In Kota Damansara, a tired people keep struggling on

“Ibu tunggal bayar RM150 je sebulan, boleh la mak cik buat duduk sementara tunggu mati.” The slow fan blades sliced through air that was filled with Mak Cik Zakiah’s casual realisation of her mortality. Her faint smile following her remarks compensated for the heaviness in my heart for her.

In her small flat at Kota Damansara PPR, she keeps both the bedrooms spick and span, even though only one of them is occupied. The space is filled with memorabilia, with pictures hung on the walls.

She keeps her life simple while living off the monthly allowance from the government and her children,

She may be alone but she doesn’t live in solitude. An active member of the PPR (low-cost housing) community, she joins in the activities organised by the local mosque.

She eventually joined the foster programme, organised by Parti Sosialis Malaysia, which led us to meeting each other.

The Kota Damansara PPR is in a constant cycle of demise. The flats have seen youths falling to their death from the walkway high above. The railings are either rusty or missing.

The flats are small but packed with family members, jostling for every inch of privacy. The flats were evidently built by the government more to keep the people off the streets, and less for their comfort.

The buildings cry out for repairs. The floors are cracked and the debris is brushed under the cheap floor mats. The residents are worn out, too. They hope for a better future.

They are tired of their collective situation but there is no escape from it. Every day is lived just like the day before, with no better future tomorrow.

The walls of the units fail to insulate the unhappiness of the families within.

The constant screaming radiates through the walls. The doors are mostly kept open as if the families have realised the futility of having any sense of privacy within. Yet, they welcome strangers knocking on the door.

It has been said that “God does not change a people’s lot unless they change what is in their hearts”. But the people in the PPR have tried as hard as they can to change themselves, yet they still remain, forgotten by others.

They are trapped in these flats, trapped in the cycle of making ends meet and surviving for the day.

The end for this cycle is the end of their life, hence Mak Cik Zakiah’s casual contemplation on the wait for her end.

The only hope is in braving the situation together. The people here stick together as a community and look out for each other. It is a tight-knit community with matrons leading the ship. The men are busy with their work and the women support them by taking care of the kids.

Mothers hope their children will leave this place and head for greener pastures one day.

Outside help is frequent but never enough. The monthly stipends are a constant reminder that their place is here. They’ve asked for safer railings, repairs to the lift, safer grounds for children but yet they receive little.

The children face the risk of death while walking through the walkways. They are squeezed in the lifts. The broken see-saws and swings remain, unrepaired.

The young dream of a better future. A girl wishes to open a bakery. Another girl wishes to be an accountant. The boys want to be policemen or join the armed forces. Another wishes to become an ustaz and motivate others through prayers.

Their words are a mixture of humour and spite. The tough neighbourhood has made the girls’ gait more adult-like, as if they have been forced to grow up quickly to survive.

To the world outside, many are delinquents, friends who fell into drugs and became pregnant in their teens.

Everyone in the PPR is tired. They are cheerful in their welcome but they are nevertheless worn out from their yesterdays and the thought of tomorrow.

It has been a year since I was there but I can imagine their conditions are unchanged and may even have become worse during this Covid-19 pandemic.

I have a hope that one day that the PPR flats like this will be better maintained and the people live in better circumstances. The mothers will then be more confident of a better future for their children.

Until then, “semoga kita terus berbakti”.

Sin Sin is a student activist. - FMT