THE MEMOIRS OF MUSTAPHA HUSSAIN - Malaysia Today

Continuing the Political Struggle 355
longer exposed to late night chills, which had almost killed me during
my bout with pneumonia. The stall owner, Hamzah Tassir, popularly
known as Amjah, could speak basic English which he had learned
through evening classes. While negotiating the rent, he asked if I had any
‘experience’ apart from my squid business. Could I prepare ‘special’
noodles, ‘special’ tea, ‘special this’ and ‘special that’? I asked myself,
“If everything was so ‘special’, why did his business go down the tubes?”
Surprised at his many questions, I explained that I was a government
servant with no cooking experience, but was willing to learn. In the same
breath, I asked, “Are you willing to teach me?” It seemed he was asking
all those questions to ensure I would succeed in reviving his stall’s popularity,
which had lost out to mostly Indonesian competitors. The rent was
fixed at $40 per month with a $400 down-payment in lieu of ten months
rent. The astronomical sum of $400 was obtained by pawning whatever
remained of my wife’s jewellery and borrowing $200 5 from my friend,
former KMM member M.N. Othman. He was willing to loan more than
the $200, which was part of his back pay and handed to me in crisp and
nice-smelling one-dollar notes. Thus, I too ‘received back pay’!
We moved nearer to the Sunday Market and shared a house with
kind Chik Nilam, wife of Customs Officer Enchik Mohamed. They were
parents of Datuk Seri Suleiman bin Mohamed. 6 I employed an Indonesian
boy to prepare the noodles but he turned out to be temperamental and
over-sensitive. On our busiest days, he would disappear. Later, he was
seen working for a stall opposite ours. I was not surprised. After all,
Amjah had prepared me for this!
I had yet to bring my wife into running the stall as I did not think it
proper. One night, Amjah, who often helped me, did not appear. In walked
four women and four children and I was forced to attempt cooking the
noodles. Under the supervision of the stall-owner next door, I managed
to follow his step-by-step instructions until four plates were ready. At that
moment Amjah came running in. “What are you doing, Brother?” he
asked. I replied, “I have cooked four plates of noodles. Four more to go!”
Amjah instructed me, “Brother, give the four plates to the children; they
won’t know if it does not taste nice. Let me cook for the women; they
are bound to be fussy.” That day, I decided to become ‘the best noodlemaker’
and to incorporate some science into the art of cooking noodles.
Amjah ‘lectured’ me on how to make his basic sauce. The best stock,
he said, was made from cattle femurs, which could be obtained free of
charge if we bought the meat. He instructed me to use an American
cleaver to crack the bones to expose the marrow. “See, if you use an
American cleaver, the bones will break but not the chopper!” He kept