A WORD WITH IGNATIUS STEPHEN

Bandar Seri Begawan - I saw her passing by that day. And the day before. In fact, for several days in a row now.

Each time she would linger by outside, She could not decide it seemed. But at last when she made up her mind, she walked resolutely and settled in with ease.

“Coffee, please,” she said. “Black and strong.”

I glanced at her. Despite her apparent self assurance she had a look of something nearing despair. But I could be wrong. Perhaps that was the way she always was. But it was her eyes.

She was young and good looking and dressed simply. Yet I failed to understand her demeanor.

She sipped her drink slowly, draining it to the last drop, paid and then left, without even a nod’ or a glance. A cool cat no doubt

The next day she came again. This time she was more confident. Marching in she took her chair as if it had belonged to her always.

What’s more she threw me a friendly glance as if acknowledging a very old friend or at least an acquaintance. Surprise, surprise.

As she got down to her usual coffee, she called me over. I thought it was the brew. May be something had gone wrong.

No, it wasn’t. Coffee was alright. She apparently wanted to talk to somebody.

“Probably you are wondering who I am,” she said after we had exchanged the usual preliminaries. “Do you think I am a little strange?

Put it that way how would anyone answer that question. You hardly knew her. In fact, a complete stranger.

Of course, you try to protest. “Oh no, no. I don’t think you are strange at all,” you try to declare. All men are cowards. Lying and hypocrisy are the essence of politeness. Yes, of course, she was strange.

She chose to ignore my false protestations. “Yes, I am more than a little strange. But I am not yet mad as some people seem to think,” she said.

I held my tongue. But, of course, I became very curious.

“You see I am looking for love,” she said. Then she noticed my look of surprise. You don’t look for love in a cafe.

But she corrected herself quickly. “I am looking for the man I love,” she said.

Well, that was better. It made sense. May be it was one the regular customers she was looking out for.

I could not help asking her the next question. “Do you plan to meet him here?”

“No,” she replied.

“Then why do you look for him here”

“I don’t know. But if I find him I want to kill him,” she said. Her .look was intense.

There was little doubt that she would do just that. Her blazing eyes became even more luminous.

It appeared that as the story emerged that she was a lass from Labi, a little village in Ulu Belait.

She had met this foreigner who was doing timber logging business near her kampong. They were lovers for eight years. But the business folded up and man returned to his country promising to come back. He never did.

That was three years ago. She had waited. She had lately taken to roaming about looking for him. Sometimes who would go to the airport hoping he would be, in the next plane.

“Why don’t you give him up?” I asked.

“I cannot. He was my first love,” she said.

I felt sorry for her. But this is not the first time I had heard similar heart-break tales from Bruneian girls. I realized that no one could help her but herself.

Love has many faces.

Many of them cruel.

And utterly so.

But you Bruneian girls must have the courage to pick up the pieces and get on with your life.

But, sad to say, I never saw this lass, from Labi again.

Ever.

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Bandar Seri Begawan - The man was clearly worried. His thoughts seemed far away as he gazed out of the glass frontage. Now and then a young student staggered past with a heavy burden of numerous schoolbooks strapped on the back. That sight, it appeared, made him even more depressed.

“Why are you so troubled today?” asked his friend who joined him. Normally, he was a cheerful person, lively and full of humour. But not today.

Now, however, he seemed crestfallen and anxious. “What is the matter?” asked some others, who came to join him for the daily usual afternoon tea.

The man was well past retirement age and in his time, as a useful civil servant, had served the nation well in various capacities. And he loved his country fervently. Therefore, he was becoming ever more concerned about the future.

His own three grandchildren have found it hard to get work. His first grandson, educated in a Western country as an engineer, got a job after quite some time.

His granddaughter, who finished architecture in Singapore, too was employed eventually. But his youngest grandchild, who had graduated from the Arabic institution, had been without success, looking for work despite the good grades. Job opportunities were, unfortunately, virtually non-existent.

He had tried to use his influence to get the young man work. But for the moment it was useless. That was the thing that made him so distressed this afternoon.

“How could we help these youngsters like my grandson, who are relentlessly pouring out of our schools and colleges each and every year?” he questioned the others in his continued gloom.

Apparently, his friends too had their stock of sorry tales to tell.

One person who was his former college mate - and now retired like him - joined in. “Only last year,” he said, “there were 70 graduates fresh out of an Arabic college here. Many of these people have been unsuccessful in job hunting for some time now.”

“And if you multiply that by 10 you will have 700 jobless people or, even more over a period of time from one school alone. But then what about the universities?” pointed out a younger man, who had just come in.

“If that happens in the long term, it could present a nightmare scenario without doubt. It doesn’t take any stretch of imagination to figure out what would happen if these people continue to roam about town without the prospect of a job,” his friend commented.

“They would eventually reach the height of despair. That, certainly, would not be a welcome prospect,” he added.

A young woman who came in said, “Maybe there is some mismatch in our educational system. It is a worldwide problem. But in Brunei, it could have even more serious consequences.”

“Yes, I agree. We have no large industries to absorb the school leavers and our business is facing a continuing downward spiral. How many local graduates could they take in?” asked another thoughtful woman.

“Moreover what can we do with our Arabic school and college leavers? All of them cannot be teachers. Those from other institutions could, perhaps, find jobs overseas. .

“But let’s be honest. These Islamic graduate guys are going to find things tough in the job market here or overseas,” remarked the young lady who was, as usual, rather candid in her views.

“Yes, that’s true. The output from these institutions will have to be job friendly. It should fit market demands.

“How are we going to do that? That is up to our, planners to give some very serious thought,” added the retired gentleman.

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“We got to get rid of it”

The man looked frustrated. He raised his voice. It was, no doubt, a subject he felt strongly about.

“Got to get rid of what?” the pretty young lady asked. She had not been listening to the conversation up to now that morning, not until his tone went up a decibel or two.

But the man chose to ignore her. However, he soon became quite worked up in the process nevertheless.

“Most of us have no class at all. We go for the lowest common denominator. A good many of us are, I am sorry to say, a bunch of cheapskates,” he said.

The young woman, unable to suppress her curiosity asked again, “What do you mean?”

“Our ‘Nasi Katok’ mentality, I mean,” he burst out at last. “We have got to get rid of it. And fast. We go for the cheapest of the cheap. For us quality is the last thing.

The man looked about him in disgust. “We’ve to start thinking differently from now on. We will have to upgrade if we are to save ourselves from this ever recurring rut.”

“Tell us more,” urged the young lady.

“Well, I will give you an example. When tenders are called, we have the temptation to award them to the lowest bidder.

“The result: important jobs get abandoned midway because the contractor was a little too optimistic.

“His bid had no relation to reality. He underbid and he got the j ob but could not perform in the end.

“Our national projects get half or quarter way done. The abandoned work invariably had to be re-tendered. It costs time and much more money and the country suffers a serious setback. “

The man was furious. “That is what I call our ‘Nasi Katok’ mentality. We practise it and we encourage it.”

Others round the table became really interested. They realised it was an alarming prospect. It was happening over and over again now right under their nose.

“Don’t they take a qualified consultant’s recommendations into consideration when awards are made?” the young woman, who was warming up to the subject asked.

“Yes, sometimes they do, and at other times, for whatever reason, they apparently don’t,” the man replied. “Generally the ‘Nasi Katok’ mentality prevails. Go for the lowest.”

His friends sipping coffee were amazed for the most part.

“But, if it is merely to pick the lowest tender, do you need a tender board? My seven-year-old child could pick the lowest price,” suggested a middle-aged lady sitting next. “You don’t have to waste so much time on that.”

And, another friend joked, “It is a good pastime for most. Board members could spend many pleasant hours drinking gallons of coffee and putting down quantities of cakes and gossiping. Picking the lowest number is such hard work.”

Some friends laughed at this. Stories of long meetings whereby very little was ever achieved or decisions taken were familiar to many.

But, wait. There was someone who thought differently.

It was a retired official who generally seemed to have the latest inside information about the secret workings of the tender board.

“I beg to differ,” said the ex-official who had maintained silence so far was speaking. “I have some good news for you.”

His remarks, it seemed, were particularly aimed at the man who was so worked at the start.

Everyone looked at the speaker. No one spoke.

“Yes, I am happy to say, there has apparently been a slow but drastic change,” the former official said quietly.

“What do you mean?” the young lady asked. The ex-official slowly broke the news.

“Well,” he said, adding that it was apparently the case of ‘once bitten twice shy’.

“There had been too many jobs abandoned because of erroneous quotations finding favour with the tender board,” he said.

“Nowadays generally the lowest bid does not automatically get the job. A more realistic assessment seems to come into the picture… this, I am glad to tell you,

But despite what they had just heard, many in the group were reluctant to accept it.

“Could it be true?” someone asked.

“Well, I will believe it when I see it,” said one.

“Me, too,” added the sweet young thing before she rose to go.

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Bandar Seri Begawan - Sometimes when I hear in my travels Brunei Darussalam being praised so highly, I cannot help but feel a tinge of deep embarrassment.

I would look at the speaker. He, or for that matter, she, is somewhat starry-eyed and most certainly had never visited the country.

“Oh, no, Brunei’s streets are not paved with gold.

“No, no, not everyone in Brunei is outrageously rich. “It’s not true that all of us drive very big, fancy luxury cars. No … no …no…”

But it is no use at all. Most of the time my denials and protestations are mistakenly taken to be displays of modesty only serving to intensify the glorious image that person had falsely cooked up in his mind.

However, I get tired of that after a while. Nowadays I just move on leaving the guy to enjoy his grand delusions or change the subject politely and as quickly as possible.

But this time it was different.

This guy was a taxi driver I met in Kuala Lumpur. After some casual conversation, which I always enjoy with local cabbies, because they are usually the best source of entertaining gossip, he asked: “You from Singapore, Sir?”

“No, Brunei,” I replied.

“Ah, life must be good over there,” he remarked.

“Oops! Not another one” I thought to myself. “Here we go again.”

But this time I was mistaken. Because ‘I was in for a surprise.

“I was working in Brunei 25 years ago,” the taxi driver said.

I had not expected that. I glanced at the man. There was no doubt that he was in a mood to reminisce. His eyes went dreamy as if recollecting some pleasant experience. Now and then a troubled memory clouded his face momentarily.

He was a serious-looking man in his 50s and a little plump. He had deep scars running down his cheeks. He kept his eyes straight ahead butt he would glance at me now and then as he talked.

“Yes, I was very young then and worked as a salesman in Gadong. There I met a girl from Limbang and later we married.

“Those were good times. Life was so easy. I managed to buy my first car after working for only three months.

“I was happy. I drove everywhere in my car. It was so convenient,” he said.

But then he paused a little as he recalled a horrendous experience. His face showed it.

He did not speak. He looked beyond in silence.

I wanted to ask him, “Then what happened?”

But I did not. Sometimes it is better to hold your tongue.

Then he continued, “I was one day driving to Kuala Belait. It began to rain heavily at night. There were no highways then and I took the narrow winding hilly road just before reaching Tutong Town.

“I used to stop at a roadside shrine by the slope to pay customary respects and drop a coin or two like everyone else but only this time I didn’t. I just drove on. The torrential downpour and the gusty winds made me fearful,” he recalled.

Now having begun telling his tale he spoke rapidly, without pause, as if there was no way to stop him now.

He continued, “Then there was the crash. My vehicle must have skidded off the wet road and it hurtled down the ravine 30 feet or so below and came to a sudden stop as it smashed into a tree.

“There I lay half conscious with many bones broken and bleeding profusely from the serious cuts I had sustained. Even today I bear marks of that tragedy.

“I cannot recall what really happened that night. All I remember are the hazy images of people peering into the vehicle in which I was hopelessly trapped.

“It was only later that I learned how heroically the villagers had come out in force in the pouring rain, braving the thunderstorm, and had literarily wrenched me out of the twisted wreck and rushed me to a hospital in Tutong.

“I was indeed so badly maimed that my parents brought me back to Kuala Lumpur where my newly wedded wife and my relatives could look after me,” he continued with his sorry tale.

“But I never went back to Brunei. And what is most regrettable is that I had not been able to thank all those brave people who so valiantly saved me that horrendous night.

“That is why I think so fondly of Brunei. You should be rightly proud of your country,” he said looking at me sorrowfully.

“Yes, I am indeed proud of Brunei and its kind people,” I replied.

“That’s how our people are.”

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Bandar Seri Begawan- “All of us would, perhaps, have to wear gasmasks at the opening,” he remarked.

That statement aroused his friends’ curiosity around the coffee table that pleasant afternoon.

 

The speaker was a man in his 30s, well dressed and maybe a successful businessman. And indeed he was known for his sense of wit and humour. That was why perhaps he usually received more than his fair share of attention.

 

“Yes, gasmasks,” he repeated.

 

Everyone looked at him. As usual, he looked serious. It was difficult to fathom what he was driving at many a time. And this was one of those moments.

 

“What sort of joke are you’set to crack this time?” a young lady sitting next to him, unable to contain the suspense any longer, asked.

 

“Gasmasks to survive the stink,” he said. “Haven’t you read the newspapers lately?”

Still his listeners could not connect. “Stink? What stink and what has it to do with reading newspapers?” a middle aged woman, perhaps, a senior executive, inquired.

 

He, by now, had got them all sufficiently puzzled. He was enjoying every minute of it.

But time was running out. He had another appointment. It was therefore time to put an end to their eager inquiries.

Yet, he was silent for a while. His friends wondered what he was up to.

 

“Please tell us,” urged the young lady.

 

“You really want to know?” the man still holding out asked.

 

“Of course.”

 

“OK. All of you have passed by Jalan Sungai Akar, I suppose.”

 

“Yes, certainly,”, all echoed in unison.

 

“What is the most annoying thing you encounter while travelling along that road?”

 

A young man sitting next, after thinking over a bit, ventured, “That stink and the disgusting site of the expanding rubbish dump. It is simply nauseating. It has become intolerable.”

 

“That is spot on,” said the young businessman. `But you were saying something about gasmasks and the opening. What was that all about? We all know that nothing has been done about shifting the offensive site although there has been a lot of talk about it,” commented the young lady. She had not forgotten what the wag had mentioned earlier.

 

“Gasmask? Ah, I am glad that you remember. You would need it. Have you noticed the gleaming new multi million dollar Radio Television Brunei modern headquarters being completed just a stone’s throw away from the dump?” he asked.

 

“Of course we all know that,” someone responded.

 

“Then it will soon be finished, right?”

 

“Right.”

 

“After that it has to be officially declared open, right? Perhaps some VIP will be called upon to officiate the event?”

 

“Correct.”

 

“Can you then imagine the state of the air around there that time? Especially as the dump gets much more of a stink than ever and if the wind blows? Surely gasmasks would have to be supplied during the function. I do not see any other way,” the man finally declared.

 

“What about the giant rats that may attack the guests? They have to be taken care of or rather the guests have to be protected,” said another friend warming up to the subject. “Rats, I believe, have already attacked some of the cables”.

 

This is a scandal. We go to environmental conferences. We declare our good intentions. But we have an outrageous situation right in the middle of the capital. “But we are, unfortunately paralysed absolutely, so it seems,” remarked the middle-aged lady.

 

“You are right. They have done some levelling at the dump entrance after the newspaper article appeared. But little else has happened. It is a national disgrace and the worst advertisement for the country, the young businessman said as he rose to leave.

 

“I know. Even some diplomats living nearby have complained bitterly,” added the young lady in disappointment.

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Bandar Seri Begawan - Is it all hot air as usual?

And very little action?

Well, it very much looks like that for Brunei’s SMEs (Small and Medium Enterprises) for the moment.

Yes, talk, talk and talk and more talk. But NATO. No Action, Talk Only. That was the gist of what a group of Bruneian entrepreneurs, who met for a cup of coffee in town, were saying the other day.

“Every day I see in the papers now. SME this and SME that. But what is the use? Things have not changed much. I don’t think it will ever get better anytime soon,” a middle aged local businessman commented.

Others looked sympathetically at him. They knew the feeling. They were aware of the frustrations. Many a local businessmen had gone through it all. So, it was small wonder that they were highly sceptical about all this publicity about SMEs.

“Look at Brunei’s one and only fully equipped Bumi-owned shipyard in Muara. It had no business for a whole year and it found itself in deep waters as Brunei boats, by the number, sailed by to neighbouring countries for maintenance and repairs,” remarked another man.

“Yes, I remember reading some weeks ago about the plight of this shipyard. What’s happened? Has it gone under by now? Has it ceased to exist like so many other local ventures after pouring millions down the drain?”

The speaker was really interested in the threatened shipyard venture. He too had recently lost a lot of money similarly.

“No, fortunately not. It was saved, at least for the time being, by a lone ship that sailed in. Luckily, therefore, for now, the shipyard has survived,” replied his friend. “And the yard has so far done a good job of it.”

“But where are the many government vessels?” the other man asked in surprise.

“Well, the Marine and the Fisheries departments still send their vessels to the neighbouring yards,” was the answer.

“But why?” The man was incredulous.

“Red tape and red herring, perhaps,” came the reply.

“But didn’t a top official say only a few days ago that red tape breeds corruption?” the businessman ventured to say.

“Well, I don’t know. Perhaps there are other valid reasons why Brunei ships still sail away. Nevertheless it is frustrating. Especially when officials talk so much about encouraging local SMEs,” said another man in the group.

“Perhaps it is cheaper so government send them elsewhere,” this time the speaker was a young businesswoman.

“Perhaps so. If that is the case, they should stop talking about helping local SMEs. Many shipyards in the neighbourhood are well established and have operated for several years.

“Under the circumstances the local authorities should consider giving 15 to 20 per cent discount to local shipyards to encourage the vision of a thriving local industry,” the man said.

“And there are so many ways that the government and a budding local industry like this ship yard could cooperate,” the young women mused.

“Yes, what we need is action. Not talk only.” her friend said before leaving for his next appointment:

But the subject continued to set forth an animated conversation among others till late hours of the night.

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Bandar Seri Begawan - Something terrible happened to me the other day. It was an incident that caused me much distress last week at that time. But, however disconcerting those moments were that I suffered, I was surprisingly rewarded, more than I expected, in the end.

How come? That is a question that you may very well ask. If it caused you so much pain, how could you gain so much as a consequence?

Well, I am indeed more than happy to tell you all about that. It could have happened to anyone.

Now then, to begin at the beginning, as someone said the other day.

Everything went smoothly as I took the Royal Brunei flight to Kuala Lumpur on that fine day. I felt light-hearted as a schoolboy as I stepped into the magnificent airport building in the Malaysian capital.

I noticed the eye-catching displays in the exquisite shops that led the way to the immigration check and how pleasant it was for the traveller that everything worked so efficiently.

With all these, your feeling of euphoria knew no bounds.

Then came the shock: You came right down to earth with a resounding thumb.

“Passport, please,” the lady at the counter asked.

I was more than eager to produce the travel document from my back pocket. I took out the leather folder where I kept it. I opened it. But it was not there or anywhere else.

I was stupefied. I looked at the officer in utter terror.

Time stood still as a million possibilities flashed through.

Then I managed to croak, “I think I lost my passport.”

These words had something of a dreadful finality in them as if saying, I will drop dead right now. And doing just that.

All the more so that I recalled it was long weekend holiday in Brunei and the Immigration Department was, therefore, beyond reach.

The Brunei High Commission too would be closed. That meant spending many nights at this no man’s land until travel papers were sorted out. And how long would that take? No one knew.

But as panic dissipated and as calm gradually prevailed I tried to retrace my steps. Where could I have lost it? I roam about the cavernous building for a while.

Then I manage to collect my thoughts. Ask someone. Anyone. But it dawns on me as the initial shock wears off: The airport Inquiry desk, of course.

“Fill out this form, please,” the girl says. She seems quite unconcerned. I do not have much faith in finding my missing document. Hours pass.

And by chance my eyes fall upon a girl sitting behind the Malaysian Airlines desk. It would be a long shot. “Do you represent Royal Brunei Airlines? In any case do you know where to find them?”

I was hoping that somehow I could get in touch with the RBA flight. Perhaps I had accidentally dropped it in the plane.

But no, the RBA ground people had left. But then she would help.

She was a young girl. But she was something. She sprang to action at once and called everyone she could think of. Has anyone picked up a lost Brunei passport?

In the meantime she calmed and comforted me. I suppose I was showing, by this time, signs of extreme anxiety.

“Please sit and we will try everything. Don’t worry.”

I closed my eyes. There was nothing I could do. And I must have dozed off somewhat. It was perhaps the excitement that brought about that sudden sense of exhaustion.

I was soon awakened by a gentle tap on my shoulder. Extremely startled I tried to recollect where I was.

“We have found your passport. Someone picked it up,” the young airline girl was saying as I tried to focus my attention.

But it was some seconds before I recalled where I was and realised the good news.

I thanked her profusely. In fact, words were not enough. How do you repay such kindness? And you ask me how was I rewarded?

I gained because her selfless act made me rejoice that there are still a multitude of beautiful things in this otherwise cruel world.

Her benevolence being one. And her compassion another. And I was the fortunate recipient of her act of heartfelt goodness. I felt blessed.

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Bandar Seri Begawan - “It is mostly fear, of course. And also, as a result, red tape, mountains of it, prevails. Add to that, a good measure of the old go-slow spirit is much in evidence. It is that sort of outlook that compounds it all.

“Money is not the problem. It is the mindset that is doing the damage.”

The man was trying to explain why this disastrous slump in business in Brunei and the general economic malaise are gripping the country, which has become a persistent phenomenon. It is, sadly, a depressing situation generally, despite all that money from the oil price.

“Go-slow spirit?” The young woman asked who had been listening to him intently for some time. “Are they on strike or something?”

The man was much older. He studied her for a moment. She was probably just out of college overseas and was enthusiastic about everything about her country she missed so much all these years.

“Oh, no. No one is on strike,” he replied. “What I mean is sloth. In other words, just plain lazy, at least a lot of them. And they have got their priorities all wrong.”

The young woman’s curiosity was greatly aroused.

“What do you mean?” she inquired in surprise.

The man ordered his second coffee. This was going to take some time. The young thing had really started up something. And why not? Besides, it was a subject close to his heart.

“I mean fear and anxiety are the overriding factors afflicting many a civil servant. They fear that they would make a mistake along the way if they tried to do something worthwhile. Something extraordinary.

“And if that happens and something goes wrong, their job will be on the line. They may get demoted or much worse. And of course there is the jealousy factor. Someone will try his best soon to pull him down because he dared.

“So it is safer to do nothing. You get your salary and your pension. So you are OK. But should you put your foot wrong, for sure, everything will disappear.

“Therefore, it appears, in their minds, a sort of competition that exists among them to do the least and get away with it, if you can,” he added.

The girl looked at him in disbelief. “Oh, I had never looked at it that way. Could that be true?”

The man was not surprised. Not many people had given it much of a thought.

“Yes, unfortunately, that is a fact.” And he waited for a response.

He did not have to wait long, for the young lady eagerly asked: “Please explain.”

The man took another sip. “Look at the yearly budget allocation, for example. More often than not there is a lot of money left unspent at the end of the financial year.

“Why? Because, mainly of sheer laziness. Fear of work, fear of making a mistake if they embark on a large project. So why look for trouble? You only have probably one year or two to retire to enjoy the pension. So play safe. Do nothing. The problem will go away. Next year it is someone else’s headache.”

By this time the man was getting a little worked up. He had been worrying about Brunei’s current state of things for some time. He was also concerned about the long-term effect on the country. This kind of attitude seemed permeating the bureaucracy increasingly.

“The situation is made worse because when he returns the unspent money he gets a pat on the back. They’ll say this man has saved money for the country, But, in fact, nothing could be further from the truth.

“In many progressive countries he would have to answer some very awkward questions. Why the budget was left unspent? The probe will be deep and arduous. He would face the music. But not in Brunei.

“But here it seems that there is very little accountability, so little urgency. The resultant damage to the economy and country is turning out to be disastrous. We have such a situation here unfortunately and it is getting worse,” the man claimed.

“We have the money but we have no way of knowing, many a time, how to spend it effectively and promptly to benefit the people and the country,” he added.

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Bandar Seri Begawan - Only just a couple of months ago, he had half a million dollars tucked away in the bank.

Today, he is practically penniless - broke, and stone broke. “I am ruined, I am ruined,” he kept muttering, as the elderly man wandered unsteadily into the cafe that bright morning.

“I’m finished. I have failed. There is no hope for me now!” he exclaimed. And he looked it. His hair was a mess and so were his clothes, and he had the desperate look of a hunted animal.

“What shall I do? Where can I go? I have lost it all,” he wailed in despair, as he slumped into a chair. “What is even worse, I owe the bank money. Big money!”

The café owner soon came round. He was an old friend. He was surprised to see the man in such distress, looking so bedraggled and broken. It was a far cry from the old times when this man was always neatly dressed and extremely presentable.

And he could hardly believe this was the same man he knew just a few years ago when he had a good job and was a “big shot” about town. Could it be the same person? Just to make sure, he surveyed the man again more closely.

Yes, no doubt, unfortunately, it was indeed his friend. What had befallen on this poor man? It was a familiar story. Soon after retirement, the unlucky man met a contractor. And he went into business with him. Their project was in Sabah.

“Not only did I invest my entire pension and TAP money, I eventually dumped in my savings as well. Moreover, I pledged my home to the bank and stood as guarantor to bolster the business, which seemed to be in trouble frequently.

“The man told me that rosy days were just round the corner and our housing investment venture would soon show large profits. Not to worry. I believed him.” The man was practically in tears as he continued to describe his woes.

“Then one day I decided to inspect our project in Sabah, as I planned to take a holiday there. I tried to contact my business partner while there, but that turned out to be difficult. There was no one answering the phone.

“Nevertheless, I managed to locate our project site. But it turned to be just an empty, abandoned piece of land. No houses, no shops, no roads. Just nothing.” The unhappy man cast a wild look around, as if he would go mad.

There were a few other people in the café now listening. “I soon realised that I have been cheated. I made a police report. But until now there has been no trace of my so-called business partner. Soon there were urgent demands for money from the bank. My house too had to go.”

The man, casting his eyes down sadly, shook his head. He still could not believe this had happened to him. His old friend - the café owner - tried to comfort him.

“This is not the first time I have heard of cases like this. There have been many pensioners who have been similarly victimised,” he told his unfortunate friend.

“Many wolves are waiting for the unsuspecting retirees. Few pensioners are shrewd enough to realise it is a different ball game. It is a cruel world outside.

“Now I am happy to learn that TAP and others have begun a briefing scheme to make pensioners aware of the pitfalls of getting into business without proper safeguards and losing everything in the process.

“But the only thing is that these briefings should begin earlier. It could well be that just before retirement may be too late. It is a mindset that should be moulded and developed much earlier,” added the café owner. His unfortunate friend nodded in agreement. But for him it was, indeed, much too late.

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Bandar Seri Begawan - The conversation was taking on a most interesting turn. Everyone sat up and took notice this time.

Many, even the quieter ones, it seemed, had something to say.

And why not? The talk had hit on the universal topic of love, marriage, broken hearts and shattered homes and even violence and perhaps the occasional tragedy that lead to permanent injury or worse.

“But I just don’t trust Brunei men,” this young Bruneian lady was saying. “I, right now, would favour, any time, a foreign boyfriend or husband.”

Her friend next to her was not amused.

“Why are you saying that? Local men are sweet and cuddly. It is simply unfair to generalise.”

The speaker was well dressed and modern. Could be a bank employee, perhaps.

Others in the group perked up their ears. It was, no doubt, a topic everyone had a strong opinion.

But the original women who apparently had an intense dislike for Bruneian men were not to be put down.

“Why am I saying that?” She was quite vehement. “Most young men here are irresponsible liars. They act like spoil brats. They just want to have a good time with us. Many pose as single and unmarried but they have wives and children back home. So many Brunei girls have been hoodwinked and they only find out too late.

“Others after marrying you divorce you in double quick time leaving you in the lurch. Still others stop doing any work and depend on wife support.

“Not only that. They expect their wives to help them with money while dating other girls every night.”

She appeared most indignant and was starting to get angry while delivering this tirade against young men in the country. “How heartless!”

But another pretty young thing came to the rescue of the girl with that huge crush on foreign men.

She had been generally silent up to now. But now she spoke up.

“Do you really think that rooting for a foreign husband or a boyfriend will see the end of a Bruneian girl’s problems? Some of these foreigners could turn out to be equally deceptive or even worse. They could be the devil’s incarnate. Sheep in wolf’s clothing. They are very nice on the surface. They are extremely courteous and all that. But reality could be very different.”

There was a brief silence. But that was soon broken.

“Both of you are right and also wrong,”

This time the speaker was a more mature woman. It is quite ridiculous to dump all Brunei men into one category and the foreigners exclusively in another. That would be too simplistic. You have to look at things independently, case by case. You shouldn’t be prejudiced and I know what I should be talking about.

“You see, I was first married to a foreigner for many years. That didn’t work out. It was hardly either’s fault. It just so happened. We thought we were in love. But we were mistaken. It was just infatuation. Not love.

“Now I have a local husband. We have been married for years. It has so far worked out fine. I am happy. He is happy too, I believe,” the lady declared.

A very youthful person in the group asked at this juncture.

“You speak about infatuation and love. What is the difference?” She looked at them expecting an answer.

For an instant no one could find a satisfactory explanation.

But again it was the older woman who spoke. “No one has found a proper answer up to now as to what love is.

“But I will try to describe infatuation. It happens when you paint a false and inflated picture in your mind as to how perfect the object of your infatuation is.

“But you soon find out that he is not and you quickly face reality and discover he is just a mere man like everyone else.

“And unfortunately, many people here in Brunei have the mistaken impression that marrying a foreigner, especially from the west, is the end to their problems,” added the lady.

“But that could be the start of another ever recurring tragedy.”

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