Chapter 44 - Pioneering in Penang
Twenty-five of us board the plane for outreach to Malaysia—the eighteen students, four school staff, our sons, and the Eastep’s baby. After two long flights we debark at the Singapore airport where lilting music and delicate orchids set an elegant atmosphere. Our school leaders decide we don’t need to change money yet…we will just go directly to waiting taxis with our many suitcases and boxes.
Because the Singapore YWAM base is crowded our team is assigned a newly rented apartment block of rooms furnished with sagging bunk beds. Meals will be a six block walk away. I awake the next morning exhausted, to the noise of a small rattling fan. Our family has slept in—we have missed breakfast.
After showering I exclaim to Larry, “There are no towel bars in this bathroom. No wastebasket, either. The beds are awful, it’s hot, and this little fan is so rattly—it’s almost broken!”
“I know,” Larry answers. “They must have just rented this place and haven’t had time to fix it up.”
“Well, I can see that young people can manage on outreach like this. But when you send a family out, it seems there should be different preparation. The Alliance mission I grew up in did things so differently. They planned, prepared.”
“Mom, when are we going to eat?” Jared asks. “I’m getting really hungry.”
“We have granola bars, Honey.” Here—you and Nick each have one. I hope we can find a place to eat here, Larry. I can’t believe we weren’t allowed to exchange money at the airport.”
“I think they were trying to get us efficiently to the base,” Larry explains.
“But they didn’t give the right address to my taxi driver. If he hadn’t been able to call one of the other taxis I don’t know what Nick and I would have done! We would have been driving all over the city with our luggage, looking for the rest of the group.”
The four of us wander a block or two down a commercial street until we stumble upon a money changer shop, and then thankfully into a teashop that sells sweet buns. With food in our stomachs Singapore seems more pleasant.
The next few days we have meals and some meetings at the main base, which occupies a whole story of a high-rise apartment building. We explore the city, swim in the pool next to the base. Nick and Jared get acquainted with Krison, a Singaporean 15-year-old. He is friendly, open to the gospel, happy to show us around the city. We meet his mother, who sells chicken rice at an outdoor stall.
“My dad is in prison,” he informs us. “Mom supports me and my two younger brothers.”
Before we leave Singapore Krison asks Jesus to come into his life, and Larry baptizes him and Jared one afternoon at the beach. We all rejoice!
He says goodbye to us before we board the train for Malaysia. “You’ll have to visit us sometime in Penang, Krison,” I tell him. “We have your address. Write us back.”
“I will,” he responds, brown eyes beaming. “Someday I will come.”
Dan our leader also sees us off. “We’ll be less noticeable if we aren’t too large of a group,” he explains. “This way you can get settled in, since you have accommodations at Dalat School.”
Malaysia’s countryside is beautiful with green rubber tree and palm oil plantations, rice fields, and quaint Malay villages. We pass through Kuala Lumpur the capital, huge and bustling beneath the tropic sun. More miles, on and on through Ipoh to Butterworth where we unload our many boxes and suitcases and count them. “Larry, one piece is missing! It’s the box of books and school notes—they’re irreplaceable!”
“On no…are you sure?” We count again. I begin to weep. Finally, we ask the station manager to call the Singapore station. Maybe we have left it behind.
After loading up two taxis we cross the ocean straits by ferry, then ride through Georgetown, west around Penang Island into the residential suburb of Tanjong Bunga. Many buildings are old British colonial surrounded by tall branching trees, tropical greenery, and flowers. Blue-green sea glitters in the distance.
The taxis stop at Dalat International School, the same one I attended as a teenager in Viet Nam. When the war forced them out, the CMA relocated to Bangkok, the highlands of Malaysia, then to Tanjong Bunga. We’re warmly greeted and settle into two well-furnished guest bedrooms that even has a kitchenette for tea and cookies.
“This is great, Mom,” Nick exclaims later. “There are a few kids still around this summer, so Jared and I can make friends before school starts. And there are basketball courts!”
“That’s wonderful, Honey. I hear that Miss Kelck and Miss Wehr who instructed me in high school are still here. Wouldn’t it be amazing if they taught you sometime!”
That evening we eat across the street at some local food stalls. I look around, observing the different ethnic groups. We hear that about 50% of the population of Malaysia are of original Malay descent, many of them living in villages. They are the political leaders of the country. Their language is similar to the Indonesian I learned in Enarotali (New Guinea) years ago. About 30% are Chinese—long term immigrants who became the commercial base of the country. And the rest—about 20%--are of Indian descent who were servants when the British ruled. Now they have multiplied and prospered. It is legal to witness to Chinese Buddhists or Indian Hindus. But woe to the ones who try to convert the Islamic Malays…they could be kicked out of the country, or possibly prosecuted.
The next day we wander around the area looking for housing to rent. A block away there are new townhomes being finished that have small courtyards front and back. And there is a furnished one for rent---four bedrooms, three baths, with much marble flooring. In a few days, after negotiations, we procure it for $300 a month. “Isn’t this amazing, Larry!” Such a cheap price, so close to the school—and a short walk to the ocean.”
“Yes….and the Malaysian recession is helping our exchange rate.”
“Maybe we could get bikes sometime?” Jared asks. “We could ride them to and from school…that would be fun!” We’re standing outside our new home’s courtyard near shrubs and small cedar trees. Jared’s brown hair is wet at the edges with sweat, his blue eyes eager, sparkling.”
“It would be great for you guys to have bikes,” Larry assures him. “You could get to school faster. We’ll look around for some.”
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