Shhhh!!!....Can Airport Talk?

By Hafsah Ali

The stories in here are mostly true. Ive had so many encounters in my life as a member of an airport ground crew. Im not sure if I can continue cranking out more volumes until all the stories I have (those I can recall anyway) have been written out.
Im not expecting much from this book, though I do hope one or two chapters will open the eyes of married men and women to the fact that they should not take their marriages for granted and to keep the right kind of company. No malice is intended toward anybody.
Books such as Coffee, Tea or Me? or the BBC series Come Fly with Me dont paint a complete picture about the lives of those working in airline industry. Not all of us were snared by honey traps and bribes. Airline staff meets all sorts of people, and temptations abound. Ultimately, it all depends on the person.
I had a good thirty-three years of lessons working at the airport. I cherish and hold dear the experiences Ive gathered, the people Ive met, and the friends Ive made. I thank my friends and the passengers who encouraged me to pen this book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Singapore
• Release date: May 11, 2015
• ISBN: 9781482830750

Hafsah Ali

Educated at St. Theresa’s Convent and the Radin Mas Madrasah, Hafsah Mohd Ali landed a job as Malaysia Airlines System’s (MAS) passenger relations officer. Her airport adventures began at Singapore’s Paya Lebar Airport, before civilian flights were moved to Changi International Airport. Her frequent travels to Kuala Lumpur saw changes to Malaysia’s airports—from Sunbang Airport to KL International Airport. After being retrenched, she studied religion in Cairo and Damascus. This is her first book. She spends time writing her second and third books.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Start of the Real World

When I was born, the doctor smacked my bottom so hard, I screamed so loud! Ever since then I already knew that this was going to be a rough world.

After both my doting parents checked for a suitable name through the Quran and some Islamic texts, they both settled for ‘Hafsah’ on the seventh day. I was thus named after one of the Prophet’s wives, the daughter of the second Caliph Umar Al-Khattab. She was upright, honest and reliable. She was entrusted to be the first keeper of the holy book.

That name suited me. My father always taught me the value of honesty. Hopefully, I would emulate Saidatina Hafsah (rah). I could protect myself out there while facing the many challenges to come. Thank God they did not give me some weird-sounding name that had no meaning, such as "Pungut, Sepet, Bigau", or some long name that won’t fit the dotted-lined space on my birth certificate.

My love of flying must have started most probably with the way my nanny Nyii Soyah, a loveable character, handled me. Every morning, she would lift me up with her strong yet loving hands. I giggled with happiness and excitement, while she would exclaim, "Timang-timang dah cantik cucu Nyii!"(Oh! my child, you are so beautiful!) She would sing that song she composed herself. She would then pass me over to my mother to be breast-fed. When my nanny swung me up into the air, the feeling of independence and being free like a bird enthralled me.

I was a quiet little girl—an easy child to take care of, as my mother put it. She told me that sometimes she forgot that I was even around, as I was so quiet for hours in one place. Neighbors frequently ‘borrowed’ me for a day. When I was young I was told many times that they saw my father in my features, certain gestures and his steadfast character. The latter, as well as the people-person personality I’d inherited from my parents, helped me in my job at an airport.

Our house was always filled with people, like a welfare home and a day-care center to some neighbors, friends and relatives. They would come over for a meal, asked my father for help to write letters to their children’s teachers or to government agencies or helped to send neighbors to hospitals. His car was well utilized by kampong (village) folks as he always gave lifts to whoever he met along the way.

Sometimes our visitors stayed over for a few days, weeks, months and even a whole year. One close family friend, Uncle Wah Dollah and his family whose house at Telok Blangah, Singapore. was partially burned were given sanctuary at our house close to a year while their house went through extensive renovations. Ley Hua, our Chinese washerwoman of twenty years, was also part of our extended family. She washed mountain of our clothes as that time washing machine was not available yet in my country During the May 13 riots in the late Sixties, she and her son lived at our home. My mother’s granduncle, Tok Mat from Termeloh, Pahang. Malaysia would also visit us and stayed for months.

Feeding guests was something my parents always did and liked—no instant Maggi Mee noodles at that time! My mother told all of us, "You can never be poor if you feed your guests." It was something we loved to do.

My protective father was so against his six daughters mixing with boys, so after St Theresa’s Convent in the morning, it was straight to Madrasa Radin Mas in the afternoon. This way we all could not loiter on the streets like many kids do today. He helped us utilized our time to the fullest. Sister Mary, our school principal, often had my father as her monthly visitor—that was reporting time! So the Ali sisters had better behaved. My three male cousins and my brothers had more freedom as boys have to be boys, although they had to be home before sunset after playing football at the nearby field in time for maghrib, the prayers after sunset.

He built continual communications with us girls. He helped us with our school homework. Because he looked stern and had a no-nonsense approach, his three wards—my cousins who lived with us ever since I was a baby—were scared of him and were always well-behaved. Brothers Fazakir and Fazillah who were bright and obedient students were in the first few batches of Singapore Polytechnic graduates. Shah, an orphan, was a bit playful and needed extra attention, especially in his school work. My father banned him from going out and put him through his mathematics drills daily. He eventually became a successful draughtsman, like my father.

My years at St Theresa’s Convent had developed me into an outgoing, bubbly and friendly girl-a far cry from the shy young girl that I was before. Perhaps that was why I was chosen for the leading roles in two school operettas: Papageno and Babarella by Mozart. My soprano voice was honed by my two music teachers, Miss Kathleen Anthony and Mrs Elizabeth Abisheganaden. Bring out your voice! they exhorted. You sound like a child! Both shows had good reviews in the local papers but my budding stage career was cut short by my father: You are not going to be a singer!

Although I cherished the orientation and the Islamic teachings at the madrasah, I liked being in the company of the Eurasians at the convent. Some even had blue eyes. At times I felt that I was missing on a lot of fun like they had and, sometimes, I wanted to join them. I envied their freedom and imagined myself like them and felt proud to be around them. Sometimes, they came to school on Monday morning in back-combed bobs stiffened with hairspray, mascara-coated eyelashes, painted nails and left-over make-up on their faces from weekend parties! The Eurasians were known at party circuits and they knew how to enjoy themselves.

And what parties they were. Dancing, drinking, laughing the night away and meeting boyfriends … I thought, what a good life they were having, although it was foreign to me. Most of them were dating. What’s ‘dating’? I learned a new word. I envied them, they were nice classmates and we got along well.

Some of my friends were real pretty as they looked Caucasian with blond and blue eyes. I did not consider myself pretty but being among them helped improved my English. Besides, father also spoke good English with a slight British accent, probably because of the influence of his British teachers at Raffles Institution. This feeling of insecurity among Asians to look up upon whites as superior was due to the colonial mentality which some of us Asians had.

One day, I discovered that on my birth certificate said I was a ‘British Subject’ as Singapore then was a British colony. I thought, how lucky I was! I could grow up, live in Great Britain and curtsy in front of the Queen. I could live among the orang puteh! (white people) I always thought that white people were rich because they wore socks, sweaters and leather jackets every day like they did in pictures, movies and on television. Only when I grew up that I realized they wore all those things because of the cold weather in their countries!

My first encounter with orang puteh or white people was in my Kampung (village) Radin Mas at the foot of Mount Faber, a popular tourist spot. The shrine of a Javanese princess stood at the foot of the mountain, too.

Every day I stood by the window, waving at many passing buses filled with tourists going uphill to catch a good view of the whole of Singapore. Those Europeans must have come from countries far away where there was so much snow. How exciting it would be to go to the orang puteh countries, I told myself.

Now it was from watching football that I learned the names of countries those football clubs on TV represented when I grew up. I looked at the map to find out where those countries were located and I told myself I would visit them with my free tickets if I could work in an airline company.

As soon as I got my Senior Cambridge school examination results, I pursued the Higher School Certificate at the Serangoon Garden Government High School. For once I enjoyed the freedom of the one-hour bus ride to school every morning. I saw a different world, far from the kampung life wading through lalang (tall grass) among pig-styles huts all those years in my early life to go to the "kampung convent", as students from other convents in town called it.

This "kampung convent" girl always dreamed to see the world, and the only way to do so was to work in the travel industry. How was I going to convince my father who would surely be against it?

CHAPTER 2

Airport, Here I Come!

My thirst for adventure and to see the world was so strong, I quietly looked for a job in a travel industry even when I was still teaching. My father had no problems with that. It’s a noble profession, he said.

When there was an opportunity to apply for a job in an airline company, I went for the interview with my friend without telling my father. A lady client where I worked at RV Meyer Optician told me of an opening for an interview with a new airline, Malaysia Airline System. A friend had already told me that she too had applied for a job there and asked me to apply as well. She got the job as a ground hostess.

My life was going to change as soon as I opened a sealed envelope from Malaysia Airline System, I told myself. When I peeled the envelope, I prayed hard that it would contain good news. And it did. I would be working in the airport!

I showed the letter to my father one afternoon in front of a visitor. That way, he would not explode. Remember I’m not for it, he said softly. He was not happy at first but I guessed he saw that I was determined to work with the airline so he gave in, not without pre-conditions. For instance, I was not to loiter after work and to return straight home.

"We could go on the umrah (minor pilgrimage) on my free ticket!" I told my father.

The visitor, Uncle Taha, joined in agreement Good, Ali, you can go to Mecca for free. How lucky!

My father kept quiet but he was rather happy as I would be picked up by the company transport early in the morning and be sent home when late-evening shifts ended, past midnight. This meant that his daughter would not be on the streets at those irregular hours.

With my height at four feet ten and a half inches, I was not qualified to be an air stewardess. So when there was an opening for a ground job with MAS, I thought it was even a better choice as I could meet more different kinds of people: VIPs and CIPs (commercially important people) who had to be handled with care.

The new department, the Passenger Relations Office, was set up to give special attention to such passengers. I am a very patient person so the job suited me fine. My experience as a relief teacher helped, as did my achievement in transforming a school’s worst class to one with an 89-per cent pass level. My father drove me to the airport one weekend just to have the feel of the place. He checked which bus for me to take. I was already so excited when looking at the travelers.

I was almost 20 when I joined MAS, which began at Paya Lebar Airport in Singapore in 1972. Our fleet comprised Fokker Friendships and Boeing 737s. The Passenger Relations Department was set up to provide personalized services to VIPs and CIPs who passed through our airport during their travels. Malaysia Singapore Airlines (MSA) pioneered the Passenger Relations Department, but when the airline split into two, both Singapore Airlines (SIA) and Malaysia Airlines System (MAS) introduced similar departments for those passengers who needed extra attentions when the passenger load increased.

My first day at work at Paya Lebar traffic office was not something I expected. As I entered the small office, there were only a handful of traffic staff and my lady boss. Then, in walked two senior staff from the same department. One look and I knew I was going to have a tough time with them. They were much older, but we were of the same rank. There was no exchange of pleasantries, merely a nod as though telling me not to act tough or try to be clever. I would interpret it as, You, young staff, don’t try to outshine us!

Then, a pleasant Chinese staff member called Mary Lee came in, stretched out her hand and said, Welcome! She gave me the impression that it would not be a bad place to work in after all. If she, a plain-looking lady could survive, so could I. How presumptuous I was.

Of course, I did not dare tell my father about the bad days at the office. He would surely want me to quit, so I only told him the nice things. The bitchiness was not only among female staff but some male staff as well.

After a year, my stress levels were high and I went on medical leave often. I consulted our company doctor, Dr Woo, who gave me some pills. The next day I found myself wobbling and felt giddy while walking at the airport. When I asked him what those pills were, he told me they were tranquillizers. Hafsah, he added, you’d better quit. You can’t take the stress at the airport.

I quickly threw those pills into the bin before I became addicted and vowed to make a life for myself there, no matter what. It was a job I had always wanted. I persevered. I became bolder after working for a while, able to cope with many more unpleasant and unforgettable episodes at the office.

Winston Churchill once said, Confuse your enemies. With this advice, I learned to be aware of those who did not like me while pretending to be civil to them when on duty. No point creating animosity at work. New staff back in those days would do the same.

It didn’t help, probably because I did not fit into any circle or clique, being an independent girl and all. As a newbie, every move I made was closely watched by the senior staff on the lookout for the slightest mistakes to report. One time, on the tarmac, my sarong was blown open by strong winds. My boss called me a few days after she got to know about it. Today, she would have learned about it within seconds, via SMS.

I told myself that I would not treat any new staff the way I had been treated. I had trained three staff under me a few years later and we became very close friends until I left my job. I also had friends at Cathay Pacific, KLM and Singapore Airlines who gave me strength and encouragement during my career.

Part of my early training was to follow my senior staff to meet arriving flights, going to immigration and custom clearance. It was so enjoyable. I was not awkward meeting people of all races, especially the Caucasians as my father often brought us to the Singapore Cricket Club to watch him played cricket with his British buddies.

After a month spent learning office duties such as reading telexes, making reservations for passengers and observing how counter staff checked in passengers and their luggage, I was put on the whole-week morning shift on my own. Some of my roster duties overlapped with those of other experienced staff I could consult if any problems came up.

The morning shift started at 6am. On the first day, my father woke me up at 5am. My mother prepared an egg sandwich for me. My father excitedly waited at the window until the company transport arrived to fetch me at 5:30am. I was the first to be picked up as I stayed the furthest from the airport before going around almost half of Singapore to fetch four other staff members in the company’s van.

"Don’t forget to recite Al-Fatehah (short key chapter from the Quran) in the van!’’my parents reminded me. I kissed their hands and left.

My mother shouted from the kitchen, Mulut jaga sikit, kerja tu!, warning me not to be too outspoken at work, as she knew me to be a no-nonsense straight-talker like my father. Then she added, "Jangan ambil laki orang!" (Don’t take people’s husbands!) Was this why I became extra cautious whenever I attended to married male passengers?

Unfortunately, bachelors did not travel first class back then; most of them would have just started working and could only travelled economy class. By coincidence, I only attended to first-class passengers, namely VIPs and CIPs. Most first-class passengers were senior personnel of big corporations and they were all married.

My mother only told me not to take people’s husbands but she never told me not to accept dinner invitations. As it turned out, our department often got invitations from embassies, frequent travelers and VIPs.

I always got ready for work early so that I arrived at work early. This habit had been inculcated in me and my siblings since we were young. I always remembered the long lectures father gave us on our first holiday when we made him waited in the car for twenty minutes. Ever since then, I would call if I were going to be late.

Little did I realize I would often encounter many late flights, late check-ins among passengers who blamed us for off-loading them and wanted to sue the airline whenever we did not allow them on the flight, and staff who were often late for work. Maybe they could have benefitted from Father’s twenty-minute lectures on being on time.

After three months with MAS, we were given in-house trainings on customer service in Kuala Lumpur where I stayed at the PJ Hilton Hotel for a week. Together with other foreign staff, we were taken to the Subang Airport Training Centre. That was the first time I slept on a soft hotel twin-bed, shared with a staff from Thailand. Since then, I have been to Kuala Lumpur a couple of times for training on many topics.

Even with all that training, one would not be not cut out for a job at an airline if one did not have a pleasant personality, interact well with people, and carry oneself well in public. There were airline staff who were so negative in outlook, hated people and reluctantly dragged themselves to work every day, but chose to stick to the job for the travel benefits.

Good looks can be an added bonus. I may not have been like my taller and prettier colleagues but I managed to make many friends, thanks to my bubbly and pleasant personality and good sense of humor.

Some foreign passengers couldn’t pronounce my name, especially the Europeans, so I made it easier for them to remember me: Just call me ‘half-size’!

A British six-footer and regular passenger, Tan Sri Alan A. W., chairman of a British conglomerate, always asked me whenever he travelled, How are you, Hafsah?-a subtle reference to my height. He knew my usual answer would be, Well, I’m okay very firm on the ground!

When I asked how he was, he shot back, Well, the visibility up here is calm and clear! We would laugh all the way to boarding room.

I was never sensitive if people joked about my height. Not many people could make fun of themselves. However, making fun of others can become an ego trip for some.

One day a Caucasian passenger was asking for half-size at the transit counter. One staff from my department whispered to the rest, That must be that shorty! Well, I was easily identified among other staff. Actually, I’m ‘petite’! One must accept that in any working environment not everybody will like you.

One time, I was left to attend to a group of twenty Americans. They all spoke loudly as they came down from the aircraft parked at the tarmac and into a waiting bus that took them to the airport immigration and customs clearance. Like most Americans they were very friendly.

I asked a porter to assist in offloading their twenty pieces of luggage from the conveyor belt. One passenger found her bag damaged and our staff from the Mishandled Load Office (MLO) quickly took all her particulars and arranged for the bag to be sent for repair. One bag caught my eye: an