Home on the Range: My First Malaysian Kampung Experience

This past Sunday, my coworker invited me to spend the day with her family at her husband’s grandmother’s farmhouse. The grandmother was hosting prayers for a blessed Ramadan (which would start a week later) and for a remembrance of the dead. Her family and village neighbors were all invited. With over 50 people in attendance, the food was catered and tents were erected to keep everyone out of the heat.

The Malay word for village is ‘kampung’.  Almost all Malays that I know have ties to at least one kampung (that either their mother or father grew up in), with some having ties to multiple village homes. My understanding is that until Malaysia became an independent nation, a majority of Malays still lived in villages: growing fruits and vegetables to survive – leading a similar life as their ancestors. After Malaysia became an independent nation, a controversial affirmative action plan was put in place whereby Malays were given preferential treatment in government positions and education opportunities (such as scholarships to study abroad), along with instituting hiring quotas for Malays in commercial enterprises. Putting criticism aside, these plans brought many Malays out from the kampungs into the urban cities. With university educations, Malays slowly increased their presence in all major commercial industries, which increased their affluence. As a result, many present-day Malays live in cities, only returning to their ancestral kampuns for Hari Rayas (which are the Islamic holidays of Eid – which mark the end of Ramadan and the Hajj pilgrimage to Mecca), or when their grandparents have events, such as the prayer service I attended. 

As such, I felt truly honored to be invited to such an intimate family event. To get to the kampong we left KL after breakfast, around 8AM. Driving 2 hours south to the Southern-most peninsular state of Johor, the main sights included oil palm plantations and small towns. As we arrived, I instantly fell in love with the place.  Orchids were lovingly cultivated in a plethora of colors that surrounded the house. Fruits of all types (pineapple, star fruit, papaya, durian, rambutan, mangosteen, coconut and banana) were growing wild, almost as if a collection of tropical seeds were thrown into the wind, failing where they may. Behind the house chickens were roaming free among the oil pam trees (the grandmother had leased out the back portion of her land to an oil palm developer).  A fox trap was laid with bait near the chicken coup – apparently the chickens had experienced a fox problem recently, and day-old rice was left on the ground (although for the chickens, it appeared that mostly flies were enjoying the feast – as the chickens preferred the bugs by the oil palm trees).

After an initial tour, I sat down for the prayers.  Ladies in brightly-colored baju kurungs (which is the staple dress for Malay women, and consists of a brightly colored long sleeve tunic top with matching shirt) greeted me in the traditional way – interlocking my hands with their hands in a sideways clam position pulling our hands apart to touch our chests. Prayers were followed by food: curried chicken legs with rice, shrimp in a spicy sambal sauce (a Malay delicacy), and curried hearts of palm and bamboo for a vegetable side.   

After lunch, one of the uncles sat down to talk to me and my husband. The uncle was one of the most fascinating people I have ever met. He grew up on the very kampong with his two sisters. His mother was widowed with three young children in her early twenties. Not wanting to remarry (refusing multiple marriage proposals), his mother raised her children on her own; deciding to stay on the kampong even after her children had grown up and moved to the city.  This uncle, her child, was so dedicated to the welfare of his mother that he lovingly traveled 2+ hours each direction, every week to visit his mother, tending to her house and land. Upon maturity, the uncle had joined the British army, and later the Malaysian army, where he had honed his survival skills. The uncle told us stories about how he grew up hunting with sling shots, climbed trees for camouflage during military training, and even took down wild boar that were pestering his neighbors. I was so impressed by his excitement for life (always trying something new), his unrelenting dedication and admiration for his mother, and his hospitality in welcoming me and my husband to his childhood home.

Noting our interest in wanting to learn more about kampong life, he took us on a personal tour of the land. We first ventured by the chicken coup, where we literally watched chickens lay eggs in front of our eyes. We were then presented with these eggs to take home. I was shocked to feel the warmth of the eggs in my hands – couldn’t get any fresher! Then we walked to the banana tree. The uncle explained that the banana flower should be removed for the fruit to be sweeter, so he took his machete and chopped it off.  He then offered the banana flower to us, explaining that we could boil it for 30 minutes and eat the heart (which we did – it tasted like artichoke). Next we were handed start fruit that had ripened on the vine, and then proceeded to a coconut tree, where the machete was used to provide us a refreshing drink under the hot sun. Our tour was capped with a viewing of the durian fruit that was still growing on the treat – weighing down some of the branches with its sheer size.

All I can say is: what an experience! The Malaysian hospitality was truly heartwarming! Experiencing kampong life made me and my husband long for a bygone era – where communities are close-knit, life is simpler and values are pervasively instilled from birth. The uncle’s example was a true testament to me that although it may not ‘take a village to raise a child’, having a village can produce impressive results.