Students!

I figured it was about time to share some of the pictures that I've taken of my Singaporean students.  All of the pictures you'll see are of my younger students - simply because the older they get, the less they want to have their picture taken.

I work for a school in Singapore called Jan & Elly, which now has three different schools across the island.  We have a good group of teachers, with some Singaporeans, a few Americans, Canadians and a Brit.  I teach children between the ages of 4-12, with the younger ones being cuter and fun but the older students being more interesting and engaging to actually teach.  It's a totally different teaching experience from Korea; in Korea, most students had tremendous difficulty with learning the new language, and many younger students had little or no vocabulary.  Here, even the 4 year old's have some vocabulary, with English being the predominant mother tongue amongst my students.  My oldest students, in what would equate to grade 4, 5, and 6, are obviously fully fluent and quite bright.  In Korea, though my older students were quite lively and bright, they still lacked proper grammar and had difficulty with sentence structure.  In Singapore, for the most part, these kids are fully fluent.  Also, not only are they fully fluent in English, chances are they proficient in at least one other language (whether it is Mandarian, Cantonese, Hokkien, Tamil, Malay, or Korean - talk about the leaders of the future)!    

For the 4-6 range, I teach proper phonics and some simple vocabulary and grammar.  Lack of proper pronunciation is an epidemic in Singapore (with its infamous "Singlish") and parents are very concerned in raising children who speak English properly.  For the grade 1 and 2 classes, I teach creative writing and comprehension.  Finally, for the grade 3-6 students, I occasionally teach creative writing and comprehension, but I mostly teach exam preparation (Singapore adheres to the British system and has a massive nation-wide exam in primary 6 which has tremendous consequences as to where a student will be lucky enough to attend secondary school).

Phonics - 5 years old (and twins).

Phonics - 6 years old.

Phonics - 6 years old.

That's (apparently) me.  Drawn by a  grade 3 student.

The Fall of Singapore

The British marching towards surrender.

I used to think I had a good grasp of world history and I was confident that, in turn, my overall understanding of the world was pretty good.  Then I moved to Asia, and I realized that so much monumental history happened here in the last century that isn't discussed or remembered back home in the west.

Living in Korea and now Singapore, I was introduced to a whole new history.  I used to associate World War II with the European theatre, but after living in Asia for a year and a half and seeing all the monuments and museums, it’s pretty obvious the Pacific Theatre -- as we call it -- is a big deal too.

A recent trip to Changi Museum and Chapel in eastern Singapore proved to be a fascinating introduction to the moving story of the fall of Singapore in 1942.  Long a British colony, Singapore was considered impregnable, a veritable island fortress at the tip of the Malay peninsula.  Singapore was a bastion of the British, surely able to withstand a Japanese army.  It was one thing for the Japanese to take Manchuria, conquering the Chinese and making some noise in the neighbourhood in the process, but it was another matter to beat the supremely advanced British.  Or so they thought.

Concurrently as Japanese bombs dropped on Pearl Harbour, troops were landing on the northern shores of British held Malaya.  Regional British and Indian troops were quickly destroyed, allowing the Japanese to fight their way down the Malayan peninsula, heading to Singapore.  A combination of a battle hardened military, air power, and surprise allowed the Japanese to quickly advance down the Malayan peninsula and capture the entire territory.

From Johor, just a short channel away from Singapore, the Japanese sent infiltrators across to Singapore.  They gathered priceless information on Singapore’s military positions and installations, preparing for a swift surgical attack.

Singapore fell after the Japanese gained air supremacy after dogfights and opened up the beaches for a landing.  With troops landing on the northern shores, artillery raining down from Japanese held Johor, and the island encircled, the allied forces -- and Singaporean civilians -- retreated to a small area in the south east of the island.  Winston Churchill, the British Prime Minister, cabled to say:

 “The honour of the British Empire and of the British Army is at stake. I rely on you to show no mercy to weakness in any form.  With the Russians fighting as they are, and the Americans so stubborn at Luzon, the whole reputation of our country and our race is involved. It is expected that every unit will be brought into close contact with the enemy and fight it out… ”

Despite such rallying calls, there was nothing to be done.  After landing on the island and winning key battles -- such as the heroic defence of Pasir Panjang or Bukit Timah -- the Japanese now controlled much of the water supply in Singapore and the Allies had lost their fuel and ammunition depots.  After a week of fighting, from February 8th until the 15th, The British finally surrendered at the Ford Motor Factory in Singapore.  It was the largest surrender of British military personnel ever, with 80 000 British, Indian, and Australian troops being taken prisoner.  Churchill would later call it the “worst disaster” and “largest capitulation” in British history.

It’s amazing to see the difference in the city, a mere 65 years later.  Besides a few monuments scattered throughout the city, this past of history has been left behind and people have moved on.  I asked a group of three of my sixth grade students if they knew what had happened in World War II: one knew specifics, one had an idea of something vague, and the last couldn’t answer.

Bako National Park

On a bit of a tangent: I’ve come to realize that parks and such are not necessarily enshrined upon a given government’s “to do” list.  Growing up in Canada gave me unintentional bias towards what parks should look like, because of Canada’s fantastically preserved public parks, both national and local.

As luck would have it, Bako National Park in Malaysia was equal parts exotic, well kept, and run down.  I know at least two of the terms contradict each other, but the park’s upkeep showed that it was well taken care of.  At the same time, the parks unrelenting disintegration reminded everyone that it is well deep into the jungle and fighting a structural battle every day.  The entangling vines and hungry monkeys were crawling over each building.  The bearded pigs were chewing all the grass and sniffing in all the garbage bins.  The outdoor camp site area -- you’d have to be Survivorman to sleep out there -- looked as if proboscis monkeys had taken it over by force.

All of these things only contributed to the beauty of the park.  Bako sits on the tip of a peninsula on the northern, and Malaysian, side of Borneo.  The whole point of the mountainous and rain forested tip has been sanctioned to the park, and outside of a few trodden footpaths, the jungle and its creatures have been allowed to thrive.  Mangrove forests -- the first I’ve ever seen -- tangle each beach and protect the delicate jungle from the forces of the sea.

To get there, we took  a public bus north from Kuching towards the coast.  What a beautiful coast it was!  Jungle covered mountains overlooking each end, and a flat coastline running along the water.  Some distance farther across the water would be Vietnam.  We pulled into a small town bisected by a muddy river.  The park couldn’t be reached by bus, so we transferred our bags to a small skiff with an outboard motor.  The town changed with the tides; at high tide, water would reach under the houses and into the yards, but at low tide, the humble homes would sit a few metres above the silt and sand upon stilts.  We set out along the river and then out onto the ocean, the skiff hugging the nearby mangroves for their protection from the waves.

These langurs were reminiscing.

A thirty minute boat ride later, we were twisting through mangrove trees towards the entrance to the park.  The park was a couple of concrete buildings set on a tiny stretch of flat land with hills and mountains quickly rising behind.  All were modest, and the park’s main building -- housing a cafeteria, main office, shop, and bathrooms -- was something from Jurassic Park.  Large iron gates encompassed every open doorway, and swung shut automatically.  It wasn’t until after the wild macaque landed on our table, grabbed some fried chicken and a pineapple and ran away that we realized the gates were insurance against the thievery of the monkeys.

Bornean Bearded Pig.

We saw long tailed macaques, silver leafed langurs, and the endangered proboscis monkey.  The proboscis is definitely the strangest wild animal I’ve seen to date, although I couldn’t get any pictures of the pot-bellied primate up in the trees.  Later, hiking through the dense jungle to reach a secluded beach, I was struck by the overwhelming heat of the rain forest.  I thought the cover afforded by the canopy would make the jungle cooler, but it in fact had the effect of a microwave oven!  Frequent stops and lots of water were needed and our 5 kilometer hike turned into an all day affair, as the crushing humidity of the jungle slowed down our every step.  After climbing through the jungle, we reached a stretch of trail on the top of a small mountain.  It was arid, exposed, and damn hot.  With a shirt on my head for protection, we tried to cover this dangerous ground as quickly as possible.  Through the sweltering plateau we reached a large boulder overlooking a pearl sand beach nestled between two lush cliffs.  This was why I came to Borneo!

In case you don't like beaches.

Kuching - Sarawak, Malaysia

Kuching was our base on Borneo - where we flew into, and where we directed our travel on the island from.  The city has a colourful history, as it is the provincial capital in the semi-autonomous Malaysian province of Sarawak.  There is a obscure but tremendously interesting story associated with Sarawak and one British rambler who, as luck would have it, would be given an entire province to rule as his kingdom.

James Brookes, a son of a colonial administrator in India, bought a ship and set out to explore.  Landing on Borneo the 1840’s, he chanced upon a vicious rebellion against the Bruneian Sultan -- at that time much more powerful -- and Brookes assisted one of the Sultan’s allies.  After the rebellion was quashed, the Sultan awarded a little recompense: the Governorship of Sarawak.  A few years later, Brookes, armed with colonial connections to Britain, ended another coup and restored the Sultan to His throne.  Owing his kingdom to Brookes, the Sultan repaid him be granting Brookes complete sovereignty of Sarawak.

As far as cool titles are concerned, Brookes was up there with the best; he fashioned himself The White Rajah of Sarawak, James Brookes.  Rajah was traditionally a title from the Indian subcontinent, familiar to Brooke’s upbringing.  His family would go on to rule Sarawak from 1841-1946, their reign coming to an end after World War II.  Faced both with the frightening realities the Japanese occupation brought and their diminishing power amidst such modern nations, the last White Rajah, Vyner of Sarawak, ceded control of Sarawak to the British Empire.  Some colonial administrations do indeed bring good to their lands, and the White Rajahs are, in some quarters, proudly remembered as dedicated to improving Sarawak: improving infrastructure, codifying laws, and battling pirates (definitely the coolest of the three).

I digress.  We spent three days in and around Kuching, before moving on to Bako National Park.  Kuching was a picturesque city, with a languid river running through the middle.  From Kuching, we took trips out to an Orangutan Rehabilitation Centre and to a nearby beach.  The rehab centre was fantastic - a large tract of protected wilderness near Kuching that housed about one score of the celebrated old world monkey.  We were lucky enough to catch feeding time, quietly watching as two mothers and two babies ate their fill of fresh fruits for breakfast.    

One of Kuching's many colourful buildings.

My red haired cousins!

Empty streets in Kuching.

The Omar Ali Saifuddin Mosque

If you’ve been following along, when you are walking through BSB there isn’t really all that much to see.  That is, if you have already been to the Sultan Omar Ali Saifuddin Mosque.  If you haven’t seen the mosque and have just arrived in BSB, the grand mosque’s magnetizing effect will immediately pull you to its locale in the heart of the city.

The mosque was built and opened in 1958 and financed totally by the ruling family.  It’s splendour and magnificence mirrors the Sultan’s incredulous personal wealth.  At a cost of around 5 million USD, the Bruneian ruler spared no expense: imported Italian marble pillars and floor, granite from Shanghai, crystal chandeliers from England, ornate carpets from Saudi Arabia and a main dome of pure gold.  When it is juxtaposed against the average Bruneian’s annual salary of 51,600 USD, it makes one wonder.  However, such lavish expenditures might actually be credible when one considers that Brunei is one of the richest countries, at least according to per capita GDP, in the world.  Considering that both the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund rank Brunei’s per capita GDP above Canada, the U.S., the U.K., and Hong Kong, I suddenly find myself sheepish for criticising such a splendid building.

We were careful to pack appropriate dress when we went through Brunei -- totally covering clothes for Lucy, minus the face of course, and modest dress for me with long pants and a polo -- but we found ourselves disappointed by the one factor we didn’t consider: prayer times.  However, as we turned our backs to reluctantly walk out, I heard someone calling me.  A steward at the entrance beckoned us in with a friendly smile, so in we went.  Tourists were given a special section near the entrance to observe, but obviously couldn’t fully enter.   This was in order to preserve the sanctity of the pious, prostrate before the Qibla (a mosque‘s holy wall, facing Mecca).  We slowly walked in, Lucy further covered by a body length black robe, soaking in the calm serenity of the mosque’s halls.  Even my devout and pious atheism couldn’t stop the feeling of numinous confrontation inside the halls of the mosque.

On the way out, I asked a few questions, as I’ll readily admit my grasp in Islam is tenuous at best.  After a few, I casually enquired if this was where the Sultan prayed.  My friend at the front quickly and seriously retorted: “No, the Sultan prays wherever he pleases.”  I think he misinterpreted my question, but considering that insulting the Sultan or the royal family is a serious and punishable offence, I decided not to ask again.

Even the Grand Mosque’s grounds are beautiful.  A blue tiled fountain for the faithful to perform their absolutions waits just outside the entrance.  Many perfectly manicured plants line the gardens around, presenting a serendipitous atmosphere of calm.  The mosque’s minaret stands 52 metres high, making it the highest point in BSB.  Its speakers blast out the call to prayer 5 times a day, clearly indicated by 5 clocks inside the main hall.  Oh, and we learned that the minaret has a somewhat protected status: rumour has it that when the Islamic Bank of Brunei’s building exceeded the minaret’s height, it had to be reduced.

Hindsight is the only perfect vision, and looking back on my quick trip to Brunei I must say that the mosque visit was the highlight.  It offered me a glimpse into both the ruling family and the religious ideals enshrined with the state, and I got to see a pretty incredible building in the process.

Miri to the Capital of Brunei

Bustling Bandar Seri Begawan.

The bus station in Miri was a cab ride from the airport.  The airport, a short flight from Kuching.  Unbeknownst to me until two weeks previous, Miri was a fairly unpleasant town without much to offer - a hangout for those making money on oil.  The one thing it did have: proximity to Brunei.  It was way cheaper to fly to Miri and take a bus to Brunei rather than to fly straight to the Bruneian capital, and this is how we found ourselves sitting in a café near the bus station killing time.  


It was a four hour ride to Bandar Seri Begawan, the capital of Brunei Negara Darussalam, or Brunei for short.  I couldn’t find any information on the Miri - Brunei bus, except that it existed, so to the bus station we went immediately after landing in Miri.  Some friendly advice and help from someone hanging around the station lead us to the bus booth, selling tickets for the last trip to Brunei that day.  We had about two hours to kill until it left, so off we set in search of food.  Next door was a wet market and small cafeteria.  A wet market is, well, a wet market.  They call it “wet” because water is used to hose the floors, to spray the fruit and vegetables, and to keep the seafood fresh.  On this occasion, none of it looked inviting and the unscrupulous characters hanging about put me ill at ease.  We checked the cafeteria to see what was on offer; stale, sitting food hidden behind dark greasy glass in cramped and tiny stalls.  Boiled eggs of immeasurable age.  Fried fish surely older.  Food poisoning waiting to happen.  My stomach hasn’t been quite the same since salmonella poisoning and even the sizeable hunger pangs clawing inside could not convince me to eat what was in front of me.  


The first part of the bus journey, along the north eastern shore of Malaysian Borneo, was relatively uninteresting.  Half built and half vacant company villages of squat brick housing lined the highway leading out of Miri.  As we distanced ourselves from the town, more grassland appeared.  It was sad to see, because in my head I always dreamed of Borneo as a jungled enigma, obscured by vines, trees and monkeys.  Instead, I saw an expanse of shoulder high grassland, peppered with bushes and shrubs, and even the occasional small tree.  This was surely the evidence of past clear cutting.  The jungle was gone, the old growth flora replaced by non descript grassland.


Nearing the border, factories and heavy industry could be seen on the horizon.  The bus stopped at what appeared to be a vacant immigration complex on the Malaysian side.  A couple of minutes and another stamp in our passports later, we were in undefined geographical purgatory; through Malaysian immigration but not yet in Brunei.  As the only foreigners on the bus, our examinations seemed to go quite smoothly.  Through a modest Bruneian immigration complex, we boarded the bus again and got on our way.


Brunei may be a country where wealth slowly drips from top to bottom, and many live in relative squalor compared to the wealth of the ruling family, but one thing is for sure: they take care of their wilderness!  Brunei boasts some of the highest percentages of protected land in the world.  The barren road to Kuala Belait in Brunei was surely evidence of this.  A few passengers alighted, and the bus continued on to Seria.  Seria showed the first signs that we were within an oil sultanate.  Offshore oil rigs were just visible on the cusp of the horizon and oil pump jacks dotted the well manicured properties we passed.  Various oil pipelines ran alongside the highway, ferrying liquid gold to the capital, Bandar Seri Begawan (BSB).  In Seria, Royal Dutch Shell extracts the oil, and both it and the Sultan reap the profits.   Some of this money does make its way to the common Bruneian in the form of free education and healthcare. 


The closer we came to the capital, the more developed and populated the country became.  The bus ride was fatiguing, as both of us nodded to sleep as the sun set and we approached the capital.  I honestly expected it to be more developed and modern given the sizeable and continuous influx of oil capital.  Instead, downtown BSB was only a few streets with even fewer restaurants and of course, no bars (alcohol is prohibited in Brunei).  A Coffee Bean café, an HSBC bank and some sort of 1980’s version of a Pizza Hut were the only signs of foreign investment in the capital.  

Mmm... glue!

With only one full day to explore BSB, we were up early and out to explore all that we could.  A morning meander of Kampong Ayer was followed by a break from the sun inside the splendid Omar Ali Suffaidin mosque (see the next post!).  With sun scorched faces and necks, we then stopped for a strange lunch which included the Bruneian delicacy ambuyat.  Ambuyat is a nasty, viscous white paste made from the sap of a local tree.  To eat it, one must dip it in a bizarre chilli sauce variation - I assure you, it’s not good.  Eating ambuyat is like eating globs of glue in kindergarten.  It hails from an old wartime tradition: when the Japanese occupied Brunei during the Second World War, food was scarce and as a result, alternatives had to be created.  This story is analogous to what the Viet Cong ate in Vietnam: blanched tapioca dipped in ground peanuts.  At least that tasted marginally better!

Delicious chicken satay on
the streets of BSB.

After a day in BSB, we had seen all of its sights; the stilt village, the beautiful mosque, the downtown centre and the fringes of the exclusive royal palace.  With everything from mosques to streets to buildings named after the Sultan, it is truly a strange place.  Orderly lines of traffic filtered in to the city in the morning and out at night, but I could never place where everyone went in such a small and sleepy capital.  After a snack of fire-grilled satay on the side of street, we headed back to our beautiful hotel.  We are not familiar with sleeping in hotels but this move was necessitated; the only “budget” accommodation was 40 Brunei dollars -- about 32 dollars Canadian -- and appeared to be a front for a brothel.  So even if there wasn’t much to see in the capital, for a few dollars more we had a great hotel room for the first time in our travels!

BSB's busy Jalan Sultan
(Sultan Street). 

BSB's other busy main street.  Lots going on!