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February 8, 2016 was Chinese New Year and across the world in major cities there were celebrations to welcome the year of the Monkey.

The most distinctive feature of the Chinese New Year, when I was growing up in Mauritius, was the setting off of firecrackers. Firecrackers were traditionally used to scare off evil spirits. I remember clearly on New Year day, as early as the first cockcrow, the clacking sound of firecrackers around town. When one string of firecrackers had reached its end, another would be starting somewhere else as if they were in a relay.

When I arrived in Hong Kong in 1966 the use of firecrackers continued at Chinese New Year. I remember people going to Victoria Park in Causeway Bay (still going strong today) to “walk” the flower market, a huge gathering of makeshift stalls selling flowers and plants and other joyous articles fit to buy during the New Year. Then there were people who would be lighting firecrackers and throwing them at the crowd in their lust for excitement and fun. Needless to say accidents did occur, causing bodily harm to people, particularly small kids. A couple of years later Hong Kong completely banned the use of firecrackers. Instead, since 1982, The Hong Kong Government organizes fireworks in Victoria Harbour on the Second day of the Chinese New Year. Many countries have also banned the use of firecrackers but still some diehard fanatics would acquire smuggled firecrackers and set them off to satisfy their desire.

Firecrackers dramatic and boisterous at Chinese New Year

Chinese New Year remains the most celebrated festivity in China. All factories in China close for a straight seven to ten days or more, to allow workers to go back to their hometown to unite with their parents and relatives. This year 50,000 people, eager to get home for the New Year reunion, were stranded at Guangzhou train station in Southern China for several days when adverse weather conditions delayed a series of trains.

Compared to Mauritius, Chinese New Year in Hong Kong is more elaborate, more traditional, more flamboyant and more pompous. It all starts several days before the arrival of the New Year. Families would ensure that their homes are spotless and that they have paid off all their debts, so as to start the New Year on a clean slate. Sweeping the floor during New Year is taboo as it means sweeping away the good fortune of the household.

A typical home would have on its wall red posters and cutouts depicting auspicious Chinese calligraphic words such as “good fortune”, “prosperity” and “good health”. Flowers and plants are also very important decorative accessories, the most popular plants are the “Kumquat” and “Peach Blossom”. Kumquat which resembles a small orange the size of a large olive has the Chinese words “gold and luck” in it and so is very auspicious, a symbol of abundance and happiness. Peach Blossom symbolizes growth, prosperity, long life and romance, and is particular favoured by singles in search of a soul mate and business owners in hope of making more money. In Hong Kong it has become an unofficial annual event for restaurants to compete for the honour of displaying the most beautiful “Peach Blossom Tree” at the entrance of their establishments, leading business owners to bid in the thousands of dollars to get their hand on the best tree, can be as tall as thirty feet high, from commercial growers.

Paper cutout always red in colour brightens Chinese homes in Hong Kong

Kumquat on sale at Victoria Park New Year “Flower Market” in Hong Kong

Chinese are very superstitious when it comes to colour. Red represents Good Luck and is extensively used on happy occasions such as Chinese New Year, wedding, graduation and arrival of a new baby. On New Year morning we all have to wake up earlier than usual, wear our best clothes often complemented with a red traditional Chinese jacket. The first words we say on New Year day when we see other members of the family and acquaintances, are “Kung Hei Fat Choy”, translates as “Congratulations on achieving prosperity”. This greeting is said respectfully with our two hands clasped into a ball close to our chest like when praying.

Next come the most exciting part for the children. Parents would hand to the kids small red envelopes containing lucky money known as “Lai See”. Lai See is presented with both hands and received with both hands, accompanied by a small bow of the head, as a sign of respect and good manner. Lai See is supposed to bring good luck and prosperity and ward off evil spirits.

Receiving “Lai See” by young girl in red traditional New Year dress.

The giving of “Lai See” brings a lot of joy to a lot of people at Chinese New Year. Children and unmarried persons no matter their age, eagerly look forward to receiving the red packet not only from the parents, but also from relatives, acquaintances and parent’s friends and colleagues. Unintentionally a competition of some sort comes into play among the children to see who would end up with the most money. The red envelope contains money which sum is typically even number and must not contain the number “Four” which sounds like the Chinese word for death. If you are married and you come face to face with children of relatives or friends, you are expected to give them a red packet. Else you would end up harshly embarrassed by the thought that people are gossiping behind your back as being a devil of a miser. In all reality some real misers would avoid such embarrassment by quickly switching direction and disappearing out of sight of incoming relatives and friends.

There are also other groups of people who look forward to Chinese New Year in order to receive a red packet and they are no children. We can count among others, employees receiving Lai See from the boss, waiters from the diners, garbage collectors from the landlords, butchers and vegetable sellers from the customers. After all they deserve it, don’t they!

At Chinese New Year it is traditional and respectful for people to personally pay a visit to other important and revered relatives, friends and colleagues at their place of residence to offer gifts and best wishes. Husband and wife may go together or either one alone. A child may plead to go along, and it is often allowed, as it is an opportunity for the kid to receive more lucky money.

Some people use this Chinese New Year tradition to suck up to their boss and people of position. The most common is where a low rank employee visits a superior to offer gifts and good wishes in the hope that he would receive favourable consideration when an important position is available at the office. Likewise owners of small business would bring gifts to senior staff of large corporations, so that they may be favoured with some future business contracts. To play the politic well, the visitor always tries to be the first in line at the host’s house, so that the event may be easily remembered and produce the desired effect. Interestingly the third day of New Year is a day to remain home so as to avoid encountering evil spirit on the streets, less visiting people on this day ends up in quarrel.

Every family would also make sure that they have lots of goodies in the house as a sign of prosperity and abundance. My mother used to make deep fried sesame balls made of flour and sweet potato, shrimp chips and deep fried pretzel shaped crispy crackers. They were stored in large glass jars to be enjoyed in the New Year but as a kid I could not resist sneaking into the room to get my hand on some beforehand.

My mother made delicious sweet chewy sesame balls for us at New Year

It is paramount that all members of the family gather together with parents and grandparents to have a “family reunion dinner” on the first day of New Year. Some filial sons and daughters even travel half way round the world, as necessary, just to be home for the dinner. The dishes at the table are carefully selected, dishes must carry names that sound propitious, such as oyster which sounds like “good thing” in Chinese. The black moss, a black hair like weed, sounds like “become rich”. Fish sounds like “surplus” of money. Round ball in soup sounds like “reunion”. New Year cake sounds like “year by year advancement”.

Paying homage and offering thanks to God during New Year is widely practised in Hong Kong. Most families would burn joss sticks at home, other more superstitious worshippers would go to their favourite temple, the most patronized being Wong Tai Sin Temple in Kowloon and Che Kung Temple in Shatin. Huge crowd, young and old, men and women, would be massing at the Temple door waiting for the stroke of midnight to race, with lighted joss sticks in their hand, to be the first to plant the stick incense at the altar. This way their prayer and wishes would reach heaven quicker.

Being first to plant your joss stick at the Altar at Wong Tai Sin Temple on New Year day ensures your prayer and wishes reach Heaven quicker, so they think.

In the Chinese calendar each year is dedicated to one of the 12 animals of the Zodiac, starting with the rat and finishing with the pig. Then the cycle repeats itself every twelve years.

The twelve animals of the Chinese Zodiac

One legend had it that a long time ago the Jade Emperor invited all the animals of the Kingdom to a meeting and decreed that the years on the calendar would be named for each animal in the order they arrived to the meeting. To reach the meeting place the animals had to cross a river.

The cat and the rat were poor swimmers but quite intelligent. They asked to ride on the back of the Ox who being naïve and good hearted, agreed. Half way the rat pushed the cat in the water, and nearing the river bank he jumped ashore to claim first spot on the Zodiac. The Ox took second place.

The tiger arrived next, explaining to the Emperor, that he had to fight the strong current of the river, but with his strength managed to get on shore and he secured the third place.

Then the rabbit arrived, boasting how he jumped from stone to stone, almost slipped but managed to grab a floating log to get on shore. He got the fourth place.

The dragon came in fifth place. The Emperor was curious as to how a swift flying dragon could be that late. The dragon explained that he had to stop and make rain for the people and creatures of the Earth due to a forest fire. Further close to finishing line, he saw the rabbit struggling on the log and he gave him a puff of his breath to get him to shore.

With a galloping sound the horse arrived, with the snake clung to its hoof. Startled with the sight of the snake, the horse fell back, giving the snake an advantage and sixth place and him the seventh.

The goat, the monkey and the rooster arrived as a group. They had mustered their resources together and worked as a team helping each other on the way. They got the eighth, ninth and tenth place respectively.

The dog arrived in eleventh place. The Emperor was perplexed as to why the dog, being the best swimmer, was so late. The dog explained that he needed a good bath after a long spell, while in reality he could not resist playing a little longer in the cool water of the river.

Just as the Emperor was about to declare the competition “close”, an oink and squeal was heard. The pig had arrived. He explained that he got hungry on the way, stopped for a feast and fell asleep. The last spot was awarded to him.

The cat never made it, having drowned, due to the foul play of the rat. The cat swore to chase the rat forever to get even with him.

1966 – Barely three months on the job at Harley Mullion, I submitted my resignation in July 1966. Not that I was unhappy with my work, not that I had secured a better or more satisfying job, but because I had received a letter. A letter that could change my life, my destiny. When I was in Mauritius and after completing the Cambridge Higher School Certificate (Form VII) , and like many other school graduates, I had sent in applications for scholarship for higher studies to a number of Institutions around the world, England, Canada, France, Ceylon (now known as Sri Lanka).

I was pretty good at drawing and I love geometry, the straight line and the curve line, the angle and the triangle, the square and rectangle. I often thought that I could be a successful architect, if my family had the financial resources to see me through higher education. My application to the Ceylon scholarship was for a draughtsman course, a fraction of architectural studies. Nonetheless I was satisfied.

I did not know anyone who had the good fortune of obtaining a scholarship and I did not pin my hope too much on this possibility. Then out of the blue, more than a year after my application, I received a letter from the Government of Ceylon offering me a scholarship for one year to study in Colombo. It seemed that the Ceylon Government had gone through the trouble of locating me in Hong Kong, I had not informed any of the Scholarship Institutions of my change of abode. This was a blessing and luck, I thought. I could have been shifted aside.

I was exhilarated with the news, oh my Lord… I was going to a new country to study for a year, all paid for. I must be a lucky person beyond imagination. I had some idea of Ceylon landscape, lush tropical rain forest, tigers and elephants, world famous tea plantation, fabulous temples, the bustling city of Colombo, and I kept picturing myself inside this landscape and dreaming of all the exotic places that I could visit and all the new people that I could meet, a natural fantasy of any young lad. Hence the reason for my resignation.

The Tranquility of the Ceylon landscape would have taken my breath away.

Buddhist Temple in Ceylon

The majestic tiger of Ceylon as I had imagined in 1966

Truthfully I was placed at a crossroad between staying in Hong Kong and accepting the Colombo scholarship. Would I miss Hong Kong, yes I would, but I did not blink. I would go. I was to leave in August that year, giving me a couple of weeks of free time to enjoy the rest of the stay. What my future would be as a result of this deviation, no one knew and I never bothered to attempt at a guess. Quite often people find themselves at a crossroad, and the path they choose would determine their future, their good fortune, their destiny. My life and destiny too would change completely if I had gone to Colombo, as it was a condition of the offer that I should return to my home country to work for at least one year. Returning back to Hong Kong after that seemed an improbability.

Then came the rain! I received a second letter from Colombo. Not a good news but not as disastrous as to deny me the scholarship. There had been an error in the attendance date made by the University Administration. School was to start way later in November, not in August. I had therefore to wait and linger for another three months. Three boring months without a job, without an income, without something to keep me occupied, I would be reckless. I struggled for a week, my mind could not stop debating, what should I do, wait patiently or give up the scholarship. For the first time I started to make an assessment of my future, would I really benefit from the scholarship. When I returned to Mauritius after the study were there career potential in draughtsmanship. Hong Kong was booming in the 1960’s, career prospects for people with good English language skill were enticing. Hong Kong was attracting foreign companies, European and American and more, to set up shop, open offices, open factories, my skills were in great demand. Mauritius, though a paradise island in itself, was comparatively a backwater to Hong Kong in terms of commerce, trade and economic activities. Hong Kong was on a different league. Further my friend Cyril and I had recently made acquaintance with a couple of beautiful Hong Kong office ladies, one destined to become my better half. Was this the final straw, I could not tell.

Mind set, I wrote back to Ceylon and respectfully renounced their offer. I guessed the second letter from Colombo had put me a second time on a crossroad in my life, and I liked to think that the second letter offset the first letter. I was back to where I was.

Moving forward I would find myself standing at many more crossroads in my life. Sometimes I would rewind and imagine that I had taken a different road and tried to envision the consequence or result of taking this alternate path. My parents believed that everything was written even before you were born. As a matter of fact my father had a soothsayer check the future of all the children as soon as we were born. The prediction was based on the time and date of birth and gender of the child, I still had mine written on a sheet of paper, now turning yellowish after almost three quarter century, written in pencil, and I have kept this piece of document till today. Many older Chinese also believe destiny is preset and I fervently believe it too. In some way when I have to choose a path, it is already written and predestined that I would take this path, there is no avoidance. In one of the Chinese Historical TV dramas that I have recently watched and enjoyed, and I have watched quite a handsome, I noted a saying which summed it all: Whatever path you choose is fine so long as at the end you have no regret.

This is my prediction written by a Soothsayer in 1946 with pencil on paper

Circa 1950. Chinese came to Mauritius as early as 1780’s, originally Cantonese from Canton and later overwhelmed by Hakka people from Meixian, a district North East of Guangdong. From Mauritius some of these early immigrants, compelled by a bleak survival prospect, spread out to the southern part of Africa, Madagascar, Reunion and Seychelles. These early Chinese were very business minded and the majority opened shops all over the island.

When I was three or four, my parents, as a matter of course, acquired a shop, a small corner store which the local people called: “La Boutique”, the French name for shop. It engaged in selling mainly daily necessities, such as rice, flour, oil, salt and sugar, spices, bread, fruit, canned goods, cigarette and wine. Then there was the “Magasin”, another name for store but a bigger, more prestigious establishment selling more expensive household items, such as fabrics and clothes, pots and pans, toys and decorative items, appliances and furniture. As a kid I had envied the children from the “Magasin” as they were visibly way better off than we children from the “La Boutique”.

A typical boutique in the 1960’s

A typical “Magasin” in the 1960’s

Most boutiques were located at the corner of two streets or roads. Ours was at the corner of Aleppo Street and another street which name I have forgotten and which had since been renamed. Our shop was a single story building, stone walls bordering the two streets, and wood structure within the house, the roof corrugated aluminum sheets. The shop was small, no more than two hundred square feet, with a smaller adjacent room for serving wine and liquor, a miniature “tavern”. Our residence, a one bedroom unit, was connected to the shop by a small door. The one bed room unit opened into an open space with a small makeshift kitchen cum bathroom. Close by the kitchen was a small area protected from the sun by a leaky tin roof and paved with uneven stones which was used as a dining space for the family. We had a small yard fenced by flimsy tin sheets and odd wooden planks. In the yard was a small stone basin built on the ground with a tap where we washed our dishes and clothes. The toilet was outside our yard and shared by the neighbours.

Our shop location was not ideal with little potential as the west side to the shop was mainly open field and forest with no inhabitants. As a small kid I often thought that we did not provide good customer service and therefore attracted less clientele, I had observed that other Chinese shops in the neighbourhood were doing brisk business but not us. My mother was exceedingly harsh, rude and confronting with some customers which in later years I understood why. The shop was run by my mother and my eldest brother who was then only fourteen or fifteen years old. I didn’t know why my father was not involved in the shop and instead he was working as a resident manager of a Chinese Business Club downtown. Could be he was not conversant in the local creole dialect. Without the presence of a male adult the security of the shop was not on solid ground as we were located in a poorer, somewhat remote, less educated neighbourhood. My mother, therefore, had to constantly project an image of “toughness” and a no-nonsense attitude towards exceedingly dominant troublemakers. Many a time I saw her swinging menacingly a huge Chinese cleaver towards misbehaving and unruly hooligans. It was all for show, no hurting meant. I also remember many a time drunk adults causing disturbance in our shop, breaking bottles and glasses, swearing and pushing, looking for a fight. Police was sometimes called but they did not response promptly or in time. This “going to happen again” scenario was not their priority. One time my second eldest brother, then fifteen or sixteen years old, took care of one threatening drunkard by quietly going behind him with a bottle in his hand and hitting him hard on the head. The message was delivered loud and clear and the antagonist with a bleeding head ran away and never to come back. I was proud of my brother.

A typical home in our neighbourhood in 1960’s

I remember spending a lot of time in the shop helping. I was then seven or eight, and I was pretty good at serving the customer, always polite and helpful and the customers liked me a lot. I was always generous when serving the customer, often I would give a little more in the portion, at this rate I could never be a successful businessman. I remembered all the names of the products that were on the shelves and their retail price. The neighbourhood was too poor to offer us the opportunity of making any decent profit for the effort put in. We were selling items that carried a very low retail value and very low profit margin. I often heard my mother sighing that it was a “one cent two cents” business and this was no exaggeration. The neighbourhood was incapable of buying our product in quantity and we had to split the product in tiny portion or unit. We had to sell cigarette per unit rather than by pack. Sardine was sold by piece and not by can. Butter was sold by the spoon and not by tin. Spices, a basic necessity for the local indigenous and Indian households, were divided in small portion and wrapped in pieces of newspaper in the shape of a small cone. Yet the shop had provided for the raising of a dozen siblings. My hat off to my mother and my brother.

Then one day a severe tropical cyclone hit the Island and I would witness many more in later years. It poured heavy with strong howling winds that destroyed or blew away many makeshift dwellings, leaving many inhabitants without a roof over their head. The Government quickly set up temporary shelters around town. The barren west side of our shop suddenly saw some building development and a large number of cyclone victims came to settle there. While the cyclone disrupted many lives, it was a blessing to us as our store became surrounded with new homes and new customers, and we were able to make a little more profit. One thing we did was to buy a refrigerator, an item that we could not afford before but which most other shops already had for a while. We were now able to provide much sought after cold drinks, Coca-Cola and Pepsi-Cola. We also made our own popsicle and our own best seller lemonade from “tamarind”, a sweet and sour fruit widely grown in the city. Our shop’s income and profit improved quite a bit. We were even able to build our own toilet within our private yard for our exclusive use, a much welcome addition to our home.

Damage done to a Church by cyclone in 1960’s

1966 – The building swayed a couple of feet under the tremendous force of the South Easterly Wind, and I felt a shiver ran down my spine, my heart poised to jump out of my chest. Yet I was on solid ground, the ninth floor of a ten stories concrete residential building. That whole morning had seen an unabated downpour of rain and a 150 kilometer per hour whistling gale force. This was my first encounter of a Hong Kong Typhoon.

Typhoon bending trees on the streets of Hong Kong

“Don’t worry Uncle,” said my nephew noticing my pale face and sensing my anxiety and fear, “all highrise buildings in Hong Kong are built this way, they are designed to sway a couple of feet when under attack by the typhoon. If the buildings are too stiff they may snap under the force.”

Many years later I read James Clavell’s novel “Noble House”. Therein was a scene of a landslide and a highrise collapse caused by a typhoon, killing many of the residents. The building collapse was not a fiction, there was an actual collapse of a residential building on Hong Kong mid-level Kotewall Road in 1972. Sixty seven people killed. I remember this well because an ex-colleague of mine was living there and he died as a result. Miraculously and blessingly, his wife and a small baby were spared death and rescued.

1972 Hong Kong Kotewall Road Disaster

Hong Kong had always been plagued by typhoons, so were Philippines and Taiwan. Most typhoons are formed and blown from the East and South-East across Taiwan or Philippines into Hong Kong, Macau and China Guangdong Province. Each year six or seven typhoons of different degree of severity hit Hong Kong, causing landslide, flooding, property destruction, sinking boats and death. A no-name typhoon in 1937 killed eleven thousand people and typhoon “Ruby” in 1964 killed seven hundred. Thanks God, today after painfully learning how to deal with this tragic misfortune, the casualty figure is insignificant, heart breaking no more.

For over 100 years a system of typhoon warning, with some alterations made in between, was in place in Hong Kong. Before the advent of modern communications, red balls were raised on flag poles located at strategic points around the Colony, the higher the number of red balls the closer the typhoon was to land. Even up to today where typhoon warning is only broadcasted via radio, television and internet, Hong Kong people still refer to the warning signal as “Wind Ball”. For example, they would say: “No. 8 Wind Ball has been hoisted”. The first warning, worth paying any attention, always started with the “No.3 Wind Ball”. If a further ball was added, all Government Agencies and Schools would close, except essential services such as police, fire halls and hospitals. Most of the private enterprises would also close and send their employees home. The transport system would continue to operate to clear up the crowd of commuters but it could stop at any minute depending on the approach of the typhoon. Some unscrupulous taxi and mini van drivers would not miss this opportunity to make an extra buck by overcharging their customers.

The only blessing of a typhoon to Hong Kong was, I trust, first it assisted in cleaning the many filthy streets and back alleys of the city, and second it dumped enormous amount of rain water into the reservoirs which during the dry season leveled off to create a water shortage crisis. Fourteen inch of rain could drop in 24 hours. So often people had to put up with restricted water supply to a couple of hours a day for weeks, or when people had to line up with plastic and tin buckets to get their fill from Government water trucks. I was however spared the inconvenience, as I had the good fortune of being able to go to my brother-in-law’s factory in Kwun Tong to take a shower, factories then were exempt from water restriction.

Hong Kong water shortage

The illegal Chinese immigrants, and there were ten to twenty thousands on any count, who lived in shacks on the hillsides of Kowloon and Hong Kong, made of tin and tar paper, bore the brunt of the misfortune. If they were lucky their abode would be destroyed, blown away. If unlucky they might loose someone dear, a child, a brother, a mother. Then the following day after counting the dead, they would come back to rebuild the flimsy structure.

Hong Kong Squatters Dwellings, inhabited mainly by illegal immigrants from China

The second most affected people would be the “Tanka” people who lived on their boats all their lives. Though they would, on receiving news of incoming typhoon, moor their boats in the sanctuary of Typhoon Shelter shielded by breakwater which the Government had built around the shores of the Colony, it was never a full proof measure. Boats still sank, people still drowned, ocean liner still grounded.

The “Tanka” people who lived all their lives on boats in the waters of Hong Kong

The rest of the populace was pretty safe except when some people were unable to get home in time and were exposed in the wet gusty streets of Hong Kong with thousands of threatening neon signs dangling over their heads, ready to snap and fall with a split of a second.

There was always a group of optimistic people who welcomed the typhoon. As most if not all workplaces were closed, it became a public holiday for the employees, no work with pay. What a way to take a break. Mahjong was a national pastime and what better opportunity was there for the family, locked up within four walls, to sit round the table and engage in this exciting noisy game. All around town the clacking sound of the mahjong tiles would be competing with the howling sound of the wind and the furious splashing rain on the window panes. If all the clacking sounds could be concentrated in one spot, you might not know that a typhoon was running wild outside. Many restaurants were specialist caterers, supplying the food and the venue, to diehard mahjong enthusiasts who would excitedly have made earlier arrangements with their favourite friends for a mahjong marathon which could run for 24 hours.

Mahjong a national pastime of the Hong Kong people

After the storm the tranquility. City workers would be promptly but nonchalantly cleaning the streets of debris, leaves, branches and falling trees, planting pots, neon signage, roof metal sheets, card board and sometimes an old air-conditioning unit. All souls back to work, back to school, back to routine, as if nothing had happened. The only impact the men and women on the street would feel and mumble for a little while, was the new price of vegetable and fish at their local market. The price now was doubled due to the devastation of farm produce and the immobility of fishing vessels.

Vegetable market in Hong Kong

1966 – One bright afternoon after work I took the office elevator in a hurry, walked to the Star Ferry to cross Victoria Harbour to Kowloon, eager to meet my friend at his place in Mongkok. It was the last day of the month and I had in my pocket a wad of banknotes, 200 Hong Kong dollars to be precise, my first pay.

Most salaries were paid monthly by way of cash. It was not common for employers to pay their employees by cheque or by direct deposit to their bank accounts. Besides most people did not even have a bank account. While the banks would readily open a savings account for anybody possessing an acceptable piece of identification, it was extremely difficult to open a chequing account. Having a chequing account was a privilege. To obtain one you would be required to complete an application form and provide detailed personal and sometimes sensitive information for the bank’s consideration and approval. The Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank was the strictest of all banks with an additional requirement that you provide the names of two of their existing chequing account holders who would vouch for your integrity. So on the last day of each month Banks were kept busy compiling banknotes of various denominations for companies to disburse their payroll, a routine that festered money bag snatching in the streets or in elevators as payroll staff left the bank premises.

Boarding the bus at the Kowloon Star Ferry Terminal was less of a hassle as there were railings for orderly queuing. As usual there were more passengers than the bus could accommodate and we were not concerned to be squished like sardines as long as we could reach our destination in a shorter time. As the bus speeded off, I felt a trace of sweat on my forehead from worrying about the pay money I had in my back pocket. I was very conscious of the severity of pick pocket trend in Hong Kong and I thought that I had two choices at that instance. First I could simply put my hand in my back pocket, hold and protect the notes. Second I could remove the notes from the back pocket and put them in the safety of my front pocket. I did neither because my conscience would not allow me to do such, according to my way of thinking, a “vulgar thing” as to suspect the people around me. Either of the actions would be tantamount to accusing these persons of dishonesty before the event had happened. My mind kept struggling along the trip, should I or should not I do something about my money. My conscience took the upper hand and I did nothing. To me, like under the law, a person is always innocent until proven guilty. To me all people are good people until proven otherwise. This was how I think then, this is how I think now, this is my philosophy, not necessarily a good one though.

The only decent way to protect my money, I decided, was to keep a close feel of any stranger’s hand that might linger around the pocket. I would catch them if they dare to try. “So far so good” I breathed. The bus stopped many times to let passengers off and to pick up new passengers, and with each stop the standing passengers were bumped, swayed and pushed, but all the time my mind was focused on my back pocket and its content. I did not feel anything suspicious, I did not feel any hand around my pockets, the money must be safe, so I trusted. When I alighted at my destination I immediately put my hand in my back pocket to check the money. Empty, my heart sank, the money gone. I was shocked, sad and disappointed to the point that tears were building inside my eyes. Then I accepted the fact that a lucky person that evening was having a sumptuous dinner at my expense, a lucky person had been paid a month salary without reporting for work. When I arrived home I told my brother-in-law and my sister of the incident, and I felt a bit silly and a bit ashamed of myself for being so easily tricked, so easily taken for a ride.

Throughout the years my wife had her fair share of poking fun at me in front of our children and friends over this incident, giggling at my clumsiness as if this could only happen to me and no one else. I might have felt a bit silly, but the repetitive reminders were beneficial, I believed, a small price to pay for an important lesson to remember in life. From there on I always took great care of my valuables, be it money, jewellery, important documents or my family. For the last fifty years I have travelled quite a bit, moved around quite a bit and I have never lost a cent.

1966 – My several job applications paid off a dividend. I received a letter from Harley Mullion to come for an interview. It was then not customary for the Personnel Department to telephone and summon you for an interview, but rather the appointment was scheduled by the Company and advised to me by way of a letter.
On the appointed day I tried to look my best, hair well groomed with the popular traditional Yardley green hair pomade that held, helped shape and added shine to my hair, Elvis style. I also wore a suit for the first time, light metallic grey, a colour that many car makers around the world use today for their cars. In Mauritius I never worn a suit, not even when I attended formal function such as wedding or funeral, a new long sleeve white shirt and a new pair of English wool pants were the norm.

Yardley English Lavender, an icon of a hair pomade in our youthful time

When I arrived in Hong Kong one of the things which my brother-in-law did was to order a pair of business suit for me, knowing full well that I would need them when the time came for a job interview. Good foresight, I could not be more grateful and thankful. He had summoned his personal tailor to our home and one evening he arrived, took my measurements, showed us a range of sample materials and colours and the price to choose from. I clueless and unfamiliar with local fashion and taste my brother-in-law and the eldest nephew made the decision for me. One week later the tailor came back with the skeleton suits, I put them on and with a tailor chalk he marked dots on the materials around my arm pits, shoulders, back and chest to ensure a proper fit. Another week passed and he was back with the finished suits, fitted perfectly.

The tailor working on the first fitting of a new suit

I took a bus from home at Waterloo Road, Kowloon, bus No. 7 it was. That morning I did not have to fight to get on the bus as it was past peak time. Other times it would have been the survival of the fittest, Hong Kong commuters were not in the habit of lining up and they were always in a hurry. As soon as the bus was spotted from afar the waiting passengers prepared to pounce as if they were on their mark for a 100 metre race. Barely the bus had stopped than the crowd was swarming in front of the door, blocking every inch of free space, the alighting passengers fighting their way out. The ride was straight forward, only half an hour off peak, down Waterloo Road, left turn on Nathan Road and right turn on Salisbury Road to the “Star Ferry” in Tsim Sha Tsui. From here a short ferry ride to Hong Kong Island, Central District, the business centre of Hong Kong

Bus No. 7 took me from Waterloo Road to Star Ferry

The “Star Ferry” is famous all over the world, rated “Top 10 Most Exciting Ferry Rides” by the Society of American Travel Writers in 2009. The iconic look of the ferry always painted “white and green” has never changed for over a century. Before the advent of the Cross Harbour Tunnel which opened in 1972, the only way to cross to Hong Kong Island from Kowloon was by way of ferry services or “sampan”, a small relatively flat bottom wooden boat operated by the local fishermen. There were then also large ferries which carried vehicles across. Most of the ferry lines were discontinued but the Star Ferry still runs as it has been doing for over 100 years. When the service was first introduced, the ships were moored by having a sailor on the vessel toss a rope to another on the pier, who would then catch it with a long billhook. This is still done today a century later. Once off the ferry, it was an easy 10 minutes walk to the office of Harley Mullion.

A sailor on the ferry throws a rope to another on the pier who catches it with a billhook, a procedure unchanged for over a century

The iconic look of the ferry, always painted white and green, unchanged for over a century

Harley Mullion was a branch office of Harley Mullion, London, England, a ship brokerage firm with a good reputation. The branch office, incorporated in Hong Kong in 1957, was not huge, there were only two or three Expatriate Staff and a handful of local staff. I recently made some research and learned that the Hong Kong Company was dissolved in 1990, the London Headquarter however seemed to be still in operation.
I could not remember the interview process but since I got the job I believed that I should have impressed the interviewer. It was a clerical entry level job, not much skill or credentials were necessary apart from a good knowledge of spoken and written English, something which we as Mauritians were better equipped than the local English educated counterparts.

Hong Kong Central District shoreline in the 1960’s

Central District, the business hub of Hong Kong today, a far cry from the 1960’s scene

My monthly salary was Hong Kong dollars 200 which was probably equivalent to what I was earning earlier at the Ministry of Finance in Mauritius. A happy man I was.

The job was fairly straight forward and after a couple of days I became proficient in the routine which involved receiving and despatching telex messages to various parties namely the Harley Mullion Headquarter, the sellers and buyers of vessels, ship owners, charterers and shipping related organizations. My responsibility also entailed keeping tracks of all correspondences pertaining to a particular ship including its location on the high seas, until it was sold and the file closed.

Each Expat had his own portfolio of customers, those with ships to sell and those looking to buy ships, as well as those who were looking to charter a vessel. Our brokers had access to a wide list of ships from all over the world which were on the market either for sale or for charter.

This could very well be a ship which Harley Mullion would be brokering in the 1960’s

Unlike buying a car where the buyer takes possession of the vehicle as soon as he pays the seller, ship brokerage is transacted differently. Most of the ships for sale are not anchored at the dock where you can go and take possession of them, but rather they are running somewhere on the high seas with cargo to be delivered to destinations thousands of miles from home. So, more often than not, ownership of a vessel changes hand when the ship is in the middle of a voyage far from shore, a new flag designating the new residency of the vessel also replaces the old flag on high seas.

1966 – Now landed in Hong Kong and mesmerized by the highrise buildings, the wide roads, the neon lights, the crowd that never dissipated and the incessant diffusion of Cantonese Opera, it was time to wake up and face the world. I needed to look for a job. Talking about opera, my sister, so did most residents along the streets, always turned on their radio every afternoon to listen to Cantonese opera. After bombarded daily by the broadcast one either went cuckoo or started to appreciate it. Fortunately I fell into the later. Inexplicably the TV at home was never turned on in the afternoon. It was only switched on after dinner when the whole family sat in the living room watching the one and a half hour popular variety show “Enjoy Yourself Tonight” which had a 27 years run. I did not know if the home TV was banned for the afternoon, a directive of my brother-in-law to keep my young nephews and nieces in check, or simply because there were no suitable programs to watch during the day.

Cantonese Opera was broadcasted over the radio every day all over town. You could see live show performed regularly at local theatres

I was lucky to have accommodation at my brother-in-law’s home. It was a very large flat by local standard, 2000 square feet of living space, master-en-suite plus three bedrooms, a second bath, a dining room, a spacious living room plus kitchen with attached servant’s quarter. The floor plan was well designed and functional. The main door opened into a long corridor leading to the living room, on the right were two bedrooms with a shared bath followed by the master-en-suite in tandem, on the left was the kitchen, the dining room and the third bedroom. The servant quarter was out of sight hidden behind the kitchen.

The main door was solid wood with a peephole with double locks and further protected by a metal gate. On the left side wall of the entrance at eye level sat a plastic sign with the name of my brother-in-law and the flat address. Pretty cool I thought. Access to the flats was by way of two elevators installed side by side, one serving the even number floors and the other the odd number floors. The elevators were rather tiny, accommodating maximum 4 adults. We had to pull open a heavy metal door with a small elongated glass window to enter into the elevator, then drew close a wooden/metal retractable grill gate before we pressed the round black buttons to the desired floors. We lived on the ninth floor just below the top floor. Security was of paramount importance in that era due to the large influx of illegal immigrants from mainland China who were eyed as a threat to the safety of the neighbourhood. Many of these immigrants had swam across shark infested water to reach Hong Kong. For every one who made it who knew how many perished. Every residential tower then, if the owners were agreeable and willing to spend the money, had a 24 hour concierge who checked on any stranger trying to enter or leave the building.

Elevator in the 1960’s with collapsible gate that we drew to close and open, with clanking sounds

My other two travel companions were less lucky in finding accommodation. One I remember had to temporarily sleep on the bunker bed vacated by his uncle in a shared crowded flat in busy bustling Mongkok. The other had to share a room in a flat situated in a less desirable area of Yau Ma Tei

For several mornings after breakfast prepared by the maid I would walk from Waterloo Road to Mongkok , a nice fifteen minutes walk, where all the people of Kowloon seemed to flock to. Mongkok was the main business centre for Kowloon, just as Central District was for Hong Kong Island. Mongkok was acknowledged as the busiest district in the World by The Guinness World Records, with a population density of 340,000 per square mile (Wikipedia Quoted), a fact hard to comprehend, hard to digest, hard to believe. To put this in perspective, The Hong Kong Government from 1968 to 1978 built the Wah Fu Estate Public Housing consisting of 18 residential blocks on 9 hectares of land accommodating 50,000 people. One square mile has 259 hectares, you do the math. Another private housing estate, the largest in the world then, built around the same time, Mei Foo has 99 towers shoulder to shoulder and back to back on 16 hectares of land accommodating 80,000 people. Both Wah Fu and Mei Foo are still thriving communities today. Simply mind boggling.

Mongkok in the 1960’s

Mongkok at night 2010’s, the most densely populated district in the world per Guinness World Records.

Wah Fu Estate Public Housing built on 9 hectares of land, accommodating 50,000 residents

Mei Foo Estate Private Housing in 1970’s built on 16 hectares of land, accommodation 80,000

My brother-in-law ran an Import/Export Company on the third floor of the Hongkong and Shanghai Bank Building at the corner of Nathan Road and Argyle Street. The Hongkong and Shanghai Bank’s Mongkok office was the most important branch after the Head Office which was located in Central District on Hong Kong Island. This Bank had since grown by leap and bound, locally and internationally. Today it is known as HSBC around the world ranking in the top five.

The Bank building was built in 1954 in grand Colonial Style, eight stories high. Though it had elevators I always walked up the stairs, hating the wait, which for a young lad like me was no sweat. The Import/Export office was around 1,000 square feet, pretty much open plan, with a small room at the end separated from the rest by wooden and glass panels, my brother-in-law’s office. There were four or five working desks each with its own manual Remington typewriter. I was introduced to Mr. Chan the Manager. He was in his fifties and the only person in the Company with a good command of English, the rest could hardly read or write a single English word, including my brother-in-law.

The Head Office of Hongkong and Shanghai Bank Building in 1960’s, today known as HSBC

Mr. Chan was very polite as he should be by custom towards a relative of the boss. He directed me to an empty desk and handed me a copy of that day’s South China Morning Post, the most important and influential English newspaper in Hong Kong. The other English newspaper was The Hong Kong Standard which was quite a tad behind in term of prestige and popularity. Both newspapers are still selling in Hong Kong today. Mr. Chan said “Please check the Job postings and apply for the jobs that seem most suitable and promising to you”. After I had typed my job letters my brother-in-law would ask Mr. Chan if he could be kind enough to review them for me and to suggest any changes that should be made. Fortunately my letters were quite well written, so I believed, as I had some previous experience in writing job application letters when I was looking for my first job in Mauritius. Besides I suspected that Mr. Chan considered my knowledge of English superior to his and he would probably feel uneasy to correct me. The mailing of my job letters was taken care of by the “messenger”, that was the office boy whose duties were to take care of odds and ends in the office and running errands for the staff.

In the afternoon there was not much to do and I would go to see my other two Mauritian friends, to check on one another’s progress and walk the streets of Mongkok.

1966 – Every Sunday like most Hong Kong families my brother-in-law would take us to Dim Sum. While western people say “let’s go dim sum” Chinese people say “let’s go Yum Cha”. Yum Cha literally means Drink Tea but is in fact going for dim sum. In Mauritius my family never went to dim sum which was something very luxurious and unaffordable for us. Occasionally once or twice a year though my eldest brother-in-law would bring us take-away dim sum purchased at one of the only two or three Chinese dim sum restaurants in the city, run by Cantonese families. Mainly barbecue pork buns, crispy roast pork and spring rolls.

In Hong Kong however dim sum was and is still a way of life. Families poor or rich would go Yum Cha every week if not more frequently. There were cheap places for dim sum like Tai Pai Tong, street stalls, or more expensive places like restaurants and hotels. The choice was wide. To get a table on Saturdays and Sundays was a challenge. The restaurants were always full and it was not unusual if some guests had to wait in line for an hour or two. Some smart folks however would send one or two members of the family well ahead of time to try to secure a table. Once a table was offered, they would sit there shuffling through stacks of newspaper and waiting for the rest of the family to appear. Another way to secure a table was to look out for a table where the guests appeared to be nearing the end of their meal and a member or two would stand close to the table, a sign to the whole world, that they were in line for the table as soon as it was vacated. Quite often though the choice for the table was wrong as the sitting guests refused to budge even after the full meal, they would remain seated and chat non-stop oblivious of the waiting people standing by their side.

The good thing about going for dim sum was that it got all the members of the family and sometimes friends together, and the gathering nurtured filial development, goodwill, friendship and closeness. It was a good two or three hours of quality time, family communication at its best, each member had something to say or brag about, each one shouting as loud as possible lest their voice was swallowed by the yet louder shouts coming from all the tables in the large dining hall. It was mayhem man but much satisfaction was derived there.

Most of the dim sum were wheeled to us in a cart by middle aged women, shouting the names of the dishes they were carrying. Every member at the table had a say as to the choice of dishes. Once a consensus was achieved we would signal to the women and she would place the dishes on our table. Most dim sum were served in small round bamboo baskets freshly steamed and brought out from the steaming wok in the kitchen. Delicious they were. Hong Kong people loved their exotic dim sum which included stewed chicken feet, deep fried pork intestine, chewy steamed curried octopus.

Dim Sum is wheeled to the guests on cart. The guests choose and order.

Stewed Chicken Feet Dimsum

Deep Fried Pork Intestine

Curried Octopus

Before we started nipping at our delicacies we would all raise our tea cup and yelled in unison “Everybody Yum Cha”. For more formal and extremely traditional families, the young siblings might have to raise their tea cup to the Seniors present, grandpa, grandma, uncle, auntie, and reverently say: “Yeh Yeh Yum Cha”, “Po Po Yum Cha”, “Sook Sook Yum Cha”, “Ah Soh Yum Cha”.

Bowls, chopsticks and spoons did not always arrive spot clean. A trough of boiling hot water was often brought to the table or you might have to ask for it, to wash your bowl, chopstick and spoon. Sooth your peace of mind.

Tea, besides the dim sum dishes, was the main focus of the Yum Cha experience. Tea was traditionally served in porcelain teapot and not metal pot. The waiter always asked “What type of tea you would like guys”. Several preferences would be uttered from the family members, some liked Oolong, some Jasmine, some Pu-erh. A consensus would be reached, leading to the order of one or two types of tea. Needless to say tea was poured and sipped continuously throughout the meal. In some restaurants waiters with big usually charcoal black metal kettle of hot boiling water roamed the hall and refilled the guests’ empty tea pot. In other restaurants you might have to signal the waiter for refill. To make things easy for everybody the guests usually removed the lid from the tea pot as a tacit message to the waiter for refill. Removing the lid from the teapot for hot water refill had its own folklore. The story went that centuries ago a poor beggar wanted to go dim sum but had no money. So he placed a small bird inside the teapot. The waiter came, removed the lid and poured boiling water in the teapot. By doing so the waiter killed the bird, it was his fault and the shop had to compensate the beggar with free lunch. Since then lid not removed no refill.

Server with large kettle of hot water refills guest’s empty teapot

When going for Yum Cha there is certain etiquette to follow. Before pouring tea for yourself it is good manner to first pour tea to other members sitting around the table, even at the expense of having to get up to reach the person across the table. Some lazy people would stay put and wait for other guest to initiate the routine, even though their cup is empty and they have an urge for more tea. To the person on your right use your left hand to pour tea and the person on your left your right hand. The person you are pouring tea to has to acknowledge your effort and say thank you. More often than not, because either the person is busy in deep conversation or his/her mouth is full, he/she would simply acknowledge by tapping gently on the table the bent index finger if you are single, or the index and the middle fingers if you are married, which symbolises the gesture of bowing. The story went that Emperor QianLong while travelling incognito outside the Forbidden City with his entourage happened to go Yum Cha in a local tea shop. He was serving tea to his subjects, an honour which required a kowtow to the Emperor. So as not to reveal the identity of the Emperor, the subjects tapped their middle and index fingers as a gesture of Kowtow.

Finger tapping as a tacit way to say Thank You

No paper records were kept of our order but we had to keep all the bamboo baskets and dishes stacked in a corner of the table which the waiter would count and charge us accordingly when we were ready to leave. Sometimes whether it was out of greed or just to show their audacity, some families would hide some of the bamboo baskets under the table or sneak them on to the next unattended table, these would be free dishes. The higher the bamboo baskets were stacked the more satisfying and prestigious the family would feel, able to afford such a large meal.

Stacked Dim Sum, the higher the more prestigious, proud and happy the guests feel.

The bill was always footed by my brother in law as he was the most senior member of the family and the one with the money. For families with adult son and daughter the bill might be shared among the adult siblings as a filial gesture towards the parents.

After dim sum everyone would be in high spirit. The family would disperse, younger ones leaving with their parents, older ones having their own free time to go meet their friends, shopping or simply walk the busy streets of Hong Kong.

I recently made a trip to Hong Kong, the last one was four years ago. Things have changed quite a bit, particularly in the number of new high rise buildings being built, new bridges, new flyovers. China has taken over other countries as the top spot for visitors into Hong Kong for several years now, yet people told me that Chinese visitors to Hong Kong have recently dropped in favour of Japan and Korea. Hong Kong getting too expensive compared to its neighbouring Asian countries.

One afternoon I was sitting on a road fence under the Canal Road Bridge in Causeway Bay, watching with intense curiosity at an old lady sitting on a small stool on the pavement. She was busy and diligently hitting a piece of paper with an old lady’s slipper on a brick block, mumbling quite noisily and continuously as nuns would usually do in a Buddhist Temple. The scene was familiar to me as I had seen this activity known as “Villain Hitting” some fifty years ago at the same location. The old lady was a sort of “voodoo” whom the older generation women would pay a visit whenever they had a grudge against someone, be it their boss, their colleagues, their in-laws. What they had to do was to tell the old lady the name of the person they had a grudge with as well as some other pertinent information such as the person’s age, gender, place of work. The information was written on a piece of paper and the old lady would invoke some cursing words and then hit the paper with a slipper until the paper was almost shredded apart. This was supposed to inflict to the foe a curse bringing him or her bad luck, an illness, a demotion or loss of job. What a way to take revenge.

A “Voodoo” lady hard at work under the Canal Bridge Causeway Bay Hong Kong

What was different now and then was that in the past it was the older people who would seek this service. This time I saw more of the younger generation, young professional, pretty and modernly dressed office workers. Amazing that this traditional very Chinese superstitious belief still holds good today.

While I was sitting on the fence pondering how badly the proponent wanted revenge, a petite old lady dressed in a very traditional black shirt and pants, typical of a common poor woman in Hong Kong sat next to me.

A typical old lady in Hong Kong

“Oh my back hurts” she said. Her face was all wrinkled, very tanned from a very long time under the harsh sun and her hands coarse from hard work. She seemed eager to vent her feelings to anybody who was willing to listen.

“My back only started to hurt this year” she continued. “ I was fine last year. I have been to the Ruttonjee Hospital several times and the doctor had prescribed three injections but it did not help”. Her doctor had told her that her joints were deteriorating from old age and little could be done about it. She sighed that she had to cook dinner daily, a tiresome chore, cutting up and cleaning the fish and preparing other dishes, it was hard work. It took a couple of hours to complete the dishes as she had to take three or four breaks in between due to the back pain. She looked at my hands and said “your hands are very smooth” despite that I was near seventy. “Look at my hands, they are all wrinkled and coarse”

She told me that she was 86 years old and had no education because then born in a Toisan family, girls were denied education, only boys got to go to school. She was forced to marry at an early age to a poor coolie, and had to live in a bunker bed. She had 8 children and was disappointed that none of the children were filial as in the old days when children looked after the elders. She was particularly disappointed at the last three siblings who were given good education and care when they were young. “One son has done very well, after graduating from secondary school, he works as a nurse in a hospital. He is smart and has climbed up the rank to a high position earning great income. But he never gives me a cent. All the children only want to squeeze money from me” she sighed.

She lived in a flat not far from Time Square, a very popular and busy spot for tourists. A realtor once came to offer to buy her unit for over HK$8 millions, that is just over one million U.S. dollars. But due to some circumstances the deal did not proceed. She was disappointed not being able to cash in. I consoled her and said it was alright as she needed a roof over her head. She then revealed ”I have another smaller flat in Kowloon. I had wished to cash in on the Causeway Bay unit and move to the Kowloon flat. With cash in hand I would feel more secured.” Her children often tried to get her to transfer title of the apartments to them but she had refused. “That’s the smart thing to do” I said. Once the title was transferred she would not have any place to call home and likely she would be abandoned by the children. I was perplexed as to how a poor couple some seventy years ago who could not even afford to rent a modest room on their wedding day managed to accumulate such great assets. It must have been none but hard work on both husband and wife, extreme sacrifices and an iron will to save for a better future for them and their children. A lot of sweat a lot of pain.

Hong Kong Time Square in Causeway Bay, one of the busiest spot for shopping, food, entertainments

It is sad that society has changed so much, family values deteriorated, children turning un-filial greedy and selfish, old people left unloved, mistreated and rejected.

If I had an opportunity I would have liked to advise her that given her assets, she would be able to live a comfortable life, without having to work so hard. She would be able to afford a maid to take care of cooking, cleaning, household, as well as looking after her. I would have loved to be able to guide her in achieving a nice comfortable life. But I did not have that chance. Too bad that all her children were too occupied with eyeing her money that she was left lonely and unloved.

I was born a Hakka which is part of the Han Chinese People. Both my mother and father were from Meixien of the Meizhou Prefecture in the North East of Guangdong Province. Hakka people are scattered all over southern China namely Guangdong, Jiangxi, Sichuan, Hunan, Guangxi and as a result of the different environments a large variety of Hakka dialect was developed. Many of these dialects are not mutually intelligible. Meizhou is however considered home for the prestige Hakka dialect.

Location of Meizhou China, home of Hakka People

The original Hakka people were believed to have come from Northern China but due to social unrest, upheavals and invasions had started migration to the South as early as 220 BC. Hakka literally translates as “Guest Family”. Being aliens to the Southern populace, Hakka people were considered as guests.

Today Hakka people can be found all over the world – Asia, India, Europe, North America, South America, Africa, The Caribbean and more.

Many of the well known world personalities were Hakka such as:
Lee Kwan-Yew, Founding Prime Minister of Singapore
Lee Teng-Hui, Former President of Taiwan
Deng Xiaoping, Former President of China
Chow Yun-Fat, Famous Hong Kong movie star
Michael Chang, Former U.S. Tennis Professional

Farming and cultivation had been the traditional occupations of the Hakka families from Imperial times until the 1970’s. While the men sought labouring jobs in the towns and cities, Hakka women tended the fields and looked after the household. Hakka woman life was therefore very hard and in ancient times other ethnic Chinese were reluctant to have their daughters marry into a Hakka family.

Typical Hakka Ladies up to as far as 1970’s

Hakka people are famous for their “Tulou” houses which are like fortified villages. Because of war and conflict, the Hakka people since the 12th century built massive structures that could not only stave off intruders but also formed amazing self sustaining micro-communities complete with food storage, space for livestock, living quarters, temples, armories and more.

Tulou houses are essentially fortresses built either in square or round shapes. Structures typically had only one entrance way and no windows at ground levels. Built either from strong bricks or more commonly rammed earth, the walls are up to six feet thick and are three to four stories in height. A Tulou could cover 430,000 square feet and accommodate two to three hundred families. Today Tulou structures could still be found in some part of China namely Fujian Province.

A Tulou Hakka House Fortress like which can accommodate 200 to 300 families

A combination of round and square Tulou Hakka House

Inside a Hakka Tulou House

Apart from the Hakka dialect there are a large number of other Chinese dialects which are not mutually intelligible. The most commonly spoken and official language in China is Mandarin, while Shanghainese, Cantonese, Hokkienese are also widely spoken provincially.

When I was growing up in Mauritius there was a small number of Cantonese Chinese families while most other Chinese families were Hakka. As kids we always had a great laugh when we heard our Cantonese friends spoke among themselves. It sounded like Chinese opera singing. I am sure Cantonese kids also had to hold on their bellies laughing when they heard Hakka people spoke.