Alep Mydie (centre)bustled out of a side room alongside the mosque,
striding ahead of the half-dozen other worshippers who’d been attending a
Saturday-morning meeting.
As befits an imam he was wearing a fine sarong and peci, the
neat embroidered headgear used by leaders, particularly those who have been on
the haj. As suits a local government politician who’d just been re-elected he
radiated purpose and direction with a firm handshake to match.
The men, some greybeards, many in batik, all looking sage
and senior, made small talk. It could
have been anywhere in Indonesia – until they wandered across the vast and
almost empty car park and into their big air-conditioned four-wheel drives and
pick-ups, cars with grunt. Not a motorbike in sight.
Alep was in a hurry. He had an important meeting on the
coast, 230 kilometers distant. It would
take him under three hours to get there and with no toll road.
This is life in Katanning, Western Australia, for the 400
men and women whose ancestors came from Java and Sumatra – and maybe other
places.
“But we don’t know who they were,” lamented Alep. “There are
so few records. It’s as though our past has been wiped clean. It’s so sad.” Compounding the situation is that the people were originally
called ‘Cocos Malays’, a reference to their ethnicity, not their ancestor’s
nationality.
What is known is that during the 19th century
indentured workers were brought from the archipelago, and probably the Malay
Peninsula to labor on two little groups of Indian Ocean islands.
The larger, Christmas Island, is less than 500 kilometers
south of Jakarta. It’s Australian
territory principally used as a detention center for Middle Eastern asylum
seekers ferried from Indonesia.
The Cocos / Keeling islands, two atolls 900 kilometers
southwest of Christmas Island, share a similar history and administration. The
workers processed copra. On Christmas
Island they mined phosphate deposits, the excreta of millions of seabirds over
thousands of years.
The mineral was shipped to Western Australia and used to
enrich the poor soils of the State’s wheatbelt, turning vast areas into
productive lands.
Christmas Island was named in 1643 when a British ship
sailed past but the island wasn’t explored till 1857. The British declared it theirs and later started to mine the
phosphate deposits. The islands were
administered through Singapore.
In 1957 the British handed the island to Australia when they
were largely forgotten. But in 1979
Gordon Bennett, a trade union leader from Britain arrived and revealed the men
were not being paid award wages.
His campaign to end pay discrimination resulted in proper
salaries but higher phosphate prices that closed the mine.
But what to do with the people? They remained a separate community,
ethnically, culturally and religiously tied to Indonesia, though with no known
relatives left in the Republic.
But in law they were Australian citizens because they had
been born on Australian territory. On
Cocos / Keeling a referendum was held in 1984 with most voting for integration
with Australia.
With no work left the government was forced to fly them to
the mainland. Between 1973 and 1979
most went to Katanning 290 kilometers southeast of Perth, and a most unlikely
place to drop Muslims from the tropics.
Katanning is hot in summer and freezing in winter, a town of
tall gum trees and quiet streets. It
was founded in 1853, an archetypal wheat and wool center dominated by
conservative broadacre farmers who’d grown their crops using fertilizers made
from Christmas Island phosphates. But a
new meat works was in need of labor.
The men slaughtered the sheep and their wives worked on the
boning tables. The company made
allowances for its Islamic workforce, exchanging Australian public holidays
like the Queen’s Birthday for Idul Fitri. Friday is worked as a short day so
employees can pray.
More recently the meat works has started employing refugees
from Afghanistan as the descendants of the original ‘Cocos Malays’ get higher
education and better jobs. About ten
per cent of Katanning’s population is Muslim, compared to a national average of
2.2 per cent.
“The women had come from the islands so we all spoke
Indonesian,” said Jenifa Lloyd-George (left).
When born she was given an English label by island authorities too lazy
or prejudiced to respect Malay names. (David Lloyd-George was Prime Minister of
Britain early in the 20th century.)
She’s now aged 73 and retired on an Australian pension after
30 years working at the abattoir with her husband Enjia Corrie, 75. Their grandchildren have married Muslims and
moved to other parts of Australia.
The couple maintain their culture with the help of a giant
satellite dish in the backyard of their spacious and modern house.
On the lounge wall an evil husband mixes a poison potion for
his pregnant wife so he can run away with the new woman – a sinetron
(soap opera) beamed directly from Jakarta to the cinema-sized flat screen TV
monitor.
When the contrived passion palls she flicks to a direct
telecast of pilgrims circling the Kabah.
Outside wattlebirds sip nectar in the couple’s flower-filled garden
while the ruthless Australian sun roasts the ochre landscape.
“We’ve adjusted, but it hasn’t always been easy,” said
Jenifa. “In winter the temperature can drop to zero. I miss fresh tropical fruits like papaya and bananas, but
everything else is OK. There’s been no discrimination.
“Would we go back to Indonesia? Why? I wasn’t born there
and there’s nothing for us. We’d get
nothing. On the islands we were
segregated and lived in poor housing with few facilities.”
Within four years of settling in Katanning the couple had
started buying a house. “In the Cocos I worked as a carpenter and got ten and
half rupiah a week for boat building,” said Enjia. “Here we got proper wages –
that number of dollars in an hour.”
The mosque was opened in 1981, less than ten years after the
first arrivals, by the first Prime Minister of Malaysia, Tunku Abdul Rahman.
Before then prayers were held in local halls, even a
winery. Alep Mydie came to Katanning in
1974 as a child with his father who worked as a halal slaughter man. Alep’s grandfather had been an imam so it
seemed natural to follow the family tradition. He’s also a marriage celebrant.
“There’s been good cooperation with local churches,” he
said. “We all live in harmony here. The
secret is to assimilate but stay true to your traditions and beliefs.”
(First published in The Jakarta Post 4 December 2013)
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