'I lived on Pulau Samulun, now Jurong Shipyard': Musician remembers life before reclamation
For musician Mohd Nazir Dolah, it is a lost cluster of islands where the 74-year-old was raised in harmony with a sea teeming with life.
Much of his childhood was spent diving in the azure waters off Pulau Samulun and Pulau Merlimau, where he lived, with goggles fashioned from wood and rubber bands by his father, and sailing around on a small boat known as the kolek.
Pulau Samulun was turned into Jurong Shipyard, while Pulau Merlimau is one of 14 islands reclaimed by the Government for its vision of a regional chemical hub.
With the sea in his backyard, Mr Nazir said in Malay that "since I was six, I had been eager to swim in the sea whenever I had the chance".
As Singapore's offshore islands were developed by the Government, Mr Nazir was among scores of villagers who were relocated to the mainland.
On June 14, they gathered for a festival, named Hari Orang Pulau (Islanders' Day), at West Coast Park to celebrate their heritage and history through workshops, performances and talks.
At the day-long event by ground-up initiative Orang Laut SG, researchers urged attendees who once lived on the islands to record their stories, noting that the dwindling numbers in the community treasure these memories.
Visitors milling about the various booths during Hari Orang Pulau held at West Coast Park on June 14. ST PHOTO: MARK CHEONG
The sea was more than a playground for the islanders, recounted Mr Nazir. It was a cornucopia of fish, crabs and shrimp that his family depended on for a living.
"I loved to eat raw prawns when they fell off the net. My father didn't get mad at me," he said with a smile. "They were very sweet, very tasty."
The clear waters off the reclaimed island of Pulau Samulun were particularly plentiful with catch, he added. "My mother would say, 'We are not rich, but we are happy.'"
By the time he turned 13, the village chief had told the villagers that the Government wanted to take the island, offering each family a house and a few thousand dollars in compensation, he said. There was even an offer from Malaysia to move to Pahang, where they would get a plot of land to grow oil palms.
Some islanders contacted a lawyer as they felt the money was insufficient, while others simply did not want to move.
But his family followed the village chief's instructions and moved to Pulau Merlimau, where his father worked for JTC Corporation as a surveyor.
It was there that Mr Nazir started to pursue his dream of appearing on radio and television with his family band that specialised in ghazal, a genre of traditional Malay music.
The band was so popular that they would travel by boat to Pulau Bukom, Pulau Sudong and other islands in the south to perform at weddings and competitions.
But life on Pulau Merlimau soon came to an end. At the age of 20, Mr Nazir and his family moved to the mainland when Pulau Merlimau was reclaimed for the creation of Jurong Island.
When asked how he felt now that the islands of his youth were gone, he said: "It is just memories now."
After moving to the mainland, Mr Nazir would tell others he was from Jurong Shipyard, because hailing from the islands was seen as a source of embarrassment.
The leader of the family band Orkes Melayu Mutiara said: "It was sad that people looked down on us for being island people, but we couldn't run away from that reality."
Mr Mohd Nazir Dolah performing with Orkes Melayu Mutiara, an intergenerational ensemble made up of islanders and descendants from Pulau Samulun, during Hari Orang Pulau at West Coast Park, on June 14. ST PHOTO: MARK CHEONG
His mindset changed only recently, through a movement by descendants of islanders, like his daughter Irma Yanti and Orang Laut SG founder Firdaus Sani, who view their roots as a badge of pride.
Said Ms Irma, 43, a vocalist for the band: "Even though I have never been (on the island) before, I feel that we have this sense of history because of my father."
Ms Irma Yanti performing as a child with the family band led by musician Mohd Nazir Dolah. PHOTO: COURTESY OF IRMA YANTI
On June 14, Mr Nazir, his daughter and the rest of the band helped revive another tradition from the islands here by leading an upbeat two hour-long set accompanying the Joget Dangkong. The communal dance was once a staple at weddings in Singapore's Southern Islands and continues to be practised in Indonesia's Riau archipelago.
These days, when asked where he is from, Mr Nazir has a different answer: "I lived on Pulau Samulun, now Jurong Shipyard."
He told The Straits Times: "Now, I am proud... we have a day for island people so everyone knows where we come from."
People partaking in Joget Dangkung, a traditional communal dance that has roots in the Riau Archipelago, during Hari Orang Pulau on June 14. ST PHOTO: MARK CHEONG
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
CNA
2 days ago
- CNA
Japan updates 'megaquake' preparedness plan
TOKYO: The Japanese government said that much more needs to be done to prepare for a possible "megaquake" to reduce the feared death toll of up to 300,000 people. Quakes are extremely hard to predict, but in January a government panel marginally increased the probability of a major jolt in the Nankai Trough off Japan in the next 30 years to 75 per cent to 82 per cent. The government then released a new estimate in March saying that such a megaquake and subsequent tsunami could cause as many as 298,000 deaths and damages of up to US$2 trillion. In 2014 the Central Disaster Management Council issued a preparedness plan recommending a series of measures that, it was hoped, would reduce deaths by 80 per cent. But the government has said that so far the steps taken would only cut the toll by 20 per cent, Kyodo news agency reported, and an updated preparedness plan was issued on Tuesday (Jul 1). This recommended accelerated efforts, including constructing embankments and evacuation buildings as well as more regular drills to improve public readiness. "It is necessary for the nation, municipalities, companies and non-profits to come together and take measures in order to save as many lives as possible," Prime Minister Shigeru Ishiba told a government meeting, local media reported. The Nankai Trough is an 800km undersea gully running parallel to Japan's Pacific coast where one tectonic plate is "subducting" – slowly slipping – underneath another. Over the past 1,400 years, megaquakes in the Nankai Trough have occurred every 100 to 200 years. The last one was in 1946. The Japan Meteorological Association (JMA) last August issued its first advisory warning that the likelihood had risen but it was lifted again after a week. COMIC PROPHESY Some foreign tourists have been holding off coming to Japan this summer by unfounded fears spurred on social media that a major quake is imminent. Causing particular concern is a manga comic reissued in 2021 which predicted a major disaster on Jul 5. Hong Kong-based Greater Bay Airlines reduced flights to Japan because "demand has rapidly decreased", a local tourism official told AFP in May. The number of visitors to Japan from Hong Kong to Japan fell 11.2 per cent in May year-on-year, according to the tourism office. Those from mainland China soared 44.8 per cent, however, while arrivals from South Korea rose 11.8 per cent. "It is impossible with current science to predict earthquakes by specifying the location, time, and magnitude of an earthquake, and to say that an earthquake will or will not occur," Ryoichi Nomura, head of the JMA, said in May. "We ask the public to take certain steps so that you can cope with earthquakes no matter when they occur. But we also strongly urge the public not make irrational actions driven by anxiety."
CNA
26-06-2025
- CNA
North Korea unveils new beach resort for 20,000 guests
Scroll up for the next video X North Korea unveils new beach resort for 20,000 guests
CNA
21-06-2025
- CNA
'If given a choice, we all wanted to die on the pulau', says a former islander on the joys of a simple life
When he was just 10 years old, Mr Mohd Nazir Dolah was sailing solo for fun on a small wooden boat between the southwestern offshore island of Pulau Samulun and Tanjong Kling on mainland Singapore. The distance between the two is less than a kilometre, but leaving a child who was in primary school to make this crossing alone would make most parents jittery. His parents, though, did not bat an eyelid. After all, he had been accompanying his then-fisherman father on a boat from the time he was seven years old and having been born on Pulau Samulun, the sea was his backyard. Samulun is derived from sembulun, the name of a tribe of orang laut (sea people) who once lived in the area. The 74-year-old retiree, who is more commonly known by his stage name Nasir Abdullah, recalled: 'After school sometimes, I would follow my father to the sea to fish, catch seafood with bubu (traditional fish trap) ... it became a hobby. 'I prefer (going to sea) alone than being with friends. There's a serenity in being by yourself.' At age 13, he and other Pulau Samulun residents were asked to move to Pulau Merlimau to make way for the development of Jurong Shipyard. Still, sailing and fishing remained his favourite pastime. However, all that came to a halt when at around the age of 20, when he and other orang pulau (Malay for island people) were again asked to move, this time to a kampung in Teban on mainland Singapore. Official figures are unavailable, but Mr Nasir estimated to his best recollection that there were about 200 families on Pulau Merlimau at the time, including families who had moved there from Pulau Samulun. Merlimau along with several other southern offshore islands were reclaimed to form modern-day Jurong Island, which is now used by energy and chemical companies. Speaking to CNA TODAY at West Coast Park during the inaugural Orang Pulau Day on June 14, Mr Nasir who is a retired gardener said: "There were so many sweet memories, living on the (offshore) islands. That was why when we were first told to move, many were resistant." Our interview was interrupted because Mr Nasir, who leads a traditional Malay music ensemble called Orkes Melayu Mutiara, had to perform at the event organised by Orang Laut SG. The ground-up group has been documenting and preserving the life of inhabitants of the offshore islands of Singapore, the orang pulau who are the descendants of the orang laut. After excusing himself from our interview, Mr Nasir walked over to the stage with a slight limp. However, any signs of a creaky knee and other aches and pains faded away quickly during his two-hour show, which I realised was about as long as Lady Gaga's latest performance in Singapore. As his band, comprising mainly his children, played uplifting and traditional Malay songs, Mr Nasir gave the attendees a glimpse into island life – where everything is a little better with some music surrounded by family and friends. QUESTIONABLE FISH BAIT AND 4AM SHOWERS For about an hour at the beach along West Coast Park, not too far away from his old homes in Pulau Samulun and Pulau Merlimau, Mr Nasir recounted stories from his childhood and youth on the offshore islands. One of the first few memories of growing up he recounted involved getting chased around by his mother on Pulau Samulun. 'She chased me around the whole island, with mangrove wood in hand, for skipping Quran reading class,' he recalled, chuckling. Looking back, he said he appreciated how strict his mother was over his attendance for lessons and said it was a "very important life skill" she instilled in him. 'But as a child back then, of course, I was sad. "I was the most doted on, you know,' he added. He is the youngest of three children and has a brother and sister. He was so much his parent's favourite that his mother, a homemaker, yanked him out of secondary school soon after he started classes, because the car he used to take to school on the mainland got into a minor accident. 'She said she loved me too much and she was scared I'd die,' Mr Nasir said, adding that he never went back to school and started working as a teenager. As someone whose life is so intertwined with the sea, he naturally loves eating all kinds of fish and seafood. One particular fish he highlighted was ikan debam, commonly sold at wet markets even today. 'They're usually quite big, one to two kilograms each … Cook in sambal tumis, or asam pedas, really the best. Other fish can't compare,' he reminisced. His joy in eating this spotted fish, however, ended when he was a teenager living on Pulau Merlimau. He saw a friend catch the fish using human waste as bait and then sell it to a fishmonger. 'Since then, I've never eaten ikan debam anymore.' Besides fishing, islanders such as Mr Nasir were adept at swimming and sailing. When it came to diving, though, his skills paled in comparison to his older brother. 'My brother could dive without any gas (apparatus) and last for an hour,' Mr Nasir said. 'There was one time my father was so worried when my brother did not resurface after half an hour. My father dived into the water, only to see my brother adjusting our bubu (traditional fish trap).' He said what enabled his brother to do this was a spiritual practice common among seafaring orang pulau and orang laut. It was called perenggang air, a Malay term that roughly translates to "making a gap in water". Though he had many fond memories of living on Pulau Samulun and Pulau Merlimau, Mr Nasir acknowledged that 'there were bitter memories' as well. The inconvenience that stood out the most for him was the commute to school or work on the mainland, which involved a daily 40-minute sampan ride. 'If it rains or storms, you still have to go to school and work. Even in rain or storm, you still have to go back home because you don't have another house on the mainland,' he said, recalling how they would arrive in school all soaked. A typical school day would involve getting up at 4am to draw water from the well to shower, before setting off from the island by about 5am. When it came to basic food items or daily necessities, there was a shop on the island selling these, but they would have to take a boat ride to the mainland if they needed anything else. This was why, although the islanders were emotionally attached to their old homes, they adjusted quite quickly to life on the mainland. 'If given a choice, we all wanted to die on the pulau,' he said. 'But after being forced to move to the mainland island, life became better.' That's not to say that he did not have any lingering sentimentality for the life he left behind. For some time after his family and neighbours were moved to a kampung in Teban, Mr Nasir would still make weekly trips to the beach to fish or trap crabs, in an attempt to recreate parts of his old life. THE ALLURE OF GHAZAL One aspect of his island life that still stays with him today is traditional music, particularly ghazal. Ghazal is a genre of traditional Malay music common in this region, with roots tracing back to India and Middle East. Usually slow in tempo accompanied with instruments such as tabla, harmonium and oud, ghazal song lyrics are arranged in quatrains and touch on themes of love and heartbreak. Though not unique to the offshore islands, Mr Nasir's exposure to the music was closely intertwined with his life then. 'I began liking ghazal music after listening to it when I was a young boy (in Samulun),' he said, adding that it was commonly played at community events such as weddings. 'Then when I got the opportunity to learn how to play it, the interest grew.' That opportunity came when a Malaysian ghazal player moved to Pulau Merlimau to work. Mr Nasir, his father and uncle and some family friends began learning how to play the music from the man, whom he knew as Hussain Abon. After Mr Nasir left school, he had even more free time, which he devoted to music. 'Everyone chipped in S$20 to buy instruments like guitar, tabla and harmonium. We bought them at Jalan Sultan,' he said. Among the unforgettable memories he had was being invited to play at weddings on various offshore islands and on the mainland. The ensemble would typically play on malam berinai, or the henna-wearing ceremony on the eve of a Malay wedding. 'We will play from about 10pm until dawn, around 5am,' he said, adding that it was the passion for the music alone that could keep them playing through the night. At its peak, his troupe would perform an average of thrice a week at weddings, community events and radio and television shows, Mr Nasir said. The group even travelled to Malaysia. Ghazal was such serious business that some troupes would resort to black magic to win competitions, he claimed, believing that his group was a victim of this in one of the earliest competitions they joined. 'During our first song, we all played as normal and could hear each other very clearly. But as soon as we got to our second song, suddenly, we could not hear each other's playing at all. It was black magic.' Apart from this one-off incident, his ensemble went on to win national competitions. He recalled fondly how his group won a national competition held at Victoria Theatre in the 1980s, with his original song called Keindahan Kota Singapura, or the Beauty of Singapore City. The music of ghazal itself was so enchanting and the musicians so popular that there were men who went to great extremes. They took their own lives when their love for female ghazal singers of that time went unrequited, Mr Nasir claimed. As for himself, his love – now wife – came to him while he was in the music scene as well. During one of his group's performances, the singer was unable to make it, but along came a singer from another group named Hasnah Kana as a stand-in. 'From there, we got to know each other and we began sending letters to each other. Back then, we did not use the telephone. Eventually, we got married,' he said. His wife, Madam Hasnah Kana, went on to become a prolific traditional singer in the region until she died in 2020. Taking the place of Mr Nasir's wife as a singer in Orkes Melayu Mutiara now is the couple's youngest daughter. All of his four children and two sons-in-law also form part of the group. 'Initially, our children did not have any interest. Since they were young, they were forced to help us, follow us and perform at various events,' he recounted his children's early exposure to music. 'It started forced, but now they don't need to be forced, they enjoy it themselves.' He admitted that his interest in ghazal has since declined because support from Singapore broadcasters shifted in tandem with the community's taste in music. Though there are numerous groups playing traditional Malay music now, none of them specialise in ghazal specifically. Even at Orang Pulau Day, Mr Nasir and his ensemble played a whole repertoire of traditional Malay music such as zapin, joget and dangdut but not ghazal. The Orkes Melayu Mutiara was playing the selection of uplifting songs to accompany the joget dangkung, a traditional communal dance once common at gatherings in the offshore islands. And the deliberate choice of songs indeed worked, judging by how attendees from different races with varying dancing abilities stepped forward and danced along to the music. I was tempted to join in, more than once, especially when they played zapin, which is a form of traditional Malay dance I had the opportunity to perform back in secondary school. ONLY MEMORIES REMAIN Throughout the roughly one-hour conversation we squeezed in before he was due on stage, Mr Nasir was largely very jovial and spirited. Every now and then while recounting funny anecdotes, he would laugh heartily, prompting my colleague and I to stifle our own. He was also visibly excited about his art, offering to demonstrate a few tunes on his accordion and even belting out a few lines to show the subtle differences between ghazal and asli – another slow-beat traditional Malay music genre. After the joget dangkung performance, we took a walk to the beach to take photos and wrap up our earlier conversation. The beach was probably about a minute's walk away from the stage, but we took about 10 minutes to get there. This was partly due to his slow walking pace and limp, but mainly because he kept getting stopped by old friends and distant relatives and even strangers who were at the event, who wanted to say hello or take photos with him. When we resumed our conversation, he sounded more melancholic and a little quieter than before. Perhaps the day's programme had drained him. Or maybe the setting sun just added to the mood as Mr Nasir reflected further about the heyday of ghazal music and the good old pulau days that have long passed. Asked about his wish for ghazal, which had formed a big part of his life growing up on the offshore islands, he said it was his hope that the younger generation would take a keener interest in the traditional art form. However, he would not go out of the way to hold classes and teach. 'Some people, like me, we are not interested in teaching. We just like to perform,' he said. Before speaking to him, as an observer who had never experienced offshore island life, I assumed that he would have nothing but strong feelings about returning to the past. This was not the case. 'Cik berpijak di bumi yang nyata (I stand firmly grounded),' he said, a Malay proverb that means that one is keenly aware of the reality. He added that he was heartened by the Hari Orang Pulau initiative led by descendants of orang laut and orang pulau, which he said helped to preserve parts of Singapore's past that may have otherwise been lost in the annals of time. 'Such times have already passed. I feel sad that my children won't get to experience it. But I feel grateful that at least I managed to experience it and can share it with them.'
