Malaysia; Moderate Muslims and Mavericks

I just got back from Malaysia; it was a great trip and I discovered some very interesting things that I never knew before.  The friend I accompanied is a Chinese Malaysian although now living here in Australia. She is a practicing lawyer and highly intelligent, talented and well educated. But superstition apparently still lingers...

I learnt that it is quite a simple matter to kill someone; I took over an Australian souvenir clock with the intention of giving it to my friend's mother who was going in for a heart operation. My friend screeched in alarm (pardon the pun) when I showed her the clock. "No, no, are you trying to kill her? It's very bad luck to give a clock to someone who is ill- you are essentially giving them a 'time's up' notice." Or some such. So I hurriedly rewrapped it and 'left' it for my hosts. If you don't 'give' the clock directly to them, but leave it behind as though a tip for the cleaner or 'here, this is some shit I couldn't fit into my bag, you have it,' then it's okay. It's an appreciated gift.

I learnt my friend screeches a lot. "No, no. Don't put your bag on the ground; all your money will stay low. You want it to increase don't you?" I wondered why they didn't always carry their bags on their heads like the African well walkers.  Or send it off with airline pilots and stewards...

When my friend told me we were staying in Happy Gardens I wondered on the wisdom of bringing her daughter to such a house of ill repute, let alone her shy, Western friend. She assured me all Malaysian addresses end in garden; Lotus Gardens, Flower Gardens, Dragon Gardens (as a Game of Thrones fan why couldn't we stay there?), Public Gardens, Lucky Gardens, Fishball Gardens, Steamed Rice Gardens...  Okay, I made those last two up. But as we turned the corner there were no flashing neon signs or shapely courtesans out strutting their wares in minimal leather and sequins or long queues of men in dark clothing, surreptitiously passing money to a large, hairy man with no teeth and a dragon tattoo; it was all perfectly suburban and respectable. I quelled my disappointment.

I learnt that a Birdnest drink costs something like $4000 a kilo and is given to highly honoured guests. I spent the time nodding my appreciation and making appreciative noises my while Western sensibilities were screaming: bird's nest? what the hell? does that mean I'm eating bits of soggy twig and feathers? And guano as well. OMG what if  the chicks are in there too? I'm so glad it's all mushed up- just eat it. OMG what's that on my chin? a leg? a foot? a bit of undiluted birdshit?

Just drink it and smile.... please God hurry up, oh please God hurry up...

I learnt to my pain that they love very hot curry and chilli; I still have blisters on my tongue and we won't discuss the further complications (although needless to say, when I got home, the indignities of the very small cup and the spraying capacity of a fireman's hose did not mix well in the confines of a small cubicle- but the good news is the test is all clear for amoebic dysentery).

Speaking of, I learnt that I have inadequate leg muscles when it comes to squatting and really, when you are perched over a large hole that plunges down into the dank, putrid sewers, is not the time to learn you should have done a few more lunges before you came.  As I completed my business, I looked about for the toilet paper. Naturally there was none. There is only a hose. I have yet to work out how you use the hose to cleanse yourself without appearing as though you were too late in making it into the loo. Each time I emerged I was highly embarrassed and splashingly soggy. There is apparently some tricksy method to this which is secret Malaysian woman's business.

They love Milo and drink lots of it. Strangely they put corn and beans in a sweet ice drink but it kind of works; in that heat anything cool is appreciated, even frozen dirt would be refreshing. Their roti is delicious. Chocolate melts so they don't go in for that much. They drink warm water as it's better for you (don't care, still not doing it). There are 272 steps leading up to the cave temple of the Hindu god Murugan at Batu near Kuala Lumpur. It is best not to get a diarrhoea attack half way up; the ensuing dilemma of whether to go down or risk a loo not being at the top is more than a person should have to bear.

There is no toilet in the caves at the top of the 272 steps to the Batu Caves.

Enough said except that is now remembered as the day I came to appreciate the hose.

They are not a demonstrative lot. When a man came to pick us up from the airport I thought it must be a taxi driver. They nodded to each other and he took the bags. But it transpired, he was her nephew. She hadn't seen her family for some time but no sign of affection was forthcoming when they all met up. They smiled and nodded, just as a Westerner might to some stranger in a lift. I guess that avoids long tear filled farewells which can be messy. 

The Melaka massage is so good it ought to be illegal.  After an hour and a half of pretty strenuous manipulation I fell downstairs looking like I'd had pretty rough sex. And from memory, probably feeling like it too; everything was aching and my hair was a mess. After pounding me mercilessly, half way through the guy had jumped up on the bed and sat on my back. I'm thinking, whoa, nice of you to offer, but really, I'm old enough to be your mother and I'm married. Eeeewww. And I didn’t think much of his foreplay for that matter; bit Neanderthal for my liking. I was working myself up to fling him off with practiced indignation when he stopped and got off to work on my shoulders.

Lucky for him.

I learnt that it is possible to physically melt and leave small trickles of yourself on every surface you pass by.  Showering makes no difference at all to your comfort as it only continues once you have redressed but in a slow and dribbly sort of way (like the shower head in the two star motel just off the highway your family stayed in when you were 6). Incontinence must be awful; no control whatsoever over uninvited leakages (that’s in the press lately huh?). I had incontinence of the armpits, back, neck, face… damn I was just a big bag of incontinence.

Malaysia is a predominantly Muslim country- 60 % of the population follow Islam yet they  are extremely moderate and tolerant; I found nothing but kindness and courtesy everywhere. The heat is appalling and most of the Malays and Chinese populations wear shorts and singlets and are accepted by the more modest Muslims who all wear long gowns and the hijab. Of course if you are feeling overweight don't go to Asia. Shopping was just depressing and I wanted to don the hijab just to hide away.

So it was with great interest that I read in the Foreign Policy Journal from May 12 last year that a Malaysian Court had tried and convicted in absentia, George W Bush, Dick Cheney, Donald Rumsfeld, and their legal advisers.

“The trial held in Kuala Lumpur heard harrowing witness accounts from victims of torture who suffered at the hands of US soldiers and contractors in Iraq and Afghanistan…

At the end of the week-long hearing, the five-panel tribunal unanimously delivered guilty verdicts against Bush, Cheney, Rumsfeld and their key legal advisors who were all convicted as war criminals for torture and cruel, inhumane and degrading treatment…

The tribunal is the initiative of Malaysia’s retired Prime Minister Mahathir Mohamad, who staunchly opposed the American-led invasion of Iraq in 2003.

He sat through the entire hearing as it took personal statements and testimonies of three witnesses namely Abbas Abid, Moazzam Begg and Jameelah Hameedi. The tribunal also heard two other Statutory Declarations of Iraqi citizen Ali Shalal and Rahul Ahmed, another British citizen.”

Interestingly, part of the tribunal was an American war crimes lawyer, Francis Boyle, who is a professor at the University of Illinois.

“After the guilty verdict reached by five senior judges was delivered, Mahathir Mohamad said: “Powerful countries are getting away with murder.”

So there you have it. The country with, to me, some strange customs, is one of the bravest when it comes to seeking international human rights.