A Journey on the Melaka River Cruise

“Wake up, wake up, Adik!” Mak Minah’s voice, warm like the morning sun, pulled Jali from his dream. He stretched, a yawn escaping his lips, and squinted at the sliver of light peeking through his curtains. School holidays! That meant two whole months of no homework, no exams, and best of all, working on the Melaka River Cruise.

Jali hopped out of bed, pulling on his favourite faded t-shirt and shorts. He could already smell the delicious aroma of roti canai wafting from the kitchen. “Morning, Mak!” he chirped, sliding into his seat.

Mak Minah, her hair tied in a neat bun, placed a plate of crispy roti and a steaming mug of Milo in front of him. “Hurry up, nanti lambat!” she chuckled, referring to him being late.

After a quick breakfast, Jali grabbed his small backpack and waved goodbye. The walk to the river jetty was short, but it was always bustling with life. Trishaw drivers, their colourful vehicles adorned with plastic flowers and cartoon characters, called out to tourists. Vendors set up their stalls, selling everything from traditional crafts to refreshing ais kacang. Jali loved the energy, the mix of languages, the symphony of sounds.

He reached the jetty, a familiar sight with its wooden planks and the gentle rocking of the boats. “Morning, Uncle Din!” Jali greeted the stern-faced man who managed the ticketing booth.

Uncle Din grunted, a usual response, but a small smile played on his lips. “Early bird, ah, Jali? Good, good.”

Jali was in charge of helping tourists board the boats, making sure everyone had a life vest, and sometimes, if the regular guide was sick, he’d even get to share some fun facts about the river. He loved those days best.

His first boat for the day was already filling up. A group of excited tourists from a faraway land, their cameras flashing, took their seats. Jali, with a bright smile, directed them. “Selamat datang! Welcome to the Melaka River Cruise!” he announced, his voice a little bit louder than usual.

As the boat pulled away from the jetty, the gentle hum of the engine filled the air. Jali stood at the front, feeling the breeze on his face. The river, snaking through the heart of the city, was his second home.

“On your left, you can see the famous Red Square!” Jali pointed, remembering the guide’s usual spiel. “It’s called that because of the Dutch buildings, all painted brick-red, very old, very pretty!”

A young girl, no older than Jali, with bright, curious eyes, leaned over. “Is that a church?” she asked, pointing to a grand, white building with intricate carvings.

“Ah, that’s the Kampung Kling Mosque!” Jali explained. “Very old, too, built by Indian Muslim traders long, long ago. See the mix of designs? Chinese and European, too! Melaka is like that, a mix of everything!”

The girl’s eyes widened. “Wow! So many different people!”

“Yes, many different people, many different stories!” Jali grinned.

As the boat continued its journey, Jali watched the riverbanks slide by. Old shophouses, their paint peeling, stood shoulder to shoulder with modern cafes. Vibrant street art adorned crumbling walls, telling stories of Melaka’s past and present. He saw fishermen casting their nets, their movements slow and deliberate. Children played by the water’s edge, splashing and laughing.

One day, a quiet old man with a wispy white beard became a regular on Jali’s boat. He would always sit at the back, observing everything with a thoughtful gaze. Jali noticed he never took photos, just watched.

“Uncle,” Jali ventured one afternoon, seeing the man alone, “You come here often, ah?”

The old man, Uncle Tan, smiled. “Yes, young man. This river… it holds many memories for me.”

“Memories?” Jali asked, intrigued.

“I grew up along this river,” Uncle Tan explained, his voice soft. “My father was a boatman, just like those you see now. He would transport goods, people… the river was our livelihood.” He gestured to a row of old shophouses. “That used to be my family’s shop. We sold spices, brought in from all over the world, right here by the river.”

Jali looked at the dilapidated shophouse, imagining it bustling with activity. It was a completely different picture than the quiet, almost forgotten building it was now. “Wow, Uncle, that’s so cool!”

Uncle Tan nodded. “The river changes, Jali. But its spirit, it remains.” From then on, Jali made sure to always greet Uncle Tan, learning bits and pieces of Melaka’s history that weren’t in any guidebook.

Another memorable encounter was with a group of boisterous aunties on a ladies’ day out. They were loud, full of laughter, and constantly pointing out things to each other.

“Wah, look at that mural!” one aunty exclaimed, her voice carrying across the boat. “So colourful, Jali, who painted that, ah?”

“A local artist, Aunty Siti!” Jali replied, always ready with an answer. “He’s famous for showing Melaka’s history in his paintings.”

“So talented, ah! Eh, Jali, you ever thought of painting, ah?” another aunty, Aunty Leha, teased.

Jali blushed. “No, Aunty, I’m not good at drawing.”

Aunty Leha wagged her finger playfully. “Don’t say like that! Everyone has some talent, you just need to find it. Maybe your talent is telling stories, ah? You explain things so well!”

Her words stayed with Jali. He liked telling stories, especially the ones Uncle Tan shared. Maybe he could be a guide, a real storyteller for the river.

One scorching hot afternoon, a family with three noisy children boarded the boat. The youngest, a little boy named Adi, was particularly restless. He kept trying to reach over the side of the boat, much to his mother’s dismay.

“Adi, don’t do that, sayang!” his mother pleaded, looking frazzled.

Jali, seeing her struggle, knelt beside Adi. “Eh, Adi, want to play a game?” he asked.

Adi’s eyes lit up. “What game, Abang?”

“See those fish in the river?” Jali pointed to a shimmering school of fish near the surface. “Let’s count how many we can see. But you have to sit nicely, okay? Otherwise, the fish will be scared and swim away.”

Adi, captivated by the idea of counting fish, sat still, his gaze fixed on the water. His mother gave Jali a grateful smile. Jali realised that working on the river wasn’t just about showing sights; it was about making people’s journeys better, even in small ways.

As the holidays wore on, Jali became more confident. He knew the river like the back of his hand, not just the famous landmarks, but also the hidden nooks and crannies, the best spots to see kingfishers, the quietest parts where the water seemed to whisper secrets. He started to add his own observations to the usual script, sharing little anecdotes he’d picked up from Uncle Tan or overheard from other locals.

His favourite part of the day was the evening cruise. As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues of orange and purple, the city lights began to twinkle. The river transformed, becoming a pathway of shimmering reflections. The atmosphere was magical.

“Look, Abang!” a little girl once exclaimed, pointing to the glowing lanterns hanging from the trees along the riverbanks. “It’s like fairyland!”

Jali smiled. “Yes, like fairyland. Melaka is very beautiful at night, too.”

One evening, as the boat neared the end of its journey, he saw a familiar face at the jetty. Mak Minah! She waved, a wide smile on her face.

“Jali, you did good today, ah!” she said, giving him a hug when he disembarked. “Uncle Din told me you’re very helpful. And your stories, he said, are getting better and better!”

Jali felt a warmth spread through him. Hearing praise from Uncle Din was like winning the lottery!

“Mak,” Jali said, as they walked home under the soft glow of the streetlights, “I think… I want to be a real river guide one day.”

Mak Minah looked at him, her eyes twinkling. “Is it, ah? You think you want to be a storyteller for our river?”

“Yes!” Jali’s voice was firm. “I want to share all the stories, about Uncle Tan’s shop, about the colourful murals, about how Melaka is like a big, beautiful mix of everything. I want people to see the river not just as water, but as a living, breathing part of our history and our community.”

Mak Minah squeezed his hand. “Then you will be a very good guide, anak. Very good.”

Jali looked at the river, its surface calm and reflective, mirroring the sky full of stars. He had started the holidays just looking for a way to earn some pocket money. But along the way, the river had shown him so much more. It had shown him the vibrant tapestry of his community, the rich history woven into every brick and waterway, and a path he never knew he was looking for. His journey on the Melaka River Cruise was just beginning.