Netball in the kampong

The attire is somewhat different to that I am accustomed to, the backdrop is far more spectacular, the umpiring a little haphazard (the umpire is also playing) and it's often left to the players to 'fess up to their errors. The game is the same, though, and everyone has fun.

Here you can see the patch of sand that we filled in under the goalpost.

The kids play while their mums play.

Netball

On Wednesday afternoons, I play netball. I am trying to make it more often, as this is something that I really enjoy in my week, but it does unfortunately often clash with our English/ Bahasa Melayu lessons. I was invited to netball by Liza, and am grateful that the colonial English left the legacy of this great sport in Malaysia as well as Australia.

Our shared enjoyment transcends language and cultural barriers. We meet at a communal area in the kampong of Kuala Dipang and as we gather the children play around the court, mothers sit and share a durian while discussing the happenings of the day, and teenage girls cluster together by the motorcycles, chatting animatedly and eating fried banana. Few of the other players speak much English, and my command of Bahasa Melayu, seriously limited at the best of times, on more “senior” days becomes a basic command of grammar accompanied by a non-existent recall of vocabulary. 

Last week we had the most fun I can recall. I arrived first, having cycled the 15 minutes along the main road from home. The “court” is a once-marked-out area of grass in the middle of the kampong, next to a sealed and fenced court that appears to be reserved for the men to play soccer. The lines are all visible, at least in part, if one looks carefully, though the centre circle must be approximated by the player taking the centre pass. Patchy grass covers all but the most heavily-worn areas, which on other days would have been dusty and a bit slippery. When I arrived yesterday, however, the lower side of the court and one goal area were submerged as a result of the afternoon's downpour. The ladies started arriving and decided that a few hundred litres of water on the court should not stop us having fun, so proceeded to gather spades and buckets and move sand from the parking area to the puddle under the northern goal. We all pitched in, and soon the court was deemed suitable for play.

Liza and Mas speak some English, though not as confidently as Asma, who usually takes a lead in organising everybody and referees while she is playing. Asma usually talks to me in English a bit, though I love to sit back and listen to the conversation in Bahasa Melayu, grabbing what snippets I can understand, listening to the pronunciation, the different accents and the feel of the language. I enjoy just trying to fit in, not being a celebrity, enjoying the privilege of being allowed to just be there. Asma has tried hard to make me feel welcome, using her command of English to explain bits of the culture, the game, the social goings-on and the language, and has been a real blessing. Asma wasn't there on that day, and for some time, none of the English-speakers were there, so I just had to get by with BM. It is good to be thrown into talking in Bahasa Melayu, without the option of deferring to English and translators. I am particularly fond of Linda. Her gentle, caring face tells me that she want me to understand, and she speaks slowly, with little groups of words that I can decipher in bits. She speaks little English, but I understand her best, because she takes the time to patiently explain things and to wait for a response.

All the other players are Moslem, and wear clothes that cover themselves to varying degrees. The first few times I played, most had long sleeves and long trousers, though now most are wearing short-sleeved T-shirts with long sports trousers. Asma and I wear scarves over our hair, but all the other ladies, young and old, wear a tudung while playing. Wearing a tudung can introduce all sorts of challenges in an active game like netball, but generally they manage well. I don't even notice the headwear now, except when someone turns up to play in something particularly bejewelled or ornate. The modern Malaysian tudungs are mostly lycra or nylon in one piece, easy to wear, and, I assume, easy to launder, and the loose ends can be twisted and tucked into one's T-shirt if need be.

The teams are usually the younger girls and the older women. Most often, we oldies win by a good margin, but on the semi=submerged field the game was very close, possibly because the older ladies picked their way gingerly through the mud, protecting bodies and the families that rely on those bodies being whole and functional, while the young girls ran around with the abandon that can be enjoyed by the young and naïve. In our bare feet we slipped in the mud, sloshed in the sodden sand and splashed through the submerged part of the field. Every pair of feet and legs became an itchy, mosquito-bitten muddy mess, and soggy trousers were rolled up over ankles and calves. We fell in the mud, in the water, and onto each other. We screamed and cursed without swearing. We dropped the ball and scrambled in a mad, muddy mangle of bodies to regain it. But most of all we laughed. We laughed at ourselves and we laughed at each other. We laughed at the craziness of playing netball with the court like this, and we laughed at the difficulties. We made silly noises and pretend-whistle-sounds, as Asma-with-the-whistle was not there to referee. As always, the play was mostly fair and good-natured, and we refereed ourselves. Miraculously, no-one was hurt, and just before seven, all the Moslem ladies hurried to be home in time for prayers, leaving me to wait for my husband to arrive with the D-Max to carry me and my bike home to a warm shower and clean clothes. I waited, bitten, muddy and smelly, but satisfied, having truly had fun. On the netball court, culture, religion and language disappear, and what truly matters is integrity and a pure spirit.

If that was an unusual netball session, Saturday's was even more interesting. Unusually, not enough people turned up to play, and after some phone calls, Za and Linda discovered that a number of the ladies were at a party. This was conveyed to me in Linda's simple, telegraphic communication, punctuated with many, “Faham? Understand?” We apparently thenceforth invited ourselves to the party, or should I say, the ladies invited themselves and I was commanded to join them. Their motorcycles were parked undercover in case of rain while five children and two ladies piled into the D-Max with me. A few minutes later, we turned up to the party in the back-blocks of Kuala Dipang dressed in T-shirts and sports pants. Satay, rice, tom yam, chicken and lots of Bahasa Melayu later, we sloshed through the now-monsoonal rain back into the D-Max and I delivered the poor souls back to their motorcycles, from whence they would ride home. It was a somewhat surreal experience, a white English-speaker gate-crashing a party of Malays who spoke virtually no English and whom I had never met before, sitting barefoot on the floor of a humble home connected to the world by a tiny thread of bitumen that wove between houses and trees back to the main road. Netball is transpiring to be educational and an amazing cultural experience as well as great exercise.

Penang

One of my son's friends recently said on his Facebook status update, “must take some time out and see more of the places around where I live”. Isn't it true? We live somewhere, complain about having nothing interesting to do, and end up seeing little of what is around us. Because the Inventor and I have moved around quite a lot, we have always been aware of it, and despite the awareness, the good intentions and plans, still mumble and grumble of missed opportunities, and unseen beauties.

Crossing the bridge to Penang Island

Last weekend, we travelled to Penang to cross off a “must-see” from our list. Fortunately or unfortunately, this one has not been crossed off, as it must be relegated to the other list, the list reserved for places and experiences that offer too much to be digested in one sitting. Penang, or Pulau Pinang as I should more correctly refer to the island, is a modern, interesting, attractive place, and we hope to go back again. It is steeped in history, and many of the buildings from its colonial past remain. It is also pitched towards tourists, and one does not feel out of place there, sightseeing, shopping or just looking. Some English is spoken by most people, and strangest of all for us was the masses of white-skinned people, both residents and tourists. We are accustomed to being the only white-skinned “orang putih” around, and experience something of a celebrity status because of our ethnicity and skin colour. At Tesco people have become more accustomed to our presence, aided by the fact than another family of “orang putih” also moved here just before us. This family also were nice enough to have seven children, every one of whom has striking blue eyes and a shock of white-blonde hair. Hence, I feel that the novelty of white people around Kampar has worn off to a large extent, though I still pass people who seem surprised or interested to see a white person, and many seem a little awed to meet us. Our friends Desmond and Swee Yee tell us that foreigners are respected in Malaysia above locals, unlike Australia where foreigners can be treated with suspicion or disregard.

In Penang there were many, many white-skinned people. We heard English being spoken regularly, and I enjoyed hearing the familiar Aussie accent as I wandered past groups of people. Up until our trip to Singapore, we had been counting the white-skinned people we had seen in a day, and the highest daily total so far achieved had been eleven, on one of our trips to KL. The record was blitzed at KL international airport, and in Singapore it was pointless to count. So too, Penang.

Two views from our balcony, to sea, and inland.

We had planned to go to Penang the previous weekend, and so had Desmond and Swee Yee. Strangely, both lots of plans had fallen through, and at church on the Sunday, we decided to go together the next weekend. They had acquired vouchers for three nights' accommodation at a time share hotel in Penang, and invited us to join them, using one of the vouchers to pay for our first night there. We had discovered that our passport renewal applications could be submitted with the honorary consul in Penang, so decided to stay for a second night so we would have time to see some things as well as renew our passports, which we want to get done now despite their not being due to expire until July, so that the two-year visa we have applied for can be stamped into our new passports. The Inventor has also read that the Australian government plan to dramatically increase the cost of passports to raise revenue.

We enjoyed a delightful two days in Penang with Desmond, Swee Yee and their four-year-old son Daniel. Desmond and Swee Yee appointed themselves travel guides, and in the process of showing us around the island, discovered some places they had never seen themselves. The drive along the coastal road to the village of Teluk Bahang was a scenic delight, and so much like the Cairns- Port Douglas road, it made me both nostalgic and a little melancholic. Even the vegetation is similar, and I find it strange that parts of Malaysia are so similar, yet so very different, to our previous home. A highlight of our trip for me was a visit to a batik factory, where we were shown the batik being stamped by hand. I knew, of course, how it was done, but it was great to finally see the real thing! We also stopped and had a walk through a lovely private botanical gardens. The herb garden was interesting but it was the trail up and down the hill through the rainforest that I loved, again reminding me of the tracks and trails around Cairns and the fun walks I had there with friends and on my own. We even managed to see the night markets despite the rain- unlike in Kampar, the stall-holders are well equipped and had no intention of missing a night's trade because of a little bit of rain, however thunderous. Strangely, the one tourist venue that I had wanted to see seemed to have closed down, which would explain my failure to contact them on each of the numerous phone numbers I had found on google. The cultural centre had seemed very popular and won awards for its displays of dance, music, games and other cultural displays, so I wonder why it is now closed.

What little boys do!

Having Desmond order the food for us at nearly every meal made it easy for us, as communicating can be a stressful and difficult task, and when a Chinese speaker does all the interpreting for you, there are also less surprises when the food arrives! Another highlight was the steamboat dinner. Our steamboat was lit and the soup poured in, then it was up to us to choose from the hundreds of meats, seafoods and vegies and take them back to the table to cook in the soup or barbeque on the hotplate that surrounded the steamboat. Dozens of other pre-cooked foods were available, too, and we all ate far more than we probably should have.

The hotel Desmond and Swee Yee had taken us to is right on the beach, and from the hotel lobby one walks out to the pool area then onto the beach. While Desmond fished from the beach, we played with Daniel in the sand and in the little waves that splash onto the beach, and wandered along the surprisingly uncrowded beach. More adventurous tourists zoomed around on hired jetskis, rode on inflatable bananas and soared over our heads under parachute canopies, but we enjoyed taking it easy and having a bit of down-time. The inventor was a little disappointed to discover that the two hobie cats that lay stacked at the top of the beach were indeed as non-functional as they appeared, so we remained on solid ground.

So cute- sometimes! He speaks two languages already.

As we navigated our way back across the Penang bridge back to the mainland after lunch on Tuesday, I was sad to be having to leave. Penang really appealed to me, with its azure ocean views and verdant mountainous interior, modern shopping centres, Chinese food places, clean and tidy presentation and Western feel. This is one place to which I am sure we will return.

I had wanted to see the historic O and E Hotel, and we miraculously drove straight past it on our way out of town.

The Good Samaritan

We were driving into town for an early dinner. It was a little after 6pm and the sky was starting to darken. Although it doesn't usualy get dark till around 7pm,  the rainy season has brought regular cloud cover, and last night the clouds were heavy and angry-looking, and every now and then flashed ominously, though the threatened thunder storm had not yet been delivered.

As we passed the old man, I commented on his bicycle. He didn't ride it, but was pushing it slowly up the hill, and we wondered if he walked because the ancient bicycle was broken, or if it was just too difficult to pedal up the incline into town with no gears and an unsteady load of cardboard for recycling balanced on the back. The bicycle was brown, the nondescript colour of the many bicycles in Kampar that possibly once wore paint but now wear the patina of age with pride. The skinny, twisted old body leaned on the frame, and his head rested on the handlebars as each foot in turn shuffled a little further forward than the one before it.

We were waiting to turn at the lights when the Inventor changed his mnd.

"I have to go back and see if he needs help- he looked tired."

He executed the U-turn where we should have turned for our comfortable air-conditioned restaurant, the anticipated dinner and an early night. We passed the ancient Chinese man again, but this time he was in the saddle, slowly making his way over the crest of the hill. Heading back in the direction of home, we paused briefly at the break in the concrete divider, before the Inventor pulled the D-Max into another U-turn and we returned along the road we had been driving when we saw the man a few minutes earlier. This time, as we neared the old man, he was stationary and was fiddling with the rubber straps that held the pile of folded boxes to the bike's rack. We pulled over and the old man looked up inquiringly. His wizened face was lined with wrinkles within wrinkles, and he didn't stand straight. I was simultaeously astounded that he could still ride a bicycle and saddened that he still had to collect recycling cardboard to sustain himself.

The Inventor got out of the car and walked around it to address the old man.

"Do you need some help?"

The man looked quizzically at him. We gestured at the bike, at the tray of the ute, at him, and the back seat. He didn't nod or imply understanding, but he helped the Inventor load his things into the ute tray, and hopped into the back seat. He hadn't even finished pulling his ancient body up into the seat before I cursed out aloud at my stupidity for not ginving him the front seat. The startled old man sat huddled in the back seat, unable to understand anything we said, and we unabe to comprehend his few uttered Chinese words. I twisted to look at him.

The Inventor tried some Malay, the little he knows, and badly pronounced.

"Tingle." The little old man looked confused.

"Tinggal," I repeated. "Rumah. Di rumah awak."

This time I think he understood, for he rattled a reply too fast for me to comprehend. This time it was my turn to look confused. I gestured, pointing left, right, straight ahead. He seemed unaware that if we were to take him home, we needed to know which way to go.

"Rumah?"

"Train station," he stumbled. So we drove to the train station. We figured he must live somewhere near here, though it was quite a drive from where we had picked him up. By now the man looked a little less shell-shocked and had worked out from our gestures that we needed him to indicate which way we should drive. He indicated back out onto the main road and out of town, so the inventor turned the D-Max and we continued to drive, then there was no mistaking the right-hand-turn he indicated next.

Now I was getting worried. We were some kilometres from town, and I doubted the old man was taking us to his house. Perhaps he doesn't understand, I suggested. I wondered if he had confused our intentions. As we turned right and continued to drive, I became even more worried. We had no option but to continue, however, as leaving him here was not an option. Some minutes up the road, he indicated a right turn. Now there was no mistaking his directions, and we turned, first right, through a small town, then left. We followed the tiny strip of bitumen around a corner, then the ancient Chinese man indicated we stop, and pointed to a house on the right. He climbed down from the back seat, and I noticed with pleasure the neat yards on each side of the narrow lane. In stark contrast to our own neighbourhood, the modest little houses sat low and alone, each surrounded by a small plot of land.  Also in stark contrast to our own neighbourhood, the laneway was tidy and clean, the yards neatly tended, and in a few cases, were being tidied as I watched.

The little man carried a pile of his folded boxes up the short driveway, and the Inventor helped with the boxes as I watched. As he lifted the bicycle down from the tray, I thought of our own sparkling white Raleigh bikes that are so easy to lift up into the back.

"Is it heavy?" I inquired.

"Uh-huh," he grunted, and I noticed the steel frame and solid wood platform on which the old man carried his papers. We agreed briefly that it would slow and difficult to ride and both felt guilty that our own bikes sit idle most of the week.

The old man called a woman to the door, and she thanked the Inventor. Her English was better than the man's, and at last we could see we had indeed brought him to the right place. It had been around 10km from the place we had picked him up, and we had still been concerned that we weren't actually taking him home, but now we had delivered him home, safe and sound, and, it seemed, grateful.

"God bless you," she called to the Inventor as he turned to leave. The Good Samaritan hopped back in the driver's seat and we left for our airconditioned restaurant.

Driving- Navigating Malaysian Roads

We have some family coming over for the Inventor's birthday in February. He will be turning 50, having successfully negotiated half a century on this planet. Our D-Max only seats five, so I suggested to one of the more capable and courageous members of the family, “What about you pick up a hire car and drive it to Kampar, so we have enough transport to move people around?”

He wasn't especially keen on the idea, and I can at least see his point of view. Driving in Malaysia can be a little hair-raising, especially at first. It's not that it is on a par with other Asian countries we have visited. Just sitting in a car in Vietnam, for instance, is a life-changing experience that would inspire anyone with the tiniest grain of faith to open communication with their creator. In Vietnam, I did a lot of soul-searching and questioning, on the value and purpose of life and humanity. When faced each day with the real possibility of being involved in an accident, one gets pragmatic.

Malaysia isn't like that. The roads in Malaysia are a blend of the haphazard, careless approach of the Asians, and the British legacy of undying regard for all that is lawful and proper. The inventor finds the disparity of this a little disconcerting, and is prone to frustration at the wheel of the car, but I still mostly am mildly amused, and somewhat bemused, at the goings-on on the tarmac around me.

Road laws in Malaysia are very similar to those in Australia. That is to say, they appear to be, for if I was to be truthful, I would have to admit that neither of us has actually ever looked up the road rules. The major difference would appear to be the infrequent policing of the rules and the ease with which one can bribe one's way out of a fine, and the subsequent disregard that people have for the rules.

Driving in Kampar is relatively straightforward. It's a small town and the traffic is generally light and slow-moving. In our little town the main challenge is getting across the traffic on the slow-moving main street. It's a game of chicken, complete with human obstacles, bicycles, cars, trucks and motorcycles. There is also the usual traffic conditions that make all driving in Malaysia a bit chaotic, until you get used to it- vehicles parked in already-narrow lanes, double-parked vehicles obstructing the flow of traffic, roadside restaurants taking the majority of a road over for tables, poor signage, red lights that one finds don't apply, even though facing you, and the unpredictability of movement of any of the vehicles sharing the road. It pays to take less notice of the rules and more of what is happening on the road in every direction around you. A generous portion of bravado blended in the right measure with driving skills seems to be the correct recipe for surviving three months without incident.

On all Malaysian roads, the thing we still find a challenge is motorcyclists. They obviously go with the grace of Allah, for they feel no need for protective equipment like jacket, shoes, or helmet. Children balance confidently behind parents and siblings, and mother's arms on the handlebars form a secure spot for the very smallest to perch. The motorcycles- not scooters- move along the side of the road, veering out in front of traffic to avoid puddles and potholes. They drive up the side of cars to take their place at the front of the traffic waiting for the lights to turn green. The smart ones jump the light before it changes, to get a head-start on the motorists, who tend to wait for the green. If they only have a short distance to travel, motorcyclists will drive up the shoulder on the wrong side of the road, but my favourite motorcycle trick, unsurpassed in its stupidity, is to overtake the D-Max, on the inside, as we are cornering. This manouevre could only be performed, or even considered, by someone who has never swung a vehicle of this size around a corner.

The drivers travel in larger obstacles that are easier to see. In our little corner of countryside, they weave around without indicators, unpredictable, inexperienced, and often incompetent. I find the choreography of the whole thing somewhat lovely and fluid. Driving in KL, however, is more serious stuff. Cars jam onto the maze of expressways that creep all over the city- wide, easy roads which are well signposted, but one wrong turn can mean a half-hour detour. None of the GPS packages we have tried so far can manage the complexity of lanes and multiple exits without the occasional error, then once off the expressway, navigation is a nightmare, as like all Malaysian towns, KL is a maze of connected minor roads with suburbs of winding lanes branching off them. We are slowly learning to find our way around Ipoh, but it also has its share of headaches, as I find the Malaysian road design very hard to fathom. Today I drove many kilometres around a suburb trying to find my way into it, and eventually used a small lump of concrete to cross the ditch and narrow stretch of grass that separated the main road I was on from the subdivision, rather than drive many kilometres back around.

All the above complaints are are minor and can be worked around with some patience and understanding, but the one that continues to get us riled is the selfishness and lack of consideration of so many drivers. It almost seems like there are only two sorts of drivers- slow, incompetent ones, and impatient, rude ones, and the it's the rude ones really upset the Inventor. He even dreamed about them last night, but unlike reality, in his dream he was successful his efforts to force their good behaviour using the might of the D-Max. These drivers can't wait in a line of traffic which obviously is moving slowly, preferring to make a new lane, or even two, by driving up the left of the traffic jam and then pushing in further ahead. This isn't just one or two cars I am talking about- it is an entire, constant stream of traffic. They seem to have no concern for turn-taking or consideration of others, preferring to meet their own needs only. It makes very slow going for those of us who wait our turn. I have had it happen in Australia, too, so I can reassure you that this sort of self-serving, rude behaviour is not unique to Malaysia, but it is probably worse here because of the absence of police regulation of road behaviour.

Then there are the drivers who find it intolerable sitting in the endless line of traffic that meanders from Gopeng to Kampar. The road is adequate enough but only one lane, and it always carries a lot of traffic. Some days the traffic is heavier and it just moves slower. Overtaking is pointless, as one can look beyond the line of traffic they are stuck in, and see another, and yet another, but still these young men pull out into tiny gaps between the oncoming traffic and utilise turning lanes and any other space they can find to make up one or two positions in the line. They sit impatiently straddling the double lines, looking and waiting for any opportunity to dart out and back into the crawling traffic, but they never get very far ahead of us before we get to the double lanes near Kampar. They only bother me when our vehicle is close enough to be hit by schrapnel from any accident they may cause, but the Inventor becomes quite incensed at their stupidity.

Having said so many disparaging things about Malaysian drivers, I must also now add that many are sensible and safe, and many appear to be trying to establish some sense of order on the roads. There are drivers that indicate their intentions, stay in their lanes, and most wait for traffic lights to turn green. Many also sit on the 110 km/h speed limit on the expressway, in stark contrast to the incompetents who potter along at 70 in the left lane, and the revheads who dominate the right-hand lane travelling at speeds more than double this, lights flashing angrily at anyone who dare try to use the lane to overtake at any speed below theirs.

Drivers and motorcyclists in Malaysia are five times more likely to die on the road than their Australian counterparts. Over 6000 people die on Malaysian roads each year, and though Australia has only a few million fewer inhabitants, only 1300 die on Australian roads. And we probably all agree that 1300 is too many. Cyclists are also five times more likely to meet an untimely death here, a fact of which we are very aware when we take out our beautiful new Raleigh bikes. Helmets, reflectors and lights might make us stand out from the crowd, but they help keep us safe.

The approach we have taken is somewhere of a middle ground. We learned to drive where following rules was obligatory. Coming from such a well-oiled democracy, bound by laws and bureaucracy, means we have been trained to expect rules and follow them. It would doubtless be quite easy to adopt local ways, abandoning the wearing of a seat belt, drifting between lanes without so much as a wave, or driving the expressway at 150. To some extent, we have taken on board some of these energy-saving local gems, but unlike many locals, we know about safety and have been brought up with the fear that is drilled into our heads at an early age. We hope to remain safe and sensible drivers, and in fact, I for one have become more aware and more alert on the roads. One just cannot afford not to be- there are 6000 Malaysians relying on it.

Innovating and its challenges

Today I am sitting in the office an engineering firm in Ipoh. The inventor has been here nearly every day this week, since he decided to abandon the adage of “a good manager delegates” and defer to the age-old treasure, “If you want something done well, do it yourself”. Although in this case, it was a matter of, “If you want something done, do it yourself”.

The fact is that he had hit a brick wall in the progress, having done all other jobs for the next stage bar this one. The engineering firm weren't quite sure how to proceed, and needed his help and encouragement to make it happen. Working beside an inventor usually isn't an easy task. They don't always explain themselves well, and can find it difficult to explain their grand ideas in a way that can be understood by the common man or made by the common fabricator. The fabricator needs to have an open mind and a good understanding of the processes, to be able to take an idea that has never been tried before and make a functioning part from these ideas.

The piece of equipment he is helping to make today is essential for the next part of the experimentation, that is, making the process work in a continuous flow. He managed to purchase all the parts at a large hardware store that we discovered in Ipoh, shown to us by a friend from church who, it transpired, sells some of the specialty equipment that the inventor required. As I sit in a corner of the airconditioned office, tucked away beside the photocopier, I can hear him just outside hammering on something. Or that could be one of the dozens of men who work here constructing and mending the myriad engineering components that are scattered around the large shed- enormous, heavy, metal monsters from assorted industries, each of which is no doubt anxiously awaited by some company, somewhere.

The poor inventor has been frustrated lately at the sluggish pace of the project. The heart of the problem lies in that it is actually not in anyone's domain of responsibility to help him, so when they are asked, they are expected to complete this task above and beyond what they are already doing. Hence the task gets delegated down and down and down the chain, until it lands on the desk of someone who is not equipped to do it. Three weeks later, the inventor chases up what is happening and then takes the job back to do himself, not quite back to square one, as he is now three weeks later in the schedule.

These delays would not be a problem, if it were not for a number of time issues pressing heavily on the project at the moment. Construction of the pilot plant was planned to be started around the end of the year, and the pilot plant is now eagerly awaited, as the output product already has a market waiting. Additionally, the sooner the pilot plant starts producing, the sooner we start earning royalties. Moving briskly through each of the stages of the development is advantageous for us all.

The inventor deserves to be given credit for his patience and ability to deal with the frustrations, which are numerous and ongoing. Hopefully, as we get to know how things work here, and maybe get some help on the project from some staff who are allocated solely to the project, things will start to run more smoothly. Until then, we are grateful for the satisfactory progress he has made. To the future, and beyond!

A weekend away

It was supposed to be a relaxing weekend away. Really, we would have preferred a quiet few days at one of the Malaysian destinations we are hoping to visit, but the 90 days of our Visitor's Visa were nearly expired, and we had to leave the country in order to re-enter and obtain a new 90-day visa/ pass. This could have, and should have, been a simple affair.

The Thai border is only four hours' drive north of Ipoh, and it's a favourite for visa runs from Perak. Because it was a long weekend, however, we decided to make a trip of it. It seemed simple enough, but after an entire week of searching and googling (and I really do mean an entire week!), our plans to visit the Malaysian island of Langkawi and the Thai island of Koh Lipe fell apart and, back at square one, we opted for the path of least resistance and booked tickets from Kuala Lumpur to Singapore. Even that seemingly simple plan came loaded, and I spent another stressful day organising accommodation, transport, and activities. I cannot even begin to explain the idiocy that drove the whole thing, because I don't even understand how things became so complicated, but by the time we actually left I was incredibly stressed and still considerably disorganised, never a good scene to set for a relaxed weekend away. I didn't actually calm down properly until we got home, though we did have a nice weekend away. Taking a short break is definitely not worth it if plans are so complicated!

One of the complications that presented itself was that the Inventor discovered that a group from our church would be visiting a mission on the Cameron Highlands on the Friday. For some time we had been wanting to go up there to see some of the isolated Orang Asli (aboriginal inhabitants of Malaysia), how they live up there and the issues facing them, and the inventor got it into his head that this had to be the occasion. I booked our tickets to Singapore for the Friday night so we could spend some of Friday visiting the Orang Asli.

Orang Asli men making the roof.

Our long weekend launched with an early start, picking up Lorena at 6am, as we'd offered to take her up and then drop her in KL. We crawled through the tortuous bends of the old road up to the highlands, to be at the designated meeting spot in Ringlet at 7.30am. From our rendezvous point, our little convoy of three cars snaked along the magnificent highway that heads south through the less populated part of the Cameron Highlands. Our goal was to visit three of the Orang Asli villages where Christian missions are reaching out to these disenfranchised people, who have been driven into isolated corners of the country by the invading Malays, Chinese and other races that followed. The story sounds all-too-familiar, and the challenges faced by these people to a large extent reflect those experienced by the Australian Aboriginal people. In contrast to Australia's aboriginal people, these people have been left largely alone until quite recently, and retain many of their traditional cultures and skills, although identity struggles are one of their major challenges. Alcohol in Malaysia is generally expensive, and being non-Halal, hard to obtain, and the problems associated with alcohol are rare. We were surprised to see in Singapore a group of young people staggering home from celebrations, as we hadn't realised that it had been months since we had seen anybody even slightly intoxicated. The government's response to the Orang Asli currently seems to be to visit a village and “convert” the chief to Islam, then offer gifts of brick houses and services in exchange for their faithfulness.

The Chinese helpers building the flooor.

We delivered two fridges to two different villages and then bounced and slid our way in four-wheel-drive along a single dirt track slippery from the heavy rains of the previous night. We passed many Orang Alsi along the way, making their way on motorcycles to the village we aimed for, and others further afield. At the village we hung around aimlessly, watching the men build the mission house in mainly traditional style. The ladies of the group handed out snack foods to the children and I played with them and entertained them taking photos. The poor inventor managed to slip while carrying two bags of rice to one of the huts, and his scratches were treated with some native medicine, a medicinal leaf, kneaded together with saliva to produce a yellow paste, as no-one had thought to bring a first aid kit.

 We left the village after lunch of rice, fish, chicken and jungle vegies which our large group took sitting in a circle around the bamboo floor of a hut, and then bounced our way back over the dirt road, now much less slippery, the sun having turned the thundering rains of the night into humid steam that rendered us lethargic and heavy. Back on the bitumen, we settled our heat-weary and muddy bodies into the airconditioned comfort of the D-Max, returned to Ringlet, then many curves later, to Tapah. We gratefully swiped our toll card, entered the expressway and pointed the mud-caked nose of the D-Max towards Kuala Lumpur. By 7pm we had managed to drop Lorena at a train station and successfully navigate our way through the maze of expressways that entangle KL, park the car and check in at the airport. The entire day was executed with only one major marital dispute, and less than two dozen navigational errors. We even arrived at the correct terminal, despite originally setting course for the low-cost terminal, many kilometres from KLIA terminal. The D-Max slunk into a dark and lonely corner of the airport carpark for a well-earned rest, while we exchanged muddy work-clothes for some more respectable attire (the majority of the mud had already been removed using taps at a highway rest-stop, where we had also acquired some fresh fruit to eat and bubble tea to drink).

Because our hotel for Saturday night was some distance from the airport and expensive, we had decided to spend Friday night closer to Changi Airport, and through miscommunication, misunderstanding and stress, ended up at a Hotel 81 which was not only not cheap, it was not clean, not pleasant and sealed its fate when another guest unlocked the door and walked in as I was getting dressed in the morning. I took great joy in rating it on Travel Advisor. The strangest thing of all with this hotel, was that the bottom sheet had been put on the bed so it failed to cover the bottom 18 inches or so of mattress. We had to remake the bed before we could sleep in it!

By the time we checked out on Saturday morning, I was almost beside myself with exhaustion, stress and disappointment. My legs went to jelly and tears welled in my eyes with relief when we finally checked into our destination hotel, the Swissotel Stamford, though it was too early to go to our room. We left our bags and headed out via train and taxi to Singapore Zoo, where spent the remainder of the day exploring. After three months of living in Malaysia, I particularly enjoyed the clean, tidy, prefectly-groomed surrounds of this massive and beautifully presented zoo. The zoo has a large range of primates and many other species, and we didn't leave until we had seen most of them, around 6pm closing time.

A young proboscis monkey.

No explanation needed. It's a giraffe!

Two bunnies.

At the zoo- the giraffe behind us kept trying to exit the photo.

One of the things we had enjoyed on our first trip to Singapore, and missed on the most recent, was the Suntek Plaza Fountain of Wealth, so we managed to drag our weary bodies from the king-size bed on the 22^nd floor back out to see one of the light and water shows. Although a few blocks from our hotel, we walked nearly the entire distance through underground malls. The light show was nowhere near as spectacular as we had remembered, but afterwards we were allowed to walk out to the fountain and walk around it three times with hands in the water, “for wealth”.

On the boat ride at Singapore Zoo.

For the superstitious, the omens are good- we are blessed by the Fountain of Wealth, my left palm is also regularly attacked with bouts of itching, so wealth must indeed be on its way! For the less superstitious and the sensible, the omens are also
good. Testing and development on the project continues to go well, the inventor has unearthed some research projects that have given him additional useful information, and pressure is now on to get the pilot plant running by Chinese NewYear. Plans have changed slightly, though, and it seems now that the pilot plant will not be one-tenth scale as planned, but full-scale. Supplying the raw product to run in it is no problem, and the market exists for anything produced, provided its quality is satisfactory, and the lab is there to check that. The main difficulty is organising the assistance needed to get things built by the specified time, communication difficulties being less language and more cultural.

We hope to have things really rolling by Chinese New Year, as this will be a big time for us. In the five days spanning Chinese New Year, the inventor, D, my father and myself all have birthdays, the inventor and my father turning 50 and 80 respectively. We have big plans and are going to take some time off, as we will be visited here by both our children and their partners, my parents, both my sisters and a brother-in-law, and also, I think, the inventor's mother. We are looking forward to spending some time with family and doing some sightseeing. James will be on university holidays and is coming earlier to spend a few weeks working in the lab, hopefully working on the building of the pilot plant, which should be in full-swing by then.

Cadbury popping chocolate. Just like magical elves, only bigger!

After the emotional day in Singapore, we had no energy left for the planned visit to the restaurants at the 72^nd floor of our hotel, so we grabbed some snacks on the way back to the hotel and enjoyed the view from our hotel window. The following morning was much the same, and apart from wandering down to the pool deck on the 10^th floor, we didn't do much. We had planned to have Sunday brunch in one of the hotel restaurants, but $300 seemed excessive for a lunch, even in Singapore dollars, so instead we found a nice Vietnamese pho bar in the shopping centre downstairs. We enjoyed wandering around the shopping centre, and I became unduly excited at the purchase of real vanilla essence, real Allen's snakes, and a block of Cadbury's Marvellous Creations Jelly Popping Candy– real Cadbury chocolate imported from Australia, which tastes so much nicer than the Malaysia Cadbury's. Singapore is just so western compared to anywhere in Malaysia, even KL. The absence of restrictions imposed by Islam makes a difference, too- stores can stock a wider range of products- and the presence of more “expats” means stores are more inclined to stock foods that appeal to we foreigners. Even in Ipoh, there is little demand for many of the products I would like to buy.

We returned to the hotel to pick up our bags from the luggage room, and the inventor asked about going up to photograph the view from the pool deck, however the girl mistook our request and directed us to the 72^nd floor restaurants. Apparently it wasn't a problem, and being mid-afternoon, there were few patrons to disturb, so we had a little wander around and enjoyed the spectacular views. I have read that Swissotel is the tallest hotel in Singapore, and the Singapore vista is an interesting and attractive blend of fascinating architecture and blue waters. I had been terribly disappointed to have missed coming up here, so it was the icing on the cake to snap a few shots with my wide-angle lens before slipping down, down, down to the subway and clattering our way to Changi International.

Our arrival at KLIA was unimpressive and blessedly uneventful. The passports were stamped with the new 90-day visas, we found the car, paid for the parking and navigated our way to the KL office without fuss. Just at the corner we found a clean, simple and cheap hotel, and next to it an acceptable restaurant. We were parked at the KL office around the corner early the next morning, and spent the entire morning there, meeting with D, the new Belgian general manager, and a business associate of D's who may well become involved with the project. It was good to touch base with the girls in the office and Harry, too, though the gentleman accountant was away.

The weekend ended with the two-hour drive back to Kampar, relieved, tired, and grateful to be home. Hopefully, this will be our first and last border-run, as the company is now registered and we are just awaiting the official papers so we can apply for a proper visa, and then, a bank account. For now we have happily fallen back into our quiet everyday life in the backwaters of Malaysia's north.

On Missing

Today I'm feeling a bit homesick. I miss Australia and I miss my friends back in Cairns. While this is now home, there are some things that we loved in Australia that will never be here. We miss being able to converse in fluent English, sharing a common cultural understanding that dictates social norms, and being able to understand the machinations of the society. I especially miss the comfort and ease that comes with understanding how things in the society run. Do I line up? Where? Is there a machine where I take a number? Will it offend if I do that? How do I pay? Who do I pay? What type of shop do I go to buy one of those? Is it worth the effort shopping around, or will I never find one? How do I make a complaint? What should I expect of a person in this situation? It takes me hours to translate letters and bills received. The questions are endless, the confusion is endless, and it can be quite tiring dealing with the barrage of experiences that bombard you when living in a new culture. It simultaneously makes it more difficult and less so, that Malaysian culture is not just one but three, however I feel this will be the topic for another blog post.

Showing people photos of the beautiful, clean mountains, beaches and suburbs of Cairns reminds me of what we left behind, and looking at them floods me with sweet remembering. I have always been able to appreciate the incredible good fortune of being born Australian and being blessed to live in Cairns, and I need to be careful to limit the comparisons. As a newcomer, it is also not my place to try and change things here, though I find it hard to resist doing so. It would be wrong for me to try to make Malaysia like Australia- this would be to deny the unique things that this country has to offer. I need to enjoy and appreciate Malaysia for what it is, its own beauty and experiences- good and bad, as all are valuable. Is it possible to love two homes?

It's actually easier to not think too much about the people we have left behind. Strangely, it's not the family I'm missing most. I speak to them often, family are always in my thoughts, and besides, their presence wasn't something we could appreciate everyday, even when we lived in Australia. It's the many people who brushed through my life on a daily basis, shaping the course of my life in tiny, seemingly insignificant moments, or, in some cases, obvious and very significant ones. I miss all our friends from church, but especially, of course, the little group of very special friends that grew from there. I miss my work colleagues at my numerous workplaces, and the friends all around town that we always lamented we never had enough time for. If once my days were filled to overflowing with people and happenings, now, though no less busy, my days are strangely bereft of that joyous thing called companionship. Some people are regulars on Facebook, and both of us have become somewhat avid followers of the goings-on of those that we are able to follow. The regular, small tidbits of irrelevant rubbish from someone's life can be more connecting that the otherwise far more enlightening and informative newsy letters received. I suppose that it is more like real life, in a way. The removal of our social network has, of course, drawn the inventor and I closer together. We have come to really rely on each other very heavily for companionship and I am sure, as our new life unfolds here in Malaysia, that our relationship will continue to benefit from this.

In the blog of an Aussie expat living in Vietnam, I read of her reasoning of why expats cluster together. I have always shared her viewpoint- that comfort is found with familiarity, and we enjoy best the time spent with those whose language and culture is most familiar. I think this is why we enjoy the company of Desmond and Swee Yee, who we met at church in Ipoh. Unfortunately, in Kampar there is no great expat community, in fact, the Canadian family remain the only westerners we have met in Kampar, despite the large university here. We have been received with welcome arms in our new church, and our only regret is that Ipoh is far enough away that many people do not consider it for a regular drive. With our spiritual needs met adequately by Sunday services and Friday night cell group in Ipoh, we plan to sample some more of the offerings of English-speaking churches here in Kampar, with the primary intention being, I unashamedly admit, of meeting people who live close by.

It's not that I ever am in need of something to do. In fact, after the first few quiet weeks here, the list of things to do has restored itself to its former unmanageable glory, and for that I am grateful. When we first arrived, my primary goal was getting us settled in and our home sorted out. Once that was accomplished, new projects began to emerge and the busyness slowly returned. We spent a lot of time before leaving Australia dealing with jobs that must be done, and I had the unexpected extra two weeks to get everything sorted out, so when we arrived, the “to do” list was uncharacteristically short. I can happily report that, once again, the days are not long enough to even scratch the surface of the list, and prioritising has become the first task of each day.

I have spent some days working on an application for funding for our project, and we still have a lot of work to be done on that, and on business planning in general. The Inventor's head has been so “in the clouds” of late, that my input is needed for the everyday practicalities. He even struggles with intellectual pursuits he would normally tackle with ease, and at my suggestion has given up trying to learn the local language. He is, by choice, allowing his head and the majority of his vast and extraordinary thought processes to remain floating in the clouds and on the task to which he has been assigned. His bedtime reading is often thick bundles of tiny pages which I am told are patent applications- numerous similar patents found in searches, which must be scanned and analysed to ensure the uniqueness of his own pending patent, but just as importantly, to glean ideas from others who have expertise in the area.

In addition to helping The Inventor, I spend my days looking after our financial and physical resources both here and in Australia. In this last week, amongst other smaller tasks, I have advertised a car for sale, contacted the   sorted out one long-outstanding and complicated problem with the tax office, finally chosen and ordered bicycles for the two of us, paid bills and shuffled money between bank accounts, spoken to Cairns Council about a refund I have been chasing, sent rent statements to tenants, recharged our toll card, recharged prepaid mobiles, and researched verbs and affixes in Bahasa Melayu. I am trying to teach myself Bahasa Melayu, and I teach English lessons three times a week to some of the lab and office staff, in exchange for help with Malay. Planning these lessons takes up quite a lot of my time, as I have not taught English as a Second Language for a long time, have never taught adults before, have never tried to learn a language while simultaneously teaching another, and have a wide range of abilities to cater to. The other thing I have had to do this week, is to research what trips the two of us might be able to take out the country next weekend. We must leave and return, as our 30-day visitor visas will expire soon, and the company has not yet been registered (once the company registration is complete, we will be free to stay as long as we like, with The Inventor as a director of the Malaysian joint-venture company). Malaysia is very accommodating, and we will readily obtain a new 90-day visitor visa on our return, but to do this we must leave the country. It is foreign to us to have so many affordable options for a long weekend away, “overseas”. After searching flights from Ipoh, KL and Penang to places such as Vietnam, Myanmar, Thailand, Singapore, Laos, and Indonesia, we are currently investigating an Island in the south of Thailand which can be accessed by boat from the north of Malaysia, via a Malaysian Island called Langkawi.

Life continues to be challenging, rewarding, exciting and dull, and Malaysia interesting, friendly, breathtakingly beautiful and appallingly dirty. We work hard at the Inventor's difficult and massive project, we take the challenges for the learning experiences they are meant to be, we lap up the variety and opportunities. This is life, and, for the most part, I think we are dealing with it well. Bring it on!

Quite Interesting Quiz

You know I love quizzes! I've always loved quizzes, so it hasn't helped the Inventor's and my incurable, insatiable and sometimes indecent quest for knowledge and ridiculous facts, that one of the few things we have had to watch since we arrived in Malaysia, is a numerous episodes of QI from series G, H and I. The inventor and I love this British “quiz” show hosted by Stephen Fry, with another of our favourite actors, Alan Davis, as a regular panelist, and the 3 remaining positions on the “panel” (I dare not say competitors, for the only thing they seem to compete for is humiliation), being filled by a variety of British, and occasionally international, comedian and actors. The obscure “Quite Interesting” facts they discuss are often secondary to the hilarious banter that takes place, and sometimes I wonder if our concrete walls are thick enough to insulate our poor neighbours from the sound of our mirth.

I have made a quiz for you which is nothing like a QI quiz. Like QI, the quiz is themed, and is all about Malaysia and our experiences here. Unlike QI, it is not presented by a panel of hilarious and badly-behaved poms. It also does not involve rigged buzzers, disussion of answers or long-winded sidetracks. There is also no unfathomable scoring system or penalties for wrong answers. Most importantly, instead of the answers being extremely difficult and eschewing common knowledge and common sense, I am hoping the answers will, in many cases, be able to be logically derived. So, hands on buzzers, let's see how my guests go in a test of general ignorance.

1. What is on the Malaysian flag?
   a. red and white stripes.
   b. a moon
   c. a star
   d. all of the above
2. Which of the following is difficult to buy in Malaysia?
   a. fresh cream
   b. Vegemite
   c. glucose syrup
   d. all of the above
3. Which of the following is the current official price for fuel in Malaysia in October 2012?
   a. RM 1.90 (60c) per litre for unleaded
   b. RM 1.80 (55c) per litre for diesel
   c.there is no official price for low-octane (under 95 octane) fuels
   d. all of the above
4. Which of these religions is practised by significant numbers in Malaysia?
   a. Islam
   b. Hinduism
   c. Christianity
   d. all of the above
5. Which is a greeting in Bahasa Melayu?
   a. Salamat pagi
   b. Salamat tenggehari
   c. Salamat malam
   d. all of the above
6. Which of the following is NOT a drink?
   a. Coke Zero
   b. Ice blended
   c. Lipton Ice
   d. Limau ais
7. Which is not a Cadbury flavour?
   a. Old Gold Almond
   b. Black Forest
   c. Blueberry
   d. Dairy Milk
8. Which is NOT a popular sport in Malaysia?
   a. Australian Rules
   b. soccer
   c. netball
   d. badminton
9. Which is NOT commonly seen on Malaysian roads?
   a. Police cars patrolling the roads.
   b. Radar traps on the expressways.
   c. Policemen on a minor road pulling over anyone who appears to be able to afford an on-the-spot “fine”
   d. Teams of men doing roadworks
10. Which of the following do we NOT have in Kampar?
    a. Red Rooster
    b. KFC
    c. Pizza Hut
    d. McDonalds

For the remaining questions, you merely have to tell us the English equivalent of the following Bahasa Melayu words.

11. eksotik
12. hidrofobik
13. basikal
14. akuatik
15. cek
16. kek
17. birokrasi
18. ekspo
19. kualitatif
20. kad
21. kastam
22. fizikal

ANSWERS

The answers to questions 1-5 are all d. The price of diesel and unleaded 95 fuel is actually subsidised, not taxed, in Malaysia, and the price is set by the government. The price has been the same since December 2010. It costs us less in Ringgats to fill the diesel tank of the D-Max than it used to cost in dollars to fill the Statesman! There is a different greeting for very time of the day. If we were to heed Ismail's suggetions, we would be using ten or fifteen different greetings, based on Moslem prayer times! These ones- pagi for morning, tenggehari for daytime, and malam for night, are enough to get by, along with petang for evening. There are also the farewells, salamat tinggal (for the person who is going home) and salamat jalan (for the person staying behind). And welcome is salamat datang. It is finally unravelling and becoming less confusing.

The answers to questions 6-10 are all a. Believe it or not, we can get Diet Coke but not Coke Zero, and many varieties of locally-made Cadbury chocolate plus a few imported ones, but they are nearly all Dairy Milk varieties. Dark chocolate is obviously the far less preferred, and less available. I imagine you were not astounded to discover that Aussie Rules isn't played here, but the other three are popular as a result of the English influence. Believe it or not, roadworks are quite common, and so are the rogue cops gathering some pocket cash, but we don't often see police cars on the road, and when we do, they are not contributing to road safety. In addition to KFC, Pizza Hut and McDonalds, in Kampar we have a Dominoes Pizza, and as I have probably previously mentioned, hundreds of other restaurants serving Chinese, Malay and Indian food.

11. exotic

12. hydrophobic

13. bicycle

14. aquatic

15. cheque

16. cake

17. bureaucracy

18. expo

19. qualitative

20. card

21. custom

22. physical

I hope you found my quiz Quite Interesting! Tonight's episode of QI is now finished, so it's time to turn off the light and go to sleep (that's me, you can do whatever you like).

Compassion

I try to be logical about it, but it's hard when compassion butts in. You see, there is a problem in our area with dogs and cats. The poor, straggly, mangy-looking things wander about the neighbourhoods, and my objective side considers it would be a blessing for them to be hit by one of the cars they daily parry with, freed from suffering in one moment. Then I see an animal that has met precisely this end, and illogical compassion cries for the injustice that dealt such a hand.

The dogs, black, white, brown and brindled, but strangely mostly standing around the same height, wander in numerous packs on the roads around the plant at Kuala Dipang. In the evening, one must drive with caution, avoiding the slumbering bodies that are curiously scattered over the road. In the daylight hours, they trot along the roads in some purposeful pursuit, most often in packs of five or six, friends, allies and family.

The countless odd little cats which roam our neighbourhood are strangely friendly. Those around the plant are more wary, but seem harmless enough. Every now and then, the yowling and snarling alerts us to the fact that one is less than happy with another. Bits of fur fly furiously, and both disappear with the speed of a fighter jet, restoring peace for a time. No person has yet been able to tell me the cause of the odd-looking stumps of tails of various lengths, but due to the general disinterest in the appearance of the tails, I can only surmise that it is not the result of a tail-docking trend, but rather the result of some unfortunate genetics. I was under the impression that cats needed their tails for balance, but these waifs seem to survive quite well despite the non-existence of all or part of their tails. I say that they survive well, but I suspect their life expectancy is actually quite short- most of the ones we see are very young, and I have yet to see a tatty, old Tom. The characters that hang around the restaurants and the streets and alleys around our house, are young and tatty.

I try to ignore them while I am eating, but last night the tiny thing that hung around hopefully as we ate demonstrated the most skilled malingering, rubbing against my legs nonchalantly at first, then affectionately. I am unsure whether this is a learned behaviour, or, more likely, that natural selection has allowed the more personable cats to survive. Many of them seem affectionate regardless of the likelihood of food, and this one enjoyed a rub on its dirty, scarred head for some time before it had us picking around in our prawn tails to find a few scraps of prawn meat for a reward. After gobbling the small bits of delicacy offered, it attempted to elicit more with a plaintive voice, and having determined its efforts were wasted, sat itself beside me and commenced its grooming routine. The enthusiasm with which it partook of the head-rubbing was almost amusing, and I wondered if this sweet little animal was more desperate for a little kindness and compassion than for the little scraps of prawn meat we offered it.

I had a similar experience a few weeks ago, when I answered the call of a cat that yowled its way down the back alley behind our house. I was out the back in the wet kitchen, and for wont of anything better to do, called back. The little cat (this one was also, strangely, gifted with a full, normal-length tail) approached the security grilles that I worked behind, looked up at me and continued the conversation. When the conversation was exhausted, he (it's fairly easy to tell here, as none of the cats is desexed) plonked himself against the door and commenced the familiar grooming routine. I doubt any of the scrawny creatures “belongs” to any person in particular, but through the compassion of restaurant patrons who drop scraps and tidbits, and the restaurant vendors who accept their inevitable presence, they survive a meagre existence.

So what a fraud I felt last week as we drove past the fresh corpse of a dog crumpled beside the road. Seconds earlier I had completed a monologue to Lorena and the inventor on the virtues of a thorough cull, delivered in my hard, logical, righteous voice, so I was not prepared for the wave of compassion that swept over me for the wretched animal who was now free of the mean existence it had endured.

The Malaysian government is handling a number of development issues, some of them well, others not so well, and they struggle with many issues. The fact is, however, that Malaysia is developing at a rapid rate, and stray and poorly-cared for animals is a minor problem amongst a larger portfolio of more pressing matters. The cats and dogs will continue to roam about on the roads and lie lifeless beside them, so I must learn to balance my compassion with some hard, reasoned logic, lest my heart will break for every one of the poor little creatures. May God give me the wisdom to find that balance.