Xiamen, A Trip Down Memory Lane. Part 1: The Village

Many years ago, back in Mao Lin village in Xiamen, China, a fight erupted amongst a few villagers at a communal well. In the dispute, one of the villagers, a gangster, was struck in the head with a bucket and later died of his injuries.  Fearing of being being a victim of rataliation, one of the men present at the scene decided to leave and sail to a foreign land. Along he brought his family and on he sailed far far away, on a vessel, bound south. The vessel will then enter the Straits of Malacca, dock at the ports along the Malacca river and the passengers disembarked onto land, in a small port city along the west coast of the Malay peninsula.

Above: A view of the village from the top of the house my great grandfather built.

Here he sought greener pastures, a new horizon lied ahead but yet in his heart, lied the motherland, which he yearned to one day return. He started with not much, but with that little he had, slowly he built and amassed through trade. With the newfound wealth, he fed and clothed his family. Years later, in his seniority, he had amassed enough to build a new home for the family, not in the foreign land where he had only planned to stay but little did he know, will never leave. On he sent his wealth back to the motherland where a structure, of granite rose from the village grounds. However, he would never get to see it with his own eyes, what he had built for the generations ahead.

Sounds like a romanticized beginning to a story of hardship and success? That was what I had heard of my great grandfather, a man whom I have never met but yearned to know more about. As of this moment of time, I had been to Mao Lin village, where my great grandfather once lived and also the birthplace of my grandfather, thrice. The first visit back in 1997, the second back in 2003 and the last, at the end of 2011 through 2012. But it was my visit at the end of 2011 that captivated me the most. I was more matured by then, not anymore the kid that was only looking forward to all the firecrackers that I get to played with, but a curious individual wanting to learn more about my roots. 

Above: Parts of the village that would not look out of place 100 years ago.

The first generation of Chinese immigrants to what was then Malaya had no intention to stay for long, many yearned to return to China once there was peace back home. But of course, most stayed and many flourished. In 1966, my great grandfather decided that it would be a good idea to build a house back in his home village in Xiamen. He was a first generation immigrant, he never truly considered Malaya as home. Rather, he dreamt of one day reuniting back in China. Unfortunately, he never lived to see the completion of the house in the granite as he passed in the early 1970s. Since then, members of the Chua family have lived and died in the house. The number however, is dwindling. Newfound wealth in China had caused many to leave the villages and work in the cities, as of my last visit, the house, of 22 rooms was only accommodating four people.

Above: Concrete paved roads, with cow dung.

I have fond memories of my past visits. Coming from "civilised" Malaysia, I was taken aback by the village lifestyle. Cows, pigs, geese and other livestock and poultry were everywhere. It was incredibly foreign, people had gold teeth and dressed in an awkward fashion. It was acceptable to spit everywhere and for young children to smoke. There were no tarred roads, only trails carved out of mud. With obstacles in the form of faeces from all kinds of livestocks. McDonalds? You wish, food is served in metal bowls, some rusty, and within held strange tastes. The best memories were of course the access to an almost unlimited amount of firecrackers. It was like living the life that my forefathers lived years ago, simple but tough. 

Above: Women making corn flour.

Since my first visit, China had changed much, so had Mao Lin. By my second visit, there were paved concrete roads in the village and by my third, there are now more street lamps. Cows and other livestock and poultry can still be seen, but they are no longer prominent. It wasn't as lively as it once used to be, when villagers carried urine in the bucketload to water the fields and vendors shout early in the morning to sell breakfast in the form of fried dough. The other, less beautiful picture of modernisation is being drawn.

Above: Abandoned house with
small vegetable farm.

Traces of village life can still be found, however. On the concrete roads still lie cow dung, vegetable gardens can still be found in front of some houses, water from the well is still used for washing, bullock carts are pulled by cows and women still make corn flour in the traditional way every morning.

There was once ample foliage around the village, there was a small forest near the village where a graveyard can be found and where, according to an aged relative, tigers used to roam. I was fantasized by the story he told me of how a tiger and her cubs wandered into the village and frightened the villagers. Today, south chinese tigers are extinct in the wild. It made me wonder how life used to be a long time ago in this very place, it made me curious.

Other pictures of the village

Above: Firecrackers, once the only reason why I wanted to be here.

Above: An old well where I once misplaced a duckling.

Above: Poultry other than chicken, such as geese, turkeys and
ducks were once in abundance around the village.

Above: You have no need to pay for a thrill ride.

Above: Children playing in the village.