Cast From The Herd: Memories of Matriarchal Malaysia
M. Bakri Musa
Excerpt # 98: Getting My Driver’s License
Meanwhile the country was distracted by the hot political issue of the day: the proposed political union with the remaining British colonies in the region – Brunei, British North Borneo (now called Sabah), Sarawak, and Singapore – to form a greater Malaysia. Prime Minister Tengku Abdul Rahman first mooted it in May 1961, instigated and blessed by the British, and the idea caught on quickly. For the British, it was a convenient scheme to let go of its colonies and not be worried that they would fall into communist hands. This was at the height of the Cold War. With the staunch anti-communist Tengku, the British were reassured.
The enthusiasm however, was not universal. In Brunei there was an armed rebellion that December 1962, led by one A. M. Azhari. The sultan had to flee to Singapore until he was returned to his throne, with the help of British Gurkha troops. In the end Brunei bolted out, and Malaysia’s establishment was delayed to September 16, 1963 instead of the targeted August 31st, the sixth anniversary of merdeka.
Fierce opposition also came from neighboring Indonesia and the Philippines; the latter through the more civilized route of a diplomatic petition to the United Nations, the former, with brutal military actions, konfrontasi. No wonder the government was distracted.
When the second school term began, I was happy to be back teaching. After a week in school it was again the end of the month, and then much to my surprise, another full paycheck. They paid you even during holidays!
During that holiday I decided to get my driver’s license. I already had my learner’s for a few years but just to be sure, my father enrolled me in a driving school, one of those mom-and-pop operations owned by a Chinese man who could barely speak a word of Malay or English. We managed through grunts and hand gestures.
On the day of the test he accompanied me to the Motor Vehicle Agency. There he demanded duit kopi (‘coffee money’), for the tester. I refused as I did not want my license tainted. After much argument and a warning of the dire consequences through grunts and sign languages, my instructor submitted my application without the extra cash.
The tester, a middle-aged Malay man, well-endowed in his mid-section, gestured to me to get into the driver’s seat. Still silent, he motioned me to proceed while scrutinizing my papers. We came to a junction; I stopped and waited for further instructions. Not getting any, I proceeded to turn right, at which point he jammed on the auxiliary brake on his side. Without waiting for me to recover from my jolt, he gestured to me to turn left.
After about 15 minutes of driving, he directed me, again through gestures, to return to base. He got out and headed straight to his office. My instructor rushed over to me, shaking his head in disappointment. An hour later the clerk called me. Sure enough there was a big “X’ across my application. I had failed! I went ahead and made another appointment for three weeks later, the minimum required waiting period.
This second time my instructor again insisted on the extra cash. As I could not afford any delay, I complied. The instructor took my money and partially tore the right upper corner of my application form to make it look like an inadvertent rip.
Soon my turn came; the same Malay tester, same dirty name tag, big belly, and gruff demeanor. We drove around for about ten minutes and when we returned my instructor signaled to me that I had passed. How on earth did he figure that out so soon, but he was right. That seemingly inadvertent tear in the top corner of my application form was the signal difference this time, marking it as “special.”
A few months later there was a spectacular arrest at the agency. I recognized the name in the headlines. They listed his houses, stable of luxury cars, and assorted wives, all on his meager salary. Then as if to prove that he was indeed guilty, he hired the most expensive criminal lawyer from Singapore, a certain David Marshall. That high-priced lawyer did not help. As an aside, Marshal would later become Chief Minister of Singapore under the British.
What a contrast to my Canadian driver’s test a year later. I spent about 20 minutes driving as my tester made running commentaries. “I would go a little slower on that turn!” and, “You should anticipate that fellow on the left not giving way.” I learned more about safe driving from him than I ever did from my illiterate Malaysian instructor. And no bribes! My Canadian tester even wished me good luck with my driving.
Next: Excerpt # 99: Meeting A Polished Canadian Diplomat
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