Imagine being a female who has been cooped up in an all-girls madrasah for 12 years and an introvert who has not socialized publicly for a solid 8 months. That was me. I hope you take a good moment to resonate how giddy and internally uncomfortable I felt on the day before my first ever university orientation camp.
The camp was held by the university’s Muslim and Malay societies. At first I was reluctant to go as I thought I had explored every nook and cranny of the “beloved” Malay culture (its so-so-interesting art, language, stigmas, unhealthy practices etc.). I thought my exposure from the Madrasah community and makcik pakcik bawangs were sufficient for me to know about my roots. But boy, I thought wrong.
I’ll begin with the activities we did during the camp.
Throughout the four days, they reintroduced to us the different elements of Malay culture: martial arts, music, entertainment. Instead of merely showing us the well-rehearsed performances (like how I have been spoon fed all these years) they actually got us to attempt them. When I tried silat, I nearly went bonkers. How do people memorize all these steps? How could Malay culture, with so much emphasis on gentleness and poise, make female silat practitioners look infinitely intimidating? And how beautiful the martial art becomes when it is accompanied by combat decorations; daggers, sticks and fans. How the solo performance-based silat moves are just a chronological order of you fighting an invisible attacker. Silat is as beautiful as it is fierce.
Tarian Melayu bewildered me, to say the least. Balancing two plates on each one of your palms, twisting your arms in rotations while sweeping gracefully across the floor – surely I underappreciated our tarian. The dance moves told a story clearer than hip hop, ballet and contemporary dance. The moves also catered to both genders despite it being dainty and gentle, like how men’s arm swings were larger than women’s although they were both walking delicately. Tarian showed that manhood did not exclude gentleness and tenderness. I realised that in this age, tarian would largely redefine masculinity.
Dikir Barat was not completely foreign to me as I had participated in various performances in school. Despite that, the camp’s Dikir Barat club captivated me with the jargons used to indicate different movements and types of rhythms. How the Tukang Karot interacted amiably with his audience. How strong the awok-awok’s voices were but versatile to envelope humor, happiness and sadness. How every beat by the percussionists determined the direction of the performance. Dikir is much more than two lead singers and a dozen backup singers clapping their hands.
The greatest realisation in this trance was the youths participating in these traditional arts. In a small world of ageing population and cultural dilution, I worried Malay was going to perish, go extinct. However at this camp, I was surrounded by young individuals preserving, protecting, our heritage. We are the upholders of our own history. Alhamdulillah for letting me meet such great humans.
🛀💭 