My Gaharu Trees

Herbert Gaban, an old friend, paid me a visit at Tintap for the first time in early 2005. He presented himself in an annoying way. He spoke in Bahasa Melayu using a some sort of a Javanese intonation, not that I knew how a Javanese intonation sounded like. But he did speak in some sort of an intonation strange to Malaysians, the like of an intonation of one of the ethnic groups from Indonesia. He had pulled down his topi thus hiding most parts of his face. “Who are you?” I asked feeling very annoyed. The next thing I would have done was to send him out of my premises. I would have used force if I had to to make him leave. He must have felf such signal for he turned semi-professional by introducing himself. He gave me a strange-sounding name saying that he came from Sandakan. He said that he had come to look for Joe Tangit. It was at that time that the quiver around his mouth betrayed him. “Herbert!”, I shouted as we exchanged friendly soft swings and blows. Our handshakes were quite prolonged. He apologised for his theaterical presentation which I commended as coming from a professional. He said that he had had a practice duping Julius Mojulin in some similar ways. He said that Julius also nearly wanted to throw in out of his deer farm. Our associations together started from way back in 1964 when we were pioneers of the Gaya Teachers’ Training College, Kota Kinabalu, getting our Teacher’s Training Certificate. Both of us were following the P Course, meaning, when we eventually graduated, we would be required to teach the primary schools. We had boyish fun together. We would bet for nothing at all but as to who would be able to run the fastest and tap on Cecelia’s hand. That Chinese girl must have mused and felt elated because two not-bad-looking Kadazandusun boys secretly as well as openly adored her. We were in Gaya College from 1963, graduating at the end of 1964. In 1965, as graduates from Gaya College, we were posted for the first time to SRK Babagon, in Penampang. Both of us were assistant teachers, the headmaster being James Tan a graduate in 1964 from Kent Teachers’ Training College, in Tuaran. That was the second time Herbert and I were together in the same place. In 1968, when the headmaster of SRK Babagon was transfered out of the school, I was appointed the Headmaster by the Education Officer, Encik Asli Luttah. In 1969 both Herbert and myself, for the third time, together with 18 others, were sent to Sydney, Australia, to undergo a Colombo Plan Course in the Teaching of English as a Foreign Language. There were 20 teachers from all over Sabah on that Course of Studies. Justine, Yong, Alfred, Lee from Tenom, Lee Chee Kin from Sandakan, Fidelia, Philomena, Digong, Wahid, Suhaibul, Dolly, Benjamin Kudungai from Tambunan, Herbert and myself. (Six people were missed! Memory! Memory! At stake!) There were two Education Supervisors from among the group, Justine Angkangon from Keningau Education Office and Yong Tet Leong from the Tawau Education Office. But, official letters from the Sabah State Government to the group was addressed to “Joe Tangit & 19 Others”. They were letters concerning matters pertaining to our Living Allowances, Departure dates and other non-academic concerns. There were no letters addressed direct to the group concerning academic matters as such could have been communicated directly to Mr Kopock, the director of the English Teaching Centre, Kalamazoo House in North Sydney. Initially, we were all made to stay with foster families. Coincidentally or good spirit-led, again Herbert and I, for the fourth time, happened to be together staying at 16, Cowles Road, North Sydney. Herbert was well-liked by the family because he was a good barber and he cropped up the boys’ head. There were two boys and a girl in the family. Food was provided and we did not want to disrupt any arrangements they had regarding food. What they ate we could eat. I did not really know about herbert’s food patterns. All I knew was that he did not eat fish without scales. But, rarely or never at all were we served fish. What was popularly served were meat, presumablely lamb, and potatoes. At one time, when we had the chance to put forward suggestions, we we served boiled rice together with the normal others. I for one truly enjoyed the rice meal. I had the guts to ask whether there was still the rice left. I was given another bowl. I shared it with Herbert. It was the first time I perspired while enjoying my meal. The land-lady said that we should have told her earlier of our preference, rice, for it was in fact, cheaper. Such business consideration was international. But it was not the same what was happening at Wahid’s foster family’s house. They somehow refused to eat the food prepared by their foster parents. Wahid, Digong, Suhaibul and Dolly were staying together at their foster family’s house not very far from Cowles Road. One evening they came to visit us, Herbert and myself, complaining that they had not had any food for a few days already. They looked languid and drained. I advised them to talk to their foster parents asking them to prepare food that they wanted and to tell them that they were muslim. I also told them that the meat served could be mutton. Jokingly but seriously, I told them that it was perhaps better to just eat the food than to die of hunger, not knowing any Islamic teaching regarding intake of food. A few days later they came to pay us another visit but that time they were all full of smiles. While staying with the family at 16, Cowles Road, Herbert and I together with the rest of the gang were officially brought to visit a farmer’s private apple farm. We had fun spending almost the whole day at the farm. Lunch was provided for all. When we went back, we were given a galanjang (big roughly-made bamboo basket) full of below-grade apples. At home, we kept our own galanjang under our beds. We were in the same bed room. At 3.00 o’clock in the morning, I would hear Herbert munching his apples. He did it discretely avoiding to wake me up. But on hearing his munching I would stealtily reach for my own apple and munch loudly. That munching sound then created the start of laughters at three in the morning! Members of the group always could meet each other when they turned up for classes at the Kalamazoo House. Plans were finalised to move out of the foster families’. A group of us, Justine, Yong, Alfred, Herbert, Wong and myself moved to Milson’s Point, a walking distance to the Kalamazoo House, housing The English Teaching Centre, and to a Catholic Church. It was also very close to a railway station and the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Justine Angkangon and I used to go to Church on Sundays. During the first time we went to church, we made a wrong turn on the road and arrived at an Anglican Church. We were met on arrival by a Reverend. After exchanging greetings, typical of greetings of people meeting for the first time, the Reverend pointed to us the Catholic Church which was just at the next ground. The Reverend, on hearing that we were from Sabah, known to him as North Borneo, invited us to come for tea at his rectory anytime for, I presumed, a chit-chat. He said that he was in North Borneo during the 2^nd World War. We were bad. Despite of having agreed to come, we never turned up. We had no spare time, I presumed. Others in the group decided to stay on with the families they were initially assigned to. Yes, of course, it was convenient. Food was provided and laundry done. The adventurous ones decided to move out. As we were then responsible to feed ourselves, we had the opportunity to visit the wet market in the suburb of Syndey. We had the opportunity to pay a few cents only for a load of beef bones. Sometimes, it was simply given to us. “Do you have many dogs?” the old man would ask. “Yes! Ooh yes, yes”, we would answer, amused with ourselves. We also found out that ikan kandi was rather expensive. When we asked as to why it was so, we learnt that it was because it was fleshy…less bones. We also found out from the locals that the red hot chilli padi was ground around their house-grounds not for the chilli of it but for its red chilli beauty. On every Wednesday evening a big black Commonwealth Car, as we used to call it, came around to pick us up. We were sent to an Australian family for an evening visit. It was, I was told, part of the Colombo Plan scholarship and arrangement. The car would come round to pick us up again at around 10.00 o’clock. Thinking of the whole idea, now, there was an Australian Policy whereby they collected the children of the Aborigine and gave then proper schooling and foster families. I happened, at that time, to have picked up a magazine where there was a feature story of such. The name given to the native boy was Joe. There was a picture of him together with his foster father. They were laughing together, the father boxing Joe and Joe doing the blocking. Joe was in his navy-blue suit. At that particulat time, I had a navy-blue suit with me. Joe looked very much like me or I looked very much like Joe in stature and facial appearance. Our smiles were the same. Anyone could be duped that Joe, in the magazine was me and I was that Joe in the magazine. I brought that magazine page with me back home to Kampung Dabak. Tondu’s mother said, “Nombo koud’ti”? She thought I was Joe, the Aborigine boy. On coming back to Sabah, we found ourselves, Herbert and I, for the fifth time, assigned together to work at the Education Office, West Coast. We had no proper letter of transfer but we were kept to work there for more than six months. When Headquarters came to know of this unorthodox keeping of personnels in one station without proper letters of transfer, the Education Officer responsible was made aware of the relevant Standing Order. We were therefore immediately sent out, both Herbert and myself, to Government Junior Secondary School Bingkor, in Keningau. It was our sixth time together. I was the Principal and Herbert, together with a few others who were already established in the school, the assistants. That was in 1971. When I insisted for a transfer back to Kota Kinabalu area, I was told by the then Justine Angkangon, turned, Tuan Haji Affandi J. Angkangon, that there was no Principal post for me in or around Kota Kinabalu. I told him that I did not ask for such post. Soon after that I got my way. I was transferred to SMK Putatan leaving Herbert still at SMK Bingkor. We seldom crossed paths until in much later years, when we were then about to retire, that I knew Herbert was at Headquarters doing administrative work, the assigning of personnels to the proper posts, scheme of service and salary structures. At that time I was attached to the Curriculum and Training Sector of the Education Department. He retired about two years earlier than me and moved to the States (USA) to stay with his daughter who was married to an American. He had got his PR already but he still comes back to Sabah once a year. He must have missed Sabah all the while when he was in the States. He vented it therefore on friends he victimised by his crafty practical jokes. He brought me to Jalan Pulutan in Menggatal to visit Encik Philipus Pur, the President of the Sabah Herbal Association. He also managed a Gaharu tree nursery and market himself as a Gaharu planting consultant. I bought 5 Gaharu plants for RM30.00 each during that visit. That 5 Gaharu plants are really florishing and growing well. It was reputed that each Gaharu tree of about 6 years old, when pulped, could fetch between 12k to 14k Ringgit Malaysia. My 5 Gaharu Trees had been augmented to 11 …only 11 trees ! Tondu used to joke that she was looking at a future millionaire because he had 11 Gaharu trees!