Ah Kong’s Tale

by Serena Lee (she/her)


Every tale I hear of escaping China in the first half of the twentieth century comes with sentences whose words could never depict the gravity of the situation. It seems almost unworthy to tell our ancestors’ stories with words; unfortunately, that’s all we have.

My grandfather (“Ah Kong”) fled uprising-communist China in the early 1940s. He and his brother planned to escape on a cargo ship, but they learned it was extremely dangerous to hide with the cargo. There was an option to pay a fee for the boat staff to pretend that they were fellow colleagues, but only one of them could afford it. Ah Kong’s brother told him to go ahead, and he would save up the money to follow.

So, my Ah Kong paid the fee to disguise himself as a member of staff. He made it to Singapore. As he departed from the boat, there was a team protecting the border who jabbed at the cargo randomly with spears. My Ah Kong heard screams as they stabbed the people hidden inside.

He made his way up to Johor, where there were already some people he knew who had settled. Eventually, he and his wife were expecting their first child, but both she and the baby passed away during the birth.

It was thought of as very unlucky if the widow was not remarried within three months of his wife’s passing, so my Ah Kong was match-made with a woman who was already twenty-two years old - they figured she was late to marry already! - she was rural and illiterate, but incredibly smart, with a brilliant memory and an infectious giggle. My Ah Ma.

They had eight children, the final stillborn. My mum was the fourth, and the only girl. By the time my mother was in her twenties, my Ah Kong had built up his fishing business with his hands and his sheer determination - to the extent that he was able to send my mother to university in the UK.

Her plan was always to move home and set up her business there… but, at one workplace in South London, my (British) dad fell head over heels in love with her and pursued her until he won her over with a teddy bear - something she’d never owned growing up. He sits proudly in my mum’s hallway still, twelve years after he died aged fifty-three.

My mother wed in secret - just my Ah Ma knew. Once the knot was tied, they flew to Malaysia and met my grandparents and all my uncles. Comically bad elevator timing meant that my dad greeted my grandfather and several of my mum’s disapproving brothers at once, without my mum there, and with no common language. He said it was beyond intimidating!

By the time children came along, all was well. I’m incredibly grateful for my two heritages, my two cultures, my mixed identity. I remember being nine years old and learning to take cold showers, motivating myself by thinking “Ah Kong’s blood is in you; you’re strong. You can do this”. And just this year, during my second pain-relief-free birth, I drew on the power of all the strong Chinese women who came before me - I’m next in this chain of women birthing since humans began. My son’s name includes Ah Kong’s.

At the same time, I’m grateful my mum is letting me be more western and not making me consume litres of sesame oil after birth and shaving my baby’s head! I love that I get to choose the traditions I continue, with minimal judgement because my own mother was a rebel before me.

My Ah Kong escaped. My mother elevated the next generation. Now it’s my duty to empathise and educate. I want our family story to be known for generations to come. Thank you ancestors ❤️.

P.S. Ah Kong’s brother made it across, too. 🙏 P.P.S. Top-right photo is roughly the age he left China.

by Serena Lee (she/her)