Thaipusam

People do some pretty wacky stuff during a full moon. You can read all about Thaipusam here.



Walking through the crowded streets of normally sleepy Sungai Petani, we’re a bit surprised there are so many people here. Let alone Indians (or Sri Lankans for that matter – we can never tell the difference).



Possibly there are a few ring-ins up for the weekend; you can get away with more if you’re splitting town in a day or two.



Some of the… whatever you call the guys getting the piercings… devotees? are playing it pretty cool.



Yet with others you can see the pain on their faces, and they seem to be struggling to keep it together.



Can’t say we’re seeing much dancing, or trancing.



Some give it a go, but the crowd makes it pretty difficult. It’s a wonder no one gets whacked by one of these spinning…. kavadi things.



The pain endured is supposedly all about earning merit, but to us, for some of these pincushions it seems to be a bit of an ego trip. Like the harder they strain against the ropes, the more they’re demonstrating their…. what? Balls? Interestingly there’s also a lot of swaggering going on by the general male population. And the girls are all dressed to kill.



You make up your own minds, but to us Hindu culture all seems to boil down to one thing.



You see it in their films. You see it in their temples. You see it in their festivals. It’s all about sex. No wonder the Indian population has topped a billion.



There’s nothing titillating about the piercings though. That’s a big piece of metal to be dragging through your cheeks.



Oh well. Til next year then…

Special Needs

Long before we decided to pack up and do the Jupiter’s Travels thing, Ann had set her heart on doing some volunteer work. Not one of those pay-as-you-go, pseudo two week holidays in Africa, cleaning up cuddly lion cub poo things. Real volunteer work.

She had no idea what that work would be, but figured there must be someone out there who could use her help.

We both assumed this would happen in some remote or poverty-stricken part of the world, so it came as a bit of a surprise when the opportunity presented itself in Malaysia. Sitting with Thobrani in his house in Sungai Petani one morning, Ann casually mentioned the volunteering thing to him over a cup of coffee. Almost immediately he was on the phone to Dr Joe, a local GP who runs a clinic in town, and who screens children with intellectual disabilities for admission into a special school. Upon hanging up, he said to Ann “You’ve got an appointment to see Dr Joe Sunday morning at his surgery. He’s going to interview you.” We both sat there open-mouthed for a moment. “Fantastic! Thank you.” said Ann.

Just to give you a bit of history, many years ago a good friend of Thobrani’s stopped at a stall by the side of the road on his way home to buy some food. Upon approaching the stall he was stunned to see a child, caged like a captive monkey, sitting by the roadside. When he asked the stall-keeper for an explanation, the man said that the cage was for the child’s safety, as otherwise he would simply run out into the traffic.

He explained that because his son was intellectually disabled, it was the only way he and his wife could keep an eye on him and continue to run the stall at the same time.

Thobrani’s friend was obviously affected by this and was determined to do something about it, so he called and told him the story as soon as he got home.

Thobrani was and is CEO and majority shareholder of a successful property development company, so he used his influence to persuade the other directors of the company to donate some land for a new school. We’re not sure if there was any government assistance at this stage, but we believe the directors all helped pay for the school’s construction as well. And just to be clear, we’re not talking about some sort of corporate sponsorship deal here. Between them, these guys all own the company. The money came from their pockets.

While the new school was being constructed, it was established at the house next door to Thobrani’s family home (the house we’re living in now).

Thobrani is too modest to tell us exactly how much he’s donated to the school over the years, but we know he paid their rent, and we know he continues to write very large cheques.

Both of us went to meet Dr Joe that Sunday morning, and presumably satisfied that Ann wasn’t some sort of coke-snorting vampire, gave us directions to the school.

At which, after spending some time with Major Chandra, the retired ex-army administrator who runs the school, Ann agreed that she’d start work Tuesday morning. Whew!

After being warned by the major that she’d struggle with the language barrier, she found instead that the teachers were all extremely welcoming and that they all speak at least some English.

Many of the children do too, however Ann’s limited Malay came in handy in maths class anyway. Satu, dua, tiga... She enjoyed it so much she decided to return on Thursday, and has been going back three days a week ever since.

The school accepts children between the ages of five and twenty-three. However many of them only arrive after spending several unsuccessful years attending “normal" schools, finally being turned away when their learning or behavioural problems become too difficult to deal with.

Their disabilities cover a broad range from mild to profound, and include Down’s kids, autistic kids, and kids who are just a little slower than average learners.

They are placed in classes according to their learning abilities rather than their age, and the lessons are tailored to suit.

These include the three Rs (with a little colouring-in thrown in for good measure), but also focus on social or domestic skills such as household duties, and each day there is a cleaning roster. Some of the kids will be placed in unskilled jobs after they graduate, but the majority won’t, so the school focuses instead on equipping them with the skills needed to cope with everyday life.

Ann is constantly amazed how well behaved they are. Full of big genuine smiles, when she arrives on the bike in the morning one of them will always run up and open the gate so she can park inside.

“Are you coming to my class today Miss?”

They all love music, especially Indi Pop, and some are fantastic dancers, completely lacking inhibitions.

Here’s Aleif hamming it up for the camera.

The teachers are a happy bunch also, and although not quite so well-behaved, make a huge effort to provide the kids with a warm, caring environment. Some of the children don’t have an ideal home life, so they try their best to leave their own problems at home, and arrive every day focused solely on the kids.

They may not have the same level of qualifications as a government school teacher (they’re certainly not paid anywhere near as much), but they’ve all had specific training targeting special needs children. Apart from which, they’re much more than just teachers, often performing the role of mother when the inevitable accidents occur.

From a total of nine teachers and one cook, only the salaries of four are paid by the government. The funding for the rest comes from people like Thobrani. A light breakfast and lunch are provided for the children, and each day parents donate parcels of food to help support this. Indeed without the support of the community the school would not survive, and it’s a damning indictment on the local government, who seems to view these children as unimportant.

Obviously most of them will never become productive members of society, but that’s hardly their fault, and so we struggle to understand why they and their parents do not receive the same levels of government support as the rest of the population. Having to rely instead on the generous contributions of people like Thobrani for such basic requirements as schooling.

On a purely selfish note however, Ann would never have had the opportunity to volunteer at a “normal” school, so on one level she is truly grateful.

Ballooning - The Only Way to Fly

12/5/10 – 28/6/10
Motoring. An old-fashioned word, kind of like ballooning, conjuring up images of a dashing young man in leather jacket and gloves, behind the wheel of a mighty jalopy, a beautiful young woman in frilly lace by his side, billowing hair in one hand, parasol in the other, racing across the countryside at a terrifying twenty miles per hour.

Malaysian motoring isn’t like that.

But hold on. What about the environment, world peace and Julia Gillard we hear you ask? Oh yeah, you mean that stuff is still going on? Admittedly we have way too much time on our hands right now. In fact we probably have enough time to solve all those issues (well maybe not the Julia Gillard issue if we’re really honest). But most of that stuff is really only happening inside your TV set.

If you’re after a taste of the real world instead, sit back and strap yourselves in, things are about to get all mustardy.

Speeding aside, you’d need to do something apocalyptically stupid, or be incredibly unlucky, or strike a motorbike cop on a bad day trying to fill his quota, to actually get booked here. In fact the whole notion of being booked in the first place is so incredibly preposterous, we wonder whether anyone ever contests traffic fines in court. Anyone with a handycam and a bit of time on their hands could easily capture mountains of footage of the cops themselves, breaking every traffic law known to man. Ironically, back when we first entered Borneo, one of them actually did us a big favour. We sat behind and watched him (not in pursuit, or rushing to an emergency) crossing and recrossing a double line several times, to pass a procession of cars. From that moment onwards, we realised that road markings here were simply “advisory”.

In fact, Malaysians treat lane markings with such utter contempt, the authorities might as well do away with them. At first its a little surprising when you discover that virtually no one indicates when changing lanes, until it dawns on you sometime later that the whole concept of a lane is completely meaningless. Which wouldn’t be such a big deal if your average Malaysian was a competent driver; someone who possessed a certain level of skill and good judgement. Someone who could be relied upon to maintain awareness of fellow road users, and towards whom acted considerately and courteously. Ah... alas. No. Sure there are some good drivers here, but the majority aren’t, falling instead into four broad categories: the infantile and the aggressive, the myopic and the incompetent, women, motorcyclists.



Did you just say “women”? Countries like Malaysia are possibly the last bastions of political incorrectness, and we’ve been here for eight months now, but before our female readers get all Pauline Hanson on us, maybe we’d better explain.

You see, Malaysia is still basically a chauvinistic society. And while its a massive generalisation to say, Malay women are encouraged to dress and act conservatively, and discouraged from leading independent lives. What this means in practice is apparent when crossing the border, where in contrast Thai women seem to carry themselves with an air of confidence.

So what does any of this have to do with driving? Well from our experience, meekness, indecisiveness and lack of skill, brought upon by a general lack of confidence, are a real liability out on the roads. Especially Malaysian roads, which are a model of natural selection in action, sped up to warp speed.

So does this mean your average Malaysian woman is so bad that she shouldn’t drive at all? Of course not. We’re just telling it like it is, that’s all. We don’t pretend to have all the answers.

Interestingly, if you see someone blasting someone else with their horn here, its most likely a group of young Malay guys in a Proton, hurling abuse at some hapless female P-plater in a Perodua.

Which brings us to the infantile. Whose sole mission in life is to be first to the next set of lights. Who, if they and their driving habits were transported to any western country we can think of, would be killed and mashed up into itty bitty little Malaysian pieces, quicker than you can say road-rage. Observing their reactions in a place like KL, which has traffic jams to rivals both its big neighbours, Bangkok and Jakarta, can be pretty entertaining though. After employing all the childish tactics at his disposal to make it first to the lights, Mr Infantile has about ten seconds to bask in a testosterone-fuelled afterglow, before gripping the steering wheel in impotent frustration while the space in front of him fills up with twenty scooters.



Which brings us to the truly mental. If you’ve ever seen a test pilot on a motorbike carving his way through the traffic, and wondered whether he had some sort of death-wish, come to Malaysia to have your perceptions realigned. If the traffic in Bangkok and Jakarta is congested, at least its predictable. In contrast KL roads are like rivers, with scooters, the smallest fish in the food chain, ducking and weaving their way through meandering schools of cars and slowly weaving buses and trucks. Anything goes. Any part of unoccupied road or footpath is a potential space for a scooter to squeeze through. Don’t get us wrong, we’re all for it, and are quite jealous that we can’t squeeze the BMs through the same tight spaces. What we’re not too thrilled about is having to look out for the red light-jumpers, the Valentino Rossi wannabes, the dipsticks who turn across you or out of side streets in front of you without looking, the lack of signalling, and the fact that because motorcyclists are generally treated with disdain, we get treated with disdain as well.

But back to the cops...

The main function traffic cops seem to perform in Malaysia, apart from terrorising motorcyclists, is directing traffic. Now we realise not every town is likely to have a sophisticated traffic monitoring and control centre, where lights can be altered in real time to deal with peak hour traffic and bottlenecks, but does some whistle-blowing Bonaparte in a white shirt and storm-trooper trousers, really make any positive contribution to the flow of traffic? We think not. In fact, from what we’ve observed, quite the opposite. Its commonplace to see one of these Match of the Day wannabes simply standing by the side of a four lane one way road, with no intersection in sight, blowing his whistle and waving the traffic towards him. As if motorists weren’t actually planning to move in that direction in the first place. What this brain surgeon is actually attempting to achieve then, is to encourage motorists to overcome their lack of inertia, a natural consequence of looking up ahead and seeing a cop by the side of the road, with his big cop bike, flashing its big blue cop light.



Or he might be situated at a roundabout, acting as one of those human roundabout/traffic light conversion devices. You know, where the roundabout has completely failed and is causing massive tailbacks. We see this a lot at roundabouts, and initially wondered why. After a little while we realised Malaysians’ complete refusal to indicate, effectively renders roundabouts useless. As you approach, you have no way of knowing who’s going to do what. So you often have to slow to a complete stop, while many of the idiots you’ve stopped for simply turn off before they even reach you.

Another reason for the congestion is Malaysians’ refusal to walk anywhere. And like parents in most western countries, they especially refuse to let their children walk to school. And because the schools operate using this dual shift thing, where half the kids attend during the morning and the other half during the afternoon, there’s this god-almighty changeover at about midday. Not only is there a car on the road for each one or two children, but parents double and triple park outside schools, often cutting off the road entirely. You really want to be somewhere else around lunch time.



Some people say its because of the heat. Some say its due to ingrained laziness. But when it comes to walking, its probably both. Nevertheless, when the whole traffic system is geared up for vehicles, being a pedestrian in Malaysia requires commitment. A commitment most of the population has chosen not to make. And you can’t really blame them when going in to battle in this environment without so much as a scooter, means you’re as vulnerable as one of the stray cats which roam the streets in the early hours.

Why? Firstly, there are virtually no pedestrian crossings anywhere. And even if there were, they’d be the last places you’d cross. Your average Malaysian won’t stop if you wait by the side of one, and won’t slow down if they see you on one. In fact they’ll often try to intimidate you off the road by speeding up or steering towards you. Don’t just take our word for it either. A recent study of behaviour at pedestrian crossings reveals the ugly truth.

Then there are the footpaths. While KL has some half-decent ones, the rest of the country is typically Asian, where footpaths are not designed for pedestrians but are instead simply places for shop owners to do business. They display stuff, they sell stuff, they fix stuff. They use them as restaurants and parking bays. But most importantly, seemingly they dictate whether or not the path is fit to walk on. Not the council. For example, if you have five shops in a row, its likely the footpath will be five different levels, with a step up or down between shops, or even a ramp up into the shop itself so the owner can park the family car or motorcycle inside. Footpaths are simply designed for you to pull up at the curb in your car, step up off the street and into the shop, do your business, walk back to your car and drive off. They are not designed to make it easy for you to walk along beside, and off, the road.



Painful though this makes it to walk through the city, its probably less painful than if you find yourself falling six feet through a gap in the pavement into the storm water drain below. You probably think we’re exaggerating, but the suburban footpaths maintained by the councils are so diabolical, most people, us included, end up walking on the street instead.

But - and this is a big one - the whole footpath thing also points to an absence of the Its Not My Fault syndrome, the root cause of all the petty restrictions which permeate western society. Because if the councils here were afraid of litigation, the footpaths would be billiard table smooth. In fact most people we’ve spoken to, and we’re basically in agreement with them, are quite happy to live in a society which places far fewer restrictions upon them than say neighbouring Singapore.



So it seems to be a trade-off. Chaos and personal freedom on the one hand. Order and personal restriction on the other. We’re not sure about you, but we’re pretty tired of the Nanny State.

------------------------------

Btw, if you're wondering about the photos, they were taken at the Chin Swee Caves Temple in the Genting Highlands and are a depiction of ten Chambers of Hell, or Naraka. The chambers line a path, called the Journey to Enlightenment, whose aim is to discourage bad conduct by depicting the painful experiences an evil person would encounter in Hell.