The dormitories of low housing and fields had a tall fence all around them, with curled barbed wire at the top. Our boat had sailed from Clifford Pier and had passed Pulau Bukom on the way there and back. It was about a half-hour ride from Clifford Pier. I absolutely loved the wind in my hair and the smell of salt in the air. I imagined that these same waves had washed at foreign shores and circulated around the world. How fantastic was that? Except for going to Malaysia, I had never been out of Singapore before, so it was magical to be out at sea. I was already 23 but had not seen the world yet. But the boat ride instilled in me an awareness of the possibility that one day, I would be able to travel abroad. It awakened in me a sense of wanderlust. Going to St John’s Island every other Saturday was the highlight of my nursing life.
When we heard the news of the hijack, we were deeply shocked. I was staggered. With my fertile imagination, I imagined that if the bombing had taken place three days earlier, it might have happened that the hijackers could have pounced on our passing boat, instead of the Laju. This thought, though a mite far-fetched, somehow connected me to the event in a strange vicarious way, and I glued myself to the radio and TV to follow the details of the continuing saga and developments.
PFLP issued a statement from Beirut that the primary purpose of the bombing of the refinery was a warning to monopolistic oil companies, as well as to disrupt oil supply to countries like Vietnam. Its secondary purpose was to highlight the perceived notion of the oppression of Arabs in the Middle East. Fortunately, the bombs they used did not cause severe damage on Pulau Bukom. There was a scuffle at sea as the Laju was chased and surrounded by Navy gunboats and Marine Police boats.
Throughout the week, we followed the news of the continuing negotiations between the Singapore authorities and the hijackers. Two hostages slipped out of the grasp of the hijackers and jumped into the sea to swim to safety. The Japanese Ambassador Mr T. Uomoto pleaded with the hijackers to release the hostages, but they initially refused. Later, they agreed to release the other three hostages if they were assured of safe passage out of Singapore to the Middle East. Mr S. R. Nathan, who was then Director of the Security and Intelligence Division, Ministry of Defence, led a team of 13 negotiators, which comprised government officials, marine police and commandos, to take the hijackers to Kuwait. Before boarding the plane at Paya Lebar Airport, the hijackers released the hostages and gave up their arms. Mr Nathan and his team accompanied the hijackers all the way to Kuwait and returned to Singapore the next day. The whole country was on tenterhooks for their safety till their return.
“They asked us to apologise for the many inconveniences caused to the hostages,” Mr S. R. Nathan told the press. “The four thanked us for the treatment they received in Singapore and told us they meant no harm to Singapore.”
For months, I had been saving my lunch money to buy my mother a Baby Belling oven for her 59th birthday in March, which was just a couple of weeks before mine. The Baby Belling oven was a table-top model and was not as expensive as a normal-size oven. Still it cost $50, which was all that Mak gave me each month. I thought that it would make my mother happy to be able to bake with ease, instead of using her dapur arang arrangement, where she had to use an aluminium pot to put over the hot coals to act as an oven, and squat or sit on a low stool while cooking. At her age, I felt it was getting more challenging for her to squat for long periods. With the new oven, she could stand up to bake her cakes. I even paid a delivery price of $5 for it to be delivered, as it was too heavy for me to carry it from Metro.
“What’s this? What’s this?” Mak asked when it arrived.
“Birthday present for you, Mak” I said. “You unwrap it.”
I had taken my mother to eat her favourite briyani at Zam Zam restaurant in North Bridge Road. Now I could sense her excitement, though she acted calm. After the wrapping had come off, I helped her lift the oven out of its box.
“But what is it?” she asked.
“An electric oven!” I exclaimed.
She didn’t know what it was for, and I went through the process of showing her how it worked, and explained how she could bake her cakes in it.
“Aiyyah! Why waste money?” She said with an impatience that she hardly ever exhibited before. “Silly modern things. How can my kueh bangkit taste as good in an oven? Nothing can beat my dapur arang!”
“Aiyyah, Mak” I said in exasperation, “give it a try lah!”
“So many knobs and things!” she said. “What if the current poisons the kueh?”
Local folks used the word “current” to refer to electricity, which was still an unusual phenomenon for them, as it was for my mother. I tried to explain about electricity, baked some fairy cakes for her to sample, showed her how clean and easy it was to use. But she would not budge. I had never known my mother to be so stubborn before. To my utter disappointment, she would not even try to use it. Only much later did I realise that she was actually afraid of it!
The previous year, we had watched in dismay as our fish ponds were being filled up. Today, walking by the flattened land where they had been, you would not have guessed that these used to be beautiful bodies
