Making Way to Sabak Beach

Since I read Zawi's Kota Bharu in pictures 4 from his lovely blog's Life As I See It, I've wanted so much to write about etak or etok, but I never came around to do it until today.

Between the age of 4 to 8 my family lived on and off in Kelantan. I don't remember much when I was four, but I remember we lived in a wooden family army quarters in Pengkalan Chepa. Between these years my family moved into three different  quarters . And this was a tricky part, I remember the early years my parent lived on a row house near the beach, which I remember vividly as Sabak Beach.

I remember my mother used to take me and my baby brother to the beach around noon. She spread the blanket under a shade of two cashewnut trees that joined on top and fed me lunch: white rice, roasted mackerel and steamed spinach.

I remember the warm sea breeze, the sound of waves crushed a sandy beach and a salty air. Later, I fell asleep on the blanket lulled by seagulls songs.

Then my father took my mother, me and my little brother back to grandmother's house in Penang before he went away. When he returned 6 months later he picked us up from grandmother's house and we rode another long train ride back to Kelantan. This time we moved into a front row of family quarters in Pengkalan Chepa. It was 1961, my baby brother was over a year old. By the end of 1961 my mother had another baby brother.

When my father went to Congo in 1962 until end of 1963, we went back to live with grandmother again. We returned to Pengkalan Chepa by the end of 1964. The following year I started my second grade at Sekolah Kebangsaan Merbau, Kota Bharu. Besides me, there was another girl who went to the same school. The rest of the kids from the base went to a couple of English medium schools in Kota Bharu.

I went to this school for a year but the funny thing was I couldn't remember even one name of 24 girls in my class. I remember the girl who sat next to me had a jet black short curly hair. Everyday she came to the school with $2.00 pocket money. She told me her stepmother gave her and her two older sisters the money. Sort of bribery, I guess.

Many years later, I tried to understand why I never made any connections to any of the girls in my class. Some of the girls were nice and friendly, but I felt like an outsider, well I was on outsider (I was the only non-Kelantanese girl in the school). When I talked I used a mixture of Kelantan and northern dialect which confused a lot of people most of the time except my parents.

Our class teacher CikGu Rugayah was a stunner. She had a long curly hair past her back and she liked to wear kebaya liku.

One of my theories was the school didn't have any extra curriculum activities, no sports, no culture activities. Nothing. Nada. The school had morning and evening session.

The first week I was at the school, something struck me as unusual. The school was built four feet above the ground. During the recess the students played hopscotch and chongkak underneath the school building with their heads bent down. Some students scattered here and there on the drive way playing skipping, but the field opposite the school building was left empty.

Every day, during the recess, I sat on the step with my lunch box, facing the field, and wondered why didn't anybody played in the field? I was itching to run on the field . What is wrong with these girls? But then I noticed when the sun was high, a  glistening white and shining little objects on the field. What were they? I didn't ask anybody about it.

After three days of watching the empty field, I decided to investigate. I put away my lunch box in my desk and walked down to the field. As soon as I stepped on the edge of the field, I understood the reason behind the empty field. The field was littered with etak shells. Everywhere. I couldn't move one step without stepping on etak shells.

I knew what etak could do to me. The first time I tried it a few years back I got really sick. I threw up all night. Every time I saw etak at the market, I didn't want to do anything with it, but I was fascinated how skillful the girls ate the etak. Put one etak in their mouths, a few seconds later, they spat out the empty shells.  I guess that was how those empty etak shells got their ways into the school field.

Footnote: A special thank to RaY KinZoKu of etak/etok definition.

Comments

[suti]

great site

[Nurhanne]

No never, even though I'm quite adventurous when it comes to food - as a Scandinavian living in Asia I'd have a pretty hard time otherwise ;-)

[anasalwa]

Nurhanne,
Yes, you may call me ana.What an interesting coincident.
I don't remember cikgu Rugayah's last name though. So, you never had etok, eh:))?

Zawi,
Yes, I have a very fond memory living in Kelantan. Some of the memories are fragments, but most of them I could remember in detail.

[Zawi]

Anasalwa,
The joke among Kelantanese is that to be considered a trueblue Kelantanese, you must not only be able to speak the dialect perfectly, take budu and also be able to eat etok without any other equipment other than the teeth unless you are toothless or wearing dentures.
Anyway that skill actually can be acquired. No one is really born with it.
Using the teeth is best because you are tasting the ingredients the etok is marinated with especially the saltish flavour as it didn't really seep into the flesh.
What a nice memory for you to have with the etok.
Hopefully the blog about Kota Bharu with emphasis on Pengkalan Chepa has managed to rekindled your memories of Kelantan.

[Nurhanne]

Ana (may I call you that?), this was so fun for me to read! My DH is a Kelantanese and my ILs live "on" Jalan Pengkalan Chepa. They are both retired teachers and my MIL who is coincidentally called Rugayah taught at the army camp in PC for a number of years - late 60's to early 80's I believe. And Etok, not for me, but DH of course loves it :-)