In 1966, my family arrived in Singapore to live there for 3 years. My mother kept a diary and this is her
description of a night tour of Chinatown:-
We met Mr Lim and the rest of our party at the Raffles Hotel
at 7.30 pm. Using his microphone to keep
our attention, he walked us to the bus stop to catch the number 11 bus to Sri Mariamman Indian Temple, the only
part of the square mile which isn’t Chinese.
The sculptured figures on the building were wonderful. Inside they were starting the celebrations
for Deepavali (divali). On November 11th, four British soldiers will
join the devotees to walk across hot coals.
Burnt feet will reveal whether they are sinners.
The inside of the temple was beautifully decorated with
coloured streamers like Christmas paper decorations and we listened to the
chanting. In the courtyard, various altars
are set up, including one which is the head of a man. The story goes that a king would not give his
people their freedom, even in spite of his son’s pleas, so the boy, the king’s
only son, cut off his own head and in a sign of repentance the King gave the
people their freedom. Another altar is
for baptism. They say that the child is
given to the temple to keep for one month and then redeemed for money, but in
fact only the child’s soul is left at the temple. This would guarantee that if he died young
his soul would go to heaven. There is a
huge tree where other altars are set up with burning lamps. If you walk around the tree three times and
say a prayer you should have good luck.
In Penang a similar tree was cut down and the area was flooded for a
month.
Next we wandered along the grubby Chinese streets, lined
with food stalls. Each different Chinese
group (Cantonese, Hokkien, Hakka) keep to their own area. One large building, originally built by the
Portuguese, houses over 1000 people. It
is split into tiny cubicles for each family, the children sleeping under the
bed. One tap and toilet is shared by
many families and there is nowhere to cook, hence the reason for so many
roadside food stalls. All kinds of food are
available, including monkey soup or monkey brains to make you strong, or frog
to improve your eyesight. There are
tiny cages of rabbits, guinea pigs, iguanas, snakes, duck, chickens etc. One delicacy we were offered was a hundred-year-old
egg from a jar. If anyone was pregnant and
wanted twins, then eating two was recommended.
Also hanging on the stalls were smoked pork, sausages, entrails and pigs’
ears.
Century eggs or thousand year eggs are a great Chinese
delicacy. Traditionally the eggs were pickled in brine, and then buried in a
mixture of coals, chalk, mud and alkaline clay. Although no recipes keep the
eggs for a hundred or even a thousand years, the curing salts do mean that the
egg is preserved for many months, without need for refrigeration. The century
eggs have a translucent, jelly-like, greenish-black egg-white, and a deep blue
yolk, with a slightly cheesy, fermented flavour. The outside of the white
sometimes develops a stunning pattern, reminiscent of snowflakes or the
branches of a pine tree, which gives rise to one of the egg's Chinese names -
songhua dan, or pine-patterned egg.
In the People’s Market anyone can set up a stall, if there
is a space, and for one month pay no rent, rates or tax. Clothes, shoes, fabric and toys are displayed
for sale all night. This is similar to
the Amah’s Markets which are set up in the streets around Singapore in
different places most evenings.
Above some of the shophouses live the Concrete Nannies (Samsui Women).
They do hard labouring on building sites for very little pay,
wearing blue samfoo (blouse and trousers) and large red hats of starched cloth,
not unlike an upturned nun’s hat. They
rarely marry but sometimes adopt children.
As of 2014, there are only two Samsui women known to be
living in Singapore. Samsui women wore a
red, or sometimes blue, headdress that became their trademark feature. The
headdress was a square piece of cloth starched stiff and folded into a
square-shaped hat. The colour red was used because it was eye-catching and thus
reduced the chances of accidents occurring at the construction site. Besides
sheltering the women from the sun, the hat was also used to store items such as
cigarettes, matches and money. In the end they would chat to each other along the five-foot-way corridors outside the shophouses.
It is certainly an eye opener to see how they live in
Chinatown. The squalor and overcrowding
has to be seen to be believed. In Sago
Lane we peeped into Opium dens, where tiered bunks were filled by old men who
could pay a dollar for a pipe and a dream. Many have been shut down by the government but
some remain to cater for the few who are beyond hope and can’t live without it.
Also in Sago Lane
are the Death houses. In the upstairs
part of the houses are clinics for the very old and chronically sick to come to
die. They fear post-mortems if they die
in a hospital and dying at home brings bad luck to their family. Downstairs, the deceased lie in state with
photographs, fruit and flowers. The
chief mourners wear sackcloth over their heads and bodies, while others sit at
tables on the street, drinking. The
wreaths are on stands outside, huge ones of orchids, tuber rose heads etc. In nearby shophouses, paper models are made,
of houses, cars, boats etc to be burned after the funeral to ensure the
deceased will have use of them in the next life. Imitation paper money in abundance is also
burned so that they can bribe themselves out of Hell. The funeral for anyone over 60 is a
celebration and there are Chinese lanterns bearing their age in characters.
In another street they were still celebrating 5 days after a
funeral. Five priests dressed in yellow
or red robes with black mortarboard style hats were dancing frenetically around
a small fire. In a woodcarver’s shop,
temple ornaments were being carved from blocks of sandalwood and then
ornamented with gold leaf.
Mr Lim lead us uphill to Millionaires’ Club where 24
millionaires live. Here could be found professional
letter writers sitting at tables by the side of the road. Everywhere Mr Lim just held up his hand and walked
in front of the traffic expecting it to stop.
A memorable evening.
Betty Ware
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