Eye on the Prize

or How to Get Your Nasi Kerabu in Less than Twenty Minutes.

When I was in Terengganu, my mother took me to a morning market in Maras to buy breakfast. We took her, she can't drive, but she showed us the way.

The drive from Batu Rakit to Maras took me past this gray, rickety house we used to visit when I was a child. I remember that house very well because it had a scary-looking pokok kekabu in front of it. Across the street was this huge sawah padi, glistening in their little square plots, complete with three bukits in the horizon. Ask a kid to draw a sawah bendang scene, and that would be it. Funny the things that stay in your mind. My mother told me no one lives in that house anymore, everybody left, and sure enough, the house was even grayer and like everything else in life that is old and past their purpose, abandonded.

So we dodged a couple of cows and goats and reached the market. It was raining and the sides of the streets were muddy red. We, being city folks, hiked up our jeans and opened our umbrellas. My mother forged through without so much as a pause.

There were legs of freshly slaughtered cows swinging in the wind, there were kain batiks and more baju kelawars (what is up with that??), there were old wrinkled ladies selling ulams and vegetables. My mother asks me "Do you want nasi kerabu?" Do I want nasi kerabu? Hell yes. I mean, yes, please. "You line up there and get four packets. I'll get the kuih." She pointed to a crowded stall and left.

I don't think 'lining up' was in anybody's vocabulary that morning. Pakciks and makciks crowded the nasi kerabu stall three-fold. I stood behind an old lady and waited. And watched.

Like most small businesses in Malaysia, the big boss was a woman. She was the one who packed your nasi kerabu for you, she took the orders, she tells you how much that kuih is and just when you'll get two of it. I watched her fold a paper into a cone, scoop the right amount of rice, some ulam, some sambal ikan and a small bit of jeruk bawang (never had those before). Requisite yellow gold bracelets tinkling, her hands deftly folded up the packet into a pyramid, placing it on the platform, telling her husband, "This is for So-and-so. She wants six packets." The husband, whose job is to place the packets in a plastic bag and take the money, meekly follows instructions.

"Mana nasi kerabu nih? Lama doh duduk sinih." A makcik complained.
Big Boss smiled, hands still working. "Kejap. Ramai orang nih."
I shall not attempt to phonetically spell out the Terengganu dialect. I don't speak Terengganu. I speak it, but I suspect the Terengganu locals quietly laugh at me when I do, so I don't. Not when I'm in Terengganu, at least.

To my left was a boy about 10 or 12. He must have been there a long time because he was in the saf pertama. Every few minutes or so, he'd try to get the Big Boss' attention by saying "Nasi kerabu, empat." Big Boss would either smile and tell him to wait, or pretend she didn't hear him above the din. The old lady in front of me got her precious packets and made her way out. I advanced next to the boy and followed his strategy by repeating my order every few minutes. Big Boss glanced at me, but didn't smile. Tinkle, tinkle went her bracelets.

Lady, your nasi kerabu better be out of this world.

Some customers seem to be in her good graces as they would come at her from behind, smile and suddenly be presented with the right amount of packets. Annoyed Makcik voiced out another complaint, not so direct this time as she addressed her neighbor, comrade in waiting "Lama doh duduk 'nunggu sini, tak dapat-dapat lagi nasi kerabu." Big Boss asked how many packets she wanted. Five. Big Boss nodded to Meek Husband. Money soon exchanged hands.

After a few repeats of my order, I grew impatient. I noticed that sometimes Big Boss would place packets of nasi kerabu but not tell her husband who it is for. Husband would just place them in a plastic bag and wait for instructions. So I made my move. I sought eye contact with him, and sweetly asked for four packets, please, my right fingers showing him the correct number in case he didn't hear. He smiled back and waited for two more packets from his wife to complete my order. The boy next to me was very quiet. Sorry, kid, it's a bad world out there and sometimes you just have to be kiasu.

Meek Husband gave me my four packets of nasi kerabu, I gave him the money, thanked him and left. Upon leaving, I heard the boy's voice again, "Nasi kerabu, empat." I hope he didn't have to wait too long after that. I did feel bad about it afterwards.

Was the nasi kerabu good? I suppose it was. Food don't taste all that good when it's tainted with guilt. At least I know how the system works. If you can't get the Boss' attention, you get the attention of the distributor.