Atok's house, the Rumah Gadang of Kampung Senama, was not big, but it was the safe and secure haven for us kids to grow up in. Kampung life was exposed to the harsh natural elements. We felt very safe in the wooden structure at nights behind securely bolted doors against the pelting rain beating the rumbia thatched roof and the gusty wind whistling among coconut fronds and swaying bamboo. Once in a while the frightened cackle of hens would prompt us to shine the lampu pichit beneath the house for prowlers. Hyperactive children would be quickly coaxed to sleep by Omak reciting baby-snatching pochong stories. Bedtime was as early as 9pm as there was no radio or TV. All of us sleep on the wooden floor on tikars or thin smelly kapok mattresses with elbows as pillows, all huddled around Omak. The youngest would enjoy the privilege of nuzzling her strangely odourless ketiak. The rooster was our alarm clock.
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