In the Rear-view Mirror:
Reflections of a
Pulau Ubin Native
Alisa Yeo, Christine Chan, Eric Teo, Wayne Lim
When 64-year-old Lim Cheng Teck was told that he had gone viral online, he thought his friends were joking. More unbelievable to netizens was the bizarre sight of the man taming a wild boar with Singlish and a tree branch, as visitors retreated to a distance.
The video titled “Trained Wild Pigs in Pulau Ubin (Singapore)” captured the attention of thousands as soon as it was uploaded on Youtube.
“They didn’t even ask if they could film me! But whatever lah, just don’t try what I did!” chuckled the taxi van driver, as he reflected on his moment of fame.
With his long wispy white beard and skin tanned from long hours under the Pulau Ubin sun, he stands by his lilac purple van. Arms akimbo, he is ready for the next customer to join him on a vibrant journey through Ubin and its history.
BLAST FROM THE PAST
He fondly remembers running amok in his paradise, catching spiders and making slingshots out of wooden sticks - a far cry from the tech gadgets that kids wield in their hands today.
It was a carefree time in his life, but his family struggled to make ends meet.
“For our meals, we had porridge mixed with soya sauce. We could only afford meat once a year on special occasions like Chinese New Year,” recounted Lim.
This nurtured his enterprising side, as he plucked and peddled leaves to pork vendors who used them to wrap meat. He earned 10 to 20 cents each time, but it meant the world to a boy whose daily allowance was a measly 5 cents.
To supplement his family’s income, Lim dropped out of primary school and started fishing for a living. Soon after, he traded his rods for drills, landing a job in the quarrying industry.
Pulau Ubin, which means ‘granite island’ in Malay, was home to the booming granite trade which propelled mainland Singapore’s rapid development in the 1970s. It was a laborious job, but it helped put food on the table.
“I am always satisfied with what I have. We shouldn’t compare against the fortunate, but only ourselves,” mused Lim, citing a Chinese idiom.
IN THE DRIVER'S SEAT
Little did he know, his life would face a twist of fate thanks to a new friend.
Volunteering at a temple on the island every Sunday, Lim met and grew close with a Thai monk. He had steered Lim into the taxi trade at the age of 35, warning him of the risk of respiratory diseases with long-term exposure to toxic particles in the quarry.
He has not U-turned since, having cycled through five vehicles, from a classic black and yellow taxi to his present purple steed.
More than a tour around the island, a ride in Lim’s van is practically a date with the man.
He sits at the taxi van stand with a leg propped up on the bench, waiting to unleash his repertoire of riddles, jokes, and puns onto any customer who walks up to him.
“I loved confusing my customers by referring to myself as my wife’s husband when I had just gotten married. Now I call myself my daughter’s mother’s husband!” beamed Lim.
He prides himself in his ability to drive anyone crazy with his humour.
“As long as you are a passenger in my van, you cannot escape my jokes. It is my job to make you happy,” chortled Lim, proudly sharing that he once received a tip from a tourist for being “cute”.
For many, the island has been reduced to a spot of nature — the Ubin that visitors come to see lies in the landmarks of Puaka Hill and Chek Jawa. Yet, at the wheel, Lim opens their eyes to the significance of every inch of his island home.
Each tour is a history lesson, and also a taste of the fruitful life Lim has lived. Sharing stories of his own growth as a person, he drops his passengers off at the jetty with pearls of wisdom.
“I always tell them: work is work, and home is home. Never bring home your frustrations from work,” shared Lim.
In his rear-view mirror, 29 years have gone by. He had never expected to make so many laps around the island as a tour guide in his neighbourhood. What was once an occupation to pay the bills has now become a way of life for Lim. His financial burden is no longer as heavy as before, but he still has no plans to retire.
“Before I started driving, I was a son to my parents. Now, I am a father of three,” reflected Lim.
While driving on the island has helped him to raise his kids, Lim regrets that the prospects of the younger generation taking over the trade on the island are bleak.
The lack of career progression and meagre pay make the trade unattractive, especially for young Singaporeans with higher education qualifications and more job options.
“To put it bluntly, there will be no future,” lamented Lim.
INCLEMENT WEATHER AHEAD
Similarly, dark clouds loom over the future of the island he calls home.
Since 1991, Ubin has been earmarked for redevelopment, including government plans to construct a road connector between Ubin and Tekong Island which have since been scrapped.
Residents of Kampung Surau, a community in Ubin, were forced to leave their nests in the 1990s to make way for a resort that was never realised. What was once a bustling district, is now a dense forest with no trace of culture.
Only 130 people reside or work on the island, a staggering decrease from over 3,000 in the 1970s, said Minister for Finance Lawrence Wong in Parliament in 2019.
This figure mostly comprises villagers who are living out their sunset years. Many of them cannot bear to uproot their set routine of tranquil life for the hustle and bustle of mainland Singapore.
To facilitate his children’s education, Lim reluctantly moved to a flat in Changi Village in 2000. Till today, he still has difficulties adapting to life on the mainland.
“In Pulau Ubin, there is a strong sense of community; in HDB flats, people tend to mind their own business. Our spaces are separated by metal gates, and sometimes it feels like I’m living in a prison cell,” said Lim.
Lim believes the preservation of Ubin’s unique culture hinges on the willingness of the younger generation to take up the torch. Unfortunately, many are indifferent towards the future of this long-lived kampung, turning a blind eye to the island’s rich history.
Lim lamented that even his own children do not wish to return.
He attributes this to Ubin’s lack of modern facilities, like the absence of Wi-Fi and limited electricity. In fact, most of the island has to be powered by generators at night.
“If there’s no one to inherit our culture, then it will be lost forever. There's only one way to describe this: a pity,” said Lim.
Although recent efforts have been made to preserve the island’s identity, stalwarts of the island like Lim still feel that Ubin will not stand the test of time.
FOOT ON THE PEDAL
Despite the uncertainty enshrouding Ubin’s future, Lim remains grateful for the little things. His deep emotional attachment to Pulau Ubin is revealed by the endearing names he has given to his four-legged friends.
“I don’t dare to imagine what Ubin will be like in 30 to 40 years. But it’s okay because I doubt I’ll be there to see it then: I’m running out of time,” said Lim.
Until he can no longer drive, Lim intends to spend every day of his remaining years on the humble island, showing visitors around and sharing its distinct culture with them. On these trips, he never forgets to earnestly impart his life motto to all his passengers.
“Whether you smile or you cry, a day will still pass.”
