A Childhood Encounter with Bunga

A journal entry – a story from my childhood.

I first encountered the word ‘interest’ or Bunga in the Malay language, which also means flower, when I was in Standard 1. It was from a friend named Nurul Ain. I can’t remember her father’s name precisely; it might have been Isnin, Misbun, or Marzupi – something along those lines. In my class, we were the only two girls wearing the hijab. As a seven-year-old, I felt an instant connection with her because she dressed like my sisters and my mother (Ummi).

A Sense of Belonging

The shared hijab made me feel as though she was one of my friends from the Islamic kindergarten (PASTI) that I attended for three years before moving to that primary school. The primary school was a public government institution with a multiracial and multicultural student body.

My sister, Kakak, was sent to a private Islamic school (ABIM) in town with my two cousins. I always thought they attended a ‘cooler’ school because all their meals (recess, lunch, and tea) were provided, so the students didn’t need to bring pocket money. Their school day ended in the evening, whereas my school day was only half-day. This disparity gave me my earliest feelings of unfairness and raised many questions that I kept from my parents for quite a while. Whether they unconsciously and unintentionally treated me differently, I have more accounts from my teenage years that accentuated this feeling. However, those stories are for another time. The most important thing to know is that I’ve moved on from the rage.

At 30 years old, I assume that Abi (my father) sent Kakak to ABIM’s school because she was the first child. At that time, he had no idea which school to choose or how the logistics should be, so he put Kakak with my aunt’s children. Kakak went to transit at my aunt’s place before Abi fetched her in the late evening.

My First Loan

Back to Nurul Ain, one day, I borrowed 50 cents from her because Abi forgot to give me money for recess. The next day, I returned the 50 cents with the money Abi gave me for that day. He didn’t make up for the previous day’s oversight. It was the first time in my life that I borrowed money from someone. This event remains vivid because it felt tragic to me. I was embarrassed. The following day, Nurul Ain still asked for money as if I hadn’t paid her. When I told her I had already returned her money, she said I still needed to pay the Bunga.

The Price of Interest

For two days in a row, I didn’t eat during recess. However, I don’t remember feeling hungry or weak, so hunger wasn’t a part of the ‘tragedy.’ I knew that when I returned home, Ummi had prepared a delicious lunch that I loved, like fried fish and cabbage in coconut milk. A few years later, when I was old enough to tolerate spicy food, Ummi added chilli paste to the fried fish, called it Masak Terutup, and it became my favourite dish.

I didn’t hear any more about Bunga until a decade later when Abi gave me some financial advice as a young adult. The concept of interest and its implications became clearer as I grew older.