by Vanya Vetto
Natural or lenses, I asked.
Contact lenses, she says.
But why?
Because I like green.
And before?
Black with a bit of brown.
The bitching stopped.
I got my free coffee.
But her eyes were just mesmerizing me.
She deserved a compliment, for going the long distance to look attractive for customers.
I'd make a comment, she's worthy of employee of the month.
I'd need to log onto My Mc Donald's first.
So far I've tallied up three free coffees.
Feedback comes at a price, I told the managers.
They weren't sure if I was sent from headquarters in Houston.
My accent sounded convincing enough.
I even had a stopwatch, to time how long it took for my burger and fries to be delivered. Then I made a voice note on my phone, 'FAF, ten out of ten.' Then I added another F.
Fast, Attentive and Friendly. The last F was for Fresh.
Man, they must have thought I was sent from the States to monitor them.
I wasn't going to convince them otherwise. It pays to have a bit of mystique about you when a free coffee is concerned.
Batman was busking on the promenade.
His name was Najib too.
'Not related to the PM,' he says, showing my disappointment.
He doesn't meddle in politics.
'I'm busy enough keeping everyone safe on the promenade.'
He had plastic armor around his torso and really looked like Batman.
'I make my own costumes,' he says.
He's test running his outfit for an event the next day.
'Making sure none of the armor fulls off when I do my meanest Batman flex.'
He also has a friend in Australia. A sculptor who I had zero interest in.
Najib's a real action hero figure.
I just can't get over it.
I pull up a father and a son from the crowd and tell them to pose for me.
Then I pay Batman 5 Ringgit.
'It's the least I could do,' I say.
I'm wired on coffee and sugar. It does pretty weird things to me.
Batman doesn't know if he I'm a speedfreak or someone just taking the piss out of his costume.
There's Darth Vater and Cop standing next to him.
Over the pedestrian bridge, which was built three months ago (modeled on Bamboo bridges) is another Batman.
He wants to know what Najib looks like so I show him a few photos.
'Do you like my costume,' he asks.
Quite good, it's got cushioned pads to make his chest look muscular.
But the headgear is a bit amateurish, I say, compared to Najib's, which hugs his nose and shows the outline of his prominent nose clearly.
The bridge is swaying.
I'm walking faster.
I'm muttering to myself, 'the Bridge is falling.'
I tell Najib about the other batman.
'I knew there was another one, but we have never met. I think I might invite him to join our group.'
He said he wasn't interested. Having a prime position at the end of the bridge, he was happy being the lone crusader for one Ringitt a photo.
That took the air out of Najib.
I’m just blatantly telling people i’m the great great grandson of the White Raja of Sarawak.
I have the British accent, when I put it on and I’m white. Who are they to question the veracity of it?
I’ve managed to swing two free coffees at two branches. Just got my third. I promise the manager I’ll get online and give feedback. I told him the toilet at the last branch was a bit dirty and slippery.
‘How can you have faith in the kitchen dishing up clean food if they can’t get the toilet right.’
He totally agreed with me.
He told the manager of the branch he was visiting to give me a free coffee.
My feedback is valuable, I said.
And I’ve really got too much time on my hands.
Any normal person would just get on with their lives.
The manager laughed at that.
‘We really value your feedback,’ he says.
Well while we are at it, I said, that toilet door nearly decapitated my toe when it swung shut, I added.
‘Good feedback,’ he says, ‘if you come to my branch, I’ll give you a free coffee too.’
I’m here now. He’s super busy. He was walking through the busy branch when I blocked his way.
I’m back, I said.
I’ve become his worse nightmare.
It’s Chinese New Year,’ he says. ‘And we are very busy.’
I got it, I said. I had my free coffee, so I really wasn’t that put out.
Going for a free coffee started up as a lark. The female manager at the airport seemed to like my feedback. The guy behind the counter asked me if I wanted to upsize. I said no. Then a Chinese customer encouraged me to do so. Which I did.
‘He’s the best staff around,’ I said in front of everyone, customers and staff listening to me attentively.
I hammed it up. I already drank my free coffee and felt it deserved a performance. At least the manager wouldn’t feel cheated by a cheapskate white guy.
Batman has upgraded.
He's wearing a real mask.
It's showing off his features.
It looks familiar.
'I bought it from Najib for 100 Ringgit.'
I had showed him a photo of Najib's get up. He makes his own masks.
The one you bought from China looked so amueterish, I said in passing.
The padding around the chest region looks sexy.
Sam is getting sick of me.
He touches my chest.
Not as good as your padding I say.
He's Muslim and a homo to boot.
I muster up some business for him.
I'm even taking a few photos.
Surely you don't want me to pay you, I asked.
Do you have any money in your wallet, he asks.
I do, but none of it going towards your cash in hand enterprise.
He didn't like that.
Hay, I'll make you a star, internationally.
He wasn't convinced.
So I dropped fifty cents in his bag.
That was the biggest insult, I'm sure of it.
The ungrateful bastard.
Back on the other side of the bridge, Najib and his crew are no where around.
He was threatening me to leave, I told a Chinese guy who was hanging out at the waterfront with Jenny, his wife.
So you want me to leave? I asked Batman.
I was crowding his space. Of course he wanted me to leave. He was a few seconds away from screaming Allah Akbar and knocking me out.
'You can always contact the police if you feel he's harrassing you,' said my new Chinese friend who was playing games against himself on three phones he had placed on the ground.
No need. But it was reassuring to know that the police were around to serve me.
I felt safe, even around Batman.
So if you see a figure at the end of the bridge in a hood and tights, you'll know he's only after a grope up and your cash.
It's always that strange follower on twitter who just joined, has no picture and only one tweet. You get the impression he's reaching out to you.
Luring you in. Waiting for the follow, then the death threat.
I followed him then a thought followed me after I read this handle was from Sungai Petani.
A nice place, really and right near the Thai border. I had visited the museum. It was the center of trade for ceramics and other goods.
All good on the surface right?
But this handle had sent one tweet.
'Done. Feast.'
It was @donefeast. It wasn't even a handle. It was a message, a message sent to me.
But the 'feast' part of it was in Malaysian. It didn't
take long to check it out on google translate.
Also, the bio on this handle said 'Until tomorrow.' It was in Malay of course. Until what tomorrow? Was I going to be the fucking feast?
I blocked the guy then send out an SOS, I'm being tracked, it could be your NGO mate who cried after I didn't meet up with him.
He's a Muslim who wants to save the world.
And he doesn't like white folk knowing Muslim business.
I eventually unblocked the handle. Better to be close your enemy and all that jazz. Then I sent him a tweet mentioned with the Malaysia PM.
@Brader08872810 Here's a troll, exposed ! what's your next move? @NajibRazak here's a dodgy Malay threatening tourists, can't be a good thing?
See, whatever this guy had intended, it worked.
Now I'm the paranoid asshole. His only tweet and mention wasn't even a handle.
I know a threat when I see one.
I'm onto it.
Me and death threats are best of friends. And I'm not even a shock jocky.
But a death threat by an active insurgent movement whose specialty is using improvised car and gas cylinder bombs, with a legion of asswipe sympathizers, is worrying, to say the least.
Blogging is always a hazard. It's geolocation to where I'm at.
Luckily I post blogs two weeks old.
I could be in Vietnam by now.
So bring it on asswipes.
Two cop bikes had their lights and sirens on.
Man, that was a quick response.
I had already told a security guy I was being harassed by extremist elements on twitter.
'Copy it and show it to the police.'
The coppers pulled up at the hotel across the road.
Must be some important dignitaries in town.
It's interesting how an idea can grab hold and take you places that you only read about in spy novels.
It's usually the one threatened who is considered paranoid and delusional.
The bad guy feeds off that. Only a bullet between the eyes can break that cycle.
That NGO was charming as fuck and wooed the white chicks.
It's all part of psychological warfare.
I'm awake to it.
If you don't hear from me, I'm in hiding or dead.
Could there be a little fatwa against me?
Unlike Salman Rushdie, I'm going to get diddley squat protection.
Listen, I could be just suffering another flashback, but writing this, not only an insurance policy, it's been fucking fun.
I'm fighting back in my own way and refuse to be browbeaten.
I didn't see any shadowy figure tracking my movement.
You never will.
But nor will you receive a warning either.
Just another troll who has reported to his boss, the Malay NGO thug.
Torment that fucker, he's the enemy of Islam.
Islam used for thuggery and harassment.
'Islam is about love,' says Fatima, 'not about hatred. They aren't Muslims.'
Then what are they?
'They are bullies and thugs. You don't need religion to be that.'
I'm not enemy of anyone or any state.
But that doesn't stop the fuckers trying to race me out of town.
Nothing a Glock wouldn't sort out.
I always say, one bullet directed at me deserves two in return.
It would stop the trolls and their threats quick smart.
It's really just that plain simple.
One gets accustomed to overhearing other’s conversations.
Nah, too loud, others within earshot can hear, surely they weren’t sent by him.
‘They need to use their passports to come to Sarawak,’ says Freddy, ‘ and they only get three months. And if they want to work here, they need to apply for a permit.’
Freddy who runs a food court says that if anyone from Sarawak wants to go to West Malaysia, ‘all we need is our I.D. card.’
He says it’s one way for Borneo to deal with the rise of extremism.
‘It’s just too difficult for them to fly over and start trouble.’
Same applies to residents of Sabah, ‘they also must show their passports to enter and only get three months.’
It seems these measures were taken to prevent the entry of Philippine thugs who believe Sabah was once their land.
‘It was but it isn’t now. But they just don’t get it. So instead, they continue their piracy to the detriment of our island.’
At least from where I’m sitting, Borneo is pretty safe.
Ahh, the coffee is kicking in, I knew it would.
Two guys at the next table are talking in English and Malay.
It’s extraordinary, I think, as I anticipate that time when the caffeine will actually kick in shake off those the zombie feeling.
Being the walking dead has its advantages, but I couldn’t filter out the conversation next to me. It was just too interesting.
‘As my wife says, it’s a hot cold.’
Now what the fuck does that mean?
At first, I thought he said a hot hard one.
And once I got around to introducing myself, I actually told Jonathan that. He's a Chinese who runs a corporate real estate office here.
I’ve got the touch of bullshit about me.
Perfect for real estate, I say, imposing myself on their business meeting. The other guy was a dark-skinned Malay, immaculately groomed.
First, you need to set up a VOIP number from Australia, get the numbers from the Yellow Pages and then bingo bango, you got your slimy foot in the door.
Jonathan appreciated my upfront ness.
He told me he spent his last two years of high school in Melbourne, ‘then I continued studying at Melbourne University.’
Obviously he likes Australia.
How can I help you, I say. I’m a white guy with a white accent, do you want me to get on the horn and make some inquiries.
I had a five-day growth, was wearing a black T-shirt that wanted to go walkabout.
He handed me his card, all reverentially, and asked if I’d be at the same riverside cafe tomorrow.
Surely I would be, I said.
At last, someone who appreciates a bit of showmanship.
Man, the Chinese know how to make black coffee. Whatever anyone says about them, they can fuck off. Cos the black coffee just rocks and maybe have just got me into the exciting world of real estate.
“You really must love James Brooke,’ I said before my pals left to put their business meeting into practice. ‘I can see you are speaking to him and paying him respect by speaking English.’
Jonathan nodded. He wasn’t quite having an organism but I think I reached the right pitch for this dialogue to continue.
If you seeing me flogging condominiums, farms and industrial estates anytime soon, you’ll know the genesis of it.
Borneo: Everyone is thinking clearly. It must be the air, it’s clean.
Freddy from the food court lets me on a dirty secret.
He pulls out his phone and shows me a picture of a Thai whore is advertising her services on What’s App.
‘Fake,’ he says, ‘ fake boobs, fake nose, and fake personality.’
But the price she is charging for all this fakery is very exclusive, I say.
‘They follow the money,’ says Freddy.
They are always following the money.
Give me an Indonesian whore any day.
Freddy had to agree.
They were so much better.
That was something we both agreed on.
I had spent the last two hours showing Freddy the hot spots in Malaysia.
I could be bullshitting, I said.
‘And pigs could fly.’
I love it when a China Man takes me seriously.
‘To know your enemy is to be close to them.’
He was totally convinced that I was an old fart with nothing better to do than explore.
He spared me
the orang-utan pitch.
I was grateful, thinking it was time to hang up my shoes and actually try a bit of real tourism for a change.
‘Where’s the fun in that?’
He had a good point. But where was the fun upsetting the Muslims?
’No worries,’ he says, ‘they are a minority here. If any trouble, the Christian Dyaks still know how to use a blowgun.’
Poisoned too.
‘It’s only a threat of excoriating death,’ he says, ‘Muslims don’t like headhunters who eat the liver of their enemies. It tends to calm them down when they settle in Borneo.’
Most of the mosques are on the other side of the river, far from the Chinese and the tourist haunts. I think the Muslims are treading very carefully in this part of the world.
‘Do you ever read about Churches burning?
Not in this part of the world.
‘Or crazy extremists hacking away Christians in their place of worship?’
Nope.
‘That’s what we call harmony around here.’
It was a harmonizing thought, a place where Muslims, Christians, and Buddhists could coexist together.
‘We even eat at the same places.’
This wasn’t the Malaysia I knew. I’m not sure what they put in the water but has a curative effect on extremism of any type.
I can see why Sarawak has thoughts of Independence.
‘We are sick of paying for lazy unproductive states. All our royalties should stay here for our own infrastructure.’
The rotting and decaying Observation platform opposite the Sarawak Club was a stark reminder of that.
‘Mainland Malaysia is robbing us dry.’
It was a familiar story. His gripe was real and I nodded in sympathy.
‘So how long are you staying?’ asked Freddy, who I could tell was sick of the usual tourist whose only concern was where they could find the cheapest room and an even cheaper bowl of Sarawak Laksa.
’As long as the stories flow,’ I said.
And they were flowing. I just don't know why people tell me shit.
‘So you can tell the world.’
I’ll try my best, I said.
‘That’s all you can do.’
He was reading my thoughts.
“You are safe here, but I can’t promise you’ll feel this safe in Sabah. They have their networks, one phone call and they’ll locate you.’
Stop fueling my paranoia.
‘It’s nothing to do with paranoia,' he says, it’s the way things are done. Being aware is the first step towards prevention of being liquidated.’