LONDON: “It is just not right! I thought when I put some flowers here, I would feel better. But no,” sobbed a woman in front of a Royal Netherlands Air Force display plane outside the entrance to the Eindhoven Military airport.
“I hope in time, we will find out who did this, this….the babies, the parents, the people onboard….,” she sobbed as she struggled to find the words.
That about summed up the feelings of just about everyone touched directly or indirectly by the tragedy that struck MH17 flying from Amsterdam to Kuala Lumpur and cut short the lives of 298 people of different nationalities. The world was stunned with disbelief that these innocent people had become victims of wars not their own.
In the wake after the crash, the most horrendous and revolting news filtered out from the crash site where looters rummaged through wallets and belongings of the victims, journalists and photographers read personal diaries and poked and pried into what should be classified as evidence and should not have been tampered with. It would seem that little respect was given to the bodies or parts of bodies still scattered around the crash site.
Thus it was just befitting that their arrival was given the full military honours, witnessed by the Dutch King Willem- Alexander and Queen Maxima, Prime Minister Mark Rutte, representatives of the various countries involved as well as family members.
Forty three Malaysians, including 15 crew members were among the victims. The Malaysian Association of The Nether lands lost two of their members; neoropsyopathology student Mohd Ali Md Salim, 30 and restaurateur Jenny Loh, 55. Ali was on his way back to spend Hari Raya with his family in Johor while Jenny, together with her husband Fan Shun Po, 60 were accompanying Jenny’s mother Tan Siew Poh, 85 , back to Penang . Needless to say none of them made it.
In the days after the incident, I spent five days in Rotterdam where Ali and Jenny lived, meeting their friends and family members who were still coming to terms with their loss.
Joe Ismail, Treasurer of the Malaysian Association, was still reeling from the news. He and a few close friends of Ali had sent him off at Schipol Airport. The night before they had stayed all night packing and bantering, avoiding sleep as they feared Ali might miss his noon flight. He even asked a friend to give him a haircut right there in the kitchen while waiting for sahur.
When I arrived, the house was in sombre mood – Joe himself was at a loss. As we prepared for the breaking of fast, someone remembered Ali would have been the one to cook as he loved to cook. It was evident in the kitchen where curry powders and pastes were all carefully stacked. The fridge was stored with ingredients and kitchen cabinets with appliances that he used daily.
Joe couldn’t find anything as it was Ali who organised everything. He doted on Joe and cared for him not just as a landlord but also as a foster father.
“Ali looked after Uncle Joe, he looked after me and we both looked after Uncle Joe. It had always been like that,” said Muhammad Hariz Aizat who was also a lodger there.
Huzaimi and Nur Fariza Shaipuddin, fellow students whom Ali had also taken under his wing, had spent the nights following the tragedy at his place. There was also Jenn Poldervaart, another close friend from Sabah, and Mohamed Taib who had been living in Rotterdam for most of his life.
They all had a story to tell about Ali’s kindness and warmth.
They spent time in his room on the ground floor. Tidy and everything in its place. He was very immaculate. Quran and religious books were stacked side by side with his academic books. His jackets were hung in plastic covers, awaiting his return when it was autumn in Holland. His love for shoes was evident – there were all kinds of shoes stacked on the rack just outside his door, where not too far away was his bicycle.
Jenn, Huzaimi, Nur Fariza and Hariz spent some time in the room – talking about the friend they will never see again.
At Asian Glories, there was a stream of visitors clutching white flowers. The day I visited the restaurant, Kevin, the only son of Jenny and Fan, was praying. He invited me later to see him. A small vulnerable figure, shaken by the incident that had robbed him of his parents and his maternal grandmother. He was coping, he said, embracing his moth er’s wise words to remain positive and carry on.
The next day, at what was called the Stolle tocht or the silent walk, the turn up was staggering. In the drizzle, friends and acquaintances, clients – all gathered carrying white flowers. The Mayor of Rotterdam, Ahmad Aboetalib and Celebrity Chef Herman deb Blijker, led the walk from the city centre past Dimdaily, another of Jenny’s eatery where they were joined by Kevin. They then walked the short distance around the corner to Asian Glories, already packed with mourners.
They will miss the cheerful Jenny and the quiet unas suming Fan, the hospitality, the warmth that drew people to the restaurant not just for the roast duck or curry laksa that they made.
Jenny, a generous soul who never hesitated to donate for charity, said a friend, had changed over the last few years – she had an aura of peace and calmness about her. She had a positive attitude and lots of wise words. It was these wise words that Kevin will arm himself with to keep the family business going.
By Thursday, on the day the planes carrying the remains arrived, I felt I knew Ali and Jenny well enough to go and say goodbye at Eindhoven military airport.
The day I left Amsterdam from Schipol Airport where the doomed flight took off, flowers and toys and balloons and messages of condolences had taken over a wider space outside the entrance. The sweet smell of lilies and roses wafted and lingered in the summer breeze as a tribute to those gone but not forgotten.
-NST
