A drying trade

By DAPHNE LING

A fisherman and his wife give a little insight into their livelihood of catching shrimp and turning them into heh bee – a difficult and laborious task – that is likely to die out with them.

HEH sek liao (The prawns are cooked)”, booms the baritone voice of 58-year-old fisherman Lim Chang Hoah, as his wife Yeoh King Yong fishes the prawns out with a net from the boiler.

It is about an hour past noon, and the sun is shining brightly overhead in Kampung Sungai Pinang, Balik Pulau, Penang. In a corner, the couple’s dog is gently snoozing. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a sleek black cat trotting off with a tiny fish in its mouth, its tail in the air.

“No problem,” Lim says laughing, gesturing towards the cat. There are many cats in the area, all well-fed, and the kind-hearted Lims have no qualms about sharing that day’s catch with the kampung cats, none of which “belongs” to them.

Kampung Sungai Pinang in Balik Pulau, Penang, is home to fishing families who make heh bee, dried shrimp used in Malay, Chinese and Nyonya cooking.

Lim and I are sitting on small, wooden stools in the cool shade of his zinc-roof workplace. Behind us, his old sampan, now fitted with a motor, bobs in the waters.

The weather-beaten face of this man is very wrinkled, and as he speaks about the work that he has been doing since he was a mere 16-year-old, I can almost feel myself sitting in the sampan out at sea with him.

As if reading my thoughts, he wags his finger at me “Beh sai qi. Jin hong hiam (You cannot go. It’s very dangerous)”.

The eldest boy and second in a family of five, Lim is the only member of the family to follow in the footsteps of his father, and his grandfather before that. From the time of his grandfather, the Lims have been specialising in catching shrimp to be made into heh bee (dried shrimp).

He proceeds to show me the nets which he uses to catch the shrimp, colloquially known as the pompang. The pompang is a popular shrimp (and sometimes, fish) catching net used in the waters of Malaysia. Unlike trawl nets, the pompang is mostly used at river mouths, or waters nearer to shore. The catch is smaller compared with more commercialised methods of fishing.

Shrimp fisherman 58-year-old Lim Chang Hoah and wife Yeoh King Yong who are among the few people left who make heh bee on Balik Pulau, Penang.

The pompang that Lim uses has mesh of different sizes: the smallest being 0.5 inches (1.25cm), found at the end of the net; the largest, six inches (15cm), which is found at the head of the net.

“ Wa si liak sae boi heh. Heh bee bo tua chiak si ma? (I catch shrimp. Dried prawns are not big, right?),” he says, laughing, upon seeing the incredulous look on my face at the size of the mesh.

A typical day for Lim starts at around 6.30am. The time when he actually leaves for the sea depends on the tide and wind, but generally, each day is later than the previous by a half hour or so. He usually goes out to sea daily (with another worker) for 10 days in a row, and takes a break for about a week. This cycle is repeated throughout the year. This is because shrimp fishing is highly dependent on the tides.

He usually goes out to collect the day’s catch at about 1.30 pm.

“Wa eh chaboh lang tan tiao khiuk heh (My wife waits at home to collect the shrimp from the net),” says Lim, gesturing fondly to Yeoh.

The shrimps are then washed, and boiled for about 20 minutes. The cooked shrimp are then scattered on the cleaned pavement to be dried. This takes up to 6-8 hours on an average day, and bad weather spells disaster for this fishing family as the prawns will become bad from the moisture.

“Eighty per cent, Lim says when I asked how dry the prawns must be to be taken in.

Lim’s RM4,000 shell-separator machine he bought 10 years ago has saved him from the laborious task of deshelling prawns by hand.

After the shrimp are dried satisfactorily, they are then put into a shell-separator machine. The RM4,000 machine, bought 10 years ago, has proven to be a worthwhile investment.

“ Ku si, wa ka-ki pak (I used to do the work)”, says Lim, bringing out a pink bag from inside the cupboard. Before the machine, Lim had to manually de-shell the shrimp by hammering the shrimp-filled bag on the floor an average of 80 times.

Lim grade the dried prawns according to size by sieving them four times.

If you think that would take eternity, guess again, for Lim quipped: “80 second nia! (Only 80 seconds!)”.

The de-shelled shrimp are then put through four different sieves of various mesh sizes. The result is four different grades of shrimp, according to size. The dried shrimp are supplied to wholesalers in the nearby vicinity.

As I finger the worn-out sieves, I see the same black cat back for his second fish, this one slightly bigger than the first. I reach out to stroke the sleek fur, and receive a swipe of the claws in return; evidently, kitty thinks I am out to steal his share of the tiny fish.

The Lims roar with laughter: “Mai ka ee sio chiou (Don’t fight with the cat).”

By now, the sun is in a very homicidal mood. We retreat to the back of the house where the Sungai Pinang runs, and our conversation continues. The Lims, it turns out, have five grown up children. None of their two sons and three daughters, however, will be continuing in their father’s footsteps.

In all honesty, I expect Lim to be sad that his children will not be following in his footsteps. After all, his first love has always been the sea. But he says he has no regrets over that; he has not passed on his skills because the work is difficult, dangerous and sometimes unprofitable.

One event that stands out in the Lims’ mind is the 2004 tsunami. Their livelihood was affected by the change in tides and it brought home the dangers associated with the water, and the general fear the public has with the sea-faring trade.

“ Jin khang kor (Very difficult),” says the husband, “jin hong hiam (very dangerous)”, says the wife.

He treasures his love affair with the sea, but accepts that times have changed and his children need to move to greener pastures for the sake of themselves and their future families.

Yeoh scattering cooked prawns out to dry to remove 80% of the moisture.

For that, he and his wife insisted their children all had a solid education as “ Bo thak cheak, beh tahn chiak tong keem (without an education, you cannot survive nowadays)”.

As Yeoh says: “ Wa lang sayang chi lei khang-khui, tapi knia thiuk-thiuk ka sayang (We love what we do, but we love our children more)”.

As I bade the warm and friendly couple goodbye, Yeoh calls to my retreating back: “ Ae ki soon kia, thak cheak (Remember to study, little grandchild)”.

For the Lims, who must believe they have read the signs, the future is not out at sea anymore.

Family of fisherfolk

AT Kampung Sungai Pinang, there is a small community of fishing families (Yeoh King Yong, wife of a fisherman, estimates the number to be 15) specialising in catching shrimp to be made into heh bee, the much sought after dried shrimp that is used in Malay, Chinese and Nyonya cooking.

Most of these fishermen were out to sea during my visit, and their wives were patiently waiting for their return to help in the harvesting of the tiny shrimps.

It was a heartening sight to see the wives welcoming their husbands safely home from the sea, and how the couple would then work hand-in-hand to harvest and process the catch of the day.

In KSP, the cry “Wa tnui lai liao (I’m home!)” is a celebration of a safe journey, a victory cry against the elements, and an acknowledgement of a day’s hard work.

But their days are numbered as many families have not passed on the skills to their offspring. Many young adults have opted to leave the village and work in fields a lot less dangerous than the open sea. One cannot help but wonder if the supply of our beloved heh bee may one day dry up. That's something no one really has the answer.

I guess, however, that if things continue the way they are, the heh bee industry will become a trade of the past. Only time will tell.

SOURCE: The Star Online (Lifestyle)