The Nonya

The Nonya was in her forties when I first knew her. She was all skin and bones, all five feet of her. She lived with her boyfriend at a temple under an old tree by the riverside. Her boyfriend was a dubious character who strutted in and out the temple with bare-chested arrogance.

I was about twelve at the time.

Upstairs, at the shophouse where I lived was an open passage about three feet wide which connected the front portion of the building to the kitchen and toilet at the back. This open passage was barricaded by a metal balustrade about 3 feet high along its length of about 20 feet. I spent hours perched on the balustrade looking out at the life going on below.

There wasn't much to see. The road on the left was frequented by students feeding the three schools up ahead. Smaller buildings occupied the centre while the temple on the right stole the show. It was a busy temple so there was always something to look at from my vantage point.

There weren't any neighbourhood kids I could hang out with, so on school holidays, I often found myself drifting towards the temple, peering into the river behind it and imagining crocodiles lurking beneath the muddy water.

At the back of the temple was a short cemented narrow passageway which led to the Nyonya's quarters. Her living condition was squalid by any standard. Her bed was a plywood laid upon a wooden frame eased towards the walls on the far side of the passage. The other side of the passage looked over the river.  Further up the passage was a small dark kitchen and wooden shelves for her personal effects.

While the river wasn't teeming with crocodiles, their presence had been a widely whispered rumour. There were stories of human carcasses found half-eaten upriver so respecting it like I should, I gave it a wide berth. Still, I worried that the crocodile may devour the Nyonya in her sleep one dark moonless night when it was especially hungry and dinner was scarce. Nothing of the kind happened. Maybe she was protected by the shield of spirituality.

The Nyonya was one of several spiritual mediums practising their trade at the temple. It was not clear what sort of qualification is required for this trade but having a knack for the theatrics is a prerequisite.

She started by lighting up candles and joss-sticks, casually chatting with her client as she goes. That done, she settled on a chair before the temple altar. This is the part where it is imperatively important to be quiet so that the gods may descend upon her without any blunder.

At some point in this quietude, her knees under the sarong knocked each other and she came to life. The client who was breathing down her neck bend over her with religious reverence. Most of the gods were soft-spoken for I seldom hear any of the spiritual mediums yell. Still the exchange between client and medium was fluid and is usually concluded when the red doodles hit the yellow paper. (talisman?)

The Nyonya's boyfriend was far more theatrical. He shifted his weight between his left and right leg in tempo with his song, hands outstretched and resting on the table. Suddenly, he slammed the table that all may know the arrival of the gods.

Their world was a nest of intrigue. In their transient state, they seemed in control of their faculties and mine was a questioning mind.

Still, this forms the basis of my childhood and one wonders how it was that I made the transition from a childhood steeped in spiritual razzmatazz to become a bible believing follower of the true and living God.