At home with a Malaysian family

KAMPUNG HULU CHUCHOH, Malaysia — It's easy to visit Western Malaysia and feel as if you're in India or China, or even somewhere in the United States.

All that changed for us when we left our plush hotel overlooking the Petronas towers for a homestay in Hulu Chuchoh, an ethnic Malay Islamic "kampung" or village amid palm, rubber, tapioca and coffee plantations 40 miles from Kuala Lumpur.

Moving in with Partiwi Zainal and her family meant sweating out two nights sleeping without air conditioning. But sitting in their living room the other night, learning congkak, a game played with marbles and a wooden box that looks like an oversized tray for deviled eggs, I realized what a special opportunity this was to learn about each other's cultures first-hand instead of what we read in the news or hear on television.

Partiwi, her husband, Mohd Hilel; and their daughter, Lena, 12, the only one of five children still living at home; are a thoroughly modern Muslim Malay family.

At 49, her black hair, long neck and angular face hidden most of the time behind one of her dozens of brightly-colored headscarves, Partiwi looks more like a woman in her late 30s, especially when she switches to her black scarf with a brim and climbs on her motorbike to take her daughter to school.

Lena starts regular classes starting at around 7 a.m., then comes home for lunch and goes back for Islamic instruction from 2:30 p.m. to around 6 p.m.

Her uniform is a white scarf and tunic over a long, green skirt. At home, she relaxes like any teenager, in T-shirts and sweat pants, and spends her time reading, watching television and text-messaging her friends on her cellphone.

Mohd, 52, is a teacher, but since he suffered a stroke a few years ago, Partiwi does all the driving. A few years ago, the village chief came up with the idea to organize the Banghuris Homestay as a way for local people to supplement their incomes and introduce foreign visitors to Malay culture.

Partiwi signed up and did some remodeling to the pink stucco house where she raised her family. Little by little, she's been making improvements.

Our bedroom is off the dining room. Next to it is a room with no furniture used as a prayer room and also for ironing.

Recently, Partiwi installed an air conditioner in her living room where we played the game. "Maybe next year, the bedroom," she said.

Many families here operate cottage industries in their backyards. Partiwi showed us hers: a small bakery where she makes cookies and snacks from the tapioca she grows. The chickens running around the driveway supply the eggs.

"You want to follow me?" she asked us on our first afternoon. The village heads often organize programs (fishing, rubber-tree tapping demonstrations, etc.) for visitors who come in groups, but we were on our own. Partiwi's invitation to "follow me" was the cue for getting in her Toyota for outings that proved far more fun than preprogrammed activities.

We stopped first at her aunt's tapioca chip and snack factory. Partiwi opened her truck, and we helped her unload big plastic bags filled with snacks she delivered to her aunt for packaging under a brand called "Mr. Rizac."

Several women sat in a small room sorting and bagging chips, "like Pringles," Partiwi said, only made from tapioca, a root vegetable that resembles a long sweet potato.

Next it was a visit to Sam J Frozen Foods for a look at women stretching and molding dough into roti canai, an Indian flat bread used in all sorts of dishes; curry puffs and other breakfast foods people used to make at home when they had more time. Sam J looked to be in her 60s. By now, I was beginning to notice that most of these businesses were women-owned and run.

"In an Islamic country?" I asked Partiwi. "Of course. Women here don't stay in the house."

Highlights from our two days with Partiwi:

• Going to the car wash — basically guys with a hose and buckets set up in a parking lot.

• Sitting on the front porch sweating in the 90-degree heat and humidity, and flagging down the motorcycle ice-cream truck. I think there might be a good business in importing lime creamsicles.

• Sharing a meal with the other homestay guests, two Muslim teachers and a 16-year-old student. They ate with their hands; we with fork and spoon.

• Figuring out how to brush our teeth without using a sink. The bathroom was otherwise well-equipped with shower and western toilet.

• Walking around the village. Everyone greeted us, asked where we were from and wanted to know what we thought of Malaysia.

"Very nice country," I said. "Especially the Malay people."

As it turns out, we can all get along.