A SATURDAY OUT ON A FREE WAY

The last Saturday before Sunday, after such a long five-day-baby-sitting and being a close ally to Amir Harith, I decided to take a drive out of my place of domicile. While driving, the phobia at the rising cost of petrol suddenly went off my mind and my entire track and driving pattern was automatically no longer an economic track. I drove through the City Centre, found road blocks had already started by the static and immobile "boys in black and white uniforms and bikes". Roads leading to the Parliament House were totally sealed.


While fetching an old old pal from Setapak was the primary task of the day, driving through the free way passing Taman Melati, reaching the junction that split towards Kuantan (to the left) Gombak, Batu Caves, Selayang (straight a head or rather in the direction of 12 o'clock) , heading North, was the ultimate journey we took to accomplish our next mission. We stopped by in what was signed and labeled as Pasar Borong Selayang. People were busy packing fruits on transporters. Strange faces were turning and looking towards us. Obviously, the particular object that I was looking for, was too far fetched and impossible to be found there. Selayang was such an enormous "place" and almost a "city" on its own, spreading on both sides of the highways carrying such names that only those residing there might have memorized. Some of them might not even have heard of any except where they lived.

My task was unaccomplished. It would have been an extremely silly deed looking for a little husk in mountains of rice. No specific direction was clued. The person who was responsible that led to this journey could have lost the usage of his hands because all calls were left unanswered. Suddenly ringing from my continuous calls had turned onto deaf ears. Sms were far from being replied, probably were left unread for days and days. Needless to say here, some people are extremely expert in convincing people who are straight forward Janes. Principle of life is easily pushed aside at the expense of others.

While driving through one taman, I pulled up at a banana stall and tried looking for some bananas for the monkeys back in the yard who are forever hungry. The lady told me those clumsily-stacked dark skinned ones are meant for making cakes and all. What? The over-ripen ones? Anyway, after buying some fresh and big-sized bananas, we headed further north and then turned off westwards, to home sweet home.

…AND voala! Were we not happy to be greeted by a herd of monkeys with big and small babies. A few would climb up our window ledge and looking onto our meal table as though asking for mercy and for some food. First the huge, sickly looking father of all monkeys, I think he was injured. True. He was injured. His bottom right lips were red and fresh wound was visible which we thought was probably caused by durian skins from garbage bins that they had ransacked earlier.Out of pity and love for Allah’s creations, we dropped two bananas for him. We shoved some of its skin through the window and excitedly closed as fast as we could in case they grabbed hold of our hands. A hooligan looking guy grabbed all of them selfishly and hurried up to a huge tree besides my former bedroom when I was the Lady Who Lives Down The Stairs. He finished them all up and threw those unwanted bits down to the ground. Little monkeys then grabbed them and tried to eat every little bit that was left.

Meanwhile, an old mother monkey was also on the ledge, waiting patiently. Two more were thrown and she knew they were meant for her and she left with them fully tucked into her big mouth. The skins were strewn on the cemented floor. Younger ones came rushing, picking them up and found their way up the same tall huge tree.

Satisfied? Yes, of course. That was only a wee bit we could do for them. Wan Mah was suggesting bringing home banana skins found at the goreng pisang stall, but they were meant for goats to eat, not monkeys. The remaining bananas were meant for us. Pisang Emas was for little Amir Harith, Pisang Rastali was for Wan Zaemah and Pisang Berangan was for Wan, Mama, Papa and Cik Za. So much for looking for a furniture factory in Selayang.

After the zohor prayer, we then retreated in bed, trying to get some rest but something more important came up... catching up on old time stories of those were the days when we were once young ladies of the campus.

After our Asar prayer, we again headed north to meet another old friend that Wan Mah has not met for more than twenty years. And guess what were waiting for us at Wan Zah's three year old beautiful house? An almost newly wedded couple named Wan (nenek) Zainah who used to work in AG and the Main Library in the City together with her husband, Atok (Tok Ki) Mr.Iskandar from the United States. AND of course the other was the difficult-to-forget and to mention the tasty Nasi Dagang served with beautiful mixed pickles, boiled eggs, chicken and ikan tongkol curry. We each had our-more-than-one-helping to the sumptuous high-tea. Mint tea, red syrup, fruits and kurma were not the starters of the day.

The journey that started at 4.30 p.m was worth the while. We left her place at 11.00 p.m. after another meal of kuey teow soup, bee hoon soup and fried kuey teow close to Rahman Putra’s Golf club. What a gala outing for all the Wans in town. Our appreciations to you Wan Zah for being such a beautiful and wonderful host.

Tra la la la. La LA