled drive marketed below RM100,000 in Malaysia. It was a runaway success, with a nine-month waiting list.

Although the Opel euphoria didn't last very long - numerous AP-related issues limited the number of units that could be imported at any one time, thus prolonging the 'wait-time' and eventually putting potential customers off - it was good while it lasted.

The highlight of my work with GM was undoubtedly the week-long trip to Frankfurt International Auto Show in the spring of 1995.

Opel was to unveil its new edition, the Vectra, at the Show and had invited some 250 motoring writers from all over the world to witness the launch and test-drive the new model.

As GM's public relations and media frontliner, I was asked to identify and accompany three local motoring writers to the launch. The three selected were from New Straits Times, Sin Chew and Berita Harian.

Frankfurt was absolutely beautiful in spring; flowers were in full bloom everywhere you looked, there were ducks in the ponds, children in the parks and cruises aplenty on the Rhine. People were out in droves, enjoying the crisp spring air after months of freezing cold winter.

I chalked up a couple of 'firsts' on that trip; first visit to Germany, first flight with Lufthansa among them. And that first drive on the autobahn, speeding fast and furious, was simply exhilarating.

I remember the Berita Harian reporter whingeing about driving on the autobahn. "Puteri, aku tak biasa drive belah kanan la. Kena bawak laju pulak tu. Macam mana nak buat ni?" [Puteri, I'm not familiar with driving on the right. And fast too. What am I going to do....?]

The journalists were initially housed in Petersburg, a boutique hotel overlooking the Rhine, for the first two days, after which they were transferred en masse to Arabella in the heart of the city to be closer to the Auto Show's exhibition venue.

One of the highlights of our Frankfurt sojourn was a tour of Adam Opel AG's sprawling manufacturing complex in Russelsheim, Hesse. It was a real privilege to be able to see for oneself vehicles rolling off the assembly lines of one of the world's most established German auto makers.

Other treats during the week-long stay included visits to several famous tourist spots in the Hesse region; among them the imposing Niederwald Monument, constructed in 1871 to commemorate the foundation of the German Empire.

Niederwald, on a broad hill, could be reached on foot but we took a seilbahn (cable car) ride over Rudesheim's vineyards, transversing pockets of forest of oaks and beeches. Needless to say, the view was breathtaking.

This part of Rudesheim was pretty quaint, with narrow cobbled streets and wending ways. Our Frankfurt getaway culminated in a spectacular half-day cruise along the Rhine, taking in the ancient castles on both sides of the banks.

I have not been to Frankfurt nor Germany, although I have toured other parts of Europe, since that memorable spring trip. It would be a dream realised to head that way once again.

Of Frankfurt I remember the River Rhine most of all; such spectacular sights, of ancient ruins and vineyards and meadows and quaint little towns, and of the river siren Lorelei, whose voice bewitched sailors, crashing their ships against the treacherous rocks...

Who's He?

He appeared out of nowhere, framed by the half-closed door leading to the lift lobby on the lower ground floor where our parking bay was, and he vanished just as fast.

A youngish man probably in his 20s, he was clad in a dark blue t-shirt and equally dark pants, and was clutching what looked like file or a book with a black cover. He had his back to us, thus I couldn 't see his face.

The time was just past 11pm and the day, Saturday last; we had just parked our car upon arriving home from dinner at the Club in celebration of Nawwar's and Naj's birthdays.

The distance between the parking bay and the lift lobby was so near, perhaps a one-minute stroll, and we were walking towards it when I caught sight of him framed by the door.

I had expected him to still be waiting for a lift, or to have gotten into one of the two carriages, when we got to the lift entrance.

But he was nowhere to be seen, both lifts were still stationary, the heavy fire-resistant lobby doors were closed and not a soul was around.

Me: "Eh? Where's the guy?"
Pak Abu: "What guy?"
Me: "The young man in blue in front of us just now."
Pak Abu: "There was no one in front of us."
Me: "Haa... are you sure??"
Pak Abu: "Absolutely."

It was as though the man had disappeared into the walls of the lift lobby! That really gave me the heebie-jeebies, especially since it happened on the heels of an unnerving episode just 30 minutes earlier.

I was sitting pretty in the karaoke lounge at the Club, waiting for my turn to sing, when a male voice suddenly whispered into my ears. I couldn't make out the words.

I turned to the right, to where the voice had come from, thinking it was one of our karaoke 'kakis'. There was nobody. In fact I was sitting at the far end and everybody else was on my left.

As I turned my face, from the corner of my eye I saw a flash of black crawling on the floor across the door. But when I peered, it was gone. Sufficiently spooked, I decided it was time to go home.

Pak Abu was philosophical about it. "Must be your extra sense acting up again. Been a while isn't it since you feel and see 'things', right?"

Yup, ever since we returned from the Hajj two years ago, life had been quite peaceful; no visions, no dreams or nightmares, no acute feelings of the extra-sensory kind, nothing. So please, please don't start ....


PS:
Just so people do not misunderstand me, I do not "bela" anything nor have anything to do with this "saka-saka" residue, whatever they are. I see and feel things sometimes, that's about it.

I fully believe there are 'others' inhabiting this world of ours - they are God's creations too - and if they choose to make themselves seen every now and then, there's nothing much people like me can do about it.

Enough Is Enough

This is a rant against unscrupulous kin, those who have not a shred of decency about them, those who slam the door in your face when you are down and out but lay the red carpet when your star brightens once again.

If you think you are “them”, then perhaps you are, for only you would know. I make no apologies for what I am about to say; there is so much this old heart can take and I’m finally saying “enough is well and truly ENOUGH.”

And if this makes me lose the goodwill of a few relatives here and there, so be it. Can't be much of a loss, can it? Anyway, I’m too old and too weary at this juncture to cope with their deceptive ways.

Honest to goodness, I’m through with helping relatives, professionally that is. I’m sick to the core of being taken for granted, of having to argue my case when the bill for payment is presented, of having to beg for money that’s rightfully mine.

I am sick of relatives who have no scruples about making promises, like agreeing to a certain amount, and then when the job is done, relentlessly push for discounts and worse, holding back payments when their demands are not met.

On a couple of occasions in the past, I wasn't paid at all; the litany of excuses was a mile long. Yet, I found it in my heart to forgive and to give them another chance, only to get burned all over again.

I’m through with people who think because I’m their cousin/aunt/niece/in-law/whatever, I should only charge them a nominal sum and not a ringgit more. It’s as though I do not deserve to be decently remunerated, all because I’m kin.

Added to this is the fact that I am expected to bill them the equivalent of what I had billed my clients for the same services donkeys’ years ago. Hello! It's already 2010, okay? Where have you been living all these blinking years ... in a bleeding cave??

Asked to justify the ridiculously low amount, the answer was a plaintive “you have no overheads. You work from home, what!” Since when do these obtuse blockheads decide where I create determine how much I should charge?

Frankly, I should have been catty enough to retort that it doesn’t matter if I write your press release or plan your press conference from the comfort of my toilet bowl or my kitchen sink; it’s my professional talent you are after, is it not?

What really gets me frothing at the mouth is the fact that they wouldn’t bat an eyelid if some fancy-sounding, multi-national PR agency charges fivefold to do the exact same thing that I do.

They conveniently forget that I give them myself, an old hand in both Press and PR, and not some corporate communication greenhorns barely out of college who can’t even spell right, let alone handle aggressive, sometimes arrogant and most times intimidating pressmen.

Since you have decided you want to pay peanuts, in the future please get new monkeys. This old woman shall no longer play simian for you.

I make no apologies for my harsh words. You know who you are, so beat it. You are no longer welcome, professionally that is. May Allah swt forgive me my anger, disappointment and disgust.

"Saya nak berubah tapi....

.... saya hanya tahu layan lelaki. Saya tak minta untuk menjual tubuh, tetapi itu saja pekerjaan mampu saya kerjakan kerana saya tak bersekolah tinggi."

Itu pengakuan Suzie, seorang pelayan pelanggan (GRO) berbangsa Melayu dan beragama Islam, yang kini sarat mengandung anak luar nikah, yang mahu menjual bayi itu kepada satu pasangan bukan Islam dengan bayaran RM22,000.

Kisah wanita berumur 22 tahun dari Selayang, Selangor, yang melacurkan diri sejak umur 17 tahun lagi apabila mula bertugas sebagai seorang GRO di sebuah pusat hiburan ini terpampang di muka depan Harian Metro semalam.

Kisah Suzie menjadi tatapan umum apabila beliau berjaya dipujuk oleh wartawan Harian Metro supaya memasuki Rumah Kebajikan dan Remaja (Kewaja), Gombak, Rabu lalu untuk mendapat perlindungan dan bimbingan sebelum melahirkan bayinya.

"Sebenarnya saya nak berubah, tetapi kehadiran anak ini mengubah fikiran saya. Bagaimana saya mahu menyara anak ini nanti, jadi pilihan yang ada hanya kembali ke pekerjaan asal sebagai GRO."

Kata Suzie, dia takut kalau-kalau anak yang dikandungnya itu akan menderita tak cukup makan kalau dia 'bersara' daripada melacurkan diri kerana pendapatannya lumayan, dalam RM3,000 seminggu hanya dengan melayan beberapa lelaki.

Anak bongsu daripada dua beradik ini berkata dia tidak tahu bagaimana untuk kembali kepangkal jalan kerana sudah selesa hidup mewah dengan bergelumang maksiat.

"Setiap kali melihat wanita bertudung, terdetik hati untuk berubah, tetapi sukar mengenangkan pekerjaan saya lakukan ini, malah kebanyakan rakan saya juga GRO dan hidup kami sudah sebati dengan dosa."

Suzie mengakui tenang di Rumah Kebajikan tersebut kerana tidak lagi diganggui panggilan daripada 'ibu ayam' yang meminta melayan pelanggan, dan juga kerana dia digalak beribadat dan mengingati Tuhan.

Selain diberi bimbingan agama, dia juga dinasihati dan dipujuk pihak Kewaja supaya tidak mengulangi dosa silamnya selain didorong agar mencari pekerjaan yang halal selepas bersalin nanti.

Ini berikutan dia mengakui malu dan menganggap dirinya hina di mata masyarakat walaupun jauh dilubuk hatinya mahu memulakan hidup baru bersama bayi yang bakal dilahirkan.

Terkedu saya membaca kisah Suzie, walaupun saya boleh dikatakan sudah lali dengan kisah keruntuhan moral sebegini kerana latarbelakang kerjaya saya sebagai bekas wartawan akhbar.

Naluri keibuan saya terusik. Wanita muda ini sedang berada di persimpangan hidup, pemikirannya bercelaru. She is clear about right or wrong, yet very confused at the same time.

Dia mahu berubah tetapi takut dengan ketidakpastian masa depan. Janganlah pula hendaknya ada di antara kita yang menjuih bibir dan berprasangka buruk dengan mempersoalkan keikhlasannya.

Sebelum kita menuding jari atau adopt the holier than thou attitude berhubung Suzie, kita perlu beringat bahawa apa yang dialami wanita ini tidak mustahil boleh berlaku ke atas keluarga atau anak buah kita.

Entah kemelut apa yang dilaluinya sebelum ini sehingga membawa dia ke jalan maksiat adalah diluar pengetahuan kita.

Yang pasti dia sudah insaf walaupun masih terkapai-kapai mencari dahan yang kukuh untuk berpaut. Jadi siapakah kita untuk menghukum dia?

Saya menurunkan kisah Suzie untuk kita renungi bersama, agar kita tidak alpa dengan persekitaran kita, dan agar kita sentiasa mengambil tahu akan urusan anak-anak kita.

Tanggungjawab ibubapa amatlah berat. Disebabkan anak-anak itu amanah Allah swt, tidak dapat tidak kita mesti pastikan mereka mendapat didikan agama yang sempurna, untuk menghindar daripada terjebak dengan perlakuan yang dimurkai Tuhan.

Semoga Suzie berjaya kembali ke jalan yang diredhai ......

PS:
Saya tumpang seriau bila ada emak-emak di kalangan kita yang cukup suka mengomen pasal anak dara orang. Kita sepatutnya jaga anak dara kita, bukan ambik tahu tepi kain anak orang lain.

Nak besarkan anak perempuan di zaman penuh pancaroba ini bukan satu perkara enteng. Terlalu banyak dugaan, silap-silap haribulan kita yang menanggung beban malu... Na'uzubillahiminzaalik!

Teringat saya kepada seorang kenalan 'mulut berek' yang suka mencemuh anak dara orang. Bukan setakat itu saja, mak bapak budak perempuan tersebut pun dibabitkan sekali, dikatanya tak pandai bela anak.

Penghujungnya, anak perempuannya sendiri (berpelajaran tinggi dan lulusan universiti) di cekup pegawai Jabatan Agama dalam keadaan mengaibkan, terbukti hamil, dikahwinkan dengan tergesa-gesa tapi tak aman dan akhirnya bercerai-berai.

Jadi beringatlah selalu, Allah sentiasa mengawasi perbuatan dan tuturkata kita...

Tales From The Holy Land

There's something about recent pilgrims that make you want to draw them close to you, to hug and kiss them and 'breathe in' their aura, so to speak. They look so good, radiant even.

And I love meeting returning Haj pilgrims, for many have that special glow about them. The peace and serenity they evoke make you feel comforted in their presence.

Last night Pak Abu and I went a-visiting, appropriately enough in the light of Maal Hijrah, to welcome A, an old friend who had just returned from the Holy Land.

A went for the Haj together with her sister, N, whilst her husband, K, a retired banker, held the fort back home. Barring unforeseen circumstances, K said he would make the journey next year, Insyaallah.

Both sisters and I went back a long way, some three decades in fact, to the time when we were under the employ of the same publishing Group; me in editorial, they in administration.

We have all left the Group since but our friendship has survived the test of time. We have been keeping in touch, meeting sporadically, usually for karaoke followed by teh tarik sessions at a mamak joint.

I must confess to one peculiarity (if you can call it such); I'm in the market for anything weird, strange, unexplainable. Give me the supernatural, bizarre, freakish and eerie anytime, and I'm sold.

Because of this I enjoy listening to returning pilgrims, for, almost everyone has a strange story to tell of their pilgrimage, usually from their own experiences. Almost always, it's the kind of stories that defies logic.

Because of this too I am an avid reader of that popular (some people call it trashy) Malay magazine Mastika, especially its Kisah Dari Tanah Suci (Stories From the Holy Land) collection.

My devotion to Mastika is, by the way, a long-standing joke in my family. To be fair, some of Mastika's articles do border on the ridiculous, to be taken with scoopfuls of salt.

Be that as it may, I don't have to justify myself about Mastika, or any other rags that I spend my fulush ($) on. I like to read and I read anything I possibly could, including food wrappers if they catch my fancy.

Like many returning pilgrims I had met before, Hajjah A too had had a couple of personal experiences to tell.

.... like the day in Makkah when she and hundreds of others looked up to see the clouds forming alif lam lam ha, the Arabic spelling for 'Allah'.

... or the day in Arafah when the clouds parted, revealing a cavenous opening in sky, a hole so big and bright like a shining tunnel, that terrified everyone .....

... or about a woman pilgrim in their group who, for some strange reasons, had simply refused to step foot inside Masjidil Haram despite having been in the Holy Land for over a week...

The woman's husband was at his wit's end of what to do until the ustaz accompanying the group offered to help, obliquely referring to an entity that had travelled with the woman from Malaysia to the Holy Land!

A prayer session was held to remove what was eventually identified as a jinn; the whole thing was captured on tape, guttural, changing voices et al, again scaring the wits off Hajjah A and company!

She also regaled us with yet another strange encounter, this time when she went for umrah years ago with her young son.

The boy had prayed beside a deformed man in the mosque and had felt discomfited by the sight. The weird thing was, only he alone could see the limbless guy.....

Even Pak Abu and I had had a couple of unexplained occurances during our Haj two years ago, the most vivid in Mina one morning after subuh prayers, when we left the encampment to find breakfast.

We had just taken our respective seat (we carried our own foldable stools wherever we went) by the side of the road leading towards Muassim Tunnel to enjoy our breakfast of Arab bread.

That was when I spied a deformed black (possibly African) woman carrying an infant, slowly crawling on all fours right in front of us.

Instantaneously I put down my bread and reached into my purse to sadaqah some money. It took no more than 30 seconds for me to pull a note out, only to find they had vanished into thin air...

Like they say, miracles are everywhere in the Holy Land. Everything is God's will and I, without a shred of a doubt, am a believer...

PS: Thank you Hajjah A for the lovely sajaddah, the attar and the henna. Using them bring back the beautiful, unforgettable memories of our own Haj..

Nor Sarah's Wedding

Warriors in attendance (panglima pengiring), arms at the ready..

Bride & groom arrive for bersanding (sitting on dais) ceremony....

Kompang (traditional drum) heralding the arrival of the bride & groom. Kompang groups usually comprise the young but this one's full of 'otais'... How refreshing!

The turquoise-themed pelamin (wedding dais). *click on pix to see details.

'Warriors' dressed in black and bearing tombak (spearlike arms of old) led the bride & groom to the dais.

The custom-made bunga telur (gift for guests). Each case holds a boiled egg wrapped in organza.

With my Thai aunt, Enda Rahnah,whom I met for the first time at the kenduri (wedding feast). Enda Rahnah's mother Puteri Zabedah and my paternal grandma Puteri Hawa (both deceased) were sisters.

The bride and her mom and siblings. Datin Hjh Rosnah Abdul Latif (standing 3rd from right) is the widow of my late brother, Datuk Megat Wahab, who passed away three years ago.

A meeting of former heads. It felt great to be reacquainted with my former colleagues during my Royal Mint stint. Syed (left) then headed human resource, Rahman (middle) was head of security whilst yours truly helmed corporate affairs.

With my siblings, sisters-in-law, children, nieces and nephews and their respective offsprings. Pak Abu snapped this, thus he wasn't in the picture.

Music was provided by the Armed Forces 9th Rangers from Taiping. Emceeing the event was my young cousin, Nadia, pictured here sitting pretty in blue.

Naj, Ann, Joe and Awwa taking a breather by the wakaf (shelter) within the spacious compound before leaving home for KL.

Ties That Bind

Weddings, almost always, are great family occasions for reunions and catching up with what has been happening within the clan.

The wedding of my niece Puteri Nor Sarah to KL boy Raslan Khairudin in Ipoh today afforded just that; the chance to meet up with relatives I get to see only once in a blue moon simply because we live far from each other.

I must say there were too many bittersweet moments. I learned about a cousin's recent mastectomy; Sue was once very lively, and active in politics and social work. Now breast cancer overrides everything..

I met my late father's two surviving sisters (from the same mother, that is), Enda Mah (77) and Enda Jah (76). Both were frail. In fact, I couldn't even recognise Enda Mah at first glance. Once very robust, she was so sunken, all skin and bones. And Enda Jah was reed-thin, as always.

Then there were the two grand-aunts, sisters of my late grandfather Dr Megat Khas. Surprisingly, the 'opahs' seemed quite healthy and were chirpy despite their advancing years.

I must confess, having been raised in the East Coast by the maternal side of the family subsequent to my parents' divorce, I'm rather out of touch with my Perak kin. I didn't recognise a great many of them.

This is one of the unfortunate consequences of marital breakups; They chant the mantra "you go your way and I go mine", leaving the kids caught between a rock and a hard place. Then again, that's life...

That is why I strongly feel the need to get reacquainted with them especially now that the older generations are no more. In fact, we are the oldsters now.

We have to strive to keep the relationship going; I do not want my children to go through life not knowing nor recognising their own relatives...

December Musings

What is it about December that always makes me want to compress the years of my life into a neat little package, glossing over all those heartbreak and pain and misery, to reminisce about the 'good old days' as though everything was a bed of roses with nary a thorn?

Perhaps it's the festive mood of the month. School's out and happy kids are everywhere, sales and year-end discounts abound, the weather's a lot cooler, it's vacation time for most, bonus (of the $$$ kind) time for many and 'taking the plunge' time for some..

Without a doubt, Yuletide gives December a distinctive flavour of its own. Whatever one's colour or creed, there's something comfortably familiar about a beautifully symmetrical fir tree adorned with twinkling lights and shimmering baubles.

Add to the image oversized fur-trimmed stockings, jolly old Santas carrying sackfuls of presents, mellifluous voices singing the carols, stuffed turkeys with all their trimmings, stollens and cakes and cookies and candies....

Perhaps too because December signals a change of guard; the old year, stale and musty by now, is wrapping up to make way for the new one which, as always, is chock-a-block with promises, good intentions and hope.

Even without all its festive frills, December holds vivid memories for me for it's the month when my eldest and youngest were born, 10 years apart almost to the day; Naj on Dec 12, Awwa on Dec 11.

Whilst Naj greeted the world sedately in University College Hospital, London, in the winter of 1975, Awwa arrived yelling her head off via C-section in SJMC, Subang Jaya, in 1985.

Both were welcome diversions; he, from the biting physical cold of winter, she, from the emotional chill slowly seeping through. Children envelop you with unconditional love, and it's this love that makes life worth living.

This December sees the beginning, once again, of my tenure as the Abus' self-appointed bibik (house help) now that bona fide bibik has returned to Jogjakarta after 10 years of domestic service in this country.

The idea of taking up 'arms' once again to attack household dirt and grime isn't pleasing at all, I must say. But I shall not complain, even with my right knee already wonky and the left following suit, my grip weakening and pins and needles aplenty plaguing my fingers.

Instead I'll try my level best to be upbeat, by looking at all those scrubbing and mopping and hoovering in a positive way - it's exercise, a word long absent from my vocabulary.

Tomorrow (Dec 4) the family is off to Ipoh to attend the wedding of a niece. I am looking forward to this occasion because it means meeting up with the paternal side of my very extended Megat clan.

Sarah's the second child but the first in her family to wed. At times like this, my thoughts are with her late father, my younger brother Megat Wahab, Ab as we called him, who passed away three years ago at the relatively young age of 48.

If he is still with us today, Ab would, without a doubt, be the happiest, proudest man alive to receive his first menantu (son/daughter-in-law). May your soul rest in peace, my dear brother.

I was informed that our relatives from Narathiwat have already arrived in Ipoh for the kenduri, a rarity indeed because they hardly venture out of Thailand, thus not many of us have met them.

Frankly, I'm very excited about meeting them for the first time. A dream realised it definitely will be to connect with my Thai kin. Insyaallah, with the grace of Allah swt, tomorrow it will happen.

December is shaping up to be an eventful month although I can't say for sure where we would be heading holiday-wise. There's nothing on the cards just yet despite all the hoo-haa. But hope springs eternal..

For The Love of Coins......

In commemoration of the six crowned Queens of England since 1066; Matilda, Mary Tudor, Elizabeth I, Anne, Victoria and Elizabeth II. This set was purchased during my working visit to the British Royal Mint at Llantrisant, Wales, in 2002, the year it was issued.

This Nelson Mandela commemorative coin is a gift from its minter, The South African Mint Company, during the 2002 World Money Fair in Basel, Switzerland. It remains one of my personal favourites.
From January 1st, 2002, 12 of the 15 European Union members (at the time) completed their conversion to using the Euro instead of their own national currencies. The twelve states were Belgium, Germany, Greece, Spain, France, Ireland, Italy, Luxembourg, Netherland, Austria, Portugal and Finland. This set of 12 was issued to commemorate the occasion.

This 'australian silver kangaroo', with a face value of One Dollar, was struck by the Royal Australian Mint. It was made of one troy ounce of pure (.999) silver. I was attracted to the coin because of its design and the fact that it was made using the 'reverse frosting' technique which gives it a delicately frosted background. This was purchased during the Kuala Lumpur International Money Fair 2003.

In the midst of setting up the Malaysian booth at the 2002 World Money Fair in Basel, Switzerland. Our participation was a runaway success; we sold 80% of what we brought to the show, the most popular being Bank Negara's "Coins of Malaysia 1990 - Limited Special Edition" series.


In scenic Leuggern, a town on the Swiss-French border, located in the canton of Zurzach, Switzerland. We were on a working visit to Faude & Huguenin, a private mint based in Leuggern, before flying off to UK to visit the 1,000 year-old British Royal Mint in Wales. This picture was taken just outside the parameter of the train station. It was early February and there were still snow on the slopes of Leuggern.

For The Love of Coins

A couple of weeks ago I received an intriguing e-mail inviting me to check out a "by invitation only" blog of fellow blogger Reme, a Singaporean journalist who writes under OpEd.

Reme had recently discovered the joys of numismatics and had wanted to share his newfound interest with me. Little did he know that coin collecting is also a hobby of mine. A delightful coincidence, this.

Popped in I did soon after and I was glad to have taken up on the invite because the tour of Reme's blog (and he had a few nice pieces on show) had somehow rekindled my own interest, left dormant for quite some time now.

Numismatics was, and will remain, an occasional hobby of mine. I didn't have the money to indulge in it in a big way (still don't); I splurged only when something truly delectable came along, the charm of which I simply could not resist.

The hobby began ten years ago when I came aboard the Royal Mint of Malaysia as the head of its corporate affairs division. The constant exposure to commemorative issues had somehow evoked a desire to build my own collection.

I was fortunate enough to be able to travel along whenever the Mint participated in international money fairs, to help manage the booth, keep up with new issues and get acquainted with minters from other countries.

Like philately (the study and collecting of stamps), coin-collecting is already considered a 'sunset' industry in Malaysia; it won't be long before this pastime fades into oblivion.

While I cannot ascertain how much truth there is in all this negativity, observations during my Royal Mint tenure certainly pointed in that direction. The waning interest was real.

The younger generations were just not interested in what they saw as a mundane pursuit. They had far too many other more exciting diversions, to bother about collecting and studying coins and stamps.

The World Money Fair in Basel, Switzerland opened my eyes to Swiss children insofar as numismatics was concerned. Our booth was swamped by eager children as young as seven, all wanting to know more about Malaysia and its coins and collectibles.

One boy about 10 years old spent a long time gazing at our display, painstakingly studying several local issues, before settling on the Bank Negara 'Bullock Cart' historical Malacca series.

He also asked many questions about the various coins on show, with his father playing translator for me. On my part, I was only too happy to be of service to such a curious mind.

His father explained that the son had just begun collecting coins and the trip to the Basel Fair was his gift to the boy; he could buy whatever coins he wanted. If I recall correctly, they spent a few hundred Swiss francs at our booth.

What a lucky child, to have such an understanding parent who spared no effort in supporting and encouraging his child's worthy pursuit...

Kuantan In Passing

The two little boys groaned with mock horror as their turreted sandcastle, in all its lopsided glory, crumbled into nothingness with the onslaught of the evening tide.

Their young mother, heavy with yet another child, looked on indulgently, fingers interlocked under her bulging belly, supporting the heaviness within.

I remembered the scene well as I stood on the wooden walkway leading to the stony outcrop at the far end of Kuantan's Teluk Cempedak Saturday, to catch the morning sun and indulge in a bit of nostalgia.

It was as though I had walked right into a page from the past - Kuantan in the late 1970s - when the sandy stretches of Teluk Cempedak, Beserah and Cherating were familiar playgrounds for my growing family.

With the exception of the walkway, which was built long after I left Kuantan in 1980, and the prolification of shops, stalls, tents and huts congesting the strip, things looked pretty much the same, especially further afield at the rock-strewn cove.

Kuantan was a treasure trove of memory for me for it was our first local posting after London. I was 24, with 2 kids in tow and another on the way, and a husband who was away more often than he was around.

Apart from a kindly neighbour with an equally absent spouse, a DARA (Lembaga Kemajuan Pahang Tenggara) officer then involved in the development of Bandar Muazzam Shah in the Pahang interior, I knew not a single soul.

If at all there was any consolation about being transferred to the Kuantan bureau office fresh from London, it was that my hometown Dungun, where my grandparents resided, was well within reach.

A two-hour drive was all it took, meandering through quaint villages and hamlets, and dodging placid cows bent on chewing their cuds whilst parked in the middle of the road, to get to Pah & Tok Ayah's charming, rustic kampung dwelling surrounded by squat kemunting (berry) bushes on one side and slender coconut trees on the other.

Adjusting to the incredibly laidback lifestyle of a provincial town after the hustle and bustle of swinging London wasn't easy. Kuantan was comatose at best. Even the river was sluggish. Time had indeed stood still here..

It was a leisurely drive to Kuantan on Friday. We had earlier wanted to take the more scenic route i.e. the old trunk road, even if that would mean adding two extra hours quite easily to the journey. But thoughts of slow-moving traffic put paid to that.

I would not have minded the extended travelling time. It was the anticipated traffic crawl that put me off. Bearing in mind the school holiday season, I knew we would probably end up 10-car deep for miles behind a lumbering trailer or any of those 16-wheeled behemoths.

It was thus the highway for us, with one pit stop at the Temerloh R & R for lunch. We were now in 'ikan patin country', thus lunch was without a question ikan patin masak tempoyak with rice.

As expected, The R&R was bustling with travellers, local or otherwise. I spied two tourist coaches parked alongside a layby, a Korean family and a couple of Caucasians chattering away as they checked out the foodstalls.

Our bed for the night was a spacious room on the executive floor of the Grand Continental, courtesy of Datin Nurul Huda (aka blogger Mamasita) who would not take 'no' for an answer. Thank you Mamasita for your hospitality, not to mention generosity.

We met the good Datin at Xanax Karaoke & Bistro in Kompleks Teruntum later in the evening. She had meant every word she said about bringing a not-to-be-trifled-with 'Pahang karaoke contingent' to match her KL guests.

Maula and Nabil were powerhouses with awesome vocals whilst Huda's youngest daughter Banun could reach the high notes with ease.

With the reputation of the Kuala Lumpur Federal Territory (or at the very least the Royal Lake Club) at stake (ha ha ha), I had no choice but to give my all, and then some!

Thankfully, Pak Abu chose not to be adventurous with his choice of songs. In the light of such a challenge, he wisely stuck to his tried-and-tested repertoire of Broery's, Michael Learned To Rock and Deep Purple.

Yes folks, Pak Abu, despite his Haji status and shock of silver hair, had never been averse to strumming an imaginary guitar to the mind-blowing tunes of Led Zeppelin, Fleetwood Mac, Queen, Jefferson Airplane, Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin, to name but a few.

Sufficiently exhausted (my voice actually broke at the end..lol), we called it a day at midnight whilst the young 'uns remained in Xanax until 2am, before moving on to a warung for teh tarik, finally trudging home at 4am, according to Mamasita.

It was a benign Saturday morning for the Abus. Mamasita joined us for breakfast at the coffeehouse, bringing nasi lemak kukus and sambal kerang to complement the hotel fare.

We said our goodbyes after breakfast; she had errands to run whilst we had wanted to poke around a bit, in particular the house I used to live in behind MARA Junior Science College, before attending the wedding kenduri (our real reason for the trip) at noon.

We finally bid Kuantan adieu at 2pm, again taking the boring, characterless (but quicker) route with its uninspiring view of oil palm, rubber trees and receding jungle. It was 5pm when Genting Sempah came into view; 30 minutes later we were home, safe and sound.

I know we'll be back soon enough, hopefully with the children too; after all Joe and Ann were born in Kuantan and together with Naj had spent their pre-school years in this quaint little corner of Pahang....

My Cape Malay 'Children'

The Abus (sans Joe, for he's behind the camera) and their newfound Cape Malay 'family' from South Africa. From left: Omar, Zane, Nabilah, Aadilah & Khashiefah.



Chinese dinner at the Royal Lake Club; a new gastronomic experience for our guests who had never "gone Chinese" before. We had steamed tilapia, buttered prawns, lemon chicken, sizzling beef, cili-fried calamari, mixed vegs, fried rice, chinese pancake, longans & sea coconut... the whole works.... all washed down with watermelon juice & piping hot jasmine tea. What a feast!



Zane and wife Aadilah, parents of 4 year-old Zaarah, left at home with doting family members in Cape Town whilst Mom & Dad took a well-deserved holiday. Dad proudly showed us pictures of his little girl; he obviously missed her very much...

Oh, here comes that pesky cameraman again. Joe was our photographer for the evening; can't say he didn't like it, because taking pictures is one of his hobbies..


Our guests enjoying Eid Adha lunch of nasi minyak, ayam kuzi, lemang, rendang and serunding in our humble abode, before Joe and Awwa transported them to One Utama for (more!) shopping..


Naj (in blue baju) holding court. It was lovely to listen to them sharing stories. Naj flew to South Africa countless times during his five years with Malaysia Airlines, so he was quite familiar with Cape Town and Johannesburg.


At Ali Cafe in Hartamas Square, Sri Hartamas, to fulfill Omar's request for teh tarik. He had tasted it before and had developed a liking for it, but had not had the opportunity of capturing the 'pulling' on film.



We told the teh tarik maker of Omar's request; the chap was only to glad to oblige. Everyone crowded around to see the 'pulling', cameras trained on the action!


That's Nabilah, Khashiefah's youngest sister (my baby sister, says she affectionately). Nabilah's 21 and is about to enter college. Asked about her career plans, she says she wants to teach pre-schoolers.


Pak Abu and Zane taking in the 'mamak' atmosphere.

The Cape Malays Who Came For Dinner .. And Stayed (In Our Hearts)

They say the further you travel, the broader your outlook and the more sensible your views. By the grace of God, I have travelled a fair bit, and have had the opportunity of living and working abroad.

I would like to think I am a better person for the experience. Such exposures have helped in broadening my horizon in more ways than I care to imagine; I am definitely less myopic and more receptive of cultures alien to my own.

One of the few places left for me to explore is South Africa. I may not have been to South Africa yet (mark that word 'yet', ha ha), but for the longest time, since my schooldays in fact, I was affected by its colourful, turbulent history.

Growing up, I had read voraciously about this vast, mysterious continent called Africa. I was engrossed by the stories of Baden Powell and Mafeking, the stately Masais and their cattle, the mighty warrior nation of the Zulus, Ian Smith and his Rhodesia, the Boers with their Orange Free State and their Great Trek.....

And then there were all those amazing accounts and visions of Africa's inexplicable natural beauty; Victoria Falls, Zambezi River, The Great Nile, Table Mountain, Kilimanjaro, Serengeti....

If the Africa of my childhood was synonymous with wilderness and vast open spaces, and an amazing diversity of cultures, the next phase of my fascination was more sobering; I tried but couldn't comprehend this despicable system called apartheid.

Why must these proud, independent black people be enslaved in a land that was rightfully theirs, and made to suffer the indignity of segregation, by invading white colonialists, according to the colour of their skin?

Nelson Mandela and Steve Biko became my (and the world's too) symbols of freedom; my heart cried alongside theirs. I can still recall the advisory stamped on our Malaysian travel document then: "This passport is valid for all countries except Israel and South Africa."

I cheered with the rest of the world when apartheid was finally dismantled. South Africa had finally come into its own; it had arrived. The road to recovery was understandably long and difficult but it was free once again.

For the past two days, my family had hosted five delightful people of Cape Malay origin whose forefathers came from our shores. They represent the modern face of South Africa - young, well-educated and worldly - and they wormed their way straight into our hearts.

Looking back in history, the colonization of Africa and Asia by European powers from the 15th to the 19th centuries led to the enslavement of millions of Afro-Asian peoples, and an international slave trade.

This slave trade led to the involuntary migration of large numbers of Africans and Asians to different parts of the world. It was one such stream of people, most of whom were political exiles or prisoners who had opposed the colonization of their countries, that came to the Cape of Good Hope (now the city of Cape Town).

The first such migrants began to arrive in the latter half of the 17th century, mainly from colonies occupied by the Dutch and the British.

The large majority were Muslims, who were captured and sent into exile from colonies such as Ceylon, Madagascar, India and the Dutch East Indies (Indonesia as we know it today).

The origins of this migration can be traced to early in the 16th century when, at the end of Indonesia's Majapahit Kingdom, European military penetration and anti-Islamic persecution caused resistance.

The Dutch crushed that resistance and exiled many opponents to the Cape of Good Hope in southern Africa, which was also occupied by the Dutch.

The first Dutch settlers in the Cape of Good Hope arrived in 1652, when Jan van Riebeeck came to the Cape to establish a trading post and supply fort in the Cape of Good Hope. The Cape thus became a regular stopover for trading vessels plying the Europe-East Indies route.

The Dutch therefore required labour and utilised the opportunity to import political exiles from the East Indies as slaves. Many of these people were skilled artisans, such as silversmiths, masons, milliners, cobblers, singers and tailors.

They came to be known collectively as Cape Malay, since despite their diverse origins as far afield as East Africa and Malaysia, they all spoke Malay, the traders' lingua franca.

Omar is in the oil and gas industry. His paternal roots lie in Ipoh and he is mighty proud of his Malaysian link, no matter how distant. He knew no one in Ipoh, but that didn't matter. When he visited Malaysia, he felt like coming home.

Omar's South African lineage had been established since 300 years ago when a great great great grandfather was enslaved and forcibly taken to Cape of Good Hope, where he married a woman of Javanese descent.

Listening to Omar was refreshing. To him. there was nothing not to like about Malaysia; He had been here 13 times and counting. He loved it here and he hoped to one day make it his second home.

They kept thanking us for our hospitality but truth be told I think it's us who must thank them for reminding us how fortunate we are to live in this blessed land of peace and harmony.

We need to be occasionally reminded, by the likes of Omar and his ilk, of the beauty of the word 'Syukur Alhamdulillah.'


PS: It was such a strange coincidence that after we sent them back to their hotel last night, we got home and switched on the TV to one of the movie channels on Astro, and found it screening "Cry Freedom", that powerful 1987 British drama by Richard Attenborough, about apartheid. Truly a fitting end to an eventful evening spent with a bunch of beautiful people. Syukran, folks!