Buying a newspaper in Kuala Lumpur
Who could have foreseen that buying a daily newspaper in Kuala Lumpur can become a story worth talking about. But every time when this story is told, it struck a heartstring.
I was in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia to attend my niece’s wedding and to spend some time with my mother. Every morning I would walk to the rows of shops and street vendors near my mother’s house in suburban Setapak to do my morning thing.
I would first check email in the Internet Cafe for half an hour at a ridiculous low cost of 2 ringgit/hour (approx. Can$0.70/hr). I would then indulge myself with the local street food such as fried keow teow with extra sea-hum (cockles), laksa with extra sea-hum, cheong fun, roti canai, nasi lemak, Ipoh noodle soup, etc. This breakfast decision was never an easy one with so many yummy yummy food at such low prices.
Perhaps my first misstep (if you can call it that) was to buy the daily Star from the 24-hour 7-11 store run by non-Chinese. That was on my first morning. I remembered walking across the street to coffee shop but was waved down by an elderly Chinese lady seated in front of a makeshift table by the roadside stacked with Chinese and English newspapers.
“Why do you buy from them? You should buy from me!” said the lady.
“I didn’t notice you. Perhaps tomorrow.” I replied, noticing that seated beside her was an older woman whom I can only presumed to be her mother. Both seemed pleasant enough that I asked when the photo shop across the street open for business everyday. I recalled making some small talks.
Every morning after that, I would buy the Star from her for 1.20 ringgit. So everybody was happy for a while. The newspaper lady was smiling and we exchanged pleasantries. She seemed to sense that I am not a local and kind of hinted that perhaps she remembered me as a young boy that used to visit her shop long time ago.
The ten days in Kuala Lumpur were interesting for various reasons.
One day after taking the morning Taxi to downtown shopping district in K.L. for Can$3.00, I almost could not get home that afternoon. Because to get a Taxi from downtown back to suburb in Setapak during afternoon rush hour was not something any starving taxi driver would look forward to. Indeed, each of the 5 taxis that I hailed down proclaimed that they did not know where Setapak was or that they were at end of their shift. I was mad, so mad that I insisted the sixth taxi driver tell me why he could not take me.
“Yes, I could for 30 ringgits (Can$10) without using the meter,” he said. After hearing my protest of the exorbitant price he explained that it would take more than 45 minutes to get there because of traffic jam and he would have to come back empty cab. We finally settled on 25 ringgits. And I never took another taxi again in KL.
I learned to ride the public transit called expressKL that comprises air-conditioned buses and the light rapid transit (monorail). For 2 ringgits, I could go anywhere the transit operate and quite efficiently and without traffic jam in the case of monorail. Good-bye taxis, hello expressKL.
My niece’s church wedding was interesting in itself. But I could not stopping wondering how an Australian young man can stumbled upon a local church three floors up a non-descript building in KL (you see, in Malaysia other religions are tolerated but cannot be promoted), became a member of the King’s choir and 2 years later get married to my niece, a Malaysian Chinese girl. When asked, many would of course say it is God that shows the way. An interesting choice will now be faced by the newlywed, will it be KL or Sydney for their matrimonial home?
On my last morning in Setapak, I walked past the newspaper lady to go to the Internet Cafe. She stopped me and handed the Star in my direction thinking I was going to buy it. But I told her not yet as I want to check my email first.
“You have been here early today?” I asked casually.
“Oh, around 6:30 in the morning.”
“When do you quit?”
“Around 2 or 3 pm or when I sell out”.
“How much do you earn by selling one?” I asked curiously, not really meant to be interested in the answer but just making conversion.
“10 cents,” she replied as I was turning and walking towards the Internet Cafe.
That morning’s email was nice. Two people from U.S and one from Israel bought my puzzle software “Learn to Solve Rubik’s Cube® with 3 Simple Tricks” from GANPuzzle.com through the Internet and the 3 downloads were successful and problem free.
But I kept thinking about the 10 cents (less than 4 Canadian cents). If she were to sell a hundred (which is rather unlikely), she would net 10 ringgits for that day’s work. I better go and buy a paper from her now!
She was all smiles when she saw me coming out of the Internet Cafe walking towards her. As she was handing me the Star, I was fumbling my pocket for 1.20 ringgit, but only found 1.05. So I took out my wallet, pull out a 10-ringgit and handed it to her. I think it is at that exact moment that I decided she should keep the change.
“Don’t need to make change,” I said, turning to walk away.
Perhaps she did not understand or hear me, she stepped out from her seat and shuffling some notes as if to make change. I turned to her and told her that she can keep the change.
The wide-eyed newspaper lady looked at me with an open mouth but not a word was uttered. Sensing some tears welling up her eyes, I told her I was going across the street to claim my pictures from the photo store.
“I am sure you will look very handsome,” was all she said.
That is funny. I have been called many things but handsome I am not. Perhaps a kind gentleman is a handsome gentleman.
A thought came to my mind when I was on the plane back to Canada from KL. What if every visitor to an impoverished country were to commit such random act of kindness without forethought or fanfare, once, to some nice local street vendor. It may be a newspaper or a cheap handicraft. But I can assure you that the pleasure shall belong to the visitor and will last a long time. At least the story can be retold many times. And that is what makes an oversea trip interesting.
A street scene in Setapak 