Often when we got back to the kampung (my parents’ village) I would take my children to the nearby kebun (orchard), Maryam and Hannah (and occasionally Hasan in my arms). Ignoring the plead from their mother and their two grandmothers the walk in the trees wouldn’t take that long anyway.
Physically it isn’t so much of an activity but I’m hoping our little journey in the greeneries would experientially teach them something. The difference between a rooster and a hen (Jusco or wet market don’t tell you that), the difference between a mosquito and a gnat, the difference between dokong and duku langsat, and so on. The dark and damp shades under the durian tree obviously don’t provide much comfort to both my city-dwelling daughters, but they would trundle obligingly nevertheless as I show them around.
Ok, that should be enough for today, our little show-and-tell. Now I’m bracing myself for the inevitable nag. From the grandmothers upon seeing the marks of mosquito bites on their grandchildren’s fair skin.