BRUNEI

With their heads covered, they looked like students of King Faisal University for Women. In fact, they were airhostesses of Royal Air Brunei.  In a world where dress is becoming brief, transparent, skin-tight and provocative, the airline is following the Islamic code of hijab. The guiding factor is modesty to avoid flattery, sweet talk & entrapment.

Despite cheap fare and bumper promotion, the check-in counter of the airline, at Hong Kong,  was rather deserted. In the flight itself, I had half of the economy class to myself. Maybe more passengers were in the First Class Cabin famed for its gold and leather trimmings, wide choice of cuisine with Royal Doulton tableware and Swiss cotton napkins.

 I felt relaxed the moment I occupied my seat.  I swallowed what ever was offered by the stewardess. There was no chance of my getting any pork, which Muslims are forbidden to touch in any form.  In fact, I keep a card handy, written in six languages, saying “No pork, no sausage, no lasagna, no lard.” With no other virtues, this card is the only hope for my salvation and entry to Heaven.

The aircraft Boeing 767 landed smoothly at Bandar Sri Begawan, the capital city of Brunei Darussalam.  Immigration and customs formalities were brief and soon I was out of the airport terminal. I looked for a bus or minivan but all I could see were Volvo or BMW cars.  I contacted Tourist Bureau and was advised to take a taxi or wait for a bus. After about one hour wait, I contacted a cabbie.  He asked for US$ 25 equivalent. This was outrageous as the city was hardly 8 kms away.  I tried to beat it down but met a straight face. It was useless to try other taxi-drivers; no one seemed interested.  Finally, I played my Muslim Card and recited a few versus from Holy Book to establish my bona fide.  He agreed to reduce it by only two dollars; he needed money too to feed his two wives and seven children.

The city was neat and clean.  The roads were wide with signs in English, Arabic and Malay. The taxi dropped me at Pusat Belia, the Youth Centre.  I was readily admitted in its hostel as it was rather off-season.  I got a bed in an air-conditioned dorm for US$6.  The only other occupant was a guy who had left Palestinian long ago to settle in Libya initially and later migrated to Australia. Though he had become an authentic Australian Citizen, he was still not contended. He had a plan to move his family to Brunei, as he didn’t like his daughters to grow up in a permissive society.

If one gets a cultural shock to see “no one wearing shoes”, one would get a twist of equal intensity to find that “no one walks”. When I stepped out of my hostel, I found the whole footpath deserted. Whom would I seek guidance from? Certainly, not by stopping a speedy car. In desperation, I continued till I ran into a vegetable market, three blocks down.  A stallholder welcomed me as if I was his first customer. “I am just looking for cooked vegetables to eat now,” I told him frankly. He started laughing and garbling.  In a moment, the whole market was giggling. Later, I was relieved to know that I was close to Yayasan Shopping Venue. When I entered the complex, my heartbeat slowed down.  It had marble floors, wood paneled walls and tree-lined courtyards.  I was afraid that cost of a bite would be equally astronomical. I just purchased a soft drink, biscuits and prunes. That would be enough to carry me for the next three days.

Because of the vast oil wealth and the small population (only 300,000), the people of Brunei enjoy a very high standard of living. Most people have 4-wheel-drive vehicles and spacious houses. Their per capita income is the second highest.  With free education upto university level and free health facilities, the disposable income should is the highest. Crime is non-existent. Because of carefree life and free medical, the life expectancy is over 74 years.

From the colonnaded walkway of Yayasan Complex, I saw a flickering golden dome to the west and shanty-houses to the east.  The contrast was mind-boggling. First, l went to the Mosque.  Known as the Sultan Omar Ali Saifuddien Mosque, it dominated the city skyline with its distinctive dome and minarets.  Once inside, I could see brass-framed & stained-glass windows. It had marbles floors to cool the footfalls of the worshippers. The ablution area, where they washed before prayer, had been designed on the pattern of a Roman bath.

At first glance what looked like a cluster of shanty houses, was in reality Venice of the East. Known as Kampung Ayer, it was a collection of water villages. The houses were built on stilts in the Brunei River. These had all amenities of life like electricity, fresh water, telephone and gas. There were markets, mosques, schools, medical clinics, fire station and police.  Private motorboats and water taxis were negotiating the labyrinthine waterways at death defying speed.

I walked from the Gold-dome mosque to the adjoining water-village.  It involved a long stroll on the wooden walkways and bridges. Many house-owners were sitting in their galleries with ease and pride. One, Sulaiman Abdul Kani, asked me to come in for a cup of tea. The house was made of wood, bamboo and bark.  Inside the room, a young kid was playing a game on the Internet while a colour TV was showing an action packed film in English.  Soon, due to low tide, the area was stinking. Looking at my disappointment, Sulaiman explained that they were used to it.  Many a times, they were persuaded to move to a better place, but they refused. I got his point. I have seen people in worse conditions. In Northern Norway, a large number of people lived in deep snow most of the year but they stayed put for centuries.

Next day, I covered the most of the city on foot.  Many a times,  a car stopped and offered me a lift. I responded by "No thanks"  as I was enjoying a hassle free walk.  In the process, I had a chance to visit Brunei Museum and admired Islamic Art. Also, I went into the Royal Regalia Building, which was full of glittering array of ceremonial regalia including gold and silver armory and  jewel-crusted coronation crown.

Through a sheer chance, I came across a hotel managed by a Muslim from Tamil Nadu (India). I immediately ordered sheikh kebob with fried rice. While these were being prepared, I had a little talk with the owner, Hajji Usman Ghani. He had a lot of praise for the Sultan and made many disclosures in a whispering tone: “He has two wives; one, a first cousin,  marrying him when she was just 16.”  Islam allows its followers to marry upto four wives if they can treat them equally and keep them happy.  Certainly not a difficult job for the Sultan whose personal wealth exceeded $40 billion.

My stay was limited to only 3 days.  In fact, it was no fun to stay any longer without a chauffeur-driven car. By the evening, I was pushing my carryon to board a flight to Manila.

HRM