My Mum

Emak. My mum was a real lady with a class of her own, regal. She was loving and lovable. The daughter of an Arab Sheikh, a Lurah (village head) of Kembang Seri, Bangkahulu, Indonesia. Her mum was called Pik Ita short for Cik Jelita (the Beautiful Lady). (Another classy lady. I'll write about her later, insya-Allah. She was simply fantastic.) Mum was a biz woman. She baked cakes and cookies, sew pants, and made-to-order special thick-n-dimpled cotton mattresses.

The villagers seek her advice and services for weddings. Her past experiences enabled her to guess correctly, for instance, the number of guest coming. No one dared to contradict the petite, soft spoken lady because she had proven her capabilities and she walked her talk. She asked no payment for the job. The job which just fitted into her shoes after her mum, Nyai. Never try to bluff her either, if you wanted the reception to run smoothly. If she asked the host to prepare 60 kg of beef, it better be. For she could tell just by looking. If you couldn't afford it, say so. She could plan another affordable menu. Or you would not have the courage to request her next service. Unless you're a thick skin.

She did not attend any formal schooling. Yet she could spell, especially in Jawi, and write numbers! She loved the tv show Oshin. The only show she watched. Don't worry if you miss an episode. Her retelling is even better than seeing the show on tv. When we were kids our rewards for a hard days work were her story telling. We would urge her to tell the stories over and over again. Her voice-over was just fantabulous. When tiredness overcame her she would tell us the story about The Journey of the Turtle Crossing the Deep Blue Sea. We would wait in anticipation, but only her slow breathing could be heard. Sssshh...

Gifted. Mum had a rare gift. None of us, except my two older siblings knew ab it. It happened that Tam lost her ruby ring. The fun we had frolicking in the river that afternoon ended with fear of scolding. We had searched everywhere, but in vain. The next morning mum came with us to the river. She looked around at the cobbled stones, the sand and the clear flowing river. Then she squatted down. Dipped her hand in the water just by the water edge and put away some stones. Underneath the ruby sparkled. We had a hard time convincing ourselves that that was not a magic show, but just pure magic.

The other children told their parents. That was the start. Neighbours and relatives began relating other stories of mum's gift. Grandma knew that she had the ability of finding lost items since the age of five.

One of the most memorable was ab the new bride's lost wedding ring. Everyone looked for it high and low, under the house, floor crevices, the bed, cabinets, everywhere. At last they called mum. Very reluctant the young girl was still drowsy from sleep. She fetched the broom swiped it slowly on the floor. Out rolled the ring as though from her hand.

I was blessed to have tended to her until she departed. Dear God, bless her.