The Old Provision Shop
Written by James Chia. Illustrated by Chia Yan Wei
The Joo Chiat neighbourhood features strongly in the childhood of the author and illustrator, cousins collaborating for the first time.
We produced this in memory of our 奶奶 (nainai — our paternal grandma), who loved the coffee from a Joo Chiat coffee roaster.
Uncle unhitched the old Milo tin from the pulley, and poured the day’s takings onto the wooden table at the back of the provision shop. It was nine o’clock and time to pack up. Forty-one dollars and eighty cents. Another slow day. He shrugged, and put the big notes into his pocket, returning the two-dollar notes and coins back into the Milo tin.
Uncle pulled the aluminium shutters down, and locked his shop.
Conditions were almost perfect. The boy lifted his creation up and tugged at the string with his right hand before releasing his hold on the roller in his left. The butterfly soared into the evening sky, leaving a trail of string. Bursts of delight erupted from his companions, and they unfurled their own masterpieces. The riverside sky was now filled with their creations — one dragon, several butterflies, as the kites floated in the breeze. The landscape was different then. There were no high-rises and skyscrapers dotting the horizon; just a small boathouse next to the river jetty, and a few boats parked idly. And kites.
Business had been slow for a while now. Teo Ah Teck Provision Shop was once the central place of the neighbourhood, but that was some time ago. Uncle (or Teck, as he was known then) had been a seaman for the early part of his adult life. A frugal lifestyle and the fact that he never married helped him to save up quite a decent sum of money after a few years at sea. Teck used his savings to buy a small little shop space in the heart of Joo Chiat.
Joo Chiat was then a predominantly Peranakan community. There was a small number of Eurasian families living there, and some Ceylonese who lived near their temple. Teck planned to stock mostly goods that catered to the Peranakan. He was pure Chinese, but they all spoke Malay in those days, in post-World War II-Singapore. He had no trouble communicating with the other races living there, or elsewhere in Singapore.
The Peranakan, or Straits-born Chinese, were the descendants of the early Chinese migrants who had sailed south from China to Nanyang in search of better livelihoods. Many had settled in Penang, Malacca and Singapore, integrating and inter-marrying with the local Malay population. The Peranakan women’s (termed Nonya) cooking was literally a melting pot of Chinese and Malay influences. It was spicy, tangy and aromatic. It was delicious. Some of the great Nonya dishes were rendang (a dry pasty curry), and laksa lemak (a bowl of thick white rice noodles in a strongly-spiced coconut gravy). Teck loved them all.
The Peranakan were a matriarchal society, so it was important that Teck catered to women of the community. Teck stocked his shop with spices, coconut and all the other condiments common in Peranakan cooking. The Nonya cooked almost daily in those days, and they were frequent patrons of Teo Ah Teck Provision Shop. Business was brisk and Teck’s provision shop quickly became profitable. The Nonya were a mainstay of his provision shop clientele; they were always dressed in their elegant bright-coloured kebaya (their traditional dress), and wore meticulously crafted beaded slippers.
Teck enjoyed running his provision shop. He had no family, and the shop took up all his time. His was a different era, a different Singapore. A time where the communities were more local, more tightly-knit.
Teck was friendly to all who patronised his provision shop; it became a meeting spot and a place of news for the local community. He knew everyone (some not very well), and everything that was happening in Joo Chiat.
“Eh,” volunteered Bibik (Auntie) Cheng one day, in a vibrant red-and-orange kebaya.
“You know Towkay Teo, the rattan (cane) shop owner four streets from you? He got another cha bor (woman). From China. His wife found out and went to slap the woman yesterday. She scream like gila (crazy)!”
Then another rumour from Ahmad the coffee boy.
“The mata (police) chief got a woman here also. Upstairs from Muthu’s barber shop. I saw him last night walking upstairs. He only came down after midnight, and went back to the police station at the south end of Joo Chiat”.
Teck was familiar with the squat colonial building that housed the police station. He chuckled at the thought of the police chief sneaking around in the middle of the night. It almost seemed comical.
But much of the banter that pervaded Teck’s provision shop was idle talk, amounting to little. Teck did not give a second thought to what Ahmad was doing, snooping around Muthu’s shop till after midnight (how else would he have seen the mata chief?). But the gossip was a way to pass the time as Teck unloaded goods and shelved them, and thought of what other good products he could bring in to service the community.
Teck’s provision shop was well-stocked, though simply-furnished. On the innermost side was Teck’s store-room where he kept his larger inventory, like the 20-kilo bags of rice, tins of cooking oil and gunny sacks of coffee beans. In the middle of the shop were shelves stacked with tinned goods, chilli sauces and non-perishables. At the shopfront lay more gunny sacks, half rolled-down with different kinds of spices — pepper seeds, tamarind, cinnamon, cumin; curry powders, onions, garlic, ginger and so on. Some sacks were stacked on the five-foot way (pedestrian walkway) in front, but never blocking more than half a foot of the walkway. Teck had always been a considerate man.
In those days, it was not uncommon for shops to serve multiple purposes.
Teck’s provision shop also had a coffee grinder. They drank coffee made from Robusta beans in those days — thick, aromatic and highly-caffeinated coffee. Nanyang coffee. Long before the artisanal coffee (brewed from Arabica beans) became popular in modern Singapore.
Teck would personally grind the coffee beans, which he allowed his customers to mix and match freely. Teck’s provision shop was constantly permeated with the strong aroma of coffee. It brought a zing to all who patronised the shop.
The British expatriates were a surprise group of loyal customers. Many sent their helpers to pick up packets of ground coffee powder. Some came on their own, in their Morris Minors. It was quite a sight to see the British ladies, in their nice spring dresses, load up coffee powder into the boots of their cars. Interestingly, one of the ladies told Teck that she liked the smell of the coffee powder wafting in her car on their rides home.
Teck also supplied the local kopitiam (coffee shop) down Joo Chiat Road, with his coffee beans. It was owned by Ah Chin, a tough Hainanese man. Ah Chin preferred a blend of Javanese and Sumatran beans, deeply roasted. Teck always delivered on time, and gave Ah Chin a decent price. That was why Teck always had free coffee when he went there in the mornings for his breakfast of kopi-o kosong (black coffee; no sugar), two slices of toast with SCS butter and kaya (coconut jam) and on Saturdays, an egg custard puff. It was an energetic way to start the day.
Completing Teck’s provision shop was his coconut grater, a metal contraption where you fed in half of a coconut at the top, and out spat shreds of coconut at the bottom opening into a bowl. These graters were usually painted green. Teck used it to grate the coconuts for his customers to use in cooking their curry. The coconut was packed neatly into clear plastic bags after grating. Service was good in those days, always personal.
Air-conditioning was not commonly available then. Teck kept his provision shop cool with two fans. One was a ceiling fan; the other was a standing fan that Teck placed near his wooden table, which doubled up as his newspaper stand. There was no need for a place to put the cash register. The humble Milo tin sufficed.
It was an ingenious contraption, centred around a pulley system. On one end of the pulley was the empty Milo tin. The other end was tied to a weight, usually a stone. When set up, the weight would pull its end of the string down, suspending the Milo tin up, just above head-level. Teck put cash and coins that he received in payment into the Milo tin. He emptied it every day, putting the coins and smaller note denominations back in the tin. Teck did not worry much about thieves or robbers. Firstly, he was rather well-built, having worked as a seaman before. More importantly, the people were honest and the community looked out for one another. So it was safe for Teck’s money to be kept in his Milo tin.
Teck safekept the larger bank-notes from his daily takings in his room, for making his weekly trip to the bank in the po dai (town centre), run by the Clan association chairman. He had picked up the good habit of saving his money in the bank from his time as a seaman. It was the best place where he could keep his money, to reinvest it when needed into his business. Suppliers needed to be paid and there were new goods and new stock that he often went to source for, to cater towards what his Nonya customers loved.
Teck had bought a simple camera some years ago after business became stable. On his rare off-days, he took photographs of the street of Joo Chiat and its people. He liked the photographs very much, and kept them in an old Khong Guan biscuit tin in his room.
By now, Joo Chiat had grown richer and its boundaries started to extend in all directions, towards Geylang Serai in the north (where the Malay community lived) and towards the beachfront, still pristine and yellow-sanded, where children often played. Joo Chiat’s architecture was distinct, mostly two-storey shophouses which were marked by their bright colours, ceramic tile mosiacs and facades of sculpted reliefs. The streets also bustled with street hawkers, going door-to-door to sell cooked food.
Teck himself did not buy food from the street hawkers much, as he cooked most of his own meals. But he gave himself a treat sometimes and ordered some braised duck which Ah Seah hawked. They always ate the braised duck together. Ah Seah was the closest that Teck had to a real friend. While he was friendly to all his customers, Teck was a very private person and shared little of himself with others. But for some reason he was quite open with Ah Seah. Maybe it was the delicious braised duck.
Teo Ah Teck Provision Shop stood for many years at the same spot in Joo Chiat, near the south end of the main road. Teck was a simple man and did not spend much on himself or unnecessary things like renovations or air-conditioning. Teck’s shop looked essentially the same as it did many years ago when he first opened it.
The residents were familiar with this local neighbourhood landmark, and passers-by could always hear Teck’s beloved “Lee Dai Sor”, a renowned Cantonese storyteller whose stories were broadcast on Rediffusion radio. The classic Rediffusion radio set was a staple in almost every Singaporean household. While Teck himself was not Cantonese, he understood the dialect well. Many of the Chinese did to a certain degree, and it was not uncommon to find school boys crowded around Teck’s radio set after school, listening to the stories that Lee Dai Sor told with such great conviction.
But change was becoming a constant in Singapore. As the community became more affluent, they started to cook less and dine out more. While Singapore was not yet a rich country, it was growing very quickly. Joo Chiat and the surrounding areas of Tanjong Katong became popular with the European and American expatriates (“ang moh” or red-haired) who were sent by their companies to work in Singapore.
The ang moh boys and girls loved their sweet drinks, and they loved them cold. Air-conditioning was still not common and the tropical weather sapped one’s energy quickly. Teck began to stock bottles of Coca-Cola and other sweet drinks like Sinalco and Green Spot. He had invested in a commercial refrigerator a few months before. These bottles of sweet drinks became a big part of his daily takings.
Teck saw that the community of Joo Chiat was changing. Slowly but surely.
The ang moh children were friendly, but they did not speak much Malay, and none of them knew any Chinese dialects. Teck’s command of English was also poor. He had not studied much, and the few years of schooling he had was in a Chinese-medium school. While Teck tried to be friendly, the communication barrier proved a step too far to bridge in this case. He managed to learn some English words from the boys, but these were rudimentary and he could not hold meaningful conversations with them.
The Nonya ladies remained regulars among his customers, but they were getting fewer, and older. Many had also moved away. Teck continued to stock his usual spices and cooking condiments so well-loved by the Peranakan community. But the inventory was staying longer in his shop. Daily takings were slowly dwindling. Fortunately Teck lived frugally and did not suffer much loss in his living standards, which were simple to begin with.
Teck knew that his environment was slowly changing, and he was powerless to stop it. He missed the old days. But he had also heard on his Rediffusion radio set that the Prime Minister, a powerful man, was talking of a new, industrialised Singapore. Singapore was opening up to the world. They would no longer speak Malay, but use English from then on. They would also discourage the use of Chinese dialects from now on, and start a “Speak Mandarin” campaign.
The beach was no longer where it once was. Land reclamation had brought about a new public housing estate (Marine Parade), and several new roads. The tall apartment blocks changed the character of the neighbourhood. New people moved in; these had no ties to the original community. More shops opened for business, and Teo Ah Teck provision shop was no longer the central ‘go-to’ place for goods and gossip that it once was.
Joo Chiat’s shophouses no longer housed the furniture, woodcraft and bicycle shops it once did. Some of the street hawkers had moved into the shophouses. One shop became famous as the seller of popiah skins, another for Nonya cuisine; this was good. What was less welcome was the seedier businesses that had also moved in. Massage parlours and bars had started to spring up. Many people in the community did not like them.
Teck took things all in his stride. He had seen enough changes in his time. By now, he was an old man. He did not have much possessions. Just his shop, which housed his refrigerator, goods and Milo tin.
The shops were filled with people, rushing for their piece of bargain. It was the yearly national rite of passage — the Great Singapore Sale. The shoppers were thronging in the building which some call the “jewel” of Singapore’s skyline. The Marina Bay Sands. “No, no, no”, said the Minister. “I wouldn’t call it a casino. That’s just a small part; it’s an INTEGRATED RESORT”.
But that couldn’t mask the rise in gambling and loan-sharking problems that had begun to dog our country.
I prefer to think of the MBS as the ‘boat in the sky’. It sounds absurd. It is.
An American girl and a Singaporean boy came by Teck’s provision shop one day. The girl had lived in Joo Chiat twenty years before. She had moved back to the US when her parents finished their posting in Singapore. Now that she had graduated from college, she was on a one-year trip around the world and wanted to re-visit this neighbourhood that was such a big part of her childhood.
“I’m Jo”, the girl said to Teck, who’d picked up a little more English since thirty years back, after what the Prime Minister had said on the radio. “This is Chung, my boyfriend”.
Jo, Chung and Teck talked for hours. Teck told them about the old Peranakan community from fifty years ago when he first opened his shop. He told them of how the neighbourhood changed through the years, from a communal yet individualised hamlet of people, to today’s cookie-cutter flats and supermarket chains.
Teck showed them his Milo tin, the old gunny sacks that used to contain coffee beans he would grind for customers, and his trusty coconut grater. He did not use them much these days. The ladies cooked less often these days, and when they cooked curry they used canned coconut more often than not. Some also preferred to use yoghurt, as it was “healthier”.
The time of the provision shop was passing very quickly.
There was a time, when the Econ mini-mart was the main competition, the new player in the grocery market ‘scene’. The provision shops survived that. Then, the supermarket chains came. Their goods were priced cheaper and they stocked a greater variety of produce and groceries. The supermarkets were air-conditioned, and fit the new Singaporean urban lifestyle. This would eventually prove to be the provision shop’s death knell. Fewer and fewer people bought their daily provisions from the provision shop. The latest siege came from the online supermarkets, which allowed customers to shop for groceries in the comfort of their homes.
Teo Ah Teck provision shop was surviving only on the boys buying cold drinks after their basketball games at the Community Club. The occasional bibik came, to buy the odd ginger and onion and single curry spice packet. It was getting harder and harder to justify keeping the shop open for business. Teck felt his age more and more. He was already eighty-three, though he was still strong and stood upright.
Chung told Teck about all the new shopping centres in Singapore, all the tourists coming in to visit Singapore, and the Universal Studios and the Integrated Resorts. Once a year, some famous drivers came to Singapore to drive in a big race at night. The whole city centre and the roads were closed for these drivers. These were supposed to put Singapore on the world map. At least that was what they were told.
Teck thought that it was silly to close the town so that race car drivers could drive around. Singapore had progressed. It was now a rich country. But had it given up too much? Did people now stop talking to one another, and caring for one another? Do they now run so hard to sustain their livelihoods, that they have forgotten how to really live their lives? Does the zheng hu (Government) really know what it was doing for Singapore, its people?
Jo and Chung recorded Teck’s stories. They took many pictures, and a longer video recording, using a device they said was a “smartphone”. Teck had never owned a mobile phone; he had never needed one since he spent all his time at his provision shop. Ah Seah had died a few years ago, and there wasn’t anyone he could call anyway. He was not sure what was so “smart” about the phone.
But Teck liked the two young people, and what they were doing. He enjoyed having someone to talk to, now that he was older.
There was no sound of traffic. Only the occasional birdcall and the low buzz of insects. You can hardly find a place like this in Singapore any more. Not that the country is an iron jungle. Far from it. Singapore has some of the best parks in the world, like the Botanic Gardens and the Gardens by the Bay. But these are human creations. There is little left of natural beauty in our country. But there remains the odd oasis of nature. We were lucky to enjoy it when we were children. I remember watching many birds fly back towards Pulau Ubin to nest, when I was taking the bumboat back to the mainland one evening after a good day of cycling. The sky was filled with them.
I hope our children can continue to see large flocks of birds in Singapore.
Teck’s accounts were turned over to the State when he passed away. Surprisingly, the bank account had close to a million dollars and Teck had left a will stating that all his money was to be put into a trust fund, administered by Jo and Chung for the conservation of Joo Chiat and the Teo Ah Teck provision shop. Apparently, Teck had saved this over fifty years from running his provision shop, frugal living, and an accidental investment into the shares of his bank (now one of Singapore’s three banking conglomerates) on advice from his late friend Ah Seah the braised duck street hawker.
Jo and Chung honoured Teck’s will, and turned his provision shop into a museum. It screened the interviews that they had done with Teck. It displayed the photos of old Joo Chiat which Teck had collected over the years. It proved to be quite popular with the primary schools in the neighbourhood. The Social Studies teachers found it quite useful in sharing a part of Singapore’s history with their students.
The museum also retained its original provision shop layout, complete with sundry goods which you could really buy. All you needed to do was to put the money into the Milo tin.
Some things are worth keeping.
This piece is based on the Peranakan neighbourhood of Joo Chiat in Singapore. While the story is fictional, the sights and sounds described and illustrated are authentic, and give a flavour of Singapore’s heritage.
