Excerpt #65: Our Wrenching Decison That Wound Disappoint My Parentns

Excerpt #65:  Our Wrenching Decision That Would Disappoint My Parents

M. Bakri Musa (www.bakrimusa.com)

            At our first dinner in Seremban my parents brought up the topic of our dream home. A year earlier when we told our architect that we were moving to JB, he told us that would pose no problem as he was from JB and went home often. He could bring us up to date on the progress of our project on his frequent visits home. We had also shown – and often – those blueprint drawings to my parents.

            That unanticipated enquiry about our dream home sidetracked my carefully-laid strategy and talking points. Almost as a reflex I answered that it was on hold, which it was. Their immediate response was why. They warned us to build it as soon as possible as the longer we wait, the more the prices for supplies and labor would go up. They recalled their experience with building their house many years earlier.

            Nonetheless their bringing up the topic of costs provided me an opening to bring up my “non-promotion.” With my current salary, the dream house was a “no go,” I told them.

            My parents knew me well. My non-promotion could not be due to my non-performance. There must be other reasons. Their immediate suspicion - and worry - was whether I had problems with my superiors, or heaven forbid, with members of the royal household. Having assured them otherwise on both fronts, I told them of the five-year rule of the civil service. It was at this time that they realized that I was earning much less than my brother Adzman and brother-in-law Fadil, both civil servants on the administrative side and both very much younger than me but much higher in the pay scale of the civil service.

            They realized the unfairness of the situation. When Sharif, Adzman, and Fadil later came home, the discussions naturally focused on my civil service status, meaning, my low pay. Sharif knew nothing of the intricacies of the civil service but both Adzman and Fadil confirmed what I had related about the unyielding five-year rule.

            When my parents heard that, they grasped the implication right away. I would be leaving, at least the government service if not the country. Their immediate reaction was to plead with us not to. Later when Karen and Zainab were away from the house, we again discussed my future. My parents wanted to know whether Karen was unhappy with living in Malaysia. I had to assure them over and over that Karen was adapting well and that I was the one frustrated and unhappy with the way my career had unfolded.

            I sensed that they were not yet ready to receive my decision. More to the point, I was also not ready for the anticipated emotional battle that would surely ensue were I to tell them then of our decision to leave Malaysia. Not wishing to disappoint them, I again put the matter aside. What a relief it was to do so!

            We were now back to celebrating the family get-together. Before we left for JB, my mother again appealed to me to explore other opportunities in the country. Regardless how the government treated me, Malaysia still needed my services, was her counsel. My father was less sanguine. He understood my dilemma. He remembered only too well early in his career of what it felt like to be yanked around by officialdom and not being appreciated. He had no choice but to grit his teeth and bear it.

            During that break, we made a side trip to GHKL to meet up with some old friends. We also wanted to visit the Badris at UPM to apprise them of our plans. I did not want them to hear the news through the grapevine. At GHKL I met with Dr. Nik Zainal. An interventional cardiologist, the first in the country, Nik and I were classmates back at Malay College. When I told him that I would be leaving, he had to support his head with both hands as he looked down, dejected and disappointed.

            “Oh, no! Not you!” as he shook his head many times while looking down.

            I was about to enumerate my long list of frustrations when he raised his right palm to stop me. He knew them all too well; he too had to put up with them. Somehow, he told me, since my return he felt emboldened that together we could break down this massive brick wall that was the Malaysian officialdom. He felt that he could count on my support. Now with my leaving, he did not wish to bang his head against the wall anymore. It would be futile, and painful. My departure would suck the energy out of him, he kept telling me over and over. To say that he was disappointed would be a severe understatement. We could do so much together, he pleaded. He was the sniper who was now deep in enemy territory and smelling victory, when his fellow commando gave up. Now alone and sensing his own vulnerability, he wondered if his mission was worth it.

            When we were still in medical school (he in Australia) we both heard of Malaysia’s plan of establishing a cardiac center. We were excited; he would be the cardiologist and I, the surgeon. We would work well together and make a great team.

            I wrote to the Malaysian authorities indicating that I was confident of being selected into the cardiac surgery residency of my medical school. That program was highly regarded. My confidence was not unfounded. My grades aside, the program was headed by Dr. John C Callaghan, a man of many firsts in heart surgery. He did the first successful open heart surgery in Canada back in 1956 at our university hospital, and designed the first pacemaker when he was at Toronto. Callaghan was also unique in that he saw his mission beyond his country. He wanted to help the world. As a result, his residency program actively sought foreign doctors to train. The absence of Canadian trainees in his program was noticeable and thus became the subject of many complaints from young local doctors. Callaghan was not at all perturbed. Those less charitable to him would suggest that his gesture was less a magnanimous one, more to feed his ego. Callaghan was always abroad being feted by the likes of the President of Ecuador and the Shah of Iran.

            When I heard of Malaysia’s plan for the heart center, I wrote to the Ministry of Health apprising them of where I could possibly fit in. Of course I did not receive any reply! I wrote to my brother-in-law Ariffin to follow it up. Yes, the authorities did receive my letter, and no, it was not for me to decide whom the government would send for further training. Wow! I did not realize then that there was a glut of young Malay doctors whom they could choose from! Nonetheless Ariffin suggested that I come back as soon as possible after my graduation so I could be chosen as the candidate.

            That episode should have been my first lesson (and intimations of future hassles) in dealing with Malaysian bureaucracy! As for my being a cardiac surgeon, after a stint in General Surgery, I was smitten by its bug and decided to stay as such.

            As for Nik Zainal, a few months after I left Malaysia, he too resigned from government service to start his private practice. Years later when I met him, he thanked me for leaving. Otherwise, he said, he would still be in government service banging his head against the immovable wall. Now with his thriving private practice, he was tolerant of the bureaucracy. Money is still the best lubricant, as well as salve.

            Ramli’s reaction could not be more different. “Get out of here while you still can!” he told me. He was surprised that I had even returned. He stuck it out because had no choice. He was biding his time. Once in private practice he could indulge in his other passion, politics. He had already sent out feelers to the UMNO folks in our home state.

            “Why did you come home?” he asked. “You had great opportunities there!”

            Why tolak tuah (refuse the bounty of Allah?) and put up with the frustrations at home, he wanted to know. Ramli gave me a much-needed different perspective. That boosted my confidence in our decision.  Ramli’s remarks reminded me of my not very pleasant encounter with that doctor-bureaucrat when I visited the Ministry of Health for the first time when I just returned from Canada. To him, only flunkies and those bonded by the government would return from abroad.  

Next:  Excerpt # 66:  Recalling Fond Memories

The writer’s second memoir, The Son Has Not Returned. A Surgeon in His Native Malaysia, 2018.