The Unfortunate Few

I must admit autism was unknown to most until the end of last year when The United Nation’s 62nd General Assembly designated 2nd April as WORLD AUTISM AWARENESS DAY.

April has always been a special month for me. The 1st week of April used to be a busy week for me. Firstly, I would always be cautious on the emergence of 1st April worring someone would send me on fool's errand as the 1st of April is April Fool's Day. We in RTM observed the 1st April as the birthdate of Radio Malaya estblished on 1.4.1946 (later known as Radio Malaysia and RTM-Radio Television Malaysia) my place of work for some 30 odd years; starting as a Radio Broadcasting Assistant in 1966, till my mandatory retirement date on my 55th birthday - the 4th April 1996 as RTM Managing Director.  Therefore I have reasons to note all the daily happenings of most of the 1st week of April each year as important events in my dairy.
So for this Ist week April blog posting, I like to dedicate my thought to my special childhood autistic buddy - in conjunction with the 1st WORLD AUTISM AWARENESS DAY.
We spend most of our childhood together in Kampung Tanjung Bayan. He was a year older and we were bosom friend. The last time I met him was during my Aidiladha Korban & Open House Celebrations at Surau Kampung Parit 25 Baruh, Tanjung Bayan, December last year.
Our early acquaintence was in 1953. I was 12 years old, and a new intake to the Govt.English School, while he attended the neighbouring Malay School in Hutan Melintang. We became buddies. My family home was in Parit 25 Tengah where father operated his Provision Shop on a rented lot belonging to Haji Ibrahim his uncle. A single mother brought up Basiran. They lived in a small hut, downstream at Parit 25 Baruh. His mother Makcik Saerah a woman of not so many words. She and her son Basiran always mind their own business and keep to themselves. The family did not go well with some kampong folks. Basiran and her mother were easily labeled as 'mereng' - insane. I believed then, if autism is not hereditary then Makcik Saerah maybe facing a traumatic life, being a single mother living in poverty. Wallahualam.
According to father, Haji Ibrahim inherited a big portion of their late parent’s property leaving Makcik Saerah a small lot enought for her depilated dwelling – a small hut only fit for 2. It was during December School Term holiday Basiran came to stay at his uncle’s place. He was forced to spend the term holidays clearing Haji Ibrahim coconut plantation next to my father’s rented plot. As a 12 year old, I could understand that Basiran could not effort the heavy duty clearing the undergrowth single-handed. It was a Man’s job, as the undergrowth was of thick 'lalangs' dotted with 'pokok kelubuk' to the height of more than 10 feet. Haji Ibrahim explained that was a way to train his nephew to be the breadwinner of the family and a responsible person. Father believed otherwise. Haji Ibrahim, forced Basiran to do the job for free. Father was not happy with the situation, but could not do anything, as Haji Ibrahim claimed that is was a family matter.
One fine afternoon Basiran showed his tantrum and ran Amok. Armed with a parang (a long knife) and instead of clearing the undergrowth he cut down most of his uncle’s newly planted banana palms to the amazement of the kampong folks. Haji Ibrahim was furious. He claimed Basiran inherited his madness from his mother Makcik Saerah. Unfazed Basiran threatened to hurt his uncle, claiming Haji Ibrahim robbed his mother’s share of their inherited properties. Haji Ibrahim got the scare of his life. Luckly though the incidents happened on the eve of his uncle pilgrimage to Mekkah, and with Haji Ibrahim being away in Saudi Arabia for a long time, the incident was eventually forgotten. However the  local folks believed Basiran and his mother Makcik Saerah, were a couple of lunatic.

But say what you may, I saw nothing wrong with them. I used to visit them in their rundowned hut. For as far as I can remember Basiran a loveble lad. He was always heedful and vigilant. Never were we disturbed by school bullies or the small town ruffians as he did not take heed to all their touts abd advances. As such I felt safe to be around him; although locals believed him as being 'sewel' - a lunatic and a dangerous person.
More so my parents did not mind I befrended him.

Basiran had the tendency of inappropriate behaviors. He seemed to be living in a world of his own. He used to talk alone and sometimes he would laughs and giggles inapproriately or talks over and over about the same thing. He likes to stare into emptiness and unusual eye contact during conversation. Because of his strange behaviors his school teachers choose to isolate him from his other classmates. But he never complained the segregation.

Basiran loved to meddle and modify mechanical stuffs. Once he invited me to his house and proudly displayed his attempt to repair his mother's alarm clock. He had so far dismantled a few old time pieces, arranging and rearranging the various components in rows, looking for the right part to fit his mother's alarm clock. On other instances he would perched himself on a high branch, delivering a long and winded speech to the wildness. Those unassuming behaviors of his make people believed him to be 'sewel' - a lunatic.

After Standard 5 he dropped out of school while most of his classmates continued their schooling to Standard 6. There after we seldom meet, but we were still buddies. I like him because of his gantle nature. Except on the day he showed his tantrum at his uncle's coconut plantation, never ever I saw Basiran being rough to others. Still most of the kampung folks believed him 'sewel' or 'sasau' - insane. They distant themselves from him believing that like most lunatics Basiran and his mother Makcik Saerah were bewitched and possessed by unknown prowling spirits.

Avoid them, for they would be at their worst especially during the full moon, local elders used to remind everybody.

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Then, there was this man - Pak Din, a distant neighbor who was also lebeled by the villages as 'sasau' - a lunatic like Basiran. He was an ex SC (Special Constable). He was discharged from active service for reason nobody knew. He had bloodshot eyes and unassumedly like to stares at people from afar. He was a loaner, being abandoned by his families and friends. He moved to our kampung and lived in a makeshift hut on a vacent plot a kilometer away from my house. He was considered poor by the kampung standard. The locals believed that Pak Din scavenged coconuts from the monsoon drains and sell them in town. But Pak Din always claimed his right to those coconuts, and argued that he had prior business dealings with the owners. The kampung folks did not believed him. They lebeled Pak Din as a cheat and 'orang gila' - a madman.

During good times Pak Din would cart off a big load of coconuts on his bacycle to town.He seemed to be doing a good business selling those coconuts to prospectors in town.The kampung folks ardently accused him stealing those coconuts; but none brave enough to confront him. Pak Din always like to show off his 'pisau belati' - a sharp knife to scare them. They were afraid Pak Din might lost his senses and attacked them.
So most afternoon I used to watch Pak Din passing infront of my house going to town with a full load of coconuts. I almost believed that he stole those coconuts, had not Basiran cautioned me that Pak Din actually bought those coconuts from kampung lads on a fixed rate of 5 cents each and resold them in town for more. Basiran added, if at all there were complain of coconut thefts by village elders the culprits were their very own growing up cigarette puffing children, not Pak Din. Pak Din was a small time coconut dealer operating from his small hut by the monsoon drain. In jest Basiran told me, those lads would steal their parent's coconuts, threw them into the monsoon drain and cautioned Pak Din about the delivery. Pak Din would wait for those coconuts floating downstream and salvage them. Basiran also claimed that most of those impurated parents knew about their growing up kid's antics, but out of self pride they choose to put the blame on Pak Din. For those reasons Pak Din used to stare them from afar to scare them off.

Basiran was right. Pak Din was not a thief. Later with my father's permission I collected a few coconuts from our plantation and sold them to Pak Din. The money was for my weekly allowance and monthly school fees, as father was bedridden for cometime due to cronic ilness. As father's plantation was just across the monsoon drain where Pak Din lived, I only need to file the coconuts next to the monsoon drain for Pak Din to collect later. From then on, me and Pak Din had a good business dealings.

I believed then, like Basiran and his mother Makcik Saerah, Pak Din was no nuts or a lunatic. They were loaners and for some reasons living in their own world. They were not bewitched or possessed by spirits. They were suffering from something beyond our means to fathom.

Basiran admitted that he was always scared of Pak Din. He always avoid being in contact with the old man. One day misfortune struck the two. It was late evening, both were cycling from opposite direction on a village narrow track to town. Basiran was running errand to town while Pak Din was cycling back home. It was getting dark. Both Pak Din and Basiran collided midway. Basiran was thrown to the left bush while Pak Din landed in a drain on the right. According to Basiran he got the fright of his life as he knew that it was Pak Din he colided with. He could hear Pak Din's groaning from the depth of the drain, as he crawled out. To Basiran surprise Pak Din quickly grabbed his bicycles and sped off. And so did Basiran. Each was scared of the other.

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I was right to believe that Basiran was not a lunatic right from the start. I used to ponder, what he was suffering from. Only now I understand that Basiran was an autistic.

Autism is a lifelong complex neurobiological disorder which affects millions of people world over. It blocked the ability to comunicate and inhibits emotional and social development right from childhood. Autism among others, has the symptoms of inapproriate laughing, behaving in a standoff manner, apparent insensitivity to pain, extreme crying tantrums, unusual eye contacts and uneven motor skill.
And recalling my long association with Basiran, almost all those symptoms befitted him well. Often an autistic adult ends up in the welfare system. Most of them would be warded in a lunatic asylum. Luckly for Basiran, he never was. He grew up, got married and is happily living with his family in our village.

For the first time, after a long absent, I accidently bumped into him in Kampung Tanjung Bayan a couple of years back. He was riding on his modified motorcycle. Knowing that it was him, I called aloud his name. He stopped for a second, looked around and then quickly sped off. Later in jest he told me, he tought I was a JPJ (Road Transport Department) officer wanting to inspect his newly modified motorcycle.

Since then we met almost every year during Aidil Adha and Open House Celebrations at Surau Parit 25 Baruh. Basiran has been an active member of the Surau Comittee, and has always been ever willing to give his helping hands for a good cause.

I am really happy for him.