Bilingual signboard, Trivandrum, Kerala
Anson is showing me the Geographer's Café where he is assistant manager. It is a heritage shophouse to which have been added two other shophouses over the years. The roof of one of them was raised so as to create another floor. Most customers however would rather stay downstairs, where all the hullaballoo is. Also, upstairs is quite hot. So the extra floor space there remains mostly unused unless it is a busy afternoon or evening. The café still has old concrete awnings over its windows that only a couple of other shophouses in Jonker Street still sport. We peruse together newspapers clippings and a small shelf with books on Melaka. They are mostly in Chinese. Anson is from Miri, Sarawak, East Malaysia (that is, northeast Borneo or Kalimantan). I have never been there. He obviously went to Chinese school as he told me read one of the books in Chinese. His mother tongue is in fact Cantonese, which is not the majority language in Melaka (I take it most Melakans in the historic inner city speak Hokkien or Hakka, though there are also Teochews around and the occasional Cantonese). The written materials remind me that I am in a Chinese literate world to a fairly large degree even though the sole official language of this country is Malay (or rather Bahasa Malaysia). I also notice all Chinese language materials are in simplified Chinese, a script standardised and made compulsory by the Communist regime in the late 1950s that is still not necessarily widely used outside of Mainland China. I dislike it because all my hard-won Japanese counts for little when trying to read simplified Chinese, whereas I can always second guess at least a couple of characters in traditional spelling. Besides, I find it less aesthetically appealing than traditional Chinese. I also savour to myself the irony of an anti-Communist country such as Malaysia having simplified Chinese taught everywhere.
Anson is Chinese but he is an outsider to Melaka. He has been here for five years however, and obviously knows a good deal about the city. He flies home once or twice a year (there are no boats. Even if there were there would probably be no takers. The boat connection between Penang and Medan in Sumatra, for instance, was discontinued because there were no customers to keep the business profitable. Differently to Indonesians, who tack back and forth on ships all over their vast country, Malaysians seem to be wealthy enough to take planes in their much smaller land. The drag however is that perhaps not many can afford them fairly often. Once or twice a year is not a lot considering it is so close by. However, the Lowcost Carrier Terminal (LCCT) which is the cheap arm of the local airport in Kuala Lumpur is a tough place. If you don't get there well before it is time to travel, you may miss your plane as it is an overcrowded and fairly chaotic airport. That is exactly what happened to Anson once. So considering he has to take a bus from Melaka to the airport - there are not many buses as I discovered - and arrive there well before his flight, and that besides the flight itself takes two hours, the entire trip lasts for a good five hours. I find it amazing and significant that it takes just as long to get to Bangkok. We discuss why Jonker Street is called 'Chicken Place' in Chinese. There is no agreement on the reason. Anson tells me one theory is that during the time of the Dutch there were many centipedes on the street, so the chicken were brought in to eat them. He also shows me the diffferent shapes of the gables in the city harking back to fengshui practices. It is a very Chinese place though it is supposed to be Dutch colonial.
Anson looks different to me: he doesn't look Chinese only, though that is all he reveals to me about his ancestry. Miri is an oil town that is only a hundred years old or so. Even for Malaysian standards that is really recent. His ancestors came from China two generations ago. His mother's family is from Kucing, from a fishing village where most people are Malay. The village is well outside of Kucing. In fact, Kucing is a very spread out place. Cars are needed to go from one neighbourhood to another, or else you spend a long, long time in public transport. His father's hometown, Sibu, is more compact, but even so parts of his father's family live half an hour away from Sibu across Sarawak's and Malaysia's longest river, namely, the Rajang. Visiting his relatives can take time, he says, as they are all scattered around the three main cities of Sarawak. His family however drives as a matter of course between Miri, Sibu, and Kucing. It is about seven hours by car between each town but then Miri (where his parents live) is almost in Brunei, and Kucing is almost in the international southern border with Indonesia's Kalimantan Barat. Sibu is a plantation province, whereas in Miri oil is big business. Anson prefers Miri, as it is compact and its streets are not crowded as those of the two other cities in Sarawak.
Sarawak and oil in fact are one of the reasons Malaysia now has so much wealth to shower on at least some of its inhabitants. Sarawak also contains the Sultanate of Brunei, an independent, tiny country where I will probably never set foot. It is an oil sultanate where everybody owns cars bar immigrant labourers; everybody knows almost everyone else, and besides about 80% of the original forest cover of the country is still intact (I find this piece of statistics quite intriguing). Malay is the official language but they have their own version of it. Also, they favour Jawi - a Perso-Arabic derived script - over Latin script, though I am not sure this has many practical consequences beyond Jawi signboards. Brunei, Indonesia, and Malaysia have a joint badan - official body - of some sort related to Malay/Indonesian where all three countries sit together. It must make them feel they speak a very international language, considering that as many as three countries have it as their official language. This compares with the community of eight Portuguese-speaking countries - Brasil, Portugal, Angola, Cabo Verde, Guiné-Bissau, Moçambique, São Tomé e Príncipe, and Timor Leste. Four of them - Cabo Verde, Guiné-Bissau, São Tomé e Príncipe, and Timor Leste - are very small to tiny countries. I have almost forgotten to add tiny Macau, where Portuguese is also official, together with Cantonese (sorry, Chinese...). Portugal is much smaller than West Malaysia, and this in turn is considerably smaller than East Malaysia. In fact, this last is about two thirds of all of Malaysia, just as a similar region, Amazônia - the Amazon Region - is about two thirds of Brasil.
The coast of Sarawak/Brunei on the northeast of Borneo/Kalimantan is actually one of those intriguing coasts of the Indian Ocean. Brunei is today a tiny though very wealthy country (not unlike a Gulf oil sheikdom), but during the Song Dynasty in China (tenth to thirteenth centuries CE) there was a state there or nearby that was a Hindu polity. It had relations with the Song (and that is why we know about it nowadays, as well as because of some archaeological evidence). It eventually became a sultanate, but Chinese influence was also important, as the region was very close to the south of China. Brunei therefore came out of a complex, long history of Hindu influence, Islam, and Chinese presence. It became eventually an important trading port city with influence far beyond its borders; moreover, these last were not the incredibly confined postcolonial borders it now has (the country is very small and on top of it is divided in two halves separated by water). The British in nineteenth century Sarawak in fact are responsible for the incredible shrinking of today's Bruneian territory. In much earlier centuries however Brunei also had problems with another powerful neighbour, namely the Sultanate of Sulu (now in the southern Philippines though it still claims its historical territory in Sabah, north of Brunei and Sarawak). Apparently a local Chinese alliance saved the sultanate from its rival. History in this region therefore is very ancient, somewhat obscure, and very complex, as it closely intertwines different peoples and various states. It is strange to say this, as the image of the region is one of sparsely populated rainforest inhabited by traditional villagers still bound to old customs. Or else one of an oil-producing region not unlike Pekan Baru in Sumatra just across the straits from Melaka (there is a boat linking Melaka to it and also a daily flight). Instead, it is in fact a region with a history that is considerably older than that of Melaka itself - and also older than that of most parts of the Peninsula, at least if we equate history with the appearance of a polity. And yet Melaka is thought of as a Bandaraya Bersejarah, or an officially Historic City whereas Sarawak is associated with jungles, rivers, traditional longhouses inhabited by many people, and forest-clad mountain fastnesses. Most Malaysians who are not from there don't even bother to go there. In fact, none of my Malaysian friends or acquaintances have ever been there in their life.
Anson looks different to me: he doesn't look Chinese only, though that is all he reveals to me about his ancestry. Miri is an oil town that is only a hundred years old or so. Even for Malaysian standards that is really recent. His ancestors came from China two generations ago. His mother's family is from Kucing, from a fishing village where most people are Malay. The village is well outside of Kucing. In fact, Kucing is a very spread out place. Cars are needed to go from one neighbourhood to another, or else you spend a long, long time in public transport. His father's hometown, Sibu, is more compact, but even so parts of his father's family live half an hour away from Sibu across Sarawak's and Malaysia's longest river, namely, the Rajang. Visiting his relatives can take time, he says, as they are all scattered around the three main cities of Sarawak. His family however drives as a matter of course between Miri, Sibu, and Kucing. It is about seven hours by car between each town but then Miri (where his parents live) is almost in Brunei, and Kucing is almost in the international southern border with Indonesia's Kalimantan Barat. Sibu is a plantation province, whereas in Miri oil is big business. Anson prefers Miri, as it is compact and its streets are not crowded as those of the two other cities in Sarawak.
Sarawak and oil in fact are one of the reasons Malaysia now has so much wealth to shower on at least some of its inhabitants. Sarawak also contains the Sultanate of Brunei, an independent, tiny country where I will probably never set foot. It is an oil sultanate where everybody owns cars bar immigrant labourers; everybody knows almost everyone else, and besides about 80% of the original forest cover of the country is still intact (I find this piece of statistics quite intriguing). Malay is the official language but they have their own version of it. Also, they favour Jawi - a Perso-Arabic derived script - over Latin script, though I am not sure this has many practical consequences beyond Jawi signboards. Brunei, Indonesia, and Malaysia have a joint badan - official body - of some sort related to Malay/Indonesian where all three countries sit together. It must make them feel they speak a very international language, considering that as many as three countries have it as their official language. This compares with the community of eight Portuguese-speaking countries - Brasil, Portugal, Angola, Cabo Verde, Guiné-Bissau, Moçambique, São Tomé e Príncipe, and Timor Leste. Four of them - Cabo Verde, Guiné-Bissau, São Tomé e Príncipe, and Timor Leste - are very small to tiny countries. I have almost forgotten to add tiny Macau, where Portuguese is also official, together with Cantonese (sorry, Chinese...). Portugal is much smaller than West Malaysia, and this in turn is considerably smaller than East Malaysia. In fact, this last is about two thirds of all of Malaysia, just as a similar region, Amazônia - the Amazon Region - is about two thirds of Brasil.
The coast of Sarawak/Brunei on the northeast of Borneo/Kalimantan is actually one of those intriguing coasts of the Indian Ocean. Brunei is today a tiny though very wealthy country (not unlike a Gulf oil sheikdom), but during the Song Dynasty in China (tenth to thirteenth centuries CE) there was a state there or nearby that was a Hindu polity. It had relations with the Song (and that is why we know about it nowadays, as well as because of some archaeological evidence). It eventually became a sultanate, but Chinese influence was also important, as the region was very close to the south of China. Brunei therefore came out of a complex, long history of Hindu influence, Islam, and Chinese presence. It became eventually an important trading port city with influence far beyond its borders; moreover, these last were not the incredibly confined postcolonial borders it now has (the country is very small and on top of it is divided in two halves separated by water). The British in nineteenth century Sarawak in fact are responsible for the incredible shrinking of today's Bruneian territory. In much earlier centuries however Brunei also had problems with another powerful neighbour, namely the Sultanate of Sulu (now in the southern Philippines though it still claims its historical territory in Sabah, north of Brunei and Sarawak). Apparently a local Chinese alliance saved the sultanate from its rival. History in this region therefore is very ancient, somewhat obscure, and very complex, as it closely intertwines different peoples and various states. It is strange to say this, as the image of the region is one of sparsely populated rainforest inhabited by traditional villagers still bound to old customs. Or else one of an oil-producing region not unlike Pekan Baru in Sumatra just across the straits from Melaka (there is a boat linking Melaka to it and also a daily flight). Instead, it is in fact a region with a history that is considerably older than that of Melaka itself - and also older than that of most parts of the Peninsula, at least if we equate history with the appearance of a polity. And yet Melaka is thought of as a Bandaraya Bersejarah, or an officially Historic City whereas Sarawak is associated with jungles, rivers, traditional longhouses inhabited by many people, and forest-clad mountain fastnesses. Most Malaysians who are not from there don't even bother to go there. In fact, none of my Malaysian friends or acquaintances have ever been there in their life.
Sarawak reminds me of Amazônia and Central Brasil. Parts of the Amazon region by the way also have a very ancient and complex pre-colonial history (as it obviously had no relations with China however there are no written records related to it but only archaeological remains as well as some oral accounts). Peninsular Malaysia is already a fairly empty land as anyone who drives through it can find out. I can imagine what Sarawak feels like. I remember driving with my family along the highways of Brasil Central in my teens, and some times we would not see a single soul, car, or house for about a hundred kilometres or so. Only thick savannah brush on both sides of the road, and barbed wire fences (a good deal of it was back then cattle country. There were no cattle to be seen however).
Trivandrum
Anson tells me the Baba Peranakan - traditionally Malay-speaking Chinese of mixed Malay and Chinese ancestry - in Melaka are either middle-class or rich. Also, there are fewer and fewer of them around, as they immigrate to Australia, Singapore, and elsewhere. I guess if you are moderately wealthy and successful Melaka must feel provincial and restricted. Even young people who are not wealthy complain to me about it, in fact. Melaka is boring, they say. It is peculiar that the current stress on Baba Nyonya culture has come exactly at a moment when that culture is slowly disappearing through immigration. I also find it peculiar that I have got to know Melaka at the tail end of an era. Another couple of decades and this place will probably be gone as it is now. It is however difficult to tell what will happen. Further sinification seems to be a distinct possibility. It is not for nothing that most of the print materials on sale or display at the Geographer's Café are in Mandarin. This is an ironic destiny to say the least, for a city that is supposed to be one of the cradles of Malay civilisation. (Actually I wonder whether there is any Southeast Asian history anywhere in the region that makes much sense without Chinese influence and presence; I also used to wonder when I lived in Macau why Chinese history is supposed to be disconnected from Southeast Asian history. The history of the southern coastal regions of China in particular makes no sense on their own).
This is also one of the cradles of Hokkien writing as nineteenth century missionaries would use the Latin script to write the language. There are still religious books in that script extant (say Bibles). It is funny to think that in the nineteenth century and first half the twentieth century Hokkien used to be written down. Until fairly recently - say a quarter of a century ago and then in Taiwan only - all that was history. Namely, hardly anybody would write any more in Hokkien, no matter in what script. In Taiwan writing Hokkien was even forbidden by the Nationalist government who wanted to stress Mandarin only as the national language. Funnily enough because of Japanese educational policies during the colonial era as well as restricted schooling in pre-colonial times, Mandarin was not widespread in Taiwan until the 1950s drive for Mandarinisation under a highly dictatorial and repressive climate. Instead, use of Hokkien - and to a much lesser degree Hakka - was common, just as on the adjoining coast of Fukkien from whence came the Chinese immigrants who colonised both Taiwan and the west coast of Peninsular Malaysia centuries ago. In Melaka writing in Hokkien is a dead activity as far as I know, though books used to be published here in the past. A late friend, Joyce, told me she owned a Bible from her mother's time that is in Hokkien entirely in Latin script. This was developed by missionaries and is called Pe̍h-ōe-jī. Nowadays, however, writing is done only in characters which are then read either as Mandarin or as Hokkien, depending on the proclivities and skills of each reader (increasingly I guess only Mandarin pronunciation is used when reading). This is peculiar, as Mandarin is historically the more recent arrival, and definitely is not a local language. People promptly answer 'Mandarin' when I ask them what language they are speaking or what is their mother tongue. They do so even when they are clearly speaking Hokkien or another 'dialect'. They must think as a foreigner I don't know about the local languages. But then when they say they are talking Mandarin they are also doing a kind of formal presentation of themselves: we are Mandarin speakers. We are Chinese. However, in practice, it is almost tantamount to answering 'white' in Brasil when you are asked about your skin colour and it turns out in fact you are not so white.
This is also one of the cradles of Hokkien writing as nineteenth century missionaries would use the Latin script to write the language. There are still religious books in that script extant (say Bibles). It is funny to think that in the nineteenth century and first half the twentieth century Hokkien used to be written down. Until fairly recently - say a quarter of a century ago and then in Taiwan only - all that was history. Namely, hardly anybody would write any more in Hokkien, no matter in what script. In Taiwan writing Hokkien was even forbidden by the Nationalist government who wanted to stress Mandarin only as the national language. Funnily enough because of Japanese educational policies during the colonial era as well as restricted schooling in pre-colonial times, Mandarin was not widespread in Taiwan until the 1950s drive for Mandarinisation under a highly dictatorial and repressive climate. Instead, use of Hokkien - and to a much lesser degree Hakka - was common, just as on the adjoining coast of Fukkien from whence came the Chinese immigrants who colonised both Taiwan and the west coast of Peninsular Malaysia centuries ago. In Melaka writing in Hokkien is a dead activity as far as I know, though books used to be published here in the past. A late friend, Joyce, told me she owned a Bible from her mother's time that is in Hokkien entirely in Latin script. This was developed by missionaries and is called Pe̍h-ōe-jī. Nowadays, however, writing is done only in characters which are then read either as Mandarin or as Hokkien, depending on the proclivities and skills of each reader (increasingly I guess only Mandarin pronunciation is used when reading). This is peculiar, as Mandarin is historically the more recent arrival, and definitely is not a local language. People promptly answer 'Mandarin' when I ask them what language they are speaking or what is their mother tongue. They do so even when they are clearly speaking Hokkien or another 'dialect'. They must think as a foreigner I don't know about the local languages. But then when they say they are talking Mandarin they are also doing a kind of formal presentation of themselves: we are Mandarin speakers. We are Chinese. However, in practice, it is almost tantamount to answering 'white' in Brasil when you are asked about your skin colour and it turns out in fact you are not so white.
One of the mysteries of Malaysia to me is that, differently to the Caribbean, there seems to be little or no Creole writing as such. By that I do not necessarily mean writing in Creole languages - say in Melaka Portuguese - but writing made from a Creolized position, no matter what may be the language of writing (say the writing of Glissant in the Caribbean, for instance, who is a speaker of Créole but only writes in French). The famous Baba Pantuns still exist - they are recited and made up on the spot in Baba Nyonya Malay. That is a Creolised literary form or rather a form of Creolised orature (it can be either in fact). All the effervescence of Creole writing in the Caribbean however seems to be lacking here. Instead, there is writing in English and Chinese (and a little in Malay as well. I wonder whether there is any in Tamil). Maybe some of that writing is actually Creole but nobody so far has looked at it in that way. There is a literature museum in the Stadthuys which features a couple of Melaka-born writers. They are all Malay except for Munshi Abdullah who is a Creole man whose mother tongue was Tamil and whose ancestors came from the Hadhramaut it the Arabian Peninsula as well as India. He is however considered the father of modern Malay writing. His very modest, kampung house is a national monument, and is still standing in Melaka.
This city is full of interesting surprises. Or rather it is full of Creoles.
This city is full of interesting surprises. Or rather it is full of Creoles.
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| The Other Jawi: Divehi (the language of the Maldives) in Trivandrum, Kerala Source: ബരഗുല് |
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