When I arrived at the market Sunday morning, all the fans and lights that are paid for by the city were out. Thankfully, our coffee stall has its own electric meter, so our little section was not affected because I really appreciated the fans. I demoted myself from the “sous chef” position because I couldn’t keep up, so I went to prepack ice for to-go orders, top glasses of drinks with ice, clean tables, ask people if they want any drinks, and take their orders. That gave me a little more people watching opportunities.
Instead of old Chinese men reading Chinese newspapers and chatting the morning away, there are now many more middle-age Indian men chatting and playing games on their “handphones” while waiting for their ladies to finish shopping, probably for the entire upcoming week.
As Kenric and I were walking to get some roast pork, we saw a Chinese lady yelling at a little Indian boy in broken Malay, “Tausah! Tausah! Manyak jahat!” (Don’t! Don’t! Very naughty!). The boy was breaking off the banana “fingers” from the stalk (the “hand”). On our way back, she showed us about eight individual bananas with the flesh exposed where they were broken off. She was very upset because she could have sold them for about RM 7 (USD $1.78) as a bunch. Now she could only sell these damaged fruit for a total of maybe RM 2 (about USD $0.50). I remember being yelled at by a fruit vendor for poking and “bruising” his mangoes. I don’t do that anymore.
The Salon
Later, Kenric accompanied me to get a haircut. This is the same lady who cut my hair when I was a teenager. Kenric waited with the children who were waiting for their mothers. All were playing on their phones. Next to me, on a high stool, came a little Indian girl. The hairdresser told me the little girl could speak Mandarin because she goes to a Chinese school.
Her mother told me she goes to Chung Shan. I said I went to Tarcisian Convent. We laughed about how unconventional that is because Tarcisian Convent had a lot of Indian students, and students at Chinese schools were almost exclusively Chinese. She’s eight years old; in Standard Two (Primary Two). In Malaysia, the general system is six years of Primary School followed by five years of Secondary School.
Little Logasre answered me in Mandarin that she likes going to a Chinese school. She also likes Shampoo and Blow-dry because instead of leaving after her haircut, she convinced her Mom to wait for the hairdresser to be done with me, and then wash and blow dry her hair. “Zai jian, Logasre!” “Zai jian!” she waved her little hand. I don’t really like my haircut, but a cut, color, wash and blow-dry plus chatting with a little Indian girl in Mandarin for RM 100 (about USD $25.00) is quite priceless.
The salon busybody
The next afternoon, my mother told me she ran into the hairdresser in the market. The hairdresser told her young people nowadays don’t care much about things like getting married as long as they get along well and that’s OK; and that Kenric and I have the right idea to go see the world when we have the opportunity. In villages like Buntong, hairdressers take on the roles of Key Opinion Leaders and Influencers or as we locals call them, busybodies. But seriously, my hairdresser is actually very nice, polite and reasonable.
Map of Places Visited
Buntong Market
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Buntong Market4.595998, 101.063982
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