Religious Observance

Any Muslim in any shop or public place sells buys or drinks liquor or any other intoxicating drink shall be guilty of an offence and shall on conviction be liable to  a fine not exceeding RM 5,000 or to imprisonment to a term not exceeding three years or to both and to whipping of not more than six strokes.

 

OK.  There are some ironies here.   That sign was on the same island where we bought beer: three for $3.  

It has been a few days since I’ve seen another white face (assuming mine still qualifies as white – this sun at 1 degree north of the equator seems to want to darken skin).  Last night a nice lady at our hotel responded to our request:

“Can we find food near here?” with

“Do you want Malay food or white food?”   

White food.  I didn’t even know there was such a thing.  But a glance into the street helped me: there was a KFC at the corner and a MacDonalds across the road.  White food. 

We chose Malay food.  

We have spent a lot of time on buses recently, another 11 hours yesterday, and we are now accustomed to the look of panic on a local’s face when he or she thinks we are going to need help in English.  We have fallen into the habit of just wandering through restaurants looking at food to choose.

But today I found a new faux pas.  Ingrid & I had been shopping in a grocery store in this most northern city in Malaysia, Kota Baru.  Not only is it the most northern, it has two other quirks:

• The locals enjoy birdsong so much they broadcast it from speakers mounted in the streets, and
• It is the most traditionally Islamic city in the country.

 The birdsong presents no issues. It is simply delightful.

However,  as an evangelical agnostic living in a country of Christians, I have done well for years keeping my own counsel, trying to respect everyone’s beliefs: whether Christian, Hindu or  Rastafarian.  But today in the grocery store I really stepped in it: I stood in the wrong checkout line.

At first I didn’t realize there was one line for men and another for women, but the combined weight of laser glares from under three hijabs left me in no doubt I was doing something wrong.  Once I saw the sign, I realized I might inadvertently notice a woman buying a personal hygiene item or one of the sexy nighties from the second floor or – gasp – perhaps even a bra. 

I stepped back from the brink and handed our selection of oranges and peanuts to Ingrid for safe passage past the cash register.

Now as we head back to a vacation place where we expect to see more tourists, find some white food, drink beer and leer openly at cleavage, I feel oddly comforted.