tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55603292004063725662024-03-12T21:18:36.914-07:00Australian Author, Ann Massey Thoughts onThe White Amah An insight into events Australian author witnessed in Miri, Sarawak that contributed to the autheticity of The White AmahAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5560329200406372566.post-59703436547647155312013-09-13T15:33:00.001-07:002013-09-13T15:52:12.333-07:00Do Spirits really Exist?<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #8e7cc3; font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">A skeptic tells of an encounter</span></h2>
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #8e7cc3; font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"> with a believer</span></h2>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 150%;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large;"><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Arial;">I </span></span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Arial;">don't believe in spiritulism, fotune
tellers and magic so I was skeptical when Jilly told me that a bomah had put a
spell on her. A bomah is the Malaysian term for a witch doctor. At the time I
was living in MIri in Sarawak, East Malayasia and I knew the Dayaks, the
Indigenous tribal people still consulted bomahs but Jilly was a <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">UK</st1:place></st1:country-region> ex-pat. Still
I have friends back home who visit clairvoyants so it wasn't so much the fact
that she'd consulted a witchdoctor as much as her reaction to what he said.</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Arial; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 150%;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Jilly was frankly edgy. Finally she
broke down. In tears she told me the bomah threatened to curse her unless she
gave him ten thousand rinngits. I couldn’t believe that she could
take his threat seriously. “Tell him that you’ll curse him back,” I joked.<br />
<br />
Not long after Jill returned to <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">England</st1:place></st1:country-region>.
I heard through a mutual friend that she had cancer. She later died. Though I
believe her subsequent illness and death was no more than a coincidence perhaps
I was too quick to dismiss other's beliefs. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"> </span></h2>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #674ea7; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Writing
is a way to reflect on experience</span><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></h2>
<h2 style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"> </span></h2>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Arial; line-height: 150%;"> </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Arial;">When I constructed Roger, one of the
more unpleasant characters in<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>The
White Amah</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>I was having a dig
at my own flippant attitude to unfamiliar ideas because I still feel guilty about the unsympathetic way I responded to Jilly. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Arial;">In my story Roger is
having an affair with his amah, Rubiah. Hoping to become his wife, she has gone
to a bomah for help. Her plan miscarries when the bomah demands more money
and threatens to put a spell on her if she doesn't pay up.<br />
<br />
Roger is as skeptical as me. "Tell her you'll curse him back,"
he says. He then proceeds to mocks her beliefs calling her
“an ignorant little jungle bunny”. I warned you he was an unpleasant character,
didn’t I? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 150%;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Arial;"><br />As to whether spirits really exist the jury is out because as someone famously said--</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></span>
<b style="font-size: x-large; line-height: 14.25pt;"><span style="color: #8e7cc3; font-family: Arial;">"There’s more in heaven and earth than we can ever know."</span></b><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></span>
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5560329200406372566.post-11575341008696184252013-07-30T02:38:00.003-07:002013-07-30T02:48:36.494-07:00Books That Defy Genre Labels<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><b>Today I'm turning my blog over to author and blogger, AB Shepherd. She talks about facing writers whose books aren't a perfect match for the major book genres. Over to you AB...</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">"What is a genre? It is a label used to categorize a book. It
is intended to be useful to help readers discern whether they will enjoy it,
and to help book stores know where to stock it on their shelves.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But what happens when a book just doesn’t fit quite so nearly
into a pre-established genre?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You end up with a book like Ann Massey’s Salvation Jane -
which is chick lit, wrapped up in a political thriller, tied together with a
romance/contemporary fiction/literary fiction/drama. It is one of those books
that needs to be read by the masses, but just how to get it to them to read is
tricky, because it doesn’t fit neatly into a genre category so it can’t be
marketed easily.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The same can be said of Lifeboat, my novel.</span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B31BOmRRM3c/UfeLX_UCwPI/AAAAAAAAAL8/N80WVKopGvc/s1600/Lifeboat_Cover_Front.New.+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B31BOmRRM3c/UfeLX_UCwPI/AAAAAAAAAL8/N80WVKopGvc/s320/Lifeboat_Cover_Front.New.+(1).JPG" width="211" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Lifeboat is a science fiction/mystery/thriller with aliens
and UFOs, but it is so much more than that. It is a story of love, loss,
isolation, coping mechanisms, manipulation, and mind games. It is a story that
will leave you thinking. Don’t take my word for it - read the reviews on Amazon
or Goodreads. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But it is difficult to market because it doesn’t fit neatly
into one or two of those predefined genre categories. Several readers have said
of Lifeboat, “I hate books about UFOs and aliens, but I loved Lifeboat”. But
because so many people dislike books about aliens and UFOs they will pass it by
and miss out on a really good (if I do say so myself) book.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">How many other authors are having this difficulty with their
novels? I’m guessing many. I almost did the same with Salvation Jane. I don’t
enjoy books about politics, so I nearly said “sorry”, but Ann told me it was
more than that, so I gave it a chance and I really enjoyed it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Oh sure, there are some authors who say “I write romance” or
“I write thrillers” and that is exactly what they write. Those books easily
find their target audience. There is nothing wrong with that, and good on ‘em. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But what about the rest of us? Ann, me and all those others
authors out there whose books are more than they appear at first glance. How do
we go about finding our target audience when our books are different, and we
don’t have a </span><u style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">defined</u><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> target audience?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It is difficult. All we can do is list the category we think
it comes closest too and cross our fingers, hoping. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We can only hope that some open-minded readers like you will
find them, like them, and share their discoveries with the world by not only
leaving reviews, but talking about them with their friends and family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I hope you will give Salvation Jane, and Lifeboat, a chance
and keep your minds open.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What books have YOU<a href="" name="_GoBack"></a> read lately that
defy their genre label? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NcPNOZbc4-k/UfeLuKleZaI/AAAAAAAAAME/XdWrbfSYfQc/s1600/A.B.+Shepherd+author+photo+BW.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NcPNOZbc4-k/UfeLuKleZaI/AAAAAAAAAME/XdWrbfSYfQc/s200/A.B.+Shepherd+author+photo+BW.JPG" width="166" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A.B. Shepherd grew up in Lansing, Michigan, but moved to
Australia in 2009. She now lives in the Limestone Coast region of South
Australia, with her husband and their imaginary friends. She can usually be
found seaside at Port MacDonnell, or lost in a fantasy world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Lifeboat is her debut novel and is available at </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00C92MQ72/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00C92MQ72&linkCode=as2&tag=abshe-20"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Amazon</span></a><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> and most other online bookstores.
The Beacon, her second novel, has an anticipated release date of Christmas
2013.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If you'd like to learn more about A.B. Shepherd please visit
her website at www.abshepherd.net.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A.B. loves to hear from readers. Feel free to contact her
with your thoughts on Lifeboat, or anything else that takes your fancy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">You can also connect
with her on Twitter @ABHPShepherd and on her Facebook page
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-and-Blogger-AB-Shepherd/336336493057737</span></span>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5560329200406372566.post-1355352923443853662013-07-02T14:30:00.000-07:002013-07-02T14:30:46.449-07:00MORE TO THIS THAN MEETS THE EYEIt has been three years since I had a new book out - SALVATION JANE took me a long time to write because I wanted to do justice to homelessness and poverty, the issues that inspired me to write it. Sounds heavy doesn't it? I thought so too, so I abandoned my soap box, and wrote a story that is a bit funny, a little deep, sad and I hope inspiring.<br />
<br />
<h3>
Canadian writer, Darlene Jones reviewed it - here's what she had to say: </h3>
<br />
"On the surface, Salvation Jane could come across as "chick lit." Poke a little deeper and you find a serious commentary on current social conditions in Perth, Australia. <br />
<br />
Our heroine, Jane, inherits a hotel from her uncle. Excited at the prospect of instant wealth she arrives to find a derelict building serving as a shelter for homeless men. Hours spent laundering the sheets and towels does nothing to improve her mood so she decides to convert the shelter into a hostel for back-packing tourists. One thing leads to another and Jane finds herself involved in politics--naively playing with the big boys--using the street people as leverage. <br />
<br />
For this Canadian reader, SALVATION JANE was an education in the economic conditions of the area, in the plight of the poor, in the culture and language of Australia. Well written and intriguing. You keep turning the pages to see what Jane will do next--sometimes biting your nails as she gets herself into one scrap after another. There are love interests too, not always the best for Jane, but she perseveres. The ending is satisfying and fitting for the story."<br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5560329200406372566.post-314395687898124042013-06-14T18:05:00.004-07:002013-06-14T18:15:27.460-07:00Jailing of Pauline Hanson was inspiration for a book about Australian politics.<h3>
Q. Why after writing a mystery about a desperate girl who sells her baby have you written a book about Australian politics? </h3>
<br />
After I published <em>The White Amah</em> I wanted to write a book about a shameful incident in Australian politics. Love her or loathe her there is no getting away from the fact that the plot to break Pauline Hanson was worthy of Francis Underwood of <em>House of Cards</em> at his most machivellian. <br />
<br />
To put those not familiar with Australian politics in the nineties in the picture-- a politically naive fish and chip shop operator cum politician from Queensland was damaging the Liberal Party's chances at the forthcoming Federal Election. Her party, <em>One Nation</em> was perceived as a threat by the major parties. And come hell or high water the powers-that- be were out to get her. And they did. Pauline Hanson was convicted of electoral fraud and sentenced to nine years in jail.<br />
<br />
After serving three months she was released, the sentence quashed and her name cleared. And yet instead of being viewed as a victim of a terrible injustice, Pauline Hanson who conducted herself with dignity and heroism throughout her ordeal is perceived by many as a figure of fun. <br />
<br />
It has always amazed me that there wasn't a backlash against those who conspired to remove Ms Hanson from the political stage. I put it down to the prevailing belief that politics is the province of the well-educated. The inference was clear-- if you don't have a degree you don't have a right to voice an opinion. It got up my nose. I translated MPs and journalists' contempt for Ms Hanson as an indication that ordinary people do not rate. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IiZZ15-yaS8/Ubu_iQ5QuPI/AAAAAAAAALA/-hHoWdYX7oY/s1600/Salvation+Jane_cover_PROOF.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" cya="true" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IiZZ15-yaS8/Ubu_iQ5QuPI/AAAAAAAAALA/-hHoWdYX7oY/s320/Salvation+Jane_cover_PROOF.JPG" width="212" /></a></div>
Salvation Jane was written to draw attention to a disgraceful episode in Australian politics, to thumb my nose at elitist condscension, and to applaud those willing to have a go. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.annmassey.com/">It will be available as a paperback and ebook from 1st July</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5560329200406372566.post-37580423742435187972012-02-14T14:55:00.000-08:002013-04-15T10:08:04.421-07:00A walk on the wild side - a review of 'The White Amah'I was blown away by this book. I honestly had not expected it to be quite as intricate as it is. It's quite a story that has an awesome view of southeast Asian indigenous people. There is a little mystery thrown in and a look at the rougher side of life. The introduction of a lot of characters can sometimes be overwhelming however not here. I loved how in the end everyone ties in together one way or another and how the story does a well rounded circle. <br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004VMQAW0">(Margaret- Goodreads)</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5560329200406372566.post-27975087978435168202012-02-01T04:31:00.000-08:002013-04-15T10:03:40.629-07:00Some secrets should never be toldWhen not teaching English Ann Massey is busy devising plot twists and turns involving germ warfare, the International Space station and environmental risks. Her settings often draw on her diverse career; she has been a country publican, newspaper marketing manager and teacher to name just a few of her previous roles. <br />
<br />
Ann, added novelist to the list, after accompanying her partner on a five-year posting to Borneo. Shocked by the permanent damage to the rainforest by excessive logging, she sat down and wrote The White Amah a thrilling family saga that sweeps you from the nightlife of Singapore to the rain -drenched jungles of Borneo to the world of a rich and ambitious rock star - The White Amah is the story of a dark secret and the consequences when a woman's past comes back to threaten the present.<br />
<br />
Her second novel draws on her time as a governess on a remote Pilbara sheep station. But the plot of The Biocide Conspiracy is far removed from anything she encountered. A roller-coaster thriller, it involves international intrigue and biological warfare. It poses the question where do we draw the line. Are no holds barred in modern warfare?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5560329200406372566.post-43739875165919520192012-01-30T20:35:00.000-08:002012-01-31T00:42:29.617-08:00Fairy Tales: the single biggest influence on contemporary literature.Not sure if I agreed with this statement but intrigued, I decided to examine my own stories in the order they were written.<br />
<br />
<em><strong>The White Amah</strong></em> tagged as a family saga focuses on a young woman brought up in the rain drenched jungle of Borneo, who, to escape a forced marriage, embarks on a search for her roots. Tricked by a maid posing as her mother, she becomes a lowly amah. <br />
<br />
Stop there! Isn't that just like the good-hearted princess in <strong><em>The Goose Girl.</em></strong> Wasn't she seized by her maid and turned into a common goose girl? I'm not apologizing if it was good enough for Charles Dickens, it's good enough for me. because you'll have to agree <strong><em>Oliver Twist </em></strong>is a variation of this popular theme.<br />
<br />
<strong><em>The Biocide Conspiracy</em></strong> with its dastardly plot and its motely cast of rogues and villains is a modern <strong><em>Treasure Island</em></strong> and yet it has a lot in common with <strong><em>Hansel and Gretal</em></strong> with my teen hero and heroine accepting help from a Good Samaritan, unaware that they are falling straight into a trap.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Likening <strong><em>The Little Match Girl</em></strong> to <strong><em>Salvation Jane, </em></strong>the story I'm currently writing, was a bit of a stretch but as it's about a human rights activist campaigning for the rights of homeless people I feel it's not that far removed from Andersen's bittersweet tale of man's inhumanity to man.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-njEHTMK2sSY/TyenYdVQ-2I/AAAAAAAAADY/2t1C8SxMYqY/s1600/IMG_0778.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" sda="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-njEHTMK2sSY/TyenYdVQ-2I/AAAAAAAAADY/2t1C8SxMYqY/s320/IMG_0778.jpg" width="253" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Little Red Riding Hood is the story tonight.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>So there you are, the first stories I knew and loved are still influencing my writing and I'm hoping my grand-daughter will enjoy them as much as I did at her age. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5560329200406372566.post-3841431147596162352012-01-15T14:57:00.000-08:002012-01-15T15:00:56.557-08:00Amazon - new Family Saga: The White Amah<strong>Strong women, powerful suspense - for anyone who can't get enough of Nora Roberts, Maeve Binchy and Jilly Cooper you'll love this intriguing family saga - set against the backdrop of the timber industry in Malaysia which makes multi-national companies rich while plundering the precious environmental habitat and centuries old tribal way of life. </strong><br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>Ann Massey weaves a spell-binding story of a young woman brought up in the forbidding, rain-drenched jungles of Borneo who, to escape a forced marriage, embarks upon a search for her roots. The only link with her past is a beautiful carved necklace. Her voyage of discovery takes her to England and a prison called Holloway. It is here she finds the cruel and startling truth about her family and her heritage </strong><br />
<strong> </strong><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><strong>*** 3 DAY OFFER JAN 15 - 17 ***</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>The best ever DEAL ON ANN MASSEY NOVELS - e-books reduced down to 99¢ get it before it goes back to its regular price of $2.99 </strong><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004VMQAW0"><strong>http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004VMQAW0</strong></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><br />
</strong> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>*** Other Works ***</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>For anyone who hungers for some serious controversy & can't get enough of Dan Brown, James Patterson and Robert Ludlum, you won't be able to put down Ann Massey's young adult adventure - <em>The Biocide Conspiracy - </em> highly recommended by mature readers. </strong><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004VN31N0"><strong>http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004VN31N0</strong></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5560329200406372566.post-23232042679117600462011-12-12T10:37:00.000-08:002011-12-13T00:46:39.570-08:00Margaret Reviews > The White Amah<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>I was blown away by this book.</strong> I honestly had not expected it to be quite as intricate as it is. It's quite a story that has an awesome view of southeast Asian indigenous people. There is a little mystery thrown in and a look at the rougher side of life. The introduction of a lot of characters can sometimes be overwhelming however not here. I loved how in the end everyone ties in together one way or another and how the story does a well rounded circle. </span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/200540029">www.goodreads.com/review/show/200540029</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5560329200406372566.post-15681263884005413472011-11-16T14:09:00.000-08:002011-11-16T14:09:45.744-08:00A rich reading experience -Shoma Mittra reviews 'The White Amah'<em><strong>It was raining thick sheets of water. The sound was deafening as it hit the tiled roofs and slid heavily through the gutters into the ground. As I made my third cup of coffee that day, I was longing for a good book I could dig into, curl up in my favourite chair and lose myself in another world. It took me only a few minutes to find and download The White Amah on the Kindle and I was set…</strong></em><br />
<br />
The White Amah by Anne Massey weaves a tale around three women connected by a single mistake. Like a haunting melody that peaks and troughs, this book has some stunning writing without being trite. It will take you traipsing through the night life of Singapore, launch you into the deep rain forests of Borneo and scoop you up and put you down in the streets of London.<br />
<br />
Tuff is a chartbusting pop singer with a dubious past. She has created a carefully contrived image around her persona and the public are ga-ga over her every move. But when confronted with some unpalatable truths from her past, Tuff loses her cool and makes one wrong move which will prove to be very costly for her.<br />
<br />
Seventeen years earlier, a young Australian called Crystal Brooke finds herself abandoned in the big bad world in Singapore. Her dreams of becoming a pop star come crashing down when she finds that she is pregnant. There is no question about returning back to her family in Australia. Crystal knows that her father would never accept her. Frightened and alone, there is only one option – Crystal puts her baby up for adoption. The infant is adopted by an expat family in Malaysia. The couple engage an amah (nanny) to look after the baby, Mei-Li. Rubiah, the amah is herself a young girl and although she loves and cares for the baby, her sights are set on a good life. ‘Good life’ comes in the form of nightly visits from her employer who piles her with gifts and baubles –until the wife finds out. Then all hell breaks loose and the expat dumps Rubiah and flees the country with his wife. Rubiah is left holding a baby she doesn’t want. She realises that she is only a young girl herself and her dreams of a slick city life with all the riches will remain a distant dream if she has an infant in tow. So Rubiah takes the baby to her native village in a remote rain forest jungle in Borneo where she leaves Mei Li under the care of her parents and returns to the city to make a life for herself.<br />
<br />
In the deep forests, Mei Li is brought up as a traditional Dayak tribal woman. She has no ambition except to lead a good peaceful life in the jungle she loves. But fate has other things in store for her and no one is more surprised than Mei Li at the turn of events which catapults her into an environment she has never dreamed of. She becomes the white amah.<br />
<br />
Anne Massey’s book The White Amah plays on many different levels. It is like peeling off the petals from an exotic tightly curled bloom – the more you peel, the tighter are the curls beneath- enticing you to lift yet another layer. Beautiful prose, accompanied by a plot with surprising twists and turns, this book keeps you hooked to the very end. The White Amah shows how much Massey’s work has matured as a writer after the The Biocide Conspiracy which was her first novel. <br />
<br />
The White Amah is a treat to read and I would recommend this book to anyone looking for a rich reading experience.<br />
<br />
<br />
Purchase from http://www.amazon.com/White-Amah-Ann-Massey/dp/1456578065/ref=cm_cr-mr-titleAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5560329200406372566.post-36129936501448618362011-08-13T01:50:00.000-07:002011-08-13T18:02:24.239-07:00How to live like a princess when you're married to a working class manTwo months into a relationship and my husband, a petroleum engineer, whisked me off to a life of luxury in Miri, on the island of Borneo. For the wives of oil field workers life was one round of shopping, bridge, golf and tennis. For the most part, children are at boarding schools back home - paid for by the company and husbands are on rigs in the South China Sea, so for women, life is one big social whirl! We didn't even have to clean up after ourselves. Why should we? Like Curly Locks in the old nursery rhyme: <em>thou shall not wash dishes nor yet feed the swine,</em> we never lifted a finger - our amahs took care of all the household chores.<br />
<br />
An amah is the Asian name for a servant. All my married friends, had amahs, most of them were older Malaysian women who worked 12 hours a day, 7 days a week for a pittance. Back then in the 90's the going rate was MR$250 a month. Converted to Aussie dollars, that's about 35c an hour.Wives of men earning $10,000 a month plus free house, free car, free utilities, first class flights home for holidays and school fees paid for, at the best and most expensive schools, saw nothing wrong with this. As Mary-Grace from Calvary (not her real name), said to me,'They don't need much. I mean how much is a bag of rice."<br />
<br />
The women who worked for ex-pats weren't complaining. They knew they had it good compared to the foreign girls who worked for the locals. The Chinese family who lived next-door to Mary Grace employed a Filipino. The first thing they did when she arrived was confiscate her passport so she couldn't runaway. Sleeping in a cupboard under the stairs - poky, stuffy,without a window and filled with the family's clutter, her duties went beyond housework and baby sitting - the male of the household took it as a given that she would sleep with him.<br />
<br />
Not that the locals were the only ones to enjoy their amah's favours. Hundreds of single men and married men, (temporarily available), flocked to the oil town. I noticed their amahs were always the beauties, the delicate, ultra feminine Iban girls, straight from the jungle longhouses.<br />
<br />
A lot of these men formed relationships with their amahs and, many of them married.and took their sweethearts back home. But, others, just used them as pretty playthings and forgot about them when their contracts were finished.<br />
<br />
For three years, I was the only ex-pat, in my circle of friends, who didn't have an amah until I employed Jelimah ...<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><br />
Borneo, the third largest island in the world, is a land of steamy, rain-sodden jungles and home to the Dayaks, fierce tribes who worshiped pagan gods and spirits and whose name is synonymous with headhunting. But Jelimah, a thoroughly modern Dayak Miss, had turned her back on the centuries old tribal way of life for the bright lights of Miri. a boom town, where a pretty girl could live in a house like a palace, and wear a different dress every day, not made with cloth she'd woven herself but purchased from glitzy shops crammed with jewels, creams and perfumes, shops with every delight imaginable to make her beautiful for the parties where she'd laugh and dance all night.<br />
<br />
Jelimah was in a shop when my partner first met her - but serving, not buying. An assistant in a dry cleaners, she had swapped the steamy jungle for an even steamier environment and communal life in the longhouse for a cramped dormitory above the shop, shared with a dozen other starry-eyed wannabes.<br />
<br />
There was no plumbing or power laid on in the jungle village in the back blocks of Sarawak, where every drop of water for drinking and cooking was drawn from the river. From as long as she could remember, it had been Jelimah's responsibility to fill the family's water pots at the riverbank and tote them back to the longhouse on stilts where she lived, at the end of a steep and winding jungle track.<br />
<br />
She didn't have to go as far for drinking water in her new home- just as far as the toilet. The only available water for washing and drinking was scooped from the cistern - the water tank that flushes and fills the toilet.<br />
<br />
Paranoid about coming down with dysentery or, ... worse, from the moment I'd arrived in Miri, I boiled our drinking water for three minutes, always said an emphatic no to ice and only drank Coke from cans. I was appalled when my partner recounted how Jelimah was living. Even now, I shudder at the thought of dipping a cup into a slimy tank and I was easily persuaded to offer her a job as a live-in amah.<br />
<br />
For both of us it must have been equally mind blowing. At the time, I felt I was doing something special by opening up my home to her. Heck it was a palace ... so different to what I was used to in Perth. I supposed the deprived jungle girl thought she was in heaven. I mean, it wasn't as if she had anything to do. Apart from some token dusting and sweeping, I continued to do 99% of the household chores. Some people have a way with servants. Not me! For the best part of a month, I pussy-footed round Jelimah treating her like a young relative I'd never met, over here on holiday who required entertaining.<br />
<br />
How wrong can you be.? Jelimah wasn't happy and I now think she would have left her gilded cage sooner if she hadn't set her sights on entering a beauty pageant and needed a sponsor. I didn't hesitate and for the next six weeks everything took a backseat to winning Miss Miri.<br />
<br />
Entering the Dayak beauty pageant was something of a family tradition. Jelimah's aunt has come first, years back and she was keen to follow in the legendary beauty queen's footsteps. The competition was only open to Dayaks. Dayak is a collective name for the indigenous people of Sarawak. However, it isn't a tribe - like Europeans, Dayaks come from many different tribes, each with its own distinctive culture, customs and language. Iban, Kelabit, Bidayuh, Kenyah and Penan are some of the tribes living in the jungles surrounding Miri.<br />
<br />
Jelimah was an Iban the most populous and well known of the tribes. Her long house was situated in the back blocks of Kuching, the state capital. She told me she was one of 24 children. I didn't believe her at first. I mean, I have a friend whose mother gave birth to a baker's dozen and my partner has eight siblings. But 24!! Come on ... It turned out it was all true. Multiple births ran in the family- several sets of twins and triplets had swelled the juvenile ranks.<br />
<br />
Jelimah never said anything to me about multiple births bringing misfortune. Be-Be told me. Be-Be was another Iban amah that I got to know; our partners worked together. She told me that her tribe believed that malevolent spirits were responsible for multiple births and that they brought bad luck. She said," It's what we believe. It's not just the family who'll suffer. The whole village will be harmed.Rice won't grow, there won't be any wild pigs to hunt, people will get sick and young women will give birth to dead babies." <br />
<br />
A triplet herself, she was lucky to survive. Immediately after Be-Be and her siblings were born, they were abandoned outside a convent. Compassion was in short supply. Brought up as servants to the nuns, they were beaten for the smallest transgression and often went hungry. They weren't taught to read or write but that wasn't unusual. I doubt that they'd have fared any better in the education department in their village. However they would, I am sure, have been given the most basic of gifts - a name. Instead the nuns referred to them as A, B and C. Isn't that simply awful.<br />
<br />
At least the nuns didn't break Be-Be's spirit because she did escape. How the friendless and penniless girl made it to Miri I don't know. But arrive there she did and found work too - in a bakery where she caught the eye of a Canadian Driller. Taking him up on his job offer - he was on the lookout for an amah, an intimate relationship developed. They have now been together for more than 15 years. Things worked out well for this Iban Cinderella. I hope A and C are happy too! But who knows they may still be confined to a life of thankless servitude in the jungle convent.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><br />
I’m not a big believer in fate. I lean toward: ‘I am the captain of my ship and the master of my destiny’ philosophy but sometimes, it seems like fate is determined to wreck your dreams. Take the day of the beauty pageant - everything that could go wrong went wrong, starting with a burst water pipe in the upstairs bathroom. <br />
I had intended driving Jelimah to the beauty parlour – she was having the works, hair, make-up and nails. Later the plan was to collect her after she’d morphed into a beauty queen but I had a flood on my hands, soon to be followed by another, because Jelimah turned on the waterworks too.<br />
<br />
Sending Jelimah still weeping off in a cab, I spent a frustrating hour trying to find a plumber who understood English. By now water, was dripping through the ceiling into the living room below. Fortunately, the floor was tiled. Alas, that wasn’t the case upstairs. The bathroom was fitted with a thick Wilton carpet, mulberry, and the exact shade of the commercial-size spa and wall tiles. <br />
<br />
It was dusk and I was still mopping up after the plumber and hoping the landlord wouldn’t blame me when Jelimah, exquisite in heavy Asian makeup her long glossy hair piled on top of her head, secured by jewelled clips, returned. She was accompanied by a stranger, a cousin skilled in the art of folding the traditional kebaya, the intricate blouse, dress worn by Dayak women. The girls disappeared into the bedroom. Their tinkling laughter came to an abrupt halt when ten minutes later the power went off. <br />
<br />
Power black outs were a part of life in Miri and I was prepared. I found the candles and gave two to Jelimah. Deep channels in her inch thick make-up wouldn’t do and she bravely held back tears that sparkled in her brilliant eyes, I must admit I’d have cried too if I’d have had to get ready a big night in the dark.<br />
<br />
I never have been keen on driving at night and Mary-Grace, an ex-pat like me was just as eager to cheer on Jelimah. She picked us up about seven in her car. The power was still off. ‘But that doesn’t mean it will be off in Krokop too,’ I reassured Jelimah, with a confidence I was far from feeling, considering the way our luck was running.<br />
<br />
As expected, the building was in darkness. We parted company, Mary- Grace and I to a gloomy, stifling hall, Jelimah to hot and airless cramped upstairs room, where the humidity played havoc with the entrants’ makeup and hair dos. It was 2 hours before the lights came back on. <br />
<br />
Surprise! The beauty pageant wasn’t the only entertainment provided. The main event was preceded by a Malaysian song contest. It went on interminably. Possibly I would have enjoyed it more if there’d been a selection of songs; instead I sat through at least twenty presentations of the same song … in Bahasa.<br />
<br />
It was midnight before the pageant began. All the girls were utterly gorgeous, none more so than Jelimah. She didn’t win though and yes, there were tears. Jelimah insisted the contest was fixed. Maybe she was right, the winner was no prettier than the other girls but she did have the advantage of being the judge’s niece.<br />
<br />
To crown off a catastrophic night - when Mary-Grace and I got back to the car, (Jelimah had gone to a night club with a party of friends and was spared this final calamity), the lights had been left on and the battery was as flat as a pancake.Two blondes 3.00 am in the wildest part of the wild, wild East and not another ex-pat to be found. We walked back to the hall. Luckily, the manager was still packing up and he generously drove us back to Pujat.<br />
<br />
Next morning Jelimah told me she was quitting and she was in a hurry; her friends were waiting in the car. ‘Have you got another job,’ I asked, hovering as she packed? Although I felt slighted, after all I’d treated her more like a daughter than a servant, I didn’t begrudge her bettering herself<br />
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I’ve got my old job back at the dry cleaners.'<br />
How sharper it is than a serpent’s tooth to have a thankless child!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><br />
Lots of children have never used public transport and a ride on a bus or a train for many preschoolers is exciting and more newsworthy than a flight on Virgin or QANTAS. It’s worth mentioning here that I was fourteen when I went up in a plane for the first time. We were about to emigrate to Australia and my father paid out a pound, in the old currency, for a five minute trip over Morecombe Bay.<br />
<br />
I don’t know what type of plane but it looked like a Tiger Moth. It was certainly of that vintage. In 1959 air travel was beyond the means of working class families but entrepreneurs (possibly ex- wartime pilots that had survived the Battle of Britain), had snapped up RAF planes. The short trips they offered were a thrilling alternative to donkey rides on the sands at Blackpool, Southport and Morecombe.<br />
<br />
The extravagant treat was unlooked for. Horse mad I would have preferred a ride on one of the donkeys. But I wasn’t consulted. Assisted migrants (ten pound poms), we were bound for a brave new and, what, I now think my father thought, was a backward world. I have never forgotten him telling us to make the most of the opportunity. We’d never get the chance to go up in a plane again. My father died three years before the birth of his great-granddaughter, Molly. He’d be amazed by the blasé attitude to air travel of a 4 year old frequent flyer. <br />
<br />
But I digress - when I accompanied my partner, Cole to Miri, for the first time for years, I found myself without a car and with hours and hours of time on my hands. Before he went to work the first day, he warned me never, ever to go into Miri on my own. I think he felt confident that I had no alternative than to stay put because, like many non-users of public transport, it never entered his head that I would hop on a bus.<br />
In the five years that I spent in Miri, I never saw another ex-pat on the bus with the result that I became somewhat of a local celebrity. I never had to stand, someone was always ready to give up their seat to me and strangers would regularly offer to pay my fare.<br />
<br />
One incident that stands out in my memory was a conversation with a fellow passenger. The tribal Dayak told me about life in his longhouse, stories about a world that is disappearing as fast as the jungle that once covered the entire island of Borneo. Just before his stop, he asked me if I would like to see an image of his tribe’s old king and he took the medallion he was wearing from around his neck.<br />
<br />
It was with great reverence, he handed me the ornament. Immediately, I recognized Edward V11’s head on the drilled half-crown, (two shillings and sixpence in the old currency). When I was a child it was still common to receive old coins, particularly pennies with the heads of former monarchs. Edward the V11 coins were rare but not as rare as his mother Queen Victoria. I was surprised I’d expected the King to be a Malaysian sultan or one of the White Rajahs, the Brookes, an English dynasty that founded and ruled the Kingdom of Sarawak from 1841 to 1946. <br />
<br />
When I handed back the medallion, I told him that Edward had also been my king too and the former head-hunter swelled with pride to learn that the king of Sarawak had once ruled over England. How did I know my new friend had taken a head? Well he didn’t tell me, he didn’t need to. His fingers were covered with tattoos known as tegulan. Each tattoo corresponded with the taking of a human head. You meet the most interesting people on public transport.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>It was to be expected that we would socialize with Bryn (not his real name). When you're living in a foreign country you gravitate to your own countrymen and there weren’t a lot of Australian’s living in Miri. Like 90% of the men working in the oil town, Bryn worked for Shell but he was an entrepreneur from way back and it wasn’t long before he opened his own bar<br />
In the 90’s you couldn’t open a business in Miri without taking on a Bumiputra partner. Bumiputra is the Malaysian term for the indigenous people of Malaysia, the Dayaks. It means son of the land but it was a daughter of the land that Bryn took on as his Bumiputra partner.<br />
<br />
Already a victim, Rosie had been deserted by her husband and she was struggling to bring up six children without any financial assistance from her ex or the government. In Dayak culture the family bond is strong and when Bryn offered Rosie a job, as his live-in amah, her sister offered to look after the children.<br />
Although Bryn had a wife and family back in Australia, it wasn’t long before he and Rosie were in a relationship. Imagine how she felt when Bryn told her about his plans to open a bar and offered her a partnership. For a poor uneducated woman with no prospects but a life of drudgery, it must have been like winning first prize in a lottery.<br />
<br />
Once a cheat always a cheat and it wasn’t long before Bryn was cheating on Rosie. When she went back to her longhouse for Gawai (the Dayak harvest festival), Bryn took off for the duty free island of Labuan with Flora, a pretty young barmaid. The last thing Rosie did, before she set off in happy ignorance for a re-union with her children was to take in the large box addressed to Bryn that she found on the veranda.<br />
<br />
A week later when Bryn returned the whole house ponged, blood had seeped from the box, dripped from the table and pooled on the floor. Someone had sent Bryn the severed head of a pig minus one ear. When he was a teenager Bryn had come off a motorbike and he’d lost his outer ear. You didn’t need to be Einstein to figure out who the pig represented!<br />
<br />
That evening my partner and I went to Bryn’s for a few drinks and he told us about finding the pig’s head and showed us the blood-stained note he’d discovered at the bottom of the box. It warned him that if he continued playing around with Muslim women there’d be another head in a box and it also would only have one ear.<br />
<br />
Unlike the guy in 'The Godfather' who woke up with a horse's head in bed beside him, Bryn seemed unfazed. Anyone, with any sense, would have got out of town. I mean this was the wild, wild East and I’d heard stories of ex-pats who had accidentally run down a child being hacked to death by the relatives.<br />
<br />
I don’t know what else Bryn did to get on the wrong side of the locals but on two occasions gangsters broke into the premises and broke up the place. Maybe he had refused to pay protection money. Any way word got round. Work colleagues, frightened for their safety stopped patronizing the bar. Bills mounted up and Bryn did a runner leaving poor old Rosie with all the debts.<br />
<br />
Last thing I heard Bryn had talked himself into a $300,000 job in Nigeria.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><br />
When I first went to live in Miri on the Island of Borneo, there were none of the modern shopping centers or department stores that I was used to back home in Australia. There were plenty of strange little shops selling everything from plastic Buddhas to 100 year old eggs to tiger balm and, at first, I’d been as intrigued as any Western tourist but after two years I’d started to dream of endless supermarkets, extensive malls, trendy boutiques and major departmental stores.<br />
<br />
<br />
Kuala Belait (KB), the second largest city in Brunei was only 120kms away and I went there regularly to buy Diet Coke which you couldn’t get in Miri but mainly to renew my tourist visa. You see my visa was only good for a month but that was never a problem because we lived close to the border between Malaysia and Brunei. Every time I returned from my regular monthly shopping expedition in KB, the Malaysian immigration officers would extend my visa for another 4 weeks hence the attraction. But while the supermarket stocked more Western food lines, what was on offer in the local shops, in the way of fashion, make-up and accessories, was on par with Miri.<br />
<br />
Members of my bridge group talked about Yohannes, a world class store in Bandar Seri Begawin (BSB), the capital of Brunei and home to the Sultan, then the richest man in the world. Yohannes sold everything you’d expect to find in a world-class store like Harrods or Macey’s. I was in dire need of a shopping fix and my friend, Clare felt the same. When she suggested we take a trip to BSB, I jumped at the chance.<br />
<br />
BSB was another 120 kms further than KB - too far for a day trip. But, with both our partners working on a rig in the South China Sea for another fortnight, we were fancy free. As excited as schoolgirls, we set off for Brunei.It took a lot longer than we’d thought to travel 240kms. There was always a long wait for the ferry ride across the Belait, the river that divides Brunei and Malaysia and rather, than waiting in turn, many of the locals just pushed in.That day it was worse than usual and when we eventually reached the immigration station on the Malaysian side of the border, it was closed. <br />
<br />
Generally immigration stations close for two hours between 12 and 2. As a result, we didn’t get to BSB until after five.Not to be deterred from our mission, we booked into the hotel, dumped our bags, asked for directions and set out on our quest. The concierge told us that the quickest route was through Kampong Ayer (the Water Village).<br />
<br />
About 39,000 people live in ramshackle wooden shanties built on stilts in the river. It's a well-known tourist attraction but as I looked around, I noticed we were were the only foreigners. As we walked along a complex web of waterways, the sun was setting and I felt a twinge of uneasiness. It might look quaint and picturesque by daylight, but something told me this was not the pace for two blonds to be walking unattended in the dark. Clare felt the same and we both, agreed to come back in a taxi.<br />
<br />
<br />
By now, it was dark and the neighborhood was deserted. In the distance, we could see the bright red letters of Yohannes’ neon sign. Leaving the Kampong we walked toward the beacon, feeling discouraged because it still seemed miles away. Just ahead we could dimly see a field. It may have been a soccer pitch or some kind of playing field, but it was too dark to see if there were goal posts.<br />
‘What do we do now?’ asked Clare, looking dubiously at the wide drainage ditch between the road and the field.<br />
<br />
It was obviously going to add another 30 minutes to our journey if we walked around the perimeter of the field and I replied, ‘We jump.’<br />
<br />
Now Clare and I made an odd couple. For a start Clare, 15 years younger, is tall, fit and athletic while I’m short and haven’t exercised since I left school in 1960. Wouldn't you think, if anyone was going to fall in the brink, it would have been me? But I cleared the filthy ditch with inches to spare. Clare wasn’t so lucky.<br />
<br />
I helped her out but her legs were caked with foul-smelling mud. Ploughing on in silence, you can't blame Clare for not seeing the funny side, we cut across the field and ten minutes later, rolled up at the entrance of a very impressive building. The washroom was near the entry and very posh … no wonder - the Sultan’s wives and daughters shopped at Yohannes.<br />
<br />
Clare had her leg in the wash basin and was attempting to scrape off the excrement when in walked three princesses in luxurious, silk robes like something out of an Arabian Night’s dream. Sooo embarrassing!!<br />
Luckily, there was a telephone box handy. I phoned every taxi company in the directory. All the numbers rang out. A passerby, when questioned, told us taxis in BSB only operated until 4pm, no kidding!<br />
<br />
Despite the mishap (my word choice, not Clare's), we'd been luckier than we deserved. Walking back would really have been pushing the envelope. I phoned the hotel, explained the situation and within half an hour we were back in our room. The last thing Clare said to me before turning out the light was that she’d never go anywhere with me again.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">Tatts are hot, the trendy 'in' accessory but you may be surprised to know that for the Dayaks, the Indigenous people of Borneo, a tattoo ismore than a fashion statement, it is a badge of honour.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">In Miri, you could recognize headhunters, (warriors not human resource scouts), by their tattoos. Like notches etched into gunslingers' pistols, the fingers of headhunters are tattooed with mythical creatures known as tegulan. Each tattoo corresponds with the taking of a human head. As a westerner, it was hard for me to understand the attraction but I learnt that Dayaks believe the soul lives in the head and when beheaded, their victim's status, strength, skill and power is transferred to their slayer.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I saw a number of elderly tribesmen with tegulan on the streets of Miri but, it wasn't until I visited a jungle longhouse with ancient human heads tied up with rattan hanging in bunches from the rafters, that I saw tribal women with tattoos. Young women with the skill to produce cloth, mats and baskets are much sought after. The talented ones are tattooed. Easily identified they can pick and choose from their suitors. But more importantly a tatoo is the equivslent to a free pass to the afterlife.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Traditionally, Dayaks believe that only the souls of men and women with hand tattoos - symbols of their success at headhunting and weaving are able to cross the River of the Dead where they are reunited with their ancestors. The unworthy, the ones without tattoos, are cast into the river by Maligang, the malevolent guardian of the bridge where they are devoured by Paton, a giant catfish. Head hunting was banned in the 19th century but it proved difficult to eradicate. One can't help but wonder if it doesn't continue deep in the forbidding rain forests because I have seen Dayak men with both hands covered with tegulan and, in their ears ornaments made from the beak of the helmetted- hornbill, carved to resemble the canine tooth of a tiger-cat. Indisputable proof, they have taken heads.<br />
<br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><div style="text-align: left;">Does anything supernatural actually exist? Around fourteen years of age, like most teens, I started to question the beliefs and values that I had swallowed without chewing. Blind faith was the first casualty. Now, over fifty years on, though I endorse Christian ethics and morality, I remain a committed atheist and so I was skeptical when Joyce, an ex-pat from the UK whom I got to know when I was living in Borneo, told me that she was living in fear of a malevolent bomah. A bomah is the Malaysian term for a medicine man or witch doctor, the equivalent of a tribal shaman. Like shamans, bomahs are supposedly blessed with the gift to communicate with the spirits of the deceased and to intercede on behalf of the living. </div><br />
<br />
In times gone by Dayaks, the Indigenous tribes of Borneo were ancestor worshipers who lived in fear of offending the vengeful spirits that surrounded them. Headhunting, the taking a human head, was the chief way of appeasing and gaining the goodwill of ancient spirits but they also consulted bomahs when their gifts failed to satisfy their ancestors' insatiable appetite for human sacrifice. <br />
<br />
Today, while many Dayaks have abandoned their longhouses in favour of city life, they continue to consult Bomahs. Revered because of their affiliation with the supernatural and the occult, bomahs allegedly possess the gifts of prophecy and healing but are feared because, sometimes they use their supernatural powers to harm individuals who have injured or offended them.<br />
<br />
I was absolutely certain that paranormal or supernatural phenomena didn't exist and said as much <br />
when Joyce told me that a bomah had warned her that if she didn't give him a thousand ringgit, (a ringgit is a Malaysian dollar), he would put an evil spell on her. I couldn't believe that she could take such rubbish seriously.<br />
<br />
"Tell him that you'll curse him back," I told her jokingly, like Roger, one of the characters in The White Amah. who refused to give his amah, Rubiah money to pay a bomah to release her from a spell. Mocking her beliefs, he called her an ignorant little jungle bunny. His arrogant response mirrored my own dismissive attitude to non-western doctrine.<br />
<br />
Writing gives one the opportunity to reflect on personal experiences and when I constructed Roger as indifferent and unresponsive to unfamiliar ideas, I was having a dig at my own closed attitude. Maybe ... just maybe, there's more in heaven and on earth than we can ever know, as someone considerably wiser than I remarked around five hundred years ago.<br />
<br />
<div align="center">* * *</div><div align="center"><br />
</div>It is estimated that there are approximately 100 tribes still living as hunter gathers, mainly in Brazil, Peru, Papua New Guinea and Indonesia. Like the villagers in my novel "The White Amah' these stone-age people are in grave danger of being forced off their land by multi-national timber logging companies that plunder and destroy the precious environmental habitat and centuries old way of life. <br />
<br />
Ann Massey<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.annmasseyauthor.net/">http://www.annmasseyauthor.net/</a><br />
Author of: <br />
The White Amah, a mystery set against the backdrop of the timber logging industry in Malaysia. Sample or purchase: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456578065">http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456578065</a><br />
The Biocide Conspiracy, a Young Adult thriller that sweeps readers into the world of biowarfare. Sample or purchase; http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456503367<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5560329200406372566.post-39852934891106243192011-05-09T05:12:00.000-07:002011-05-09T06:02:32.990-07:00Centuries way of life is on the way out<span style="font-size:180%;">It is estimated that there are approximately 100 tribes still living as hunter gathers, mainly in Brazil, Peru, Papua New Guinea and Indonesia. </span><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:180%;">But these stone-age people are in grave danger of being forced off their land by multi-national timber logging companies that plunder and destroy the precious environmental habitat and centuries old way of life. </span><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:180%;">In <em>The White Amah</em> by Ann Massey an impoverished Dayak tribe has no chance against a Chinese timber baron. And neither, I fear, does the lost tribe recently discovered in the Amazonian jungles of Brazil.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5560329200406372566.post-56761081512647460382011-04-29T15:24:00.000-07:002011-04-29T15:30:16.964-07:00Reader Review<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:180%;">Update from Cheryl posted on Goodreads</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">"Set in both familiar and exotic locals, the lives of three women and how they intertwine make up the plot line of this novel. The self-centered rock star, the rich man's concubine, and the young amah lead very different lives, until a vicious murder connects them. An intriguing and enjoyable read with a satisfying conclusion."</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5560329200406372566.post-33126365553014571442011-03-08T11:27:00.000-08:002011-03-29T08:31:37.424-07:00Does anything supernatural actually exist<div id="post_message_1382524"> <span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">At around fourteen years of age, like most teens, I started to question the beliefs and values that I had swallowed without chewing. Blind faith was the first casualty. Now, over fifty years on, though I endorse Christian ethics and morality, I remain a committed atheist and so</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> I was skeptical when Joyce, an ex-pat from the UK whom I got to know when I was living in Borneo, told me that she was living in fear of a malevolent </span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >bomah</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">. A bomah is the Malaysian term for a medicine man or witch doctor, the equivalent of a tribal </span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >shaman</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">. Like shamans, bomahs are supposedly blessed with the gift to communicate with the spirits of the deceased and to intercede on behalf of the living. </span></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><br />In times gone by Dayaks, the Indigenous tribes of Borneo were ancestor worshipers who lived in fear of offending the vengeful spirits that surrounded them. Headhunting, the taking a human head, was the chief way of appeasing and gaining the goodwill of ancient spirits but they also consulted bomahs when their gifts failed to satisfy their ancestors' insatiable appetite for human sacrifice. </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br />Today, while many Dayaks have abandoned their longhouses in favour of city life, they continue to consult Bomahs. </span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >Revered because of their affiliation with the supernatural and the occult, bomahs allegedly</span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:100%;" > possess the gifts of prophecy and healing but are feared because, sometimes they use their supernatural powers to harm individuals who have injured or offended them.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I was absolutely certain that paranormal or supernatural phenomena didn't exist and said as much </span></span><br />when Joyce told me that a bomah had warned her that if she didn't give him a thousand ringgit, (a ringgit is a Malaysian dollar), he would put an evil spell on her. I couldn't believe that she could take such <span style="font-style: italic;">rubbish</span> seriously. "Tell him that you'll curse him back," I told her jokingly, like Roger, one of the characters in <span style="font-style: italic;">The White Amah. </span><span><span>who</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span></span>refused to give his amah, Rubiah money to pay a bomah to release her from a spell. Mocking her beliefs, he called her <span style="font-style: italic;">an ignorant little jungle bunny</span>. His arrogant response mirrored my own dismissive attitude to non-western doctrine.<br /><br />Writing gives one the opportunity to reflect on personal experiences and when I constructed Roger as indifferent and unresponsive to unfamiliar ideas, I was having a dig at my own closed attitude. Maybe ... just maybe, there's more in heaven and on earth than we can ever know, as someone considerably wiser than I remarked around five hundred years ago.<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Ann Massey</p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><u><span style="color:blue;"><a href="http://www.annmasseyauthor.net/">http://www.annmasseyauthor.net/</a></span></u></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Author of: </p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i style="">The White Amah</i>, a mystery set against the backdrop of the timber logging industry in Malaysia. Sample or purchase: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456578065">http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456578065</a></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i style="">The Biocide Conspiracy,</i> a Young Adult thriller that sweeps readers into the world of biowarfare. Sample or purchase; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456503367">http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456503367</a></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"> </p><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><em></em><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> __________________Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5560329200406372566.post-84644051001187021192011-03-04T14:13:00.000-08:002011-03-09T18:26:09.640-08:00Nothing's so much fun as simply messing about in boats but ...In a few hours, my son, Duncan and his partner, Jaine will be arriving home after taking delivery of a yacht and sailing it from Surfer's Paradise to Fremantle with minimal knowledge of seafaring and things nautical. From the sound of it the journey was uneventful, which is a bad thing in a way, because we learn more from a damn good scare than from parental warnings. But, I have to admit that I'm no shining example.<br /><br />It's been some time since some friends and I set sail from Labuan, a small island off the coast of Borneo for a few hours fishing in the South China Sea. It was a perfect day. The sky was cloudless, the azure sea was smooth and sparkling and there's nothing, absolutely nothing better than flying through the foam with a wave creaming the ledge of the boat.<br /><br />We dropped the sea anchor about thirty kilometres west of the island and that's when we remembered that we'd forgotten to bring any bait. It looked like we'd have to forget about fishing but then we spotted another vessel. My partner took off his shirt and waved it madly and the smack changed directions.<br /><br />Soon the ramshackle, leaky old craft was bobbing up and down alongside. None of us<em></em><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>could speak Bahasa and so we used gestures and mime to explain that we wanted to buy a fish. The twenty ringgit identified us as wealthy tourists, ripe for the taking, and within minutes the single solitary fishing boat had swelled to a mini armada.<br /><br />A month before a group of pirates had killed a fisherman and taken his boat but we knew nothing of that. The authorities had a policy of suppressing information about the explosion of piracy and we had no idea that we were courting danger.<br /><br />Unlike the the four American tourists on a world tour who were hijacked and killed by pirates in the Indian Sea<em></em> in February, we came out of the incident poorer but unscathed. <span style="" id="search">However, I now realize that we were lucky not to have been taken hostage. </span> The large sums paid out in ransom money is encouraging more and more poor Filipino and Indonesians to exchange their fishing nets for AK-47's, RPG's and semi-automatic pistols with the result that two ships a week are being hijacked.<br /><br />So while there's nothing absolutely nothing better than messing about in boats ... perhaps, it's wiser to stay at home!<br /><br /><a href="http://annmasseyauthor.net/">You can read about tourists who weren't as lucky as me in my latest thriller, <span style="font-style: italic;">The White Amah</span>.<br /></a><br /><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Ann Massey</p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.annmasseyauthor.net/">http://www.annmasseyauthor.net/</a></span></u></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Author of: </p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i style="">The White Amah</i>, a mystery set against the backdrop of the timber logging industry in Malaysia. Sample or purchase: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456578065">http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456578065</a></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i style="">The Biocide Conspiracy,</i> a Young Adult thriller that sweeps readers into the world of biowarfare. Sample or purchase; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456503367">http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456503367</a></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"> </p> <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div id="contentbody"><span><br /></span><br /></div><br /><br /><b></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5560329200406372566.post-64178468549496306632011-02-22T19:19:00.000-08:002011-03-09T18:26:44.223-08:00Tattoos: more than a fashion statement<p><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Tatts are hot, the trendy<span style="font-style: italic;"> <span style="font-weight: bold;">'in'</span> </span>accessory but you may be surprised to know that for the Dayaks, the Indigenous people of Borneo, a tattoo is much more than a fashion statement.<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Badge of honour</span><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">In Miri, you could recognize headhunters, (warriors not human resource scouts), by their tattoos. </span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Like notches etched into gunslingers' pistols, the fingers of headhunters are tattooed with mythical creatures known as tegulan. Each tattoo corresponds with the taking of a human head. As a westerner, it was hard for me to understand the attraction but I learnt that </span></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Dayaks believe the soul lives in the head and when beheaded, their victim's status, strength, skill and power is transferred to their slayer.<br /></span></p><div align="left"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">I saw a number of elderly tribesmen with tegulan on the streets of Miri but, it wasn't until I visited a jungle longhouse with ancient human heads tied up with rattan hanging in bunches from the rafters, that I saw tribal women with tattoos. </span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> Young women with the skill to produce cloth, mats and baskets a</span>re much sought after. The talented ones are tattooed.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> Easily identified they can pick and choose from their suitors.<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Free pass to the afterlife<br /><br /></span>Traditionally, Dayaks believe that only the souls of men and women with hand tattoos - symbols of their success at headhunting and weaving are able to cross the River of the Dead where they are reunited with their ancestors. The unworthy, the ones without tattoos, are cast into the river by Maligang, the malevolent guardian of the bridge where they are devoured by Paton, a giant catfish. </span>Head hunting was banned in the 19th century but it proved difficult to eradicate. One can't help but wonder if it doesn't continue deep in the forbidding rain forests because I have seen Dayak men with both hands covered with tegulan and, in their ears ornaments made from the beak of the helmetted- hornbill, carved to resemble the canine tooth of a tiger-cat. Indisputable proof, they have taken heads.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456578065">In Dayak culture evil spirits are attracted to immoral individuals and when self-centred Crystal gets a snake tattoo, the motif associated with evil, she gets more than she bargained for.<br /></a><br /><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Ann Massey</p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.annmasseyauthor.net/">http://www.annmasseyauthor.net/</a></span></u></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Author of: </p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i style="">The White Amah</i>, a mystery set against the backdrop of the timber logging industry in Malaysia. Sample or purchase: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456578065">http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456578065</a></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i style="">The Biocide Conspiracy,</i> a Young Adult thriller that sweeps readers into the world of biowarfare. Sample or purchase; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456503367">http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456503367</a></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"> </p> <br /><br /></div><span style="font-size:10pt;"></span> <p><span style="font-size:10pt;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:10pt;"></span></p><span style="font-size:10pt;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></span><p class="MsoNormal"> </p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5560329200406372566.post-85634884738318600122011-02-06T00:22:00.000-08:002011-03-09T18:27:21.586-08:00Shopping can be perilous: shopaholics in need of a fix put their lives in danger<span class="tagline"></span><span class="dt"></span><br /><span class="summary">A former ex-pat reminisces about life in Borneo</span><br /><span class="blogtext"><br />When I first went to live in Miri on the Island of Borneo, there were none of the modern shopping centers or department stores that I was used to back home in Australia. There were plenty of strange little shops selling everything from plastic Buddhas to 100 year old eggs to tiger balm and, at first, I’d been as intrigued as any Western tourist but after two years I’d started to dream of endless supermarkets, extensive malls, trendy boutiques and major departmental stores.<br /><br />Kuala Belait (KB), the second largest city in Brunei was only 120kms away and I went there regularly to buy Diet Coke which you couldn’t get in Miri but mainly to renew my tourist visa. You see my visa was only good for a month but that was never a problem because we lived close to the border between Malaysia and Brunei. Every time I returned from my regular monthly shopping expedition in KB, the Malaysian immigration officers would extend my visa for another 4 weeks hence the attraction. But while the supermarket stocked more Western food lines, what was on offer in the local shops, in the way of fashion, make-up and accessories, was on par with Miri.<br /><br />Members of my bridge group talked about Yohannes, a world class store in Bandar Seri Begawin (BSB), the capital of Brunei and home to the Sultan, then the richest man in the world. Yohannes sold everything you’d expect to find in a world-class store like Harrods or Macey’s. I was in dire need of a shopping fix and my friend, Clare felt the same. When she suggested we take a trip to BSB, I jumped at the chance.<br /><br />BSB was another 120 kms further than KB - too far for a day trip. But, with both our partners working on a rig in the South China Sea for another fortnight, we were fancy free. As excited as schoolgirls, we set off for Brunei.<br /><br />It took a lot longer than we’d thought to travel 240kms. There was always a long wait for the ferry ride across the Belait, the river that divides Brunei and Malaysia and rather, than waiting in turn, many of the locals just pushed in.<br /><br />That day it was worse than usual and when we eventually reached the immigration station on the Malaysian side of the border, it was closed. Generally immigration stations close for two hours between 12 and 2. As a result, we didn’t get to BSB until after five.<br /><br />Not to be deterred from our mission, we booked into the hotel, dumped our bags, asked for directions and set out on our quest. The concierge told us that the quickest route was through Kampong Ayer (the Water Village).<br /><br />About 39,000 people live in ramshackle wooden shanties built on stilts in the river. It's a well-known tourist attraction but as I looked around, I noticed we were were the only foreigners.<br /><br />As we walked along a complex web of waterways, the sun was setting and I felt a twinge of uneasiness. It might look quaint and picturesque by daylight, but something told me this was not the pace for two blonds to be walking unattended in the dark. Clare felt the same and we both, agreed to come back in a taxi.<br /><br />By now, it was dark and the neighborhood was deserted. In the distance, we could see the bright red letters of Yohannes’ neon sign. Leaving the Kampong we walked toward the beacon, feeling discouraged because it still seemed miles away.<br /><br />Just ahead we could dimly see a field. It may have been a soccer pitch or some kind of playing field, but it was too dark to see if there were goal posts. ‘What do we do now?’ asked Clare, looking dubiously at the wide drainage ditch between the road and the field.<br /><br />It was obviously going to add another 30 minutes to our journey if we walked around the perimeter of the field and I replied, ‘We jump.’<br /><br />Now Clare and I made an odd couple. For a start Clare, 15 years younger, is tall, fit and athletic while I’m short and haven’t exercised since I left school in 1960. Wouldn't you think, if anyone was going to fall in the brink, it would have been me? But I cleared the filthy ditch with inches to spare. Clare wasn’t so lucky.<br /><br />I helped her out but her legs were caked with foul-smelling mud. Ploughing on in silence, you can't blame Clare for not seeing the funny side, we cut across the field and ten minutes later, rolled up at the entrance of a very impressive building. The washroom was near the entry and very posh … no wonder - the Sultan’s wives and daughters shopped at Yohannes.<br /><br />Clare had her leg in the wash basin and was attempting to scrape off the excrement when in walked three princesses in luxurious, silk robes like something out of an Arabian Night’s dream. Sooo embarrassing!!<br /><br />Luckily, there was a telephone box handy. I phoned every taxi company in the directory. All the numbers rang out. A passerby, when questioned, told us taxis in BSB only operated until 4pm, no kidding!<br /><br />Despite the mishap (my word choice, not Clare's), we'd been luckier than we deserved. Walking back would really have been pushing the envelope. I phoned the hotel, explained the situation and within half an hour we were back in our room. The last thing Clare said to me before turning out the light was that she’d never go anywhere with me again.<br /><br />Next day we drove back to Miri. All that we’d seen of Yohannes was the washroom. It was all we were ever to see – we never went back.<br /><br /><a href="http://annmasseyauthor.net/">Miri is the setting for The White Amah a mystery/ thriller set against the backdrop of the timber industry in Malaysia. If you'd like to read an extract or purchase the book, click here.</a><br /></span><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Ann Massey</p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.annmasseyauthor.net/">http://www.annmasseyauthor.net/</a></span></u></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Author of: </p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i style="">The White Amah</i>, a mystery set against the backdrop of the timber logging industry in Malaysia. Sample or purchase: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456578065">http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456578065</a></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i style="">The Biocide Conspiracy,</i> a Young Adult thriller that sweeps readers into the world of biowarfare. Sample or purchase; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456503367">http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456503367</a></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"> </p> <br /><span class="blogtext"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5560329200406372566.post-343860531238772432011-02-03T14:15:00.000-08:002014-08-04T01:09:55.004-07:00Conmen and cheats: men who prey on vulnerable women<span class="summary">A former ex-pat reflects on her life in Miri.</span><br />
<span class="blogtext"><br />It was to be expected that we would socialize with Bryn (not his real name). When you're living in a foreign country you gravitate to your own countrymen and there weren’t a lot of Australian’s living in Miri. Like 90% of the men working in the oil town, Bryn worked for Shell but he was an entrepreneur from way back and it wasn’t long before he opened his own bar.<br /><br />In the 90’s you couldn’t open a business in Miri without taking on a Bumiputra partner. Bumiputra is the Malaysian term for the indigenous people of Malaysia, the Dayaks. It means son of the land but it was a daughter of the land that Bryn took on as his Bumiputra partner.<br /><br />Already a victim, Rosie had been deserted by her husband and she was struggling to bring up six children without any financial assistance from her ex or the government. In Dayak culture the family bond is strong and when Bryn offered Rosie a job, as his live-in amah, her sister offered to look after the children.<br /><br />Although Bryn had a wife and family back in Australia, it wasn’t long before he and Rosie were in a relationship. Imagine how she felt when Bryn told her about his plans to open a bar and offered her a partnership. For a poor uneducated woman with no prospects but a life of drudgery, it must have been like winning first prize in a lottery.<br /><br />Once a cheat always a cheat and it wasn’t long before Bryn was cheating on Rosie. When she went back to her longhouse for Gawai (the Dayak harvest festival), Bryn took off for the duty free island of Labuan with Flora, a pretty young barmaid. The last thing Rosie did, before she set off in happy ignorance for a re-union with her children was to take in the large box addressed to Bryn that she found on the veranda.<br />A week later when Bryn returned the whole house ponged, blood had seeped from the box, dripped from the table and pooled on the floor. Someone had sent Bryn the severed head of a pig minus one ear. When he was a teenager Bryn had come off a motorbike and he’d lost his outer ear. You didn’t need to be Einstein to figure out who the pig represented!<br /><br />That evening my partner and I went to Bryn’s for a few drinks and he told us about finding the pig’s head and showed us the blood-stained note he’d discovered at the bottom of the box. It warned him that if he continued playing around with Muslim women there’d be another head in a box and it also would only have one ear.<br /><br />Unlike the guy in 'The godfather' who woke up with a horse's head in bed beside him, Bryn seemed unfazed. Anyone, with any sense, would have got out of town. I mean this was the wild, wild East and I’d heard stories of ex-pats who had accidentally run down a child being hacked to death by the relatives.<br /><br />I don’t know what else Bryn did to get on the wrong side of the locals but on two occasions gangsters broke into the premises and broke up the place. Maybe he had refused to pay protection money. Any way word got round. Work colleagues, frightened for their safety stopped patronizing the bar. Bills mounted up and Bryn did a runner leaving poor old Rosie with all the debts.<br /><br />Last thing I heard Bryn had talked himself into a $300,000 job in Nigeria.<br /><br />I<a href="http://annmasseyauthor.net/">f you'd like to hear more about ex-pats and amahs you might enjoy my book: The White Amah. It's available on amazon and you can read an excerpt and reviews on my site: http://annmasseyauthor.net</a></span><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object>
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Ann Massey</div>
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<u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.annmasseyauthor.net/">http://www.annmasseyauthor.net/</a></span></u></div>
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Author of: </div>
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<i>The White Amah</i>, a mystery set against the backdrop of the timber logging industry in Malaysia. Sample or purchase: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456578065">http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456578065</a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<i>The Biocide Conspiracy,</i> a Young Adult thriller that sweeps readers into the world of biowarfare. Sample or purchase; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456503367">http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456503367</a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewblogcomments.asp?authorid=141043&blogid=54006">Post a Comment</a></span></b><span style="color: red; font-family: Arial; font-size: 85%;"> new!</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5560329200406372566.post-90125918134421776242011-02-01T16:24:00.000-08:002011-03-09T18:28:23.947-08:00The strange and amazing people you meet on public transport.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal">Lots of children have never used public transport and a ride on a bus or a train for many preschoolers is exciting and more newsworthy than a flight on Virgin or QANTAS. It’s worth mentioning here that I was fourteen when I went up in a plane for the first time. We were about to emigrate to Australia and my father paid out a pound, in the old currency, for a five minute trip over Morecombe Bay.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I don’t know what type of plane but it looked like a Tiger Moth. <span style=""> </span>It was certainly of that vintage. <span style=""> </span>In 1959 air travel was beyond the means of working class families but entrepreneurs (possibly ex- wartime pilots that had survived the Battle of Britain), had snapped up RAF planes. The short trips they offered were a thrilling alternative to donkey rides on the sands at Blackpool, Southport and Morecombe.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">The extravagant treat was unlooked for. Horse mad I would have preferred a ride on one of the donkeys. But I wasn’t consulted. Assisted migrants (ten pound poms), we were bound for a brave new and, what, I now think my father thought, was a backward world. I have never forgotten him telling us to make the most of the opportunity. We’d never get the chance to go up in a plane again. My father died three years before the birth of his great-granddaughter, Molly. He’d be amazed by the blasé attitude to air travel of a 4 year old frequent flyer. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">But I digress - <span style=""> </span>when I accompanied my partner, Cole to Miri, for the first time for years, I found myself without a car and with hours and hours of time on my hands. Before he went to work the first day, he warned me never, ever to go into Miri on my own. I think he felt confident that I had no alternative than to stay put because, like many non-users of public transport, it never entered his head that I would hop on a bus.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">In the five years that I spent in Miri, I never saw another ex-pat on the bus with the result that I became somewhat of a local celebrity. I never had to stand, someone was always ready to give up their seat to me and strangers would regularly offer to pay my fare.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">One incident that stands out in my memory was a conversation with a fellow passenger. The tribal Dayak told me about life in his longhouse, stories about a world that is disappearing as fast as the jungle that once covered the entire island of Borneo. Just before his stop, he asked me if I would like to see an image of his tribe’s old king and he took the medallion he was wearing from around his neck. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">It was with great reverence, he handed me the ornament. Immediately, I recognized Edward V11’s head on the drilled half-crown, (two shillings and sixpence in the old currency). When I was a child it was still common to receive old coins, particularly pennies with the heads of former monarchs. Edward the V11 coins were rare but not as rare as his mother Queen Victoria. <span style=""> </span>I was surprised I’d expected the King to be a Malaysian sultan or one of the White Rajahs, the Brookes, an English dynasty <span style="">that </span>founded and ruled the Kingdom of <span style="">Sarawak</span><b> </b>from 1841 to 1946. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">When I handed back the medallion, I told him that Edward had also been my king too and the former head-hunter swelled with pride to learn that the king of Sarawak had once ruled over England. How did I know my new friend had taken a head? Well he didn’t tell me, he didn’t need to. His fingers were covered with tattoos known as <i style="">tegulan.</i> Each tattoo corresponded with the taking of a human head. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Many of the customs I wrote about in The White Amah I heard from fellow commuters.</span><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>You meet the most interesting <span style=""> </span>people on public transport.<span style=""><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> </p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Ann Massey</p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.annmasseyauthor.net/">http://www.annmasseyauthor.net/</a></span></u></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Author of: </p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i style="">The White Amah</i>, a mystery set against the backdrop of the timber logging industry in Malaysia. Sample or purchase: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456578065">http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456578065</a></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i style="">The Biocide Conspiracy,</i> a Young Adult thriller that sweeps readers into the world of biowarfare. Sample or purchase; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456503367">http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456503367</a></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style=""></span><span style=""></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style=""></span><span style=""> </span></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5560329200406372566.post-82983356788416895942011-01-25T01:06:00.000-08:002011-01-25T01:17:59.648-08:00And the Winner is ...<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CADMINI%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CADMINI%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style="">An ex-pat who lived for 5 years in Miri recalls her adventures and misadventures. In today’s episode, she concludes a recount of life with Jelimah, a teenage Iban amah. <o:p></o:p></i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="">I’m not a big believer in fate. I lean toward</b>: ‘I am the captain of my ship and the master of my destiny’ philosophy but sometimes, it seems like fate is determined to wreck your dreams. <span style=""> </span>Take the day of the beauty pageant - everything that could go wrong went wrong, starting with a burst water pipe in the upstairs bathroom. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I had intended driving Jelimah to the beauty parlour – she was having the works, hair, make-up and nails. Later the plan was to collect her after she’d morphed into a beauty queen but I had a flood on my hands, soon to be followed by another, because Jelimah turned on the waterworks too.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sending Jelimah still weeping off in a cab, I spent a frustrating hour trying to find a plumber who understood English. By now water, was dripping through the ceiling into the living room below. Fortunately, the floor was tiled. Alas, that wasn’t the case upstairs. The bathroom was fitted with a thick <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Wilton</st1:city></st1:place> carpet, mulberry, and the exact shade of the commercial-size spa and wall tiles. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It was dusk and I was still mopping up after the plumber and hoping the landlord wouldn’t blame me when Jelimah, exquisite in heavy Asian makeup her long glossy hair piled on top of her head, secured by jewelled clips, returned. She was accompanied by a stranger, a cousin skilled in the art of folding the traditional kebaya, the intricate blouse, dress worn by Dayak women. The girls disappeared into the bedroom. Their tinkling laughter came to an abrupt halt when ten minutes later the power went off. <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Power black outs were a part of life in Miri and I was prepared. I found the candles and gave two to Jelimah. Deep channels in her inch thick make-up wouldn’t do and she bravely held back tears that sparkled in her brilliant eyes, I must admit I’d have cried too if I’d have had to get ready a big night in the dark.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>I never have been keen on driving at night and Mary-Grace, an ex-pat like me was just as eager to cheer on Jelimah. She picked us up about seven in her car. The power was still off. <span style=""> </span>‘But that doesn’t mean it will be off in Krokop too,’ I reassured Jelimah, with a confidence I was far from feeling, considering the way our luck was running.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As expected, the building was in darkness. We parted company, Mary- Grace and I to a gloomy, stifling hall, Jelimah to hot and airless cramped upstairs room, where the humidity played havoc with the entrants’ makeup and hair dos.<span style=""> </span>It was 2 hours before the lights came back on. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Surprise! <span style=""> </span>The beauty pageant wasn’t the only entertainment provided. The main event was preceded by a Malaysian song contest.<span style=""> </span>It went on interminably. <span style=""> </span>Possibly I would have enjoyed it more if there’d been a selection of songs; instead I sat through at least twenty presentations of the same song …<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>in Bahasa.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It was midnight before the pageant began. All the girls were utterly gorgeous, none more so than Jelimah.<span style=""> </span>She didn’t win though and yes, there were tears. Jelimah insisted the contest was fixed.<span style=""> </span>Maybe she was right, the winner was no prettier than the other girls but she did have the advantage of being the judge’s niece.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">To crown off a catastrophic night - when Mary-Grace and I got back to the car, (Jelimah had gone to a night club with a party of friends and was spared this final calamity), the lights had been left on and the battery was as flat as a pancake.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Two blondes 3.00 am in the wildest part of the wild, wild East and not another ex-pat to be found. <span style=""> </span>We walked back to the hall. Luckily, the manager was still packing up and he generously drove us back to Pujat.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Next morning Jelimah told me she was quitting and she was in a hurry; her friends were waiting in the car. ‘Have you got another job,’ I asked, hovering as she packed? Although I felt slighted, after all I’d treated her more like a daughter than a servant, I didn’t begrudge her bettering herself </p> <p class="MsoNormal">‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I’ve got my old job back at the dry cleaners.’ </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b style="">How sharper it is than a serpent’s tooth to have a thankless child!<o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5560329200406372566.post-72455897577607366222011-01-20T23:12:00.000-08:002011-03-09T18:33:45.470-08:00Multiple Births: a blessing or a blight?<span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span class="tagline"></span></span><span class="dt"></span><br /><span class="summary">An ex-pat who lived Miri for five years narrates what she learned from her amah about Dayak customs.</span><br /><span class="blogtext"><br />Jelimah, my teenage Iban amah was mad keen to enter the Dayak beauty pageant. It was something of a family tradition. Her aunt has come first, years back and Jelimah was keen to follow in the legendary beauty queen's footsteps.<br /><br />The competition was only open to Dayaks. Dayak is a collective name for the indigenous people of Sarawak. However, it isn't a tribe - like Europeans, Dayaks come from many different tribes, each with its own distinctive culture, customs and language. Iban, Kelabit, Bidayuh, Kenyah and Penan are some of the tribes living in the jungles surrounding Miri.<br /><br />Jelimah was an Iban the most populous and well known of the tribes. Her long house was situated in the back blocks of Kuching, the state capital. She told me she was one of 24 children. I didn't believe her at first. I mean, I have a friend whose mother gave birth to a baker's dozen and my partner has eight siblings. <span style="font-weight: bold;">But 24!! Come on ... </span><br /><br />It turned out it was all true. Multiple births ran in the family- several sets of twins and triplets had swelled the juvenile ranks.<br /><br />Jelimah never said anything to me about multiple births bringing misfortune. Be-Be told me. Be-Be was another Iban amah that I got to know; our partners worked together. She told me that her tribe believed that malevolent spirits were responsible for multiple births and that they brought bad luck.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">" It's what we believe. It's not just the family who'll suffer. The whole village will be harmed.Rice won't grow, there won't be any wild pigs to hunt, people will get sick and young women will give birth to dead babies." </span><br /><br />A triplet herself, she was lucky to survive. Immediately after Be-Be and her siblings were born, they were abandoned outside a convent.<br /><br />Compassion was in short supply. Brought up as servants to the nuns, they were beaten for the smallest transgression and often went hungry. They weren't taught to read or write but that wasn't unusual. I doubt that they'd have fared any better in the education department in their village. However they would, I am sure, have been given the most basic of gifts - a name. Instead the nuns referred to them as A, B and C. Isn't that simply awful.<br /><br />At least the nuns didn't break Be-Be's spirit because she did escape. How the friendless and penniless girl made it to Miri I don't know. But arrive there she did and found work too - in a bakery where she caught the eye of a Canadian Driller.<br /><br />Taking him up on his job offer - he was on the lookout for an amah, an intimate relationship developed. They have now been together for more than 15 years. Things worked out well for this Iban Cinderella. I hope A and C are happy too! But who knows they may still be confined to a life of thankless servitude in the jungle convent.<br /><br />Meanwhile preparations were underway for the big event ...<br /><br />I'll tell you more about the pageant in my next blog.<br /><br /></span><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Ann Massey</p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.annmasseyauthor.net/">http://www.annmasseyauthor.net/</a></span></u></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Author of: </p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i style="">The White Amah</i>, a mystery set against the backdrop of the timber logging industry in Malaysia. Sample or purchase: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456578065">http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456578065</a></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i style="">The Biocide Conspiracy,</i> a Young Adult thriller that sweeps readers into the world of biowarfare. Sample or purchase; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456503367">http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456503367</a></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"> </p> <br /><span class="blogtext"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5560329200406372566.post-63309156328838111732011-01-19T20:38:00.000-08:002011-03-09T18:34:48.319-08:00Enter Miss Miri<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_elryef51zWM/TUHYfIlmRXI/AAAAAAAAACs/7xda9Y1BRyM/s1600/White-Amah_cover-pages%2Brefit.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 165px; height: 255px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_elryef51zWM/TUHYfIlmRXI/AAAAAAAAACs/7xda9Y1BRyM/s320/White-Amah_cover-pages%2Brefit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566968643799369074" border="0" /></a><br /><span class="tagline"></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="summary" >Recollections of a working class Australian adjusting to ex-pat life in Miri.</span><span class="blogtext"><br /><br />I saw that the 60th annual Miss Universe 2011 beauty pageant will take place on September 12 and will air live from Sao Paulo, Brazil and, immediately I was transported back to Borneo when I sponsored my amah, Jelimah in her attempt to win the title.<br /><br />Borneo, the third largest island in the world, is a land of steamy, rain-sodden jungles and home to the Dayaks, fierce tribes who worshiped pagan gods and spirits and whose name is synonymous with headhunting. But Jelimah, a thoroughly modern Dayak Miss, had turned her back on the centuries old tribal way of life for the bright lights of Miri.<br /><br />Miri, a boom town, where a pretty girl could live in a house like a palace, and wear a different dress every day, not made with cloth she'd woven herself but purchased from glitzy shops crammed with jewels, creams and perfumes, shops with every delight imaginable to make her beautiful for the parties where she'd laugh and dance all night.<br /><br />Jelimah was in a shop when my partner first met her - but serving, not buying. An assistant in a dry cleaners, she had swapped the steamy jungle for an even steamier environment and communal life in the longhouse for a cramped dormitory above the shop, shared with a dozen other starry-eyed wannabes.<br /><br />There was no plumbing or power laid on in the jungle village in the back blocks of Sarawak, where every drop of water for drinking and cooking was drawn from the river. From as long as she could remember, it had been Jelimah's responsibility to fill the family's water pots at the riverbank and tote them back to the longhouse on stilts where she lived, at the end of a steep and winding jungle track.<br /><br />She didn't have to go as far for drinking water in her new home. Just as far as the toilet. The only available water for washing and drinking was scooped from the cistern - the water tank that flushes and fills the toilet.<br /><br />Paranoid about coming down with dysentery or, ... worse, from the moment I'd arrived in Miri, I boiled our drinking water for three minutes, always said an emphatic no to ice and only drank Coke from cans. I was appalled when my partner recounted how Jelimah was living. Even now, I shudder at the thought of dipping a cup into a slimy tank and I was easily persuaded to offer her a job as a live-in amah.<br /><br />For both of us it must have been equally mind blowing. At the time, I felt I was doing something special by opening up my home to her. Heck it was a palace ... so different to what I was used to in Perth ... the deprived jungle girl had to think she'd died and gone to heaven.<br /><br />I mean, it wasn't as if she had anything to do. Apart from some token dusting and sweeping, I continued to do 99% of the household chores. Some people have a way with servants. Not me! For the best part of a month, I pussy-footed round Jelimah treating her like a young relative I'd never met, over here on holiday who required entertaining.<br /><br />I think Jelimah would have up and left her gilded cage sooner if she hadn't set her sights on entering a beauty pageant and needed a sponsor. I didn't hesitate and for the next six weeks everything took a backseat to winning Miss Miri.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">More about Miri's answer to Miss Universe next time ...<br /></span><br /></span><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Ann Massey</p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.annmasseyauthor.net/">http://www.annmasseyauthor.net/</a></span></u></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Author of: </p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i style="">The White Amah</i>, a mystery set against the backdrop of the timber logging industry in Malaysia. Sample or purchase: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456578065">http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456578065</a></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i style="">The Biocide Conspiracy,</i> a Young Adult thriller that sweeps readers into the world of biowarfare. Sample or purchase; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456503367">http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456503367</a></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"> </p> <br /><span class="blogtext"><br /><br /><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5560329200406372566.post-2980932702967707272011-01-17T15:37:00.000-08:002011-03-09T18:35:29.833-08:00Thou shall not wash dishes- - a green ex-pat struggles to come to terms with life in Borneo and the demands of her young amah<span class="tagline"></span><span class="blogtext"><br />Two months into a relationship and my partner, a petroleum engineer, whisked me off to a life of luxury in Miri, on the island of Borneo.<br /><br />For the wives of oil field workers like me, life is one round of shopping, bridge, golf and tennis. For the most part, children are at boarding schools back home - paid for by the company and husbands are on rigs in the South China Sea, so for women, life is one big social whirl! We didn't even have to clean up after ourselves. Why should we? We had our amahs. Like Curly Locks in the old nursery rhyme:<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="blogtext">'Thou shalt no wash dishes nor yet feed the swine ..., </span><br /><span class="blogtext">our amahs took care of all the household chores. </span><br /><span class="blogtext"></span></div><span class="blogtext"><br />An amah is the Asian name for a servant. All my married friends, had amahs, most of them were older Malaysian women who worked 12 hours a day, 7 days a week for a pittance. Back then in the 90's the going rate was MR$250 a month. Converted to Aussie dollars, that's about 35c an hour.<br /><br />Wives of men earning $10,000 a month plus free house, free car, free utilities, first class flights home for holidays and school fees paid for, at the best and most expensive schools, saw nothing wrong with this. As Mary-Grace from Calvary (not her real name), said to me,'They don't need much. I mean how much is a bag of rice."<br /><br />The women who worked for ex-pats weren't complaining. They knew they had it good compared to the foreign girls who worked for the locals. The Chinese family who lived next-door to Mary Grace employed a Filipino. The first thing they did when she arrived was confiscate her passport so she couldn't runaway. Sleeping in a cupboard under the stairs - poky, stuffy,without a window and filled with the family's clutter, her duties went beyond housework and baby sitting - the male of the household took it as a given that she would sleep with him.<br /><br />Not that the locals were the only ones to enjoy their amah's favours. Hundreds of single men and married men, (temporarily available), flocked to the oil town. I noticed their amahs were always the beauties, the delicate, ultra feminine Iban girls, straight from the jungle longhouses.<br /><br />A lot of these men formed relationships with their amahs and, many of them married.and took their sweethearts back home. But, many others, just used them as pretty playthings and forgot about them when their contracts were finished.<br /><br />I've written about a girl who was exploited by an ex-pat in my latest book The White Amah. You can read an excerpt and reviews on my website: http://annmasseyauthor.net/<br /><br />For three years, I was the only ex-pat, in my circle of friends, who didn't have an amah until I employed Jelimah ... more about this Iban Cinderella in my next blog.<br /><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span></span><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Ann Massey</p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.annmasseyauthor.net/">http://www.annmasseyauthor.net/</a></span></u></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Author of: </p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i style="">The White Amah</i>, a mystery set against the backdrop of the timber logging industry in Malaysia. Sample or purchase: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456578065">http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456578065</a></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i style="">The Biocide Conspiracy,</i> a Young Adult thriller that sweeps readers into the world of biowarfare. Sample or purchase; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456503367">http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456503367</a></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"> </p> <br /><span class="blogtext"><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><br /><br /><b><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ><a href="http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewblogcomments.asp?authorid=141043&blogid=53722">Post a Comment</a></span></b><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;color:red;" > new!</span><br /><br /><b><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" >Blogs this Year</span></b><br /><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" >• <span style="background-color: rgb(210, 219, 249);"> Thou shall not wash dishes - <span style="font-size:78%;">Saturday, January 15, 2011 </span></span></span><br /><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" >• <a href="http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewblog.asp?authorid=141043&blogid=53685">Enter Miss Miri</a> - <span style="font-size:78%;">Thursday, January 13, 2011</span></span><br /><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" >• <a href="http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewblog.asp?authorid=141043&blogid=53671">Click to Save the Rain Forest</a> - <span style="font-size:78%;">Wednesday, January 12, 2011</span></span><br /><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" >• <a href="http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewblog.asp?authorid=141043&blogid=53594">Borneo's Tropical Rainforest is Disappearing Fast ... So What!</a> - <span style="font-size:78%;">Saturday, January 08, 2011</span></span><br /><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" >• <a href="http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewblog.asp?authorid=141043&blogid=53547">Sweetest Things Turn Sourest By Their Deeds</a> - <span style="font-size:78%;">Wednesday, January 05, 2011</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5560329200406372566.post-39247619226073677602010-11-30T05:07:00.000-08:002011-03-09T18:36:25.286-08:00Borneo's Tropical Rain Forest is disappearing fast: so what?<div align="left">Trees are vital to human existence because they are the lungs of the earth. Man can survive for months without food but without oxygen life ceases within minutes. </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="center"><br />When you destroy a blade of grass</div><div align="center">You poison England at her roots</div><div align="center">Remember no man's foot can pass</div><div align="center">Where evermore no green grass shoots. </div><div align="center"></div><p><br />I first heard those lines from 'To Iron- Founders and Others' by Gordon Bottomley over fifty years ago when I was a pupil in Mr. Worthington's English Class at Hayward Grammar School.<br /><br />Over the years I have read articles in newspapers and magazines, listened to lectures and viewed documentaries about the far reaching effects of deforestation but I cannot quote from a single one. Who says poetry isn't relevant in the twenty-first century? Bottomley's warning is indelibly stamped on my conscious and my conscious .<br /><br />Today I recited this poem to my students and then went on to tell them about what is happening in Borneo. How proud, formerly self-sufficient Dayaks have been forced off their ancestral lands by rapacious loggers and forced to live beggarly lives because they lack the education and skills to adapt to a changed environment. This led to a heated discussion about Develoment vs Conservation: such is the power of poetry.<br /></p><p><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> </p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Ann Massey</p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.annmasseyauthor.net/">http://www.annmasseyauthor.net/</a></span></u></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Author of: </p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i style="">The White Amah</i>, a mystery set against the backdrop of the timber logging industry in Malaysia. Sample or purchase: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456578065">http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456578065</a></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i style="">The Biocide Conspiracy,</i> a Young Adult thriller that sweeps readers into the world of biowarfare. Sample or purchase; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456503367">http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456503367</a></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"> </p> <p><br /></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5560329200406372566.post-17548660206803766932010-10-08T20:21:00.000-07:002011-03-09T18:37:43.528-08:00Click to Save the RainforestI saved 7.4 square feet of rain forest today and I'm going to do the same tomorrow. It's easy and it's free. Just click on the Care2 site at <a href="http://www.care2/click-to-donate/rainforest/">http://www.Care2/click-to-donate/rainforest/</a> for a simple and free way to save the environment. Every 100% free click, generates donations from the foundation's sponsors. You may click once a day or every day. Over 119 million acres of land and 5000miles of river have been protected since the inception of The Nature Conservancy. What a great way to fight back against mulit-national companies that plunder and destroy the precious environmental habitat and centuries old way of tribal life by logging the rainforest.<br /><br />My interest in protecting the rainforest began when I lived for five years in Sarawak on the island of Borneo and saw for myself the unique beauty of the jungle covered island. But the Borneo rainforest, one the wonders of the naural world, is disappearing at an alarming rate. Almost three quarters of the original forest is already gone and, at the current rate of destruction, almost all of Indonesia's forests will be gone by 2022 - along with the world's largest butterflies, flowers big as refrigerators, pygmy elephants, Sumatran Tigers and the forest orangutans.<br /><br />I was living in Borneo in 1997 when massive forest fires burned millions of acres, engulfing neighboring countries in polluting smoke. Palm oil growers intentionally set the great majority of these fires to clear land. Having seen a kampong torched by land developers, I used the incident in my novel <em>The White Amah:</em><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">"</span><span style="font-family:arial;">The entire village had been caught up in the preparation for the wedding. The resonant sound of brass gongs and the thud of drums echoed across the pineapple plantations, drowning out the squeal of the fatted pig the excited children were poking with sharpened sticks. When the groom and his family arrived the tormented beast would be butchered outside the longhouse in front of the bride's door.<br /><br />The bride's mother was putting the finishing touches to the feast when she heard a lorry coming up the jungle track. She frowned. The guests were early and there was still much to do. Laughing happily, the children abandoned their victim and anticipating lollies, raced off to welcome the guests from the groom's longhouse. Without warning armed men erupted from the vehicle, shooting their rifles wildly, trampling the bridal feast spread out on mats in front of each longhouse door and driving the frightened families into the jungle. The mens' orders were to burn down the longhouse, but the gasoline-fed flames spread to the adjacent jungle.<br /><br />The fire burned for three days and destroyed all the valuable old-growth forest the villagers had refused to sell. Along with the precious timber, thirty three lives were lost, including that of the teenage bride who'd run barefoot into the jungle to escape the men intent on raping every girl they could catch. It was an open secret that the arsonists worked for Joseph Ling."<br /><br /></span><em>The White Amah</em> is available from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/">http://www.amazon.com/</a> Purchasing the book is an easy way to help save the rainforest. 10% of author royalties are being donated to the Borneo Tropical Rainforest Foundation.<br /><br /><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Ann Massey</p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><u><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.annmasseyauthor.net/">http://www.annmasseyauthor.net/</a></span></u></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Author of: </p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i style="">The White Amah</i>, a mystery set against the backdrop of the timber logging industry in Malaysia. Sample or purchase: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456578065">http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456578065</a></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i style="">The Biocide Conspiracy,</i> a Young Adult thriller that sweeps readers into the world of biowarfare. Sample or purchase; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456503367">http://www.amazon.com/dp/1456503367</a></p> <p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"> </p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07930844952975961015noreply@blogger.com0