Abang...

Ajie said that Abang left last week. He cried so much at the airport, as he waved goodbye to Mak and prayed that she will be there on his return. Insyaallah. I can just imagine Mak, at the departure terminal by the escalator, sitting in her wheelchair that we all pooled together to buy, clinging on to Abang, her lips quivering with emotions. Abang has left for a destination in the Middle East – the first time he left home since his wife left him two months ago.

Kak Cik said perhaps its best that Abang went. Since Kak Piah passed away, he’s just a shadow of himself. He goes from one sibling’s house to the another, sits down and cries – not the same Abang at all, not the Abang that we knew – the one who’d crack a joke a minute.

The trip and the job assignment overseas will hopefully take his mind off the loss. But I doubt it. Abang is family oriented. He cannot be without his family, his siblings, Mak and most of all sambal belacan, sayur keladi and kari kepala ikan. I wonder how he will survive. But I pray to God, on his return we will get our Abang back.

Abang had been a survivor but it’ll take a lot for him to survive this loss.

When we were young, Abang was the only brother in the family, before the arrival of Ajie. Thus perhaps he was spoilt. He didn’t want to go to school and Mak didn’t say anything. We learnt about his erring ways from the whispers of the elders. He didn’t make his Form Three exams and in our family, that was indeed something of a disappointment for Pak. But Mak never said anything.

We were then living in Yan, a beautiful little town by the sea, in the shadows of Gunung Jerai, where Pak was a government officer. One day, Mak woke up and found Abang gone. And Mak never stopped crying and prayed for her only son to come back. Of course he did, when his money ran out. Then, instead of continuing school, he mixed around with local fishermen. First, he would paint them as they pushed out their boats to sea. Then, he slept at the centre, waking up at the break of dawn to go out with them in their boats. When that happened, Mak would hastily put on her selendang and wait by the sea front for the boats to come in, all the while praying for his safe return. To lure him back, Mak would promise all kinds of dishes, his favourite, for him and his newfound friends.

He came back. And brought with him no less than five young fishermen, who frequented our house most days. One faithfully remained with us, looking after our father, our nieces and nephews and helped with housework, until he got married and later died of old age.

But Abang was not ready to go back to school. One day, the small quiet town of Yan came alive with people running out to the streets. Mak peered out of our government quarters’ window and saw Abang and company carrying a 10 ft python which they caught near the foot of Gunung Jerai. From what I heard, they made quite a tidy sum, when they sold the reptile to a Chinese businessman.

Mak never stopped her prayers and Abang finally succumbed to her plea to continue his studies. He made it to ITM on a very low grade, and did Arts and Design. Mak knew that from the mess of paints and brushes in his room, Arts was his calling. And it was the right decision. He then pursued his studies in Belfast. Mak cried again – this time with pride – her only son and the first in the family to leave for overseas. It was such a big deal in those days. The whole clan gathered at the airport. Abang wrote to us, pages and pages to tell us about the bombings in Belfast, about the riots and the troubles. Mak would eagerly wait for his news as we read and left out bits not meant for her ears.

“Abang kata apa?” Mak would ask.

“Dia sehat. Dia kirim salam kat Mak,”

“Ish, tujuh lai surat – dia kirim salam saja?” she’d say.

One day, we received a newspaper cutting. Abang had made it into the Irish newspaper – he had won an award for one of his art pieces and Pak said, Alhamdulillah. He has made me proud of him.

The newspaper had mentioned Abang as Mr Othman, Othman being Pak’s name and that pleased Pak enormously.

He made one phonecall a year and we would wait nervously at Pak Tam's house - our rich uncle in that big bungalow at the end of the road. Needless to say, Mak cried away those precious few minutes when she heard her son's voice from across the high seas.

Abang is known as Abang to family and friends, young and old. I’m not surprised that some people did not know his real name.

On his return, he headed several departments and several government bodies, earning him a recognition from the state government. A photograph of him and Kak Piah with the medal is still hanging proudly in the old family house, now unoccupied as Mak is too weak and frail to live on her own there.

Nothing changed Abang. He was fun, he was full of jokes and pranks. Our family gatherings in the house that Pak built was always filled with laughter. We’d book space for our families at night. And Abang would book right in front of the TV. And most times, it was the TV watching him.

And right into the night, from our own little kelambu’s, we’d chat away until Tok cleared her throat signalling her displeasure. There'd be silence for a while until Tok went back to sleep.

When we were young, Abang would be the one Mak assigned to wake us up for sahur. Being the creative one, he’d try different tricks. One would be, drips of belacan water and if that wasn’t enough, salt water, into our gaping mouth, till we woke up. Then, if that failed, he’d draw moustaches and beard on our faces with his charcoal sticks.

Abang loves to cook. On his return to Alor Star, he’d head for the garden and gather the keladi and made sayur keladi. After his early morning trips to the market, he’d sit himself outside in Mak’s wet kitchen and prepare the fish for the grill. Then came the sambal belacan. Our household is famed for this and uncles and aunties and cousins would come by the droves and fill Mak’s big kitchen.

Even when Abang came to visit us in London, he’d take over the kitchen. He cooked when Mak was ill, to feed the continuous flow of visitors. But funny enough, he never cooked in his own kitchen. With arwah Kak Piah, they would eat at the stalls or bring back take aways. And he must be missing this, missing her company now that she is gone.

Today, Abang will be spending his birthday away from his siblings and families, his sons and grandson and Mak. He will be missing the great food that Kak Cik would have cooked for him had he been around. But, he’d be spending this day with memories of his wife fresh in his mind. For the last words he said to her before she drifted away was, ‘Go first and wait for me.’

Happy Birthday Abang. We are waiting for you, too. Love you very much.