Era around the back here at one of the Joo Chiat stalls thin as can be,
somewhat less jaundiced this morning, a “chocolate” rash on her neck from a
fever transmitted from her young daughter it seems. After a week into her stint
the complaint was sore, tight calves twelve hours on her feet at the Flower
stand. Plastic fakes the product looked to be where we had pitched for a brief
chat. Naturally the Chinese stall-holder wouldn’t like her gabbing during work
hours, especially with a fellow who looked highly unlikely to reach into his
pocket. Four weeks for the stall during busy Ramadan in prime Geylang Serai
would have set the man back a pretty penny; much coloured plastic to move in
that time. Hari Raya, Idul Fitri, Eid is the counterpart of Chinese New
Year and Christmas/NY for Christians. On the dawn of the day the house should
be clean, bright and colourful. Everyone dons their best attire, resplendent
and new if you can afford it. Visits to kith, kin and neighbours on the
morning. A feast of course prepared for the end of the fast; joy, charity and
goodwill. Gift-giving seems not to be part of the occasion.
The hours aside, this was clean and not arduous work—unlike the aircon maintenance of last year—earning Era a relatively generous $60 per day, cash and nett of course. A good deal better than the forty Nazir earns for lugging and carting around Geylang Serai market for the same period. Illegals both naturally, the latter a Kota Tinggi lad (Johor State, Malaysia), forty with six children, which comes as a surprise for a sharp dresser like that, fond of hats in particular. You should see him when he is at prayer, Nazir explains. A rather different picture in his serban—turban and other clothes. Era is Sumatran born, like many of the Indonesians seeking opportunity, using the nearby island of Batam for the hopping to Singapura, where cheap labour has been welcome for many a long year.
Thirty day visas. The authorities are well aware of the usual arrangement; historically this city-state like many another was built on Coolies of course, the next generation becoming exploiters of another kind. To be on the safe side however both Era and Nazir will prudently hop over the border at JB for a night after 18-20 days. Remaining the entire thirty unbroken risks raising suspicions at the Immigration desk. You never know what kind of Stickler you might strike.
On his most recent return from Malaysia—not even on a visa run—the White, affluent-looking author in a fine panama, daunting English, armed with an Australian passport and an imperious manner, found himself quizzed by the lass at Immigration. You are staying at a hotel in Singapore? You intend to remain 90 days? Eighteen months previously you have stayed at a hotel you say? Excuse me a moment.... Quickly sorted by the experienced supervisor on the other end of the line. If you had been the wrong colour, carrying a passport from a less favoured nation, bumbled and fumbled, Good night Dick.
Poor little Lia, Nia, Ida—depending on when you struck the honey—was prohibited from entering last year when suspicions were raised at her much stamped passport. Shopping? Really? Are you sure? Not difficult to tell the cheap dress, perfume, handbag, watch, jewelry, make-up. A phone that she should not have given up holding numerous messages from her house-cleaning clients. Two year entry ban and no more about it.
The hours aside, this was clean and not arduous work—unlike the aircon maintenance of last year—earning Era a relatively generous $60 per day, cash and nett of course. A good deal better than the forty Nazir earns for lugging and carting around Geylang Serai market for the same period. Illegals both naturally, the latter a Kota Tinggi lad (Johor State, Malaysia), forty with six children, which comes as a surprise for a sharp dresser like that, fond of hats in particular. You should see him when he is at prayer, Nazir explains. A rather different picture in his serban—turban and other clothes. Era is Sumatran born, like many of the Indonesians seeking opportunity, using the nearby island of Batam for the hopping to Singapura, where cheap labour has been welcome for many a long year.
Thirty day visas. The authorities are well aware of the usual arrangement; historically this city-state like many another was built on Coolies of course, the next generation becoming exploiters of another kind. To be on the safe side however both Era and Nazir will prudently hop over the border at JB for a night after 18-20 days. Remaining the entire thirty unbroken risks raising suspicions at the Immigration desk. You never know what kind of Stickler you might strike.
On his most recent return from Malaysia—not even on a visa run—the White, affluent-looking author in a fine panama, daunting English, armed with an Australian passport and an imperious manner, found himself quizzed by the lass at Immigration. You are staying at a hotel in Singapore? You intend to remain 90 days? Eighteen months previously you have stayed at a hotel you say? Excuse me a moment.... Quickly sorted by the experienced supervisor on the other end of the line. If you had been the wrong colour, carrying a passport from a less favoured nation, bumbled and fumbled, Good night Dick.
Poor little Lia, Nia, Ida—depending on when you struck the honey—was prohibited from entering last year when suspicions were raised at her much stamped passport. Shopping? Really? Are you sure? Not difficult to tell the cheap dress, perfume, handbag, watch, jewelry, make-up. A phone that she should not have given up holding numerous messages from her house-cleaning clients. Two year entry ban and no more about it.
Unrelated: newspaper item yesterday revealing an up-coming Ai Weiwei show at
one of the high-end galleries here. Owner-director firm in his belief his man
one of the global top-notch of his calling; etc. First show, first visit to the
island for the little tubby panda. Looking forward to visiting. Excited. The
authorities in China wouldn't allow him to stage such provocative work back
home. Yawn. You wouldn’t want to read the crud in the Arts supplements worked
up by the journos in the particular vernacular here. A querulous note however
of concern duly included by the woman in her little fluff piece in this case,
only fair to acknowledge: someone has reported to the artist that Singapore
might prove a bit “monotonous”. Golly-gee! That produced a gulp around the
island no doubt. Little chance of freebies at the Casino after this kind of
rocking the boat. Peking duck at the Grand Mandarin he can forget. Photo-spread
at the Night Safari likewise. If the artist had held hopes of a new species of
orchid named in his honour, as is reserved for true friends of Singapore—like
the Duchess of Windsor, Henry K. and even poor Julia of recent fame—put a cross
through that too. Provocative radical artist worried about dowdy ol' Sing' not
being racy enough for him. If you happen to read this blog Mr. Weiwei you’ll
know where to head on these shores.
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