Kuala Kubu Baru is famous for many things. But not many are aware that a home for the mentally challenged has been situate there for almost 20 years now. The home has a separate section for men,women,children and babies. In most cases the kids are abandoned by parents who don't have the financial resources to provide care or are to bogged down with other activities that require most of their time.
The parents would visit at first. It would be regular visits and the kids would eagerly look forward to such visits. The visits would then start to become increasingly infrequent. Sometimes it was only during festivals that the parents would drop by. In some cases their visits stopped altogether or a couple of years would pass between each visit. A few parents would take their children home for the holidays but this is rare. I personally wonder whether going home is a good idea. Home is a paradise on earth compared to the living conditions they face here. It's a shocking reminder of how bad their life is each time they return.
Lest you think that since they are mentally challenged they will unable to differentiate environments, i beg to disagree. In all the cases, the kids become, morose, unfriendly and difficult to handle. It will be a few weeks before they resume normal behaviour (or what passes for normal behaviour in their place)
I first started going to KKB almost 12 year ago. My first glimpse of Ruman Taman Sinar Harapan (The Ray of Hope Home) is not worth mentioning. I have no recollection and i probably wasn't paying attention knowing my sometimes apathetic self. What i do recall was the intense smell penetrating and invading my olfactory senses. It seemed to be radiating in waves. This physical barrier of smell almost made want to run screaming "take me away,take me away" But i held my ground. If my mom could take it so could it. Gotta maintain macho because there were some young girls as well.
I later discovered that the "bad smell" as my parents put it, came from the the kids ward (which was where our group was stationed) . I discovered to my horror that some of the kids in the "hopeless cases" section were swimming in their own fecal matter. I'm pretty sure that since they shared bed with others they might have been swimming in a joint pool of fecal matter. At that point in time though i didn't feel like quibbling with myself over such mundane matters. All i wanted to know was where the hazmat suits were and why this wasn't declared a biologically unsafe zone.
I was given an apron and pair of gloves. One of the older volunteers, Bro Ravi looked at me, poked at me like i was chicken for slaughter and assigned me to the carrying team.He said " looking at his size, i'm sure he can lift heavy things, can't be that all he has is fat". I was quite hurt by his remarks but i cleverly concealed my emotions by staring at him with hate-filled-eyes. Nevertheless I was quite relieved at his pronouncement (despite the fact that it was pompous and demeaning). Carrying Team sounded pretty easy and maybe it involve carrying rubbish outside or something. My carrying partner was Hamish, Bro Ravi's son. He was this cheerful dude who was a couple of years older and had this aura of laidback-ness which was sorely lacking in his old man. He gave me a quick rundown on RTSH and what our duties were.
Quite simply we would carry the inmates, take them to the bathroom where the bathing team would bathe them. We would then take them from the bathroom to another place where the dressing team would clothe and feed them. Later once their beds were clean we would take them back and we would be done. I kinda felt tired after hearing all that. In my youth, i wasn't neccesarily an active person. I was more into intellectual pursuits, something that most people could never understand. Philistines!
There were two carrying teams and there was no time to waste gibbering. I followed Hamish wondering where the trolleys or wheelchairs were. I asked Hamish what on earth would we be carrying and where are the trolleys or whatever that we're going to use. He laughed this sinister laughter and it was then that i saw shades of his father in him. He said "we're the trolleys", grab his legs . And he proceed to lift the guy, encircled his arms around the inmates chest and waited expectantly for me to lift his legs. I meekly complied.
I feel that i should mention that the said inmate was covered in crap. During the carrying procedure, some transference occurred. (something i learnt years later after watching CSI). Basically i now had crap on my apron and my gloves. It was all i could do to not puke because to say i was disgusted was like saying that i enjoy taking it up the ass.
It took me a while to comprehend that there was actually someone's shit on myself. It's pretty hard to describe one's emotions. A complex medley of self-pity, loathing and aversion would best express it. The only thing that kept me from falling of the ledge of sanity was Hamish. He was smiling and laughing away like he was a 5 year old given his favourite treat. I frankly thought that maybe after spending too many years cleaning other people's shirt he had lost it. A product of his environment so to speak (something i picked up from CSI as well ).
I asked him how he could be cheerful in this.. this.. this place. He said that" i'd rather be me carrying them than being them being carried by me". When you're 17 that sounded really profound. I wasn't completely converted but i was willing to be convinced.
No one knew the inmates names, the volunteers just randomly assigned names to the inmates. There was Ah Mok, Karim, Bala, Joe and many others. Once they had names they stopped being entities and they became regular people. They were trying to survive. Unfortunately for them, they were in a government run facility which was understaffed and underfunded. No one really wanted to work in such an environment much less clean these kids everyday.
Our volunteer group agreed to come every Sunday and clean these kids up. At least once a week they (the kids) would know what it was like being clean. I decided early on that somebody had to do it. I truly cared for the kids and i felt that i could make a difference. Since then i've always had the best time possible in KKB. Whenever someone new came in. I would gave him the same cliched spiel Hamish gave me all those years. It still works!
The parents would visit at first. It would be regular visits and the kids would eagerly look forward to such visits. The visits would then start to become increasingly infrequent. Sometimes it was only during festivals that the parents would drop by. In some cases their visits stopped altogether or a couple of years would pass between each visit. A few parents would take their children home for the holidays but this is rare. I personally wonder whether going home is a good idea. Home is a paradise on earth compared to the living conditions they face here. It's a shocking reminder of how bad their life is each time they return.
Lest you think that since they are mentally challenged they will unable to differentiate environments, i beg to disagree. In all the cases, the kids become, morose, unfriendly and difficult to handle. It will be a few weeks before they resume normal behaviour (or what passes for normal behaviour in their place)
I first started going to KKB almost 12 year ago. My first glimpse of Ruman Taman Sinar Harapan (The Ray of Hope Home) is not worth mentioning. I have no recollection and i probably wasn't paying attention knowing my sometimes apathetic self. What i do recall was the intense smell penetrating and invading my olfactory senses. It seemed to be radiating in waves. This physical barrier of smell almost made want to run screaming "take me away,take me away" But i held my ground. If my mom could take it so could it. Gotta maintain macho because there were some young girls as well.
I later discovered that the "bad smell" as my parents put it, came from the the kids ward (which was where our group was stationed) . I discovered to my horror that some of the kids in the "hopeless cases" section were swimming in their own fecal matter. I'm pretty sure that since they shared bed with others they might have been swimming in a joint pool of fecal matter. At that point in time though i didn't feel like quibbling with myself over such mundane matters. All i wanted to know was where the hazmat suits were and why this wasn't declared a biologically unsafe zone.
I was given an apron and pair of gloves. One of the older volunteers, Bro Ravi looked at me, poked at me like i was chicken for slaughter and assigned me to the carrying team.He said " looking at his size, i'm sure he can lift heavy things, can't be that all he has is fat". I was quite hurt by his remarks but i cleverly concealed my emotions by staring at him with hate-filled-eyes. Nevertheless I was quite relieved at his pronouncement (despite the fact that it was pompous and demeaning). Carrying Team sounded pretty easy and maybe it involve carrying rubbish outside or something. My carrying partner was Hamish, Bro Ravi's son. He was this cheerful dude who was a couple of years older and had this aura of laidback-ness which was sorely lacking in his old man. He gave me a quick rundown on RTSH and what our duties were.
Quite simply we would carry the inmates, take them to the bathroom where the bathing team would bathe them. We would then take them from the bathroom to another place where the dressing team would clothe and feed them. Later once their beds were clean we would take them back and we would be done. I kinda felt tired after hearing all that. In my youth, i wasn't neccesarily an active person. I was more into intellectual pursuits, something that most people could never understand. Philistines!
There were two carrying teams and there was no time to waste gibbering. I followed Hamish wondering where the trolleys or wheelchairs were. I asked Hamish what on earth would we be carrying and where are the trolleys or whatever that we're going to use. He laughed this sinister laughter and it was then that i saw shades of his father in him. He said "we're the trolleys", grab his legs . And he proceed to lift the guy, encircled his arms around the inmates chest and waited expectantly for me to lift his legs. I meekly complied.
I feel that i should mention that the said inmate was covered in crap. During the carrying procedure, some transference occurred. (something i learnt years later after watching CSI). Basically i now had crap on my apron and my gloves. It was all i could do to not puke because to say i was disgusted was like saying that i enjoy taking it up the ass.
It took me a while to comprehend that there was actually someone's shit on myself. It's pretty hard to describe one's emotions. A complex medley of self-pity, loathing and aversion would best express it. The only thing that kept me from falling of the ledge of sanity was Hamish. He was smiling and laughing away like he was a 5 year old given his favourite treat. I frankly thought that maybe after spending too many years cleaning other people's shirt he had lost it. A product of his environment so to speak (something i picked up from CSI as well ).
I asked him how he could be cheerful in this.. this.. this place. He said that" i'd rather be me carrying them than being them being carried by me". When you're 17 that sounded really profound. I wasn't completely converted but i was willing to be convinced.
No one knew the inmates names, the volunteers just randomly assigned names to the inmates. There was Ah Mok, Karim, Bala, Joe and many others. Once they had names they stopped being entities and they became regular people. They were trying to survive. Unfortunately for them, they were in a government run facility which was understaffed and underfunded. No one really wanted to work in such an environment much less clean these kids everyday.
Our volunteer group agreed to come every Sunday and clean these kids up. At least once a week they (the kids) would know what it was like being clean. I decided early on that somebody had to do it. I truly cared for the kids and i felt that i could make a difference. Since then i've always had the best time possible in KKB. Whenever someone new came in. I would gave him the same cliched spiel Hamish gave me all those years. It still works!
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