Bangkita(Newly edited)

The Bangkita Tamu in Limbang

By

Lo Sin Yee

                                

           

“Encik, all my ferntops are freshly-picked. One bunch, one ringgit.”

“Taukeh, my catfish are fat and succulent. They are very delicious.”

“My snake fruits are sweet and crunchy. One kilo, only four ringgit.”

                At 9 a.m, the sun was already high above the horizon.  Ng, Robin and I were weaving our way through thick crowds of bargain hunters.   On both sides of us, vegetables, fruit, fish and whatnot were heaped like mini mountains on newspapers and tarpaulin sheets.  Everywhere we went, friendly vendors tried to persuade us to buy from them in Brunei Malay. 

“The language similarity is due to Limbang’s close proximity to Brunei,” I explained to Ng, a teacher from West Malaysia.  We were busy making comparisons of prices in our minds as we feasted our eyes on the kaleidoscopic display of local produce.

                                           

                A basketful of plants with red, knobby roots caught Ng’s eye.  He squatted down on his hams and asked the middle-aged male vendor what they were.

                “They are red turmeric,” replied the vendor.

                “Red turmeric,” Ng gasped.  “Can they be eaten?”

                “Of course,” said the vendor. “They can also be made into a lotion.”

                He gestured towards a small cluster of bottles and said, “I made the lotion a few days ago. It is good for relieving rheumatic pain.”

                Ng picked up one bottle and shook it.  The liquid foamed and imparted an oily sheen.  He uncapped the bottle and sniffed its contents.  “The smell is strong and pungent,” Ng told me in Chinese. “I am sure alcohol was used in processing the lotion, together with some oil.” 

                “Want to try it?” asked the vendor, his voice full of expectation. “It’s only eight ringgit.”

                Ng shook his head and walked away with Robin.  The vendor smiled good-naturedly and rearranged the bottles.  

                Two men stopped by the same stall and looked at the bottles intently.  The vendor greeted them politely and they began the ritual of haggling in a local patois which sounded like Bisayah.  A deal seemed to be struck and the vendor put a few bottles in two plastic bags.  The two customers eagerly grabbed the bags of bottles and disappeared into the crowds.  The vendor’s beaming face revealed his gratefulness.  In this era of modernization, there are still some people who believe in the healing effects of traditional medicine.  I respected the vendor because he is one of the few people in our country who are trying to keep the dying art of making traditional medicine alive. 

                                                                                                                                  

                This was our last day in Limbang.  Ng, Robin and I had come from Miri for the state level scrabble competition in SMK Kubong .   Luck eluded our team and we crashed out in the preliminary rounds, but we did not want to leave Limbang empty-handed.   We wanted to buy as many goodies as possible in the Bangkita Tamu before returning to Miri.   The Bangkita Tamu is one of the major tourist attractions in Limbang, an open air market where you can see a motley assortment of goods.  Every Friday and Saturday, from approximately 5 a.m. to 6 p.m, it takes place in the car park between the Land Transport Department and the National Accountancy Department.  The stalls, mostly covered by large parasols, spread westward to the front of a shop lot that houses the Avon Cosmetic Boutique and the Kentucky Fast Food Restaurant. Most locals do their weekly marketing here.   It is also the regular haunt of Bruneians.  The Tamu thrives because of the Bruneians’ superior purchasing power.
 

                                    

                I hastened my steps and caught up with my two friends, who were already carrying a few plastic bags of vegetables in their hands.  They stood at a stall which sold ‘Ikan Tahai’ or small smoked fish, a unique product only found in Limbang, Lawas and Brunei.  There are two types of Tahai fish, the traditional, plain smoked ones and the ones coated with chilies.  The vendor, a young Malay in his early twenties, gave us a few samples of both to try.   They were crispy and savoury, but I had a special liking for the former ones because their flavor was more intense.  Although the latter ones were coated with chili powder, they were more on the sweet side.

                “How much is one kilo of Tahai fish?” asked Robin.

                “It’s ten Ringgit,” replied the young vendor.

                “Give me one kilo of plain Ikan Tahai,” said Robin, “and one kilo of the ones with chilies.”

                “I also want the same amount of Ikan Tahai,” said Ng.

                “I want the plain ones,” I said.

                The vendor took a piece of brown paper and folded it into a cone.  Next, he cut off the V shape bottom of the cone with a pair of scissors.  Then, he put a large plastic bag into a container, grabbed a few handfuls of Tahai fish from a large pot and filled a plastic bag with them through the funnel-like cone until it was full.  After that, he put the plastic bag of Tahai fish on a scale and the reading was exactly one kilogram.  His accuracy bowled us over and we gave him a clap.  He smiled and repeated the same procedure for the other bags of Tahai Fish.  Our plastic bags bulged with a large amount of smoked fish.  You won’t get that many fish at four-fifty Bruneian dollars, an equivalent of ten Malaysian ringgit.  No wonder Bruneian tourists like buying lots of them to take back home.  A trip to Limbang would not be complete without the purchase of this product. 

               “The locals like to cook them with ‘Terung Assam, a kind of sour eggplant which is yellow,” said the young vendor.  “The smokiness of the fish and the sourness of the eggplants really whet one’s appetite.”

                                           

                Our next stop was a stall that sold bamboo shoots.  There were two young girls manning the stall.  In front of them were several plastic bags of bamboo shoots which had been cut into strips. Beside them was a small heap of cone-shaped bamboo shoots which had not been cut.

                “How much is one plastic bag of bamboo shoots?” I asked.

                “Four ringgit,” answered the older girl, showing her white toothy smile.

                “I want to ask my wife to cut the bamboo shoots herself,” said Robin. “Give me three bamboo shoots.”

                “I want two plastic bags of bamboo shoots,” I said.

                “Okay,” said the older girl.  She handed me two plastic bags of bamboo shoot strips and I paid her RM8.  The younger girl gave Robin three whole bamboo shoots and received RM12 from him.

                Ng looked at the heap of bamboo shoots with interest and asked the younger girl, “Can you show me how to cut a bamboo shoot?”

                “No problem,” said the girl.  She grabbed a whole bamboo shoot and made a thin cut across its shelled body.  Then, she drove the sharp tip of her knife into the slit.

                “Slide the knife under the shell in a clock-wise direction,” said the girl. “It will come off easily.”

                “How skilful you are,” said Ng as he saw the girl throw the discarded shell into a bin.

                “Can you see the white pulp between the top and the bottom?” asked the girl.

                “Yes, it looks so tender,” said Ng.

                “Only the white pulp is edible,” the girl said as she cut off the top and the bottom parts.

                “Why?” Ng asked curiously.

                “The other parts are too chewy,” explained the girl.

                “I see,” said Ng.   

The girl put the pulp upright on a chopping board and cut it into halves.  Then, she deftly cut them into strips and rinsed them in a basin of water.  Having done that, she put all of them in a plastic bag and said, “That’s all. Very simple.”

“Thanks for demonstrating how to cut it,” said Ng. “I’ll take the bag of bamboo shoot strips.”

“Thanks,” said the girl. “It’s four ringgit.”

“Give me two whole bamboo shoots too,” said Ng. “I want to cut them at home.”

“Alright,” chirped the girl.

Ng paid the girl the money and left the stall with us, his face glowing with child-like thrill.

“You seem to very pleased,” Robin observed.

“Yes, I am,” said Ng. “The girls are very friendly.”

Ng was right.  Most of the vendors in the Tamu were not only friendly, but also willing to share what they knew with you.  They made the Tamu sizzle with goodwill, unlike the sales assistants in supermarkets who always seem bored and don’t particularly care. 

I bought two stalks of bitter mustard greens from an elderly lady and she gave me a useful tip for cooking them.

“Do not add salt to the mustard greens when you fry them,” said the lady.

“May I know why?” I asked.

“Salt will make them more bitter,” said the old lady, grinning. “Fry them with dried anchovies.”

“Thanks for your suggestion,” I said, “I have gained some new knowledge today.”

The Bangkita Tamu had a lot of surprises in store for us.  Where else could we see so many vegetables , fruits and other products not commonly found in ordinary markets?  Take the bitter mustard greens for example.  Unlike ordinary mustard greens, their stalks are slimmer and their leaves serrated, narrower and less crinkled. They have a natural peppery taste which is delicious.  I also came across ‘Ding’, a type of magenta shelled fruit which is said to be a good cure for high blood pressure.  Its pulp is also magenta in colour and it contains many tiny edible seeds.  Robin bought a packet of river fish which are slightly smaller than anchovies.  The lady vendor who sold the fish called them ‘Sada Riyao’.  She told Robin that the best way to cook them was to deep fry them.  “The fish can also be made into fermented fish,” she added.  A mischievous vendor asked me to try some sago worms but I dared not eat them.  They looked so cute yet pitiful.  
                 

Robin had a heated though good natured negotiation with an elderly vendor over the price of a parang.  Their noise attracted a crowd of people. The elderly vendor insisted on selling it at RM75 but Robin wanted it at RM35.  The old man was firm in his decision and he wouldn’t reduce the price.  After ten minutes of argument, the old man finally relented and said, “Okay, I will sell it to you at RM60.”

“What about RM35?” Robin suggested, still being stubborn.

“I refuse to sell at RM35,” the old man fumed. “My capital was even more than that.”

“Why?” asked Robin, with a flippant smile. “My father in law is an aficionado of parang knives.  He will be glad if I give him the knife.  You will get thousands of blessings for selling it to me.”

“If you want to do something good,” retorted the old man, “buy the knife at RM60 in appreciation of my hard work.  It was not easy for a seventy-four man like me to solder this knife.”

The old man’s rejoinder made Robin blush.  The school headmaster agreed to take the parang at RM60.  He exchanged hugs with the old man and the surrounding people cheered.  Ng and I could not help smiling.

                                 

We bought a lot more things in the Tamu but the combined purchases of Ng’s and mine hardly came up to one third of what Robin had bought.  We had to help him to carry a box of crabs and two gunnysacks of red rice.  After two hours of marketing, we decided to call it a day and filled Robin’s car boot with our purchases.

“Lo, are you happy with what you bought?” asked Robin.

“Yes, I am,” I said, looking forward to tonight’s meal. 

“The trip’s been an eye-opener,” Ng chimed in. “As a townie I have never seen so many fascinating things.”

Robin started the motor and we left the Tamu.  In four hours we would reach Miri through the territories of Brunei.

Already I was making plans to come back to Limbang and visit the Bangkita Tamu again.  It beckons me with its simplicity, its myriad goods and its friendly vendors.