Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Stranded in Kechau Tui
Assalamu ‘Alaikum,
Stranded in Kechau Tui
The enemy forces regrouped in the knolls yonder. We were tired, hungry and thirsty. Nobody remembered the last time we ate. Our forces were decimated. Seventeen battle weary soldiers were what’s left of a battalion of freedom fighters that started out from Sega Tat a week ago. Our moment of truth was inching close.
We tied our legs together, pitched our AK47s at an angle that will maximise the kill. Bayonets and bullets laid on the ground to our left, we waited for the push. We knew we will be overrunned; but we will not die alone, we will take as many of them with us. The only thing we have left to give to this country, is our life. Let the world not forget the unsung warriors of Kechau Tui.
With a name like Kechau Tui in the title line the above paragraph is the only befitting one to follow the title. Actually it wasn’t Kechau Tui, the exact location was Pagar Sasak , a few kilometres further north in the Gua Musang Kota Baru route but Kechau Tui sounds more exotic. And I aint kidding about Sega Tat you’ll find the place a few kilometres south or thereabouts. And what was stranded was not seventeen battle weary soldiers but more like seventeen travel weary families that occupied the little mosque atop the hill. It was a cute little mosque, you drive up on the right side uphill to reach it and then go down left side downhill to leave it. Not a soul nor a house was in shouting distance. If it wasn’t 3pm daylight on that hot Friday afternoon June 4th last week I wouldn’t be as brave as I was then. When Maghrib came no local jemaah came to do the Azan or even to pray, apart from us. So we were convinced it was a Jumaat only mosque, or so we convinced ourselves . I made a mental note to recheck the mosque actually exist the next time I pass this way. Otherwise the producers of Misteri Nusantara should know of this. From atop the hill where we were we saw how far the traffic jam snaked. Our hearts go out to the families with babies stuck in this mother of traffic jam. Sunday morning papers later reported the jam was 30km long at its peak. However at that time, twilight Friday, we had little info to rely on, stories float of a Container lorry lying dead after committing suicide on the road. This interspersed with a version that tells of a kungfu fight between a petrol tanker and a bus. However what was certain was it was impenetrable; all was waiting for the knight in shining armour to arrive, the indomitable KATO crane lorry. One after another arrived to take the challenge, none rose up to the occasion, either it was not big enough or nobody had the RM1500 some of the drivers asked to remove the obstacle. The ‘just one more hour to go’ response we had via a phone call to a nearby police station turned out to be just another false hope. It slowly dawned on us we won’t make it for the night. I gathered the wife and kids in a huddle and gave them a pep talk as to what to expect next. We have to be brave I said, we have to turn back and find shelter for the night. I’m certain the two girls and Mama understood, I wasn’t sure though about 4 year old Zahir and his Power Rangers Go!
Kuala Lipis was the nearest town if we tracked back. We’re all agreed thats where we should head to, well Mama and I agreed, all the kids wanted to know was whether we are going to sleep at Siti Nurhaliza’s house. It was an hour to midnight as we eventually arrived at that sleepy hollow called Kuala Lipis. The three pronged junction asked us whether we wanted to go the Hospital, Kuala Lipis Baru or Kuala Lipis Lama. Heck where’s the sign that just says hotel? We eventually found two, we were certain the two hotel cashiers smirked when both said the hotels were full, teaching us a lesson for bypassing Kuala Lipis all this while. We were disheartened but we were not beatened. We decided to head back to Bentong where my relative has a tom yam outlet, fill ourselves up and let destiny decide where we head. We did not hold out much hope for decent family hotels in Raub or Bentong. We resigned to make the break for Kemaman via the Kuantan Highway where Kak Ha is waiting to welcome us. We reasoned the next morning it will just be a five hour run to KB via the coastal road from Kemaman. At Raub and also earlier in Lipis, the Rest Houses there beckoned us to stop but we knew better, we were tired but not so tired to fall into the Ghostly hell that are Malaysian Rest Houses. Urban legends the stories may be but we decide to err on the side of caution.
And so it was at the witching hour we entered the Kuantan Highway. Kemaman was three hours away and it was a long, long, long three hours. Sleepy takes on a new definition. I didn’t know I could sing like a soprano until that night when I bawled out every which song I could remember to keep me awake. Just as well the kids and Mama were asleep otherwise the criticisms of my secret talent will come fast and thick. At 3 am we slumped ourselves at Kak Ha’s house in Kemaman and fell asleep before we hit the mattresses.
The Kemaman Kota Baru stretch was a scenic coastal drive; the magic always remain every time I made this trip. It was like a part of Malaysia which is not part of Malaysia, beautiful is an inadequate word to descibe the drive. We stopped at Besut to meet Tok We and then picked up Tok Aboh my father in law to head to the wife’s family home in Kota Baru. It was then a constant regaling of our experience to my attentive in laws. Later that night as I shut my eyes to sleep I wondered why my Federal Government still deny the Kelantanese their right to a Highway like enjoyed by the other states. Is it because the Kelantanese do not pay income tax? Or if they do, as indeed they do, the taxes are kept by the state and not handed over to the coffers at federal level? If it was to teach the Kelantanese a lesson for not voting for the ruling party, I wonder really, how many Kelantanese has since change their vote just because they wanted a highway?
Islam teaches one to be fair. Is justice not a word in their dictionary?
Wassalam,
Stranded in Kechau Tui
The enemy forces regrouped in the knolls yonder. We were tired, hungry and thirsty. Nobody remembered the last time we ate. Our forces were decimated. Seventeen battle weary soldiers were what’s left of a battalion of freedom fighters that started out from Sega Tat a week ago. Our moment of truth was inching close.
We tied our legs together, pitched our AK47s at an angle that will maximise the kill. Bayonets and bullets laid on the ground to our left, we waited for the push. We knew we will be overrunned; but we will not die alone, we will take as many of them with us. The only thing we have left to give to this country, is our life. Let the world not forget the unsung warriors of Kechau Tui.
With a name like Kechau Tui in the title line the above paragraph is the only befitting one to follow the title. Actually it wasn’t Kechau Tui, the exact location was Pagar Sasak , a few kilometres further north in the Gua Musang Kota Baru route but Kechau Tui sounds more exotic. And I aint kidding about Sega Tat you’ll find the place a few kilometres south or thereabouts. And what was stranded was not seventeen battle weary soldiers but more like seventeen travel weary families that occupied the little mosque atop the hill. It was a cute little mosque, you drive up on the right side uphill to reach it and then go down left side downhill to leave it. Not a soul nor a house was in shouting distance. If it wasn’t 3pm daylight on that hot Friday afternoon June 4th last week I wouldn’t be as brave as I was then. When Maghrib came no local jemaah came to do the Azan or even to pray, apart from us. So we were convinced it was a Jumaat only mosque, or so we convinced ourselves . I made a mental note to recheck the mosque actually exist the next time I pass this way. Otherwise the producers of Misteri Nusantara should know of this. From atop the hill where we were we saw how far the traffic jam snaked. Our hearts go out to the families with babies stuck in this mother of traffic jam. Sunday morning papers later reported the jam was 30km long at its peak. However at that time, twilight Friday, we had little info to rely on, stories float of a Container lorry lying dead after committing suicide on the road. This interspersed with a version that tells of a kungfu fight between a petrol tanker and a bus. However what was certain was it was impenetrable; all was waiting for the knight in shining armour to arrive, the indomitable KATO crane lorry. One after another arrived to take the challenge, none rose up to the occasion, either it was not big enough or nobody had the RM1500 some of the drivers asked to remove the obstacle. The ‘just one more hour to go’ response we had via a phone call to a nearby police station turned out to be just another false hope. It slowly dawned on us we won’t make it for the night. I gathered the wife and kids in a huddle and gave them a pep talk as to what to expect next. We have to be brave I said, we have to turn back and find shelter for the night. I’m certain the two girls and Mama understood, I wasn’t sure though about 4 year old Zahir and his Power Rangers Go!
Kuala Lipis was the nearest town if we tracked back. We’re all agreed thats where we should head to, well Mama and I agreed, all the kids wanted to know was whether we are going to sleep at Siti Nurhaliza’s house. It was an hour to midnight as we eventually arrived at that sleepy hollow called Kuala Lipis. The three pronged junction asked us whether we wanted to go the Hospital, Kuala Lipis Baru or Kuala Lipis Lama. Heck where’s the sign that just says hotel? We eventually found two, we were certain the two hotel cashiers smirked when both said the hotels were full, teaching us a lesson for bypassing Kuala Lipis all this while. We were disheartened but we were not beatened. We decided to head back to Bentong where my relative has a tom yam outlet, fill ourselves up and let destiny decide where we head. We did not hold out much hope for decent family hotels in Raub or Bentong. We resigned to make the break for Kemaman via the Kuantan Highway where Kak Ha is waiting to welcome us. We reasoned the next morning it will just be a five hour run to KB via the coastal road from Kemaman. At Raub and also earlier in Lipis, the Rest Houses there beckoned us to stop but we knew better, we were tired but not so tired to fall into the Ghostly hell that are Malaysian Rest Houses. Urban legends the stories may be but we decide to err on the side of caution.
And so it was at the witching hour we entered the Kuantan Highway. Kemaman was three hours away and it was a long, long, long three hours. Sleepy takes on a new definition. I didn’t know I could sing like a soprano until that night when I bawled out every which song I could remember to keep me awake. Just as well the kids and Mama were asleep otherwise the criticisms of my secret talent will come fast and thick. At 3 am we slumped ourselves at Kak Ha’s house in Kemaman and fell asleep before we hit the mattresses.
The Kemaman Kota Baru stretch was a scenic coastal drive; the magic always remain every time I made this trip. It was like a part of Malaysia which is not part of Malaysia, beautiful is an inadequate word to descibe the drive. We stopped at Besut to meet Tok We and then picked up Tok Aboh my father in law to head to the wife’s family home in Kota Baru. It was then a constant regaling of our experience to my attentive in laws. Later that night as I shut my eyes to sleep I wondered why my Federal Government still deny the Kelantanese their right to a Highway like enjoyed by the other states. Is it because the Kelantanese do not pay income tax? Or if they do, as indeed they do, the taxes are kept by the state and not handed over to the coffers at federal level? If it was to teach the Kelantanese a lesson for not voting for the ruling party, I wonder really, how many Kelantanese has since change their vote just because they wanted a highway?
Islam teaches one to be fair. Is justice not a word in their dictionary?
Wassalam,
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