Toussaint in Malaysia

The details of my journey

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During my overnight layover in Singapore, I decided to leave it's wonderful airport and explore the city.

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Overnight layover in Singapore

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Overnight layover in Singapore

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Overnight layover in Singapore

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Overnight layover in Singapore

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Overnight layover in Singapore

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Overnight Layover in Singapore

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Overnight layover in Singapore

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"Flight of the Bumblebee Dude Who's Late for His Flight"

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Your flight leaves in 4 hours...

Last night I felt very uneasy and anxious. I assumed that it was rooted in fact that I would be leaving Malaysia soon very. I met some incredible friends, created so many memorable moments, and was introduced to a business model that I truly believed in.

I decided to go to work at OWW for the last time, since I would be leaving the next day. I wanted to have a formal goodbye with all of my colleagues and bosses. Plus there was more work to be completed.  I began to go through my normal routine of conducting a Socially Responsible Investment (SRI) rating for a company.

All throughout, my mind wandered to preparation for my flight the next day. I neither remembered the exact time of my flight nor mentally arranged my transportation to the airport or estimated the time of travel and other small details. I decided to check my online itinerary. As expected, I was scheduled to arrive in New Orleans on the evening of July 12. I initially thought it was a typo—the flight was scheduled to leave on July 11 at 3PM.

“Wait. That makes sense. It does take well over a day to fly from Kuala Lumpur to Singapore, to Tokyo, to Los Angeles, to DC, and arrive in New Orleans. Then that would mean that MY FLIGHT IS TODAY AND LEAVES IN 4 HOURS! Breathe. There’s no way you can make it. Just sit here and see if you can get it changed to tomorrow…wait. This is a major international flight with 5 legs. It could be expensive. Let’s pull this off!”

I quietly shut down my computer. I explained my discovery with the guys in the office and Jing. I hastily thanked Geoff for everything. I gave Jing a hug, and I bolted out of the door. I nervously hailed a cab to take me back home.

I rushed through the doors of the Lensa Villa with about 3 1/2 hours to spare. I changed out of my professional clothing and finished the packing that I had initiated the night before in less than 30 minutes. Meanwhile I was dreading the idea of convincing a taxi driver to take me all the way to the airport. I set my TouchNgo card on the bed along with my shaving cream and a few other things that I would not take with me. I carefully placed my keys on the bed, triple checking my pockets for my wallet, passport, money, ipod, etc. I took a deep breath with my thumb on the button of the push-lock door knob, and surveyed the room once more.

I headed outside in the blistering heat and thick humidity looking for a cab, suitcase in hand. Within about 5 minutes (and only 2 or 3 passing me by), I managed to get a taxi to stop. I carefully informed the gentleman that I was headed the Sultan Abdul Aziz Shah Airport, rather than Kuala Lumpur International Airport, as he helped me load my over-sized bag into his miniature trunk. We discussed price before I even got into the car. Although his price slightly exceeded what I had anticipated (and payed upon arrival to KL), I needed to get to the airport, and FAST!

While I sat in the back seat, I pulled out my cell phone and explained to my roommate, Adam that I suddenly realized I would be leaving that very day. My original plan was to purchase souvenirs that evening after work. Since that was completely impossible, I asked Adam to have Sharmini pick out pashmina scarves for Rajwantie and my Mom and anklets with the bells. He could pay for it with the security deposit that Zahir, the manager at our villa, was supposed to give me that evening. Zahir also had purchased a hookah for me and I needed Adam to get it to James across town. Informed Adam that the TouchNgo card that I left on my bed should have enough money on it to cover his travel across town doing my bidding.  Between texts, I looked out of the window and noticed traffic buildup as the driver asked me what time my flight was and why I traveled to Malaysia. I also sent Zahir and James texts with similar information.

By the grace of God and the driver's decision to take an alternate route, I arrived at the airport only 12 minutes after my 2-hours-ahead-of-time rule for international travel. I stood in line, but did not notice a sign indicating a flight to Singapore. That made me nervous. When I got to the counter, I was informed that the ticket intake for the Singapore flight wouldn't even begin until an hour before departure. What a relief! Just 2 hours and 15 minutes ago, I was sitting at my desk in the office, thinking that I had another day in Malaysia. I sat down and tried to put together a warm goodbye, via text message, to my good friend, Hanim.

I walked out onto the sweltering tarmac, took one last look, and headed for the small plane with propellers humming the same song that welcomed me to Malaysia.

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Bersih 2.0 Protests

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Most Wanted in Malaysia

As a farewell, Hanim treated me to lunch at Lala Chong, a Chinese restaurant that specializes in extremely fresh seafood steamed in garlic, ginger, and Chinese wine; Chinese style fish head curry; and glass noodles stirfried with seafood. We ended up ordering steamed fish, along with many other sides. I must say that I was relieved not to have to try fish head. I even ate some beef because it looked so good.

Our meal was more somber than normal. I was slowly beginning to accept that I would be leaving Malaysia in a few days. More importantly, the day before, the Bersih 2.0 protests had taken place in Kuala Lumpur. Put simply, Prime Minister Najib was appointed to his office. To prove his legitimacy, it is customary to hold elections. The opposition, led by Anwar Ibrahim (former Deputy Prime Minister/current member of Parliament), planned a protest demanding election reform (transparent, free, and fair). PM Najib legally banned the protests. He later changed his mind due to the intervention of King Tuanku Mizan Zainal Abidin and permitted the protest to occur inside of Stadium Merdeka. Later in the week, he retracted that permission. This caused them (the yellow shirts) to decide to march to the stadium anyway. The protests were not pretty.

Hanim did not participate in the protests, but watched them unfold on television with a heavy heart. She spent that whole day crying and worrying about the future of the country that she loved so much. The emotional drain was written all over her face. I could not completely empathize with her given her status as a member of the ethnic majority of her country. Hanim is a proud Malaysian (nationality) and a proud Malay (ethnicity) who understands the value of progress. The dichotomy of my US pride and her Malaysian passion is rooted in a sense of belonging. Hanim lives and breathes Malaysia. She looks, acts, and feels Malaysian.

The only time I feel a strong sense of US belonging is when I travel abroad. Otherwise, my passion lies in the welfare of black people, globally. Most call that Pan-Africanism, others say Black Nationalism, and many even dismiss it as contrived. I agree with all of them. Global Blackness is a particularly convenient social construction for members of the diaspora, but it has real implications for all black people whether we accept it or not. Think not? Ask Nkrumah, Robeson, Obama, Mandela, and Dubois. Still doubting? Play some Fela, Nneka, Nas, Talib, or Lauren Hill.

While we continued discussing the politics of yesterday's protest, a tall Chinese-looking man, wearing gym clothes sat a couple of tables away and began snapping photos of us with his iPhone. At first I just dismissed it as him being intrigued at the spectacle of a black man having a one-on-one meal with an older Malaysian woman. Then Hanim told me that she used to be a lot more politically active in her youth. She believes that she's on a couple of watch lists and gets followed around sporadically. She turned to wave (mockingly) at him and I forced uncomfortable eye contact with him. Embarrassed, he got up and left without ordering any food.

Not completely ready to say our final goodbyes, I agreed to accompany her to the Bangsar Village Mall to run some errands. Over coffee we discussed the legalization of gay marriage in the US. I explained my complicated worldview growing up in a progressive religious household. I understand the perspective of ignorance, turned into passive acceptance of the status quo. I can see through the lens of the religious center who is not hateful, but views marriage as a spiritual agreement between a God, a woman, and a man. I believe in my father's right, as a Baptist Pastor, to lead his congregation based on his contemporary interpretation of the bible (which he studied and scrutinized at the graduate level at Colgate Rochester)--not homophobia or ignorance of human sexuality. As a straight Christian male raised by progressive parents, I do not have an opinion on the morality of the LGBTA community. It's not my place. As a registered democrat, I am a strong proponent of the Separation of Church and State (via The 1st Amendment). The definition of legal marriage should not be determined by the church; just like the religious definition should not be imposed by the state--that's true separation. My instincts tell me that a lot of people will find themselves on the wrong side of history in 20 years. Summary: Legalize Gay Marriage and stop assuming that all religious leaders homophobic.

That conversation spilled into my relationship with my girlfriend who is Guyanese, Indian, and Hindu. Her parents don't like the idea of us being together for cultural, religious, and pride-based reasons. Having that gay marriage conversation illuminated my thoughts on dealing with her parents. I have a better understanding of their ignorance-based fears. I also appreciate the fight that she has put up, in the name of what is consistent with what we believe to be right. I told Hanim that it's most difficult for her right now. I have not met them, and secretly enjoy the luxury of the ability to mentally dismiss their words and thoughts in the meantime. We agreed that when I do meet them, mutual respect with be displayed because my disposition commands it (no need for demands).

(Make the Louisiana Masala)

Hanim jokingly lamented that I was too young/too late to marry he daughter and become her son-in-law. I was very flattered. I'm really going to miss our conversations. I've learned so much from her.

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Bersih 2.0 Protests

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"...but the women and teenage boys' body language suggested a more complex story..."

Temporary settlement of the semi-nomadic Orang Asli--indigenous groups who were pushed into the interior and manipulated by the Malay Muslims, the Communists, and colonists. We were told that they set up in visible areas and welcomed tourists to make a little money and tell their own story, but the women and teenage boys' body language suggested a more complex story. Plus our Malay Muslim guide did all of the talking. By the way, some of these people were as dark as me with similar hair texture.

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Orang Asli Settlement

We were assigned a 40-page chapter to read about the Orang Asli people before meeting them. Basically they are composed of several indigenous groups on peninsular Malaysia that used to live on the coasts. As settlers, mainly Asian, moved in and claimed the land, they were continually pushed into the interior of the country if they chose not to assimilate. Depending in the time in history, they were either neglected, targeted, or taken advantage of in instances of communist and ant-communist movements in the country. Presently, they are semi-nomadic groups of people who speak several different languages, and whose beliefs are animistic and nature-centered. Most of the kids don’t go to school and very few of them use electricity or plumbing. Their integration into the Malaysian economy is very limited—usually they sell their tools, arts, and crafts to tourists in exchange for money to buy petrol (gasoline) for their wooden motor boats. Occasionally an indigenous young person goes to school and college, but it is rare that they return to live amongst their people. By international standards, they meet the definition of poverty. Within the Malaysian government, there is an Indigenous People’s Council that is composed completely of Malays—not one indigenous person. In the name of protecting and providing services for these groups of people, the government continually attempts to set up schools for their children. They get significant indifference and even push-back because the schools will teach them the Bahasa Malay language and Islamacize them, causing their language and religion to die off as they assimilate. Furthermore, children who spend all day at school are not seen as immediately productive for the family to eat each day. Integration seems to be the least popular choice within the government. As with most destinations in the jungle, we took a relaxing boat ride to the settlement. We were told that different groups set up at a location separated, but reasonably close to where tourists would be. They only stay for a few months at a time. They sell their goods to us and go back deeper into the jungle to live more naturally. Other than purchasing their goods, it was recommended (by Malaysians) that we bring cigarettes for the men and candy for the children as gifts (I guess the women don’t deserve gifts). From the beginning, a couple of people in our group objected to the idea of gifting cigarettes—such a deadly and disgusting vice. I have to admit, I initially thought that it was slightly pretentious of us to judge this exchange ritual that has been suggested by actual Malaysians. When we stepped off of the boat, there was another group of white people sitting at the benches watching a blow dart demonstration. Their cackling and applause made it evident that there were thoroughly entertained. This was juxtaposed to our somber group milling about mentally comparing what we had read and discussed with what we were seeing. I was self-conscious about being the only dark-skinned tourist in sight. How different was I to the rest of the group? Did they notice our similar hair texture & skin tone (I was only slightly darker than most of the people there)? Did they care? Had African or other African American tourists ever visited them? While I was going through this in all of my mind, we were being told to hand out the candy to the children. These were not the jubilant 7-year-olds that I remember from my travel in Senegal. They were teenagers with that “fuck your candy” look on their faces. I was too embarrassed to reach into my pocket or approach them. Some people in our group felt the same way. Meanwhile, other people were photographing them as if they were animals. I was growing very uncomfortable. I walked off and pretended to admire their houses made mostly out of bamboo and giant palm leaves. When it was our turn to get the speaking part of the tour, I turned on my attentive/not-disturbed listening face. The Malay guy who drove our boat was all of a sudden our tour guide. He discussed their nomadic way of life, how they live in the moment, and are not planners for the future. He pointed out that there was not much of a mosquito problem because smoke was constantly burning in the settlement. We were taught that their temporary raised-houses with spaced-out bamboo floor planks were perfect for staying warm at night and cool during the day. Children are immediately given dangerous tools and the responsibilities that go with them. He shared an anecdote about why blow darts were a smarter alternative to guns for hunting, since they don’t make enough noise to alert other animals that they are the next victim. This was a well-planned segue to the blow dart demonstration. It was cool. An old indigenous man and two teenage boys created blow darts (poisonous and non-poisonous) using all natural materials, while our guide was speaking. Then the old man blew a few at a target with impressive aim. Though we were impressed, no one clapped or made any hoopla over it. A few of us tried ourselves. Professor Heng asked our guide to ask one of the boys how old he was. In a different language (not Bahasa Malay or English), he replied that he did not know. It seemed a bit too “cute” not to have been planned.

To close out, our guide explained that these indigenous peoples did not have a problem with us visiting their settlement, taking photos, and purchasing their goods. Their only policy is that we accompanies by a (pre-approved???) guide to tell their story on their terms. Our guide ensured us that he is very well-trusted by them. I found it a bit queer that there was never any direct translation between the elder of the village and our guide—no speech or greeting. A lot of us left the settlement uneasy about the experience.  “A picture is worth 1000 words, if told correctly.”

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Waterfalls

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Don’t Go Chasin’ Waterfalls

After the canopy, hills, and leeches excursion we rested for an hour, then had lunch. Professor Heng got us really pumped about the waterfalls that we’d see in the afternoon. To get there, we’d have a 45-minute boatride and a 20 minute hike. By this time; the boat rides became my favorite activity in the jungle. The hikes after a rainy night were not. Still a bit paranoid about leeches, I maintained my technique of always looking at the ground and keeping my feet moving at all times. On the other hand, Schuyler decided to wear flip flops. At one point, less than 5 minutes away from the waterfall, Eva got a leech on her ankle. She did not panic and waited for Jeremy to help her get it off with salt. In the meantime, Sara got one on her sock. While she was trying to take care of that, Jeremy got one on his shoe. All three of them were in front of me on a narrow part of the path. There was a very steep hill on the left and a 20ft drop on the right, so I couldn’t squeeze past. Suddenly, behind me I heard Schuler panicking, “I’ve got two on me, get them off!” Jeremy began losing his patience, “Do it yourself or wait for me to take care of the others’ first!” This all happened in the span of about 12 seconds. Meanwhile I was still marching in place, trying my best not to show how nervous I was. Professor Heng instructed the people without leeches to keep going, but she didn’t realize that there was no passing room. Within about 45 seconds, all leeches were removed, my stress level went down, and we were on our way again.

A few minutes later, we reached the river again. Its flow was being obstructed by dozens of giant boulders. As few meters upstream, water was falling from a part of the river slighty higher (maybe 5-7ft) in elevation, creating a beautiful scene and peaceful sound. While it was gorgeous, it was not quite what I had imagined when we were told that we’d see a waterfall. Sure there was water falling, but not from overhead in a giant shower-like fashion. It looked like glorified rapids.

Anyway, the Europeans or Aussies were enjoying their swim, complete with Speedos, so Carline, Eva, and I jumped in. The water was very cold and refreshing, but too murky to see the bottom. I had to take my mind off of Rajwantie and my favorite show, River Monsters, to have a good time. Swimming against the current reminded me of how far out of shape I was.

During the boat ride back, Schuyler spotted a giant monitor lizard, the size of a small komodo dragon. It was amazing, since we were 100ft away from it in the safety of our boat (sorry, didn't get a pic of it)