When I was a very young boy, I was raised in a foster home run by Pastor John Quek and his British wife, Mrs Angela Hastings. My earliest memories as a child were those of Pastor Quek’s kitchen which was run by two hired domestic helpers as well as a volunteer named Shufen who was then barely out of her teens. From then, I always had a warm feeling for kitchens and those delightful sounds and smells that somehow combined into a bustling cacophony that had to do with feelings of family, security and above all, home. No matter where life’s journey took me, I never forgot that my first memories began in that kitchen.
Pastor Quek’s kitchen was a very large one, with an impressive array of stoves and ovens as well as a good ventilation system to draw out the hot exhaust from the steaming or sizzling food that was being cooked almost constantly throughout the day. When I was not attending early childhood educational classes conducted by tutors employed by Mrs Hastings, I would spend my days with Shufen in the kitchen, enjoying the bustling activity all around the kitchen tables, and playing with the stools and pots and pans that were stacked up high against the hard concrete walls. And sometimes in the afternoon when I grew sleepy and tired, I would lie down on a large, cushy sofa just outside the kitchen and stare into the flickering flames that cooked the pots and woks of food and, all bemused, I would drift off into sleep in perfect contentment and harmony with all the world about me.
My uncle Bob was my legal guardian, but he was not often in the country. He would go on long business trips, leaving me in the care of the Pastor and his wife, who diligently attended to all the needs of the fifteen to twenty young children who had been granted refuge there, having escaped from broken families or domestic violence. As each of us grew older, Pastor Quek saw that we went to school, made friends, and lead as normal a life as possible. Not only was he our guardian and our caretaker, he was also our spiritual mentor, bringing us to Church and teaching us Christian values and morals.
With Uncle Bob out of town so frequently, and the good pastor and his wife absorbed in their Church and ministry work, Shufen became my de-facto elder sister, the closest person I would have to family.
[ To Be Continued ... ]
Pastor Quek’s kitchen was a very large one, with an impressive array of stoves and ovens as well as a good ventilation system to draw out the hot exhaust from the steaming or sizzling food that was being cooked almost constantly throughout the day. When I was not attending early childhood educational classes conducted by tutors employed by Mrs Hastings, I would spend my days with Shufen in the kitchen, enjoying the bustling activity all around the kitchen tables, and playing with the stools and pots and pans that were stacked up high against the hard concrete walls. And sometimes in the afternoon when I grew sleepy and tired, I would lie down on a large, cushy sofa just outside the kitchen and stare into the flickering flames that cooked the pots and woks of food and, all bemused, I would drift off into sleep in perfect contentment and harmony with all the world about me.
My uncle Bob was my legal guardian, but he was not often in the country. He would go on long business trips, leaving me in the care of the Pastor and his wife, who diligently attended to all the needs of the fifteen to twenty young children who had been granted refuge there, having escaped from broken families or domestic violence. As each of us grew older, Pastor Quek saw that we went to school, made friends, and lead as normal a life as possible. Not only was he our guardian and our caretaker, he was also our spiritual mentor, bringing us to Church and teaching us Christian values and morals.
With Uncle Bob out of town so frequently, and the good pastor and his wife absorbed in their Church and ministry work, Shufen became my de-facto elder sister, the closest person I would have to family.
[ To Be Continued ... ]
