By early March 1979, I was focused on leaving Penang’s USM campus and heading home. It had been a wonderful four years with two years spent renting a unit at No. 25, Pantai Jerjak.
In December 1978, I received a letter offering me a teaching position at SMK Three Rivers, Mukah. I declined the offer by writing to the Education Headquarters in Kuching. I told them it was a good posting.
However, I had not completed my studies because USM used the semester system based on the American model (unlike Universiti Malaya, which still adhered to the British ‘term’ system). I thanked them for the opportunity, nonetheless.
One of my main concerns was arranging for my belongings to be sent home. I opted for sea transport, which would take about two weeks to reach the Saratok Post Office.
I paid a high fee for this service and shipped most of my items, leaving me with only a briefcase and my guitar. I also decided against shipping my toy pistol, which I had bought in Thungmo, Southern Thailand, for 350 baht (roughly RM35).
The fake pistol, which could make realistic shooting sounds, might attract unwanted attention from Customs. A friend from Saratok, who had attended his three-week off-campus studies, had warned me about the risks. Even Inspector John Lang Enggah, my senior from SMK Saratok (later an ACP, now deceased), advised me that I could get into trouble without a permit for the toy.
So, I decided to give it to my roommate from Alor Setar. He was surprised by the gesture, but for me, it was simply the safest way to dispose of the item I had only played with for a few weeks in Penang.
Perhaps the most heart-wrenching part of leaving was saying goodbye to Miss Ooi, my Penang girlfriend. We had been a solid couple and shared many intimate moments, but she understood my situation.
We promised to stay in touch. There were no tears, just laughter, hugs, and kisses. I left her one of my paintings, inspired by the Futurist style of Salvador Dalí. She liked it, especially the surrealist elements. I saw it as a heartfelt gift to preserve our memories.
On the day of my departure, Miss Ooi kindly volunteered to drive me to Bayan Lepas Airport, accompanied by her elder sister, who was also my classmate. It was about a 45-minute drive from the Minden campus.
At the airport, I said my goodbyes to the two beautiful sisters. Unlike today, I didn’t have a camera — the one I had used for my course had been returned to the Fine Arts Department — so there were no photos to commemorate the moment. We parted with mutual understanding and promises (which neither of us ultimately kept).
As I boarded my flight, my thoughts shifted to what awaited me in Kuching. Upon arriving at Kuching Airport, I decided to contact my first cousin, Michael Darjie Awie, who worked as a senior clerk in a government office.
Michael came immediately and took me to his rented house, which he shared with a few others. He was my classmate in Form 4 and 5 although he was older. (Later, Michael would earn a BA with honours, served as a District Officer in Saratok, and eventually appointed Penghulu in the Kabong area.) I stayed at Michael’s place for two days before taking a bus to my longhouse in Kedap, Saratok.
When I arrived at the longhouse late afternoon, the place was vibrant with colours and decorations. I soon learned that my cousin Igat Brownie Abunawas was getting married in a week.
His bride was the daughter of Mawar, the chief medical assistant at Saratok Hospital. Mawar was also the younger brother of my USM friend, Benedict Sandin, who had been a fellow at USM’s Central Research Policy (CRP) and was formerly the Sarawak Museum Curator and Ethnologist. I was excited at the prospect of reuniting with Sandin after several months apart.
On the day of the church wedding at St. Peter’s Church in Saratok, I saw many familiar faces from Betong and Saratok, including Sandin and his wife.
However, one person stood out — Encharang Agas, our former principal at SMK Saratok and my English Language teacher. He was related to the bride and was now the principal of Rajang Teachers’ College in Binatang (later renamed Bintangor). He seemed surprised to see me.
“What are you doing now with your long hair?” he asked.
“I’m not doing anything, sir. I just graduated a few days ago,” I replied.
“Come see me at the college on April 26, and we’ll arrange something for you. Make sure you cut your hair!” he said firmly.
“Thank you, sir, I’ll be there,” I promised, shaking his hand.
Back at the wedding, after the church service, the newlyweds held another ceremony at the Kedap longhouse that evening.
I was so busy with preparations that I didn’t notice Sandin had been invited to our room by my father.
He arrived accompanied by Mawar. He gave me a warm hug, clearly a little intoxicated, and we spent about half an hour chatting before he rejoined the festivities elsewhere.
On April 26, 1979, I hired a private taxi from the longhouse to Rajang Teachers’ College in Binatang. I met Encharang at around 10:30 a.m., and he gladly hired me.
He assigned me to teach two education subjects: Philosophy of Education and Psychology of Education, both for Year One trainees. These classes had been without a lecturer for several weeks.
I was grateful for the opportunity and saw it as a stepping stone toward fulfilling my dream of contributing to education, particularly in training teachers. I also considered it a chance to grow professionally.
USM had hinted at the possibility of hiring me as a tutor in Sculpture, given that I was the only undergraduate in the Fine Arts Department to score an A in the subject during my final year. However, I felt the offer from Encharang and the college was the right choice.
I was assigned to the Amah quarters, a small but self-sufficient unit with a bathroom, toilet, kitchen, and bedroom. The quarters were shared by Deputy Principal Maria Dris, who was single, and Eda Mamora, whom I knew from Methodist Secondary School in Sibu, where she was a teacher.
I lived there for three years before moving to a shared flat with my colleague and USM mate Carter Ballang Kapong, a Kelabit.
On my first lecture day, I was introduced to my classes and discovered a few senior students, including a Malay student two years ahead at SMK Saratok.
Adjusting was easy, even though some students were older than 25 years. Initially, I joined a few lecturers for meals in the college dining hall, enjoying the food and camaraderie. After three weeks, I started cooking my meals in the quarters.
Looking back, I was happy to have accepted the offer. I awaited confirmation from the Training Division at the Education Headquarters in Kuching, but I already regarded this as the beginning of better things to come.
My hope of expanding my horizons and furthering my studies remained my driving force. I never regretted taking that first step — it felt like the right choice for my future.
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of Sarawak Tribune. The writer can be reached at tawisalok@yahoo.com.
