My heavy eyelids flickered open due to the bright morning sunlight. All I could remember was the two delayed flights from Changi Airport in Singapore and that super late night in…a tour bus. All seats in the bus were filled with my family and a number of relatives. My grandparents sat at the very front row, followed by 6 families, including mine. It passed by rows of little shops and passers-by stared at us like as if we were aliens from the moon. Shortly, the bus stopped in front of a wide path. There were two lines of women dressed in white and pink at both sides of the road. Question marks floated in my head as I stumbled out of the bus and stretched my arms and legs after a long ride from the Fu Zhou airport. Suddenly, the women played cymbals, drums, and other musical instruments you can find in a Chinese orchestra. The traditional red firecrackers that cracked and bombed like rockets nearly made the eardrum in both of my ears to explode. I even had to stay away from those flickering sparks so that I won’t get hurt. Grandpa strutted forward and the rest of us followed. He reminded me of Simba who made his way up Pride Rock for the first time. Every step he made on the concrete road left the villagers breathless. They clapped and cheered triumphantly for his arrival. Or should I say his return. I was surprised by his youthful way of walking without a single complaint of having aching limbs. Due to his nutritious diet of raw corn and vegetables, he lived the life of an average adult. The thin, silver strands of his hair let out a sheen, and the bald circle at the centre of his head glowed like a golden Olympic trophy. Grandpa led us through a large gate to a two-courtyard house. A crowd of Grandpa’s relatives and friends gave a round of applause to us as we walked by. Even though I didn’t speak my family dialect which was Foochow, I was sure that they were greeting us warmly like VIP. In those 10 minutes, perspiration dripped on my forehead and soaked at the back of my favorite red collar shirt because of the massive blazing sun above the cloudless sky. I wished I could just dash back to the bus to cool myself under the air-conditioner.
After the welcoming ceremony, we were given a tour around the humongous house. We stepped on the floor that was made of hardened mud. The walls were made of bricks and the buildings were supported by timber pillars. My father, who was a Chinese history enthusiast, said with his dark brown eyes sparkled like a child, “Did you know that this house was built for over 100 years and it was lived by 4 generations?” That explained the number of bedrooms which were locked up. Each bedroom belonged to the families of Grandpa’s relatives. As I peeked through the doors of my great grandfather’s room, it was dark and quiet with the
furniture all tidy and untouched. It was like as if the room was sacred. I imagine myself breaking in the room when Great Grandpa’s spirit approached from nowhere and haunt me. I immediately shook away the thought and followed my family to the huge open air kitchen. Of course it wasn’t an ordinary kitchen like the ones we have. All the chopping and the cooking were held in this big courtyard, and a number of Chinese maids worked together to prepare a huge feast for us guests. Instead of a modern electric stove, they used rocket stoves made of
bricks to steam up food stored in big wooden pots. I wasn’t quite sure how it worked. All I knew was the chefs lit up fire at the bottom of a tall enclosed square. At the front corner of the kitchen was a long table of raw ingredients. A line of maids sliced a bunch of leafy vegetables, meat, and seafood with sharp knives that glistened like knights’ swords in the sunlight.
A grumble of ultimate hunger roared from my stomach. I was looking forward to lunch, for I didn’t eat much during the long flight. We were led to a renovated dining room with, finally, electric ceiling fans. The 40 degrees summer heat was so intense that I could feel my skin burning like a vampire’s. I sank on one of the chairs in relief and allowed a fan above to cool me down. As I looked around, 5 big, round dining tables were arranged with 8 chairs surrounding each of them. Each table was covered with a red tablecloth, and a couple of
bottled drinks stood at the centre. My family and relatives sat around and chatted while waited eagerly for food to be served. I curiously took one of the bottles from my table and read the label that said “Peanuts Milk”. That was the first time I encountered such a drink. How in the world you could ever make milk out of peanuts? I literally drank a small cup of it; it tasted surprisingly good, kind of like soy bean milk or roasted milk tea. 10 minutes later, a line of maids marched through the door with plates of food - lobsters, shrimps, crabs that were slashed into halves, little snails, oysters, steamed pork, fried noodles…. There were like more than 10 courses that I
didn’t feel like taking photos of every single dish.
Feeling bloated, we took a walk outside of the courtyard house. Grandpa took the lead as we strolled down a run-down neighborhood. The homes were made of wood, and the road was deserted. No children came out to play, for I was certain that it was too hot to stay outdoors. I spotted one or two small houses made entirely of brown mud. We finally stopped in front of a grey-painted church. A silver cross stood tall and proud on top of the roof. A shiny blue and green window that was shaped like a big upside down “U” gleamed above the front doors like as if it signaled a message to God. Grandpa stood at the gate, facing us with a glint of excitement in
his dark brown eyes. “My father was baptized in this church.” he explained, “In fact, he was the first person in his family who became a Christian. He was inspired by the priest of this church. When his family found out about this, they opposed him for not worshipping their ancestors. He also cut his long ponytail off, which was a violation to the family’s norms.” He also led us for another 20 minutes to a yellowish-brown river. Grandpa gestured one wrinkled but firm hand to the east of the river. “My father rode a boat from here and escaped to Malaysia. That’s how we all end up living there.”
That late afternoon, I was so relieved when I settled myself back in the cool-aired tour bus. Then, I realized why Grandpa arranged this trip for all of us. It was not just for the entire family to reunite that summer, but it was also to reveal his family history to us. The surroundings in that village were underdeveloped that it taught us that we should appreciate what we have today; a modern and comfortable life. The tour guide with her black hair tied up into a ponytail, stood beside the bus driver with a microphone in her right hand, “All right, folks! We’re now heading back to the hotel for you all to rewind and get ready for dinner tonight.” I leaned back on
my chair and took one last glance at the village. Drowsing myself back to Slumberland, I wonder whether there were more stories hidden in that place.
