A love beyond expression

[Libaax-Sankataabte]

Love for some people is more than roses on Valentine’s Day. check out this couple whose love has withstood rigours most of us cannot even begin to imagine. Story from Malaysia

 

 

...in spirit we are one,

as always,

bound by unbreakable bonds

of love and longing for justice.

Neither this prison wall

nor a hundred years of incarceration

shall diminish my love.

 

Poem by Said Zahari

 

IF POETRY be the measure of love, these words penned by Said Zahari for Salamah Abdul Wahab, beautiful as they may be, still would not plumb the depths of their love. For mere words could never fully describe the bond that is shared between the former Utusan Melayu journalist and his wife. Separated after Said was arrested and detained without trial for almost 17 years under Singapore’s Internal Security Act, their love has endured when many others that have been tested by much less have failed. A love that lasts...Salamah and Said at home. When Said was arrested on Feb 2, 1963, their family was still young. They had been married for eight years and had three children – Roesman, Rismawati and Norman. Moreover, Salamah was pregnant at the time of Said’s arrest; Noorlinda was born three months later.

 

If one had listened as Pak Said, as he is known to many, recited the poem in the living room of his house one afternoon recently, in the presence of Salamah, one would have noticed that neither the tone of his voice nor the expression on her face belied what the two had suffered throughout the years to be able to sit together in the same room that day. “I am convinced that the love we feel for each other is part of what made us survive the years apart. But I think it is more than that. Ours is a special kind of love that binds us together and makes us strong. For 17 years we went through many trials and tribulations. We have proved that we are able to face the problems and overcome the difficulties,” says the 74-year-old Said.

 

“I knew from the beginning that life with him wouldn’t be easy,” says Salamah. “He was different from the rest, that I could tell. I knew that there would be sacrifices that I would have to make but, in my mind, there was never anyone else.” Perhaps the test early during their courtship was an indication of things to come. The two met when Said’s family moved from Bukit Timah, Singapore, to Geylang Serai. Salamah’s family lived across the street and the two got to know each other’s families before they started dating. Said’s family had chosen a bride for him – a distant relative whose family came from the same village and who went to a religious school.

 

Seven years younger than Said, Salamah had just finished English school then. As for Said, who was a journalist, political awareness, amidst the struggle for independence that was raging through many parts of Asia then, was to shape his sensibilities, including his views about marriage. “It was not easy going against my family’s wishes but for me, marriage was more than showing loyalty to one’s family. Marriage was important not just for starting a family unit but one that can work with me, understand me and support me in my struggle for principles that I believe in.

 

Despite Said standing his ground, their courtship came to a halt for about six months. “I explained to my parents that because of the life that I will lead, it is better for me to choose the one whom I want to marry. They reluctantly accepted my explanations and after a year, they agreed to my choice.”

 

Even then, Salamah recalled that Said had primed her for a future with him. “One day, he asked me what I would do if anything happened to him. Would I stick with him through thick and thin? We weren’t married yet. I think he was just testing my reaction,” says Salamah. “I promised him that should anything happen, I’d do what it takes for my family to be together.

 

“When he was arrested at dawn on that fateful day, I was not surprised at all. I was told that he would be brought in for questioning and that they’d send him back after a few days. I believed what they told me.

 

“Pak Said had with him only one change of clothing. After one week, I went to the police station. I was kept waiting for a long time. When his detention order came, I braced myself for a long wait. And true enough, his detention order was renewed after two years. And then another two years, and another, and another. Altogether, there were eight.”

 

Friends and family helped occasionally but the burden of putting food on the table every day rested squarely on Salamah’s shoulders. She started a catering business, selling nasi lemak, lontong, rice and 22 types of dishes.

 

“I was working six days a week, 12 hours at a stretch. I didn’t feel tired. I could sleep for three or four hours and that was enough before I began again the next day. I had to make sure there was money for the next day’s business. At the same time, I had to make sure the children went to school and were not involved with bad elements. It was hard but I have never regretted doing all these things.

 

“During those years, people, including both our families, asked how long I would wait for him. They thought that I was young enough then to marry again. Although Said had stated that he will not budge and admit to things that he was charged with – of being a communist – in order to get an early release, our families thought that if anyone could change his mind, it would be me. But I knew Said would never give up his principles and agree to something like that. I told them to do it themselves but they didn’t.

 

“Even Said himself was willing to let me go. But I loved him too much to let something like that affect our relationship. It’s just not me to abandon him when things are bad. Maybe that’s why I was able to wait for him all those years. But I know that not many relationships can survive this kind of separation,” says Salamah.

 

Though Said had faith that Salamah would not buckle under pressure from both their families, he was willing to grant her a divorce.

 

“My wife was too young then to understand the principles I was fighting for. She was completely apolitical. If she were angry with me, I would have understood ; I wouldn’t have blamed her.

 

“I believe that we cannot force people to love us. I told her frankly that I didn’t know how long I would be detained. That I wouldn’t be freed anytime soon. And that I was prepared to release her.

 

“I wanted her to come to that decision herself. I also knew in my heart of hearts that she would choose for us to be together. I didn’t expect her to understand why I wouldn’t change my mind but when I said that, she reminded me of the pledge she made years before: to be together, whatever happens.

 

“I feel that I am truly blessed because she stood by me through all that time,” Said explains .

 

While Said was in prison, he tried not to think too much about his family.

 

“Especially in solitary confinement, you’d slowly go mad if you thought too much about what’s happening outside that small, dark place. If I allowed myself to be sad, I wouldn’t have been able to endure life.

 

“But before sleep, I would think about my family and imagine what they would be doing. I allowed my mind to wonder how my wife was managing. I pictured my children going to school. But after just a few minutes, I would shut my mind to these thoughts. Occasionally, I’d scribble a few verses about what I was feeling.

 

“While in prison, I indulged in beautiful images of what life was like for my children. I would see them doing well in school. I visualised them growing up and marrying people of different races because that was the kind of multi-ethnic family I had wanted to build.

 

“I would ask myself if I wanted to sacrifice principles for the sake of my own family. I believed that I have to make some sacrifices and I that I had chosen to do that at the expense of their happiness. As my friend (Universiti Malaya lecturer K.S.) Jomo would say, that is the ghost that’ll haunt me until today. And I accept that.

 

“But I believe that we are but a couple of digits in society and that the happiness of society is greater. It must have been God’s will that I chose to go through all that suffering for a good cause. I believe strongly in the principles of justice, fairness and democracy. I was offered perks in exchange for my principles. I could have been the first journalist to be a Tan Sri. But I rejected all these worldly benefits and made the difficult choice. I paid a high price then and I’m still paying the price now. But if I could go back in time, I still wouldn’t change anything,” Said affirms.

 

Salamah visited Said in prison every week without fail. For the first year during his detention, Said’s family was allowed to sit in the same room, with a Special Branch officer as a chaperone. Later, their visits took place in a special visitors’ room where they were separated from Said by a glass window and had to talk to each other using telephones.

 

“The glass separating us was a form of torture, of psychological pressure that was put on detainees to break our spirit. Imagine not being able to hug your children or salam tangan (shake hands) with your wife and family members,” Said recalls.

 

Salamah remembers the glass window well. She and her husband would put their hands against the glass, pretending that they were allowed the luxury of touch. Much of what she and her children were going through was kept from her husband.

 

“We were both suffering; the only difference was that we were on different sides of the glass window. Sometimes, when he asked for a book or something, I’d pretend that I’d forgotten to bring it when in fact, I hadn’t. Sometimes, we couldn’t make ends meet. There wasn’t enough money for rent. Once, the car was repossessed because I couldn’t pay the instalment. My children and I had to unload all our cooking utensils from the car onto the roadside and flag a taxi down and load everything again.

 

“I never told him because I believed that whatever it is, somehow, we who are on the outside can manage. But he’s on the inside. Even if I were to tell him, there wasn’t much he could do. What was the point of worrying him? Sometimes, I felt there was no need to tell him anyway because he knew in his heart that all these things were happening.”

 

The only time that Said found out about their problems was when Salamah was diagnosed with breast cancer and had to undergo a mastectomy. Though he was allowed to visit her at the hospital after the operation, he felt helpless. When she visited him a few weeks later, Said wrote the poem, Tears, on Nov 20, 1969, for his wife.

 

I saw tears down your cheeks

sparkling like diamonds

beautiful like shining stars

in a clear night sky.

I saw sorrow

dancing in tune with your sobs.

 

While the first stanza acknowledges her pain, the rest of the poem also recognises her courage and the spiritual link they share, despite being apart.

 

“From my prison cell, I could only imagine what she was going through. I didn’t realise the gravity of their hardship until I spoke to her after I was exiled to Pulau Ubin during the last year of my detention. In spite of all that, she still supported me.”

 

“That’s because I knew he was doing the right thing,” Salamah quips.

 

“The book I wrote about my political detention, Meniti Lautan Gelora (Dark Clouds at Dawn,) is mainly about me,’’ says Said. “That’s one part of the story. There’s another part – about the family – that hasn’t been written. The tale of my wife’s sacrifices and unwavering faith in me, allowing me the space and giving me the courage to speak out, is not yet told.

 

“That’s why we have to write the book together, Sal,” he says, looking at his wife.

 

Which is also why it doesn’t bother Salamah so much that Said forgets important days like birthdays and wedding anniversaries. And that she’ll never receive flowers or chocolates on Valentine’s Day.

 

“Giving flowers to show you love someone is something alien to me. Flowers could never express the love I feel for her. Maybe it’s because I’ve been in prison too long, but I don’t think it’s that. My love for her is much too big for that.

 

“I know that he loves me very much and I feel the same way,” says Salamah. “It was so hard for us to be together in the beginning that only death can separate us. Nobody can break us up except God.”

 

Until that book about them is written, all Salamah has as a token of Said’s love are his words, as immortalised in Dark Clouds at Dawn: “This book I dedicate to my wife and children whose sacrifices and sufferings were a thousand times greater than mine.”

 

 

 

[This message has been edited by Libaax-Sankataabte (edited 02-14-2002).]

[Pig]

waaaaaw...

[Buubto]

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaw dat is one hell romantic story wuuuuuw let me caught my breath it is really touching. Now I know love exist but is dam rare to find it.

[Hibo]

It's been very intresting to read.

 

Libaax, always well-chosen topics

[Pig]

this is a nice story.

[isii-sisinta]

Inaa lilaaha wa inaa ileyhi raajicuun! Walaahi toban bari, shan maalmood, labo saac, afar daqiiqo iyo hal il-biriqsi baan sii ooyayey.

[Xafsa]

Daaaang!!!! That is deep walaahi!!!

 

How come I missed this topic back in the day? :confused:

[Captivating_SouL]

Am too lazy to read the whole thing ....someone summarize it for me.

[nuune]

^^^^ lol,anaa kaa daran xagga lazinimada,laakiinse waan fahmay sheekada