The next morning I discovered that my connecting flight to Kuala Lumpur (KL) was in the “Budget Terminal.” I should have known what to expect by the name. This meant that I had to go through Singapore’s immigration, claim my baggage that sat in the lost-and-found overnight (standard for long layovers), go through customs, and stand outside in the thick heat and humidity for the shuttle to take me to this “Budget Terminal.”
Upon arrival, I realized where the name came from. The contrast was razor-sharp. I went from the luxurious, pristine, automated, digitized airport to a dingy, small, humid, terminal with house flies and an industrial tin ceiling. It looked similar to the New York Port Authority bus terminal, only for planes. I assume (still need to research) that this was once the main airport in Singapore, years before Changi was constructed. Even the travelers were different. The children were louder and more energetic. The adults were dressed less posh. Since all of the flights were regional, the planes were much smaller—equipped with propellers, staircases attached to the inside of the doors, and four seats per row (2 on either side of the aisle).
An hour later, I arrived at Sultan Abdul Aziz Shah Airport in Subang, rather than the larger Kuala Lumpur International airport. It was newer and cleaner than the “Budget Terminal,” but a lot smaller than Changi. I took a cab to HELP University College (HUC) for 30 ringgit (RM30), which is US$9.93 (no tip expected). After dragging my messenger bag, garment bag, and 49.2-pound suitcase up and down the uneven sidewalks asking people, with little luck, where the HELP Residence Management Office was, I located the international student support office, where I was able to contact Management via phone. I did so with the help of an Indian woman with obvious compassion in her eyes. She challenged the first guy I spoke with (either Chinese or Malay, I presume) who was giving me a hard time about not having paperwork in-hand, proving my housing arrangements. Perhaps she noticed the giant sweat stain on the front of my button-down shirt and the frustration overtaking the forced patience on my face. Maybe the first guy just wasn’t so observant.
Minutes later, I was met by two management staff members (Yatie and Zahir) and a white guy that locked familiar. Yatie loaded my luggage in her car, saving me a grueling walk over more uneven sidewalk, unplanned urban vegetation, a pedestrian bridge with stairs crossing a highway, and a hilly block leading to HUC’s Lensa Villa. The white guy turned out to be my roommate, Adam, who I had met at the study abroad orientation, back in DC. Zahir took us to get groceries and cell phones before checking us back into our suite across the bridge.
Later that night, we met our suite-mate, Yuva, a young Indian student from Penang (a city in Northern Malaysia), who was very friendly and easy-going. When we went out to find power converters and Indian food, I noticed one familiar phenomenon and several exotic things. Sharing the sidewalk with the roaches at night was natural to me, as I grew up in the similar mugginess of New Orleans. One exotic experience for me was seeing and hearing a brand-new Lamborghini hum down the road. In Geneva, Buckhead, Sandton, and Palo Alto I had seen and heard the pur of high-end Porches and Ferraris, but never a Lambo! I even saw a Bentley with a driver.
Crossing the pedestrian bridge, we noticed a group of men bathing in the courtyard of a beautiful office tower construction site. Yuva said “it’s a shame how they treat those [Indonesian] immigrant-workers.” Zahir added that some of them come from Nepal. I remember reading that almost 2 million immigrants, mostly from Indonesia, compose about 17% (according to the Ministry of Finance) of the Malaysian workforce. Hundreds of thousands are here illegally. Many of the these workers practice Shiite Islam, prevalent in their homeland, but banned in Malaysia. Here, only Sunni Islam is legally permitted. Practicing as a Shiite would get you detained. Furthermore if you are discovered as an illegal worker, you will be deported immediately. There is a thin line between legal and illegal. If a legal immigrant worker is mistreated by their employer and registers a complaint, the employer’s counter-complaint can travel faster through the system. The worker’s permit could be revoked, making him (usually male) illegal. The result is huge potential for workers to treated unethically. These are the issues that many companies omit in annual reports or their Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR) strategies.
The food was great. We walked past McDonald’s, Pizza Hut, Subway, and KFC to get to an Indian buffet. I started out with a huge plate of white rice. I went from tray to tray adding items what looked familiar until there was no room left. I had a plate of stuff that tasted similar, but more spicy than US Indian food. I watched Zahir and Yuva use a fork and spoon simultaneously. The fork was used to place the food on the spoon to be eaten. I drank rose syrup and lime juice. The very-filling meal ran me about RM8 (US$2.65)!
That night our AC was not working and we did not know how to operate the hot water heater, so a cold shower was actually a relief. Zahir later told us that, first, a switch outside of the restroom must be turned on for power. Then the temperature gauge in the shower has to be switched on. Although it is marked otherwise, there are two settings—freezing and scolding. Adam shared his idea of switching from one to the other every 20 seconds, not giving it enough time to transition to each extreme.
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