My folks are passing though
Singapore again next week on their way to New York. They often lay over here on
the way to or from Europe, which is their usual destination – as it is a
convenient stopping off point to and from Australia. However in this case they
are off to America.
They are going to New York.
They of course stop off here
in Singapore to see me as well.
Their last visit to the
Island was on the return leg to Australia last July. It was after one of their
annual and epic tours of Europe. They travel for a couple of months each year
and seem determined and hell bent on spending my and my sibling’s inheritance.
I don’t mind at all.
It is their money, and both
Mum and Dad worked very hard for more than 50 years and they should be enjoying
themselves.
I shall also be spending my
kid’s inheritance.
Note that Totty and Tom.
My parent’s trip last year
was to Italy and Turkey where they cruised and toured all around the place and
then they flew here direct from Istanbul. They normally stay in Singapore only
for a few days, and when here they prefer to stay in the grand and luxurious
and historic Fullarton Hotel. They like it there and I get them good corporate
rates. I would put them up at my place but I live in a tiny one-bedroom
apartment and they are too ancient now to sleep on my couches.
I am too old to sleep on a
couch either – and why would I? I have a perfectly comfortable bed.
Whenever my parents leave I
immediately miss them. I miss them now. I love them dearly and I enjoy their
company.
I really do.
My Mum and Dad have been to
Singapore many times before. The old boy was in the Australian Army for most of
his adult life and for all of my childhood.
He retired as a Colonel.
We moved around a lot when we
were kids and I was actually born in Malaysia - on an army base.
I was an army brat. So too
were my brother and sister.
Now I am just a brat.
Dad did two tours of Vietnam
when I was a little boy. These were much different than his retiree holiday
tours. They were much different because there was a war going on then. The
American’s delusional paranoia of Communism elicited their invasion of this beautiful
Southeast Asian land with weapons of mass destruction. They conscripted young
men to engage in war and the Australian Army followed suit.
The Americans are still doing
this - assailing foreign lands and dropping bombs. Their phobia now though is
of Islamic extremists.
They still invade and
Australia still follows.
History repeats itself over
and over again.
It is madness.
It is an abomination.
I remember watching footage
of the Vietnam war on television when I was a little boy and crying a lot
because my Dad was over there in Vietnam and terrible and frightening things
were happening. My Mum cried a lot too. They were timorous and terrifying times.
I learned very young that the dread of losing your father permeated all of
one's senses. It was a harsh lesson for a little boy and it wasn't fear - it
was terror. I recall the emotion even now. It tasted of malevolence and it smelt
of atrophy. It was a black fog of despair that was all consuming.
Dad doesn't talk about his
time in Vietnam and I don't ask him about it anymore. I used to. He did tell me
once that there are no winners in wars. He told me that there are some things
that may be worth perishing and sacrificing oneself for, but there is nothing
worth killing for. There is nothing at all.
I remember that well.
Mum and Dad and I walked
around Singapore a lot while they were last here. Many new buildings had gone
up since their last visit. Beautiful buildings. Singapore is becoming an
architecturally splendid city of international renown. The Marina Bay Sands,
the Arts Centre, the Louis Vuitton Building and the incredible Cloud Forest
Dome at the new Gardens by the Bay are sights to behold.
They cost billions of
dollars.
The construction industry is
still booming on the Island. The construction workers in Singapore are predominantly
from Bangladesh. They are here on work visas and they toil extremely hard and
in very difficult conditions. To do any manual labor outdoors in the incessant
heat and the near saturating humidity that prevails here is unthinkable to me.
I could not do it.
I struggle just walking
around.
My Mum was a bit taken aback
when we walked down near Marine Parade and we saw a couple of Bangladeshi guys
asleep on the pavement. I told my Mum not to be alarmed.
I said, "Don't worry
Mum. Don't panic" and I then explained the Bangladeshi
construction labour story to her. She had no idea. I told Mum that these poor
blokes had likely been working since 6am and would be doing a fourteen hour
shift. I told her that they did this every day and they were just trying to
catch a few moments sleep. They were exhausted.
It was also Ramadan then - and
these workers would not have had any lunch. Ramadan is the ninth month of the
Islamic calendar. It is a four-week period of prayer and charity and fasting
for those of the Muslim faith.
Fasting is the act of not
eating - it is not the act of moving very quickly.
That is just going fast.
During the Ramadan period
Muslims are not permitted to eat between sunrise and sunset. The pre-sunrise
meal is called suhoor and the post sunset meal is called iftar.
The act of fasting is one of
the five pillars of Islam and it is also a time for self-contemplation and
charity. Those of the Islamic faith will often help out the needy during
Ramadan. Largesse is encouraged in the teachings of the Islamic holy book the
Qur'an.
I think this is very nice.
I think it is beautiful.
We should all of us do this
all of the time.
The world would be a better
place.
I have chatted quite a bit to
a number of the Bangladeshi construction boys during my tenure here in
Singapore. We had large teams of them working on some big building projects
that we did for my Employer. I also used to yack to them when I lived out on
the East Coast of the Island. My house was adjacent to a park where some Bangladeshi
men often chose to sit and sleep on Sundays. Sunday is their only day off.
It is a six-day working week
here in the Singaporean construction industry.
I have been to Bangladesh.
Dhaka is the capital city. The country has a population of more than one
hundred and fifty million people and paucity is endemic. Bangladesh is one of
the most densely populated nations on the planet and it is also one of the most
impoverished. The national language is Bengali however despite the lack of
opportunity for education - many also speak very good English.
I was just traveling around
the place when I went to Bangladesh. I was exploring the world and I wasn't
working at the time. I was trying to find myself as well. It was a long time
ago. I never actually succeeded in finding myself but I am still seeking. At Times
I think that the search is futile however I shall persist - for I am as
stubborn as I am curious.
I inherited this from my Dad.
There are bits of him in me.
One of the main things that I
wanted to see in Bangladesh was the ship graveyards of Chittagong beach and I
did see them. They were amazing. Chittagong is a place where old ships go to
die. Massive and redundant ships of all types sail their last voyage to
Chittagong from all around the world.
It is their death cruise.
When they arrive in
Chittagong they are abandoned and then they are systematically dismantled - piece-by-piece.
It is referred to as "Ship Breaking".
Chittagong is the second
biggest facility of its type in the world. If you want to know where the
biggest facility is you will need to look it up. I can state with some degree
of smugness that I know where it is located. Thousands of Bangladeshis are
‘ship breakers’ and they labour day and night to cut these ships apart. The steel
is recycled. Chittagong beach is an environmental catastrophe but it is a sight
to behold.
It really is.
The Bangladeshi people that I
met in Dhaka and Chittagong and here in Singapore too are without exception
kind and hospitable people. They are delightful in fact. The nation is
impoverished but like many of the Third World countries that I have visited the
generosity of the people is extraordinary. In Bangladesh I was constantly
touched by heartfelt acts of benevolence. I was regularly invited to share
meals of fiery but delicious curries with families who lived together in one
small room. I was offered and drank sweet chai with them and we talked a lot
about the game of cricket.
Bangladeshi men and boys love
cricket.
So do I.
I learned much about humility
and respect and decency in my stay in Bangladesh and I learned much about
myself too.
Hubris is a bitch that does
not reside in places like Bangladesh.
The Chittagong ship graveyard
started by accident more than fifty years ago. It started after a massive
cyclone blew a Greek merchant ship ashore and beached it at Chittagong. It was
unable to be refloated and it sat there for years. In 1965 a local steel
company bought the ship and they got it for a song. They then 'scrapped' it. It
took more than three years but it begat an industry – a very big one for
Bangladesh.
The Bangladeshi laborers here
in Singapore share their accommodations with their co-workers and up to a dozen
of them sleep on roll-up mattresses in a single room. Their Singaporean
Employers arrange for the Workers transportation to and from construction sites
each day in trucks. The average pay rate is about $4 an hour. This is about a
third of what a sixteen year old might earn working in a McDonalds in places
like Australia or the UK for flipping burgers.
Despite this minimalist of
minimum wages the guys from Bangladesh save all that they can and they send it
back to their families. On any given Sunday long and patient lines of them can
be seen at the Western Union offices in the Little India district of Singapore.
They send their wages back to Bangladesh to feed their families who would
otherwise starve.
It is the children of
impoverished nations that suffer the most. Starvation and malnutrition related
diseases are the primary causes of mortality amongst infants in Bangladesh. It
is the same in Nepal.
It is heart breaking.
As I have already mentioned -
in the small park that was next to my house on the East coast of Singapore
there were always groups of Bangladeshi construction workers resting and
sleeping on Sundays. They did so under the shade of the beautiful banyan trees.
I sometimes repeat myself.
I sometimes repeat myself.
They would sometimes chat in
small groups and lay out picnics. I used to walk my old Golden Retriever in the
park. His name was Bob. As I strolled past groups of these guys I would
say "Nomoskar".
This is a polite way of saying, "Hello
how are you?" in Bengali.
I learned this in Bangladesh.
The Bangladeshis who I
befriended would always reply with big grins and say "Nomoskar.
Apni keamon arsen?"
This is "Hello.
Are you well?"
In return I would deliver
an "Ami halo arsi".
Which is Bengali for "I
am well"
This is simple and polite
Bengali formalities and civilities. Then we would converse in English because
that was all the Bengali I had. The guys seemed very pleased that I had been to
their country.
When I got to know them a
little better we talked about all sorts of things. We chatted about cricket and
families and children and the ship graveyards of Chittagong. I told them that I
thought that the jobs they had here in Singapore must be very difficult given
the heat and humidity. I told them that I thought that life must be very tough
for them.
They replied to me that it
wasn't easy being away from their families but they were used to hard work and
heat. They told me that they thought they were very lucky to be in a place as
nice as Singapore and that their lives weren't so bad. They pointed out to me
that they could sit under the shade of a Banyan tree here in a beautiful lush
green park on their day off and they could drink chai with their friends.
They told me that it was
better than Bangladesh.
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