Adventures in Puzzlement
 

Part 2
 

Sitting under huge fans in the open air, sweating with some profusion and imbibing the smells and the warm noise of children that Saturday evening, sitting with the fast,  rich and fluid clientele with their families, I was in a pukka Baba atmosphere, only to have a now familiar disagreement reaching into my ears.

"To tell you the truth," whispered my informant, one of the frequent diners,  into my ears. "it is doubtful if the owner is a true Baba. You see, his mother was never a real Nyonya. She wore sarongs but she did not know one word of Malay!"

"Rubbish" said the manageress who was with us and whose sharp ears had picked up the whispered confidence. "My female forbears also did not know Malay.  They were true bred Chinese. All Nyonyas are Chinese through and through".

"Ah!" replied my diner, as if he was upset that his whisper had been picked up, even if he had spoken loudly enough,  intending to be overheard. "But your mother wore a sarong kebaya". 

The truth was that until the British came with their sailors and set up their Pax Britannia, apart from Malacca and Sumatra, there were but few Babas. They were mostly emigrants from China and there were few Chinese women. There was also not much culture. When, after Pax Britannia, the immigrants prospered they also began to develop their culture. They were mostly Hokkiens and so the culture they developed was also Hokkien. There were pockets of such culture in Singapore, Malacca, Penang and Sumatra. But we are mainly talking of Penang. They did not bring their women from China but when they prospered, they could return for their brides or have them brought out. If they had any liaison outside their race, it was hardly as brides.
 

The informer friend was indignant; in fact, angry. His wife was sitting with us at the same table, happily drinking her coffee. He interrupted her drinking and called for her support. She resented his involving her in his conflict. But she was dutiful and came to his support. 

"Yes" she replied dutifully in support. "The old Nyonya women always wore sarong kebayas and had a Malay headdress with huge skewers which I was told was used to cut down ......" 

"That's enough" her husband interrupted. For she was about to say  "the excess sexual exploits of their husbands." It would not have been good form. The Babas are polite people.

To give full weight to her argument, she could not help adding "Windstedt? I don't know who he was and I am sure he did not know enough Chinese to know our taste!"

"That only applies to the men," interjected my dining friend, scornfully. "I don't think the women could really count".

"My grandmother came from Burmah and she had this coiffeur," interposed the manageress. "That headdress, if you study it closely enough, comes from the immigrant Burmah women. I ought to know."
 

"How do you know if all headdresses are Burmese? What about the headdresses of the Nyonyas of Malacca? Where do they come from?"

No one would ever know. We had not seen Sumatran Malay or any other head wear and how they originated. In any event, they were no longer relevant. 

But the manageress was a lady and ladies are particularly sensitive and proud. 

"My grandfather," and she held herself up proudly as she intoned, "my grandfather told me Chinese men never married outside their race - especially not Malay women because he would have to be converted in the first place. Their habits and language were too strange and dissimilar. Intermarriage was not the done thing. To marry we had to match families with the horoscope and all sorts of things and Malay women had different religions and did not have birthdays. They counted rings on the coconut trees to tell their age." 

Tempers were fraying and Burmese and Javanese women had been thrown into the equation and it was time to change the subject.
 

"You know" I spoke softly, to quieten the atmosphere. "The coffee tastes very nice. You Babas and Nyonyas have very fine taste" 

Little did I know I was introducing another possible storm.

"Who told you Nyonyas  drink coffee?" she asked loudly. 

I was flummoxed. "I thought that was coffee she was drinking" I protested meekly, pointing to the cup on the table. "Isn't that coffee?". 

"No, that's our local tea with condensed milk which I seldom drink. I like plain tea, not tea with milk and sugar like English women," clarified her friend pointedly. "Only men drink coffee and that is not all men."   

"By the way, how come you have such a funny name" asked the husband..

"Well. It's a long story," I said and quickly I mouthed my "good night" before they had time to ask any more questions and disappeared into the night.#

Kensu Wanandi 

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Editorial Note

kopi tiam: coffee shop

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The PHT from time to time organises heritage site visits. Such visits have included the Penang Botanic Gardens, Fort Conwallis, The Leong Yin Khean house at Northam Road, the King Street temples

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The Penang File Issue No 19