THE MEMOIRS OF MUSTAPHA HUSSAIN - Malaysia Today

Malay Poverty, Ganja and Speed 95
Ariffin was incredibly kind, generous, and a big spender. He behaved
like a Malay Chief. All visitors to his home were welcomed, feasted and
entertained, and rarely went home without a gift. On a hunting trip north
of Tapah, Ariffin brought two helpers; one carried his gun and the other
his bullets. He whispered to me, “See... You must not trust anyone.”
He was forthright, honest and would not pander to the white officers.
In fact, he loved to pull a fast one on them, and had a bottomless cache
of practical jokes. If he were late for work, he would look for a spot with
plenty of tall wet grass, and would wade in the grass for several minutes.
As such, when he arrived at the office with his trouser legs wet and
covered with grass, the white officers believed he had been out inspecting
in the wee hours of the morning.
Later, when he came to the School of Agriculture in Serdang, together
with other Agricultural Officers for a short poultry course, the group
visited a chicken coop near a cherry tree. While the Principal, Mr Mann,
was busy lecturing under the scorching sun, Ariffin was busy picking
cherries off the tree. The mushy ripe cherries were then dropped one by
one into the Principal’s white coat-pocket without the Principal’s
knowledge. We almost burst out laughing at the seams, but Ariffin maintained
a blank poker face. As the most senior officer, Ariffin later gave a
brief thank you speech, followed by three hurrahs from the group. As Mr
Mann reached into his coat-pocket to retrieve a handkerchief, he found
mushy cherries instead. He just muttered “Damn!” under his breath.
My last meeting with Ariffin was just outside the Batu Gajah Prison
in 1946. It was under most pathetic and moving, almost tragic, circumstances,
a meeting of two firm friends – Ariffin, a blind pensioner, and I,
his former assistant, an unemployed man just released from British
political detention. Knowing my situation, he sincerely offered to assist
me every month by contributing part of his paltry pension. I declined with
an agony no words can ever describe. Tears ran down my emaciated
cheeks. Although he was blind and his life depended solely on his small
pension, he was so noble of heart as to have understood the grief and
suffering of his former assistant.