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M. Bakri Musa

Seeing Malaysia My Way

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Location: Morgan Hill, California, United States

Malaysian-born Bakri Musa writes frequently on issues affecting his native land. His essays have appeared in the Far Eastern Economic Review, Asiaweek, International Herald Tribune, Education Quarterly, SIngapore's Straits Times, and The New Straits Times. His commentary has aired on National Public Radio's Marketplace. His regular column Seeing It My Way appears in Malaysiakini. Bakri is also a regular contributor to th eSun (Malaysia). He has previously written "The Malay Dilemma Revisited: Race Dynamics in Modern Malaysia" as well as "Malaysia in the Era of Globalization," "An Education System Worthy of Malaysia," "Seeing Malaysia My Way," and "With Love, From Malaysia." Bakri's day job (and frequently night time too!) is as a surgeon in private practice in Silicon Valley, California. He and his wife Karen live on a ranch in Morgan Hill. This website is updated twice a week on Sundays and Wednesdays at 5 PM California time.

Sunday, February 17, 2019

Excert #6: Seduced By A Promise Of A Chalet At Lake Gardens

Excerpt #6: Seduced By The Promise Of A Chalet In Lake Gardens

            My stipulation for living quarters threw a nasty grind to the DG’s otherwise smooth gear shift that morning that would have landed me a coveted slot at GHKL. He made a few phone calls to try to be back on smooth track. I could not figure out what he was saying in those ensuing conversations, with such bureaucratic terms like permanent establishment, superscale positions, and gazetted officers being bandied around. Then in the end he wrapped his palms against each other as if he was washing his hands as he continued in his loose conversational style with me.

            “There are a few chalets at Lake Gardens. Nice but small, for diplomats in-between assignments. I’ll get one for you but that won’t be till next week.” The current occupant was scheduled to leave soon to open Malaysia’s new embassy in Beijing.

            We were back on track again. To say that I was elated would be a mild statement. Meanwhile he continued with his small talk, about his son, a medical student who was coming home from Australia that afternoon for the holidays. The intercom buzzed a couple of times but he ignored it. He was now into his younger days as a medical student in Singapore and as a state surgeon in my home state of Negri Sembilan (“You have a great ruler there, well educated!”). His eyes glazed in the distance as he again recalled his visit to America in 1963.

            He was proud to be the first Eisenhower Fellow that made possible the visit. “The first from Malaysia, you know!” Not the first Malay, the first Malaysian, he added with evident pride.

            His reminiscing helped settle my giddiness, what with his unexpected sudden offer of a prestigious appointment at GHKL and coveted quarters at Lake Gardens to go with it. His and my revelries were interrupted when his secretary intruded with a note. He apologized for having to end the conversation and escorted me out. As I exited I noticed a distinguished-looking gentleman waiting on the sofa where I had sat earlier.

            He was the Egyptian ambassador. My appointment had been squeezed in.

            I was bubbly on the drive home to Seremban. After I related what had transpired to my mother, she hugged me, “You have to sell yourself. You don’t have to boast to do it!”

            Late that afternoon Sharif phoned. As I was relating what had happened, he cut in. “Take the offer, now!” He went on to advise me that the most important thing was to secure a slot in KL so I would always be on the radar screen of the powers that be. If I were to be sent to the ulu (interior), I could forget my future.

            That brotherly advice notwithstanding, I continued with my jual mahalstrategy. The prospect of living in the beautiful Lake Gardens area had seduced me. The following week I phoned the DG’s secretary. There was a snag. The diplomat who was supposed to be deployed had decided to stay put. I phoned again a few days later. Again, no progress on the lodging front. At that point I decided, as per Sharif’s earlier advice, to take the GHKL appointment without the housing.

            Sharif offered us to stay with him and his family at Cheras, and we did. In reality there was no other choice. By this time my sister-in-law Zainab Mat Akhir, an Australian-trained accountant and a former Colombo Plan scholar, had bonded with Karen. As Karen and I were still living from our suitcases, that move to Cheras was easy. My father also let me have his old Ford Escort. He and my mom could use the bus, he assured us, just like in the not-so-long ago days.

            I was grateful for my brother Sharif and Kak Nab (Zainab) for letting us bunk with them. Nonetheless I still had to swallow quite a bit of self-pride. Only a few months earlier we were in our own nice suburban Canadian home, our babies having their own bedrooms, and we were busy looking for a lakeside summer cottage. All that had now changed. We thought of the monumental changes in our lives during the past few weeks, and the future that would promise.

            The surgeon side of me was excited and looked forward to being back in the operating room, and in a major hospital at that, where I belong. I have always enjoyed operating, and I had been away from operative surgery now for months, and was feeling the withdrawal. I could hardly wait to be operating again!

Next:  Excerpt #7: First Day As A Surgeon In Malaysia

From the author’s second memoir, The Son Has Not Returned.A Surgeon In His Native Malaysia(2018).

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