Through the lens of history: The storyteller who keeps Sibu’s heritage alive

IT is a bright early morning in Sibu, and the riverside town is already stirring with life.

It is nice to have a chance to sit at the ‘kopitiam’ (coffee shop) along Jalan Chew Geok Lin – once known as ‘Old Street’ – while waiting for my friend Chua Chong Hian, a dedicated committee member cum volunteer of the Eng Ann Tua Pek Kong Temple.

By late morning, the narrow streets are abuzz with activities.

Locals and foreign visitors alike flock to the ‘kopitiams’, exchanging greetings over cups of steaming coffee.

I can see quite a number of devotees making their way to the temple, seeking blessings and offering prayers.

Chua, a well-known local historian, author, photographer and storyteller, has promised to meet me and share a copy of his book, ‘Weeping For Channel Road’ – a documentation in Mandarin meant as a tribute to one of Sibu’s oldest streets.

According to oral history, Sibu’s roots stretch back to 1879, when the Chinese immigrants from Fujian first settled in the area.

Before their arrival, the land was already home to the Orang Sibau, Melanau, and some Iban communities.

‘A witness to history’

Chua’s long-time dedication to the temple is recognised by all those who know him.

His wife, Hoo Buang Choo, works full-time there.

According to Chua, Eng Ann Tua Pek Kong Temple stands as a symbol of Sibu’s cultural and historical heritage.

“Its origins are closely tied to the Hokkien Chinese from Chiang Chuan, who arrived in Sibu after the Brooke administration took over the territory from the Brunei Sultanate in 1853,” he recounts.

The early Chinese settlers operated shops along the Rajang River and soon after, constructed a small, makeshift wooden temple overlooking the river bend.

As the Hokkien community prospered, the temple underwent renovation in 1897.

A key addition was a statue of Tua Pek Kong, ordered from Xiamen, China.

The story about this figure was – for lack of a better word – ‘legendary’.

En route to Sarawak across the South China Sea, the junk carrying the statue encountered a violent storm.

The helmsman Aji Mannoh later spoke about seeing an old man at the bow, seemingly holding back the waves.

When the boat safely reached Sibu, Aji was astonished to later see how the statue resembled the old man whom he had seen during the storm at sea.

Sibu was struck by a devastating fire on March 8, 1928, which destroyed all the shophouses, yet the temple remained untouched.

Throughout World War II, the Japanese Occupation and subsequent Allied bombings, all of them damaged the temple, but the statue itself survived.

In the post-war years, a temporary wooden temple was erected, and by 1957, a new concrete building was constructed.

Then-Sarawak’s Governor Sir Anthony Abell was invited to declare it open.

According to Chua, more expansion works were commissioned in 1979 and 1987, along with a riverside landscaped garden in 2007 – solidifying the temple’s status as a cherished landmark, attracting visitors from near and far.

Chua serves as a volunteer tour guide of the temple, and a very good one too as he speaks fluent English, Malay, Hokkien and several other Chinese dialects.

Early life in Sibu

Born in 1953, Chua enjoyed a good and safe childhood in Sibu, which contributed lots of stories and anecdotes about the town.

One is about Chinese mothers undergoing traditional Chinese confinement at home in the 20th century.

“In those days, the birth of a boy was a communal joy.

“Relatives would travel to Sibu from Kapit, Sarikei and other places, bringing gifts of live chickens and fresh eggs.

“The neighbours joined in the festivities, sharing with everyone noodles and ‘red eggs’.”

Chua and his family lived in a stilted wooden house at Amoy Road, one of the first residential areas developed in Sibu, which expanded slowly after World War II.

In those days, Malay craftsmen were employed to build these types of houses.

“The road was made of ‘belian’ (local ironwood) planks – strong enough for motorcycles.

“It stretched from Lanang Road up to the last wooden house.

“The creaking sound of bicycles being ridden over the plank stretch was a familiar soundtrack of my childhood,” Chua reminisces.

His mother, like most hardworking Chinese women, was a skilled ‘kuih’ (local cakes) maker.

“She sold all these delicacies at the ‘kopitiams’ in town, supplementing our family’s modest income.”

In his book, Chua has documented Sibu in the 1950s – a period when it experienced a massive wave of rural-urban migration.

“The Sibu Urban District Council established several primary schools to meet the growing demand.

“These were English-medium schools.

“I studied in the Chinese-medium Chung Hua Primary School, but later on, I entered the Catholic High School, a Chinese-medium secondary school.”

There, Chua further honed his writing skills and gained confidence in writing Chinese articles.

Photography

Chua’s sister, who received education at St Elizabeth’s School, worked for Borneo Company, the local agent for Kodak films.

She often brought back the company’s colourful catalogues, which inspired Chua to take up photography.

Upon leaving school, he pursued that hobby passionately, even taking up wedding videography as a business.

“It wasn’t a real career,” he recalls.

“Weddings didn’t happen every day, and dates like the seventh lunar month, the Chinese Ghost Month, were avoided.

“Sometimes, despite my best efforts, the work was disappointing, but my love for capturing moments never waned.

“In those days if the videographer was given a token of RM400 from the groom, he would not only be happy, but also grateful.

“Today wedding videos plus photography can cost more than RM5,000.”

At around the same time, Chua explored journalism, writing stories based on his memories.

His drafts, rich in historical context, were eventually compiled for his book, ‘Weeping For Channel Road’.

Memories of Limbangan River

In our chat, Chua shares with me some lovely stories about the Limbangan River.

“Perhaps, Limbangan River holds the memories that I love the best, and they’re in my book,” he smiles.

Once a winding waterway encircling Sibu, the river has since been covered by roads and concrete.

In the 1950s and 1960s, it was home to traders and their families living in houseboats.

“I remember how my friends and I would spend the evenings chatting with the fruit sellers at the bridge connecting Queensway and Sibu ‘Island’ (in view of it encircled by the Limbangan River).

“That area is now the Town Square.

“The Limbangan River joins the Igan in the north. I remember that for a dollar, one could buy three pineapples from Melanau and Malay traders who berthed their houseboats there.”

Chua also fondly recalls the express boats plying the mighty Rajang River, Malaysia’s longest river, spanning 563km.

“These vessels connected the communities along the river’s upper and lower reaches: the Kenyah, Kayan, Iban, Malay, Melanau, and of course, the Chinese settlers.

“The express boats revolutionised travel in the 1970s, making journeys to towns like Kapit faster and more comfortable than the slow, open Chinese motor launches of the earlier decades.”

Chua hails the September 1971 regatta as one of his ‘most cherished memories’.

“It was a three-day celebration, and I found the 30-man longboat race the most exciting,” he chuckles.

“It was magnificent.

“The paddlers moved to the rhythm of their own strength, guided by a helmsman.

“Sibu came alive with laughter, excitement and camaraderie. Those were the days of true community celebration and the unity of diverse cultures.”

‘Life, and changes’

Sibu has changed dramatically over the decades, with Chua’s life mirroring the transformation.

Through his camera lens and written words, Chua preserves the textures of a bygone Sibu: the creaking of bicycles on the ‘belian’ planks; the scent of fresh ‘kuih’ from street vendors; the roar of longboats across the Rajang River; and the solemnity of the Tua Pek Kong Temple.

He is not merely an observer, but a chronicler, bridging generations with memories, history, and images.

Today, Chua continues his dual role as photographer and a volunteer historian.

He guides visitors through the temple, recounting its miraculous survival through fire and war, and narrates the life stories embedded in Sibu’s streets and rivers.

Through his eyes, visitors glimpse a Sibu that might otherwise have faded into the past, a town of cultural resilience and human warmth.

In the 1990s he joined a tour company and acted as tour leader bringing many Sibu people to visit China especially. These trips gave him a lot of insight and helped sharpen his mind.

Legacy of stories

In an era where modernity can easily erase memories, Chua’s dedication to documenting Sibu’s history offers both education and inspiration.

His ‘Weeping For Channel Road’ is more than a book – it is a preservation of oral histories, of lived experience and of the community’s heartbeat, told through words and old black-and-white photographs.

Whether through the lens of a camera, the pages of a book, or the stories that he shares with visitors at the temple, Chua continues to connect people with Sibu’s history.

His life reminds us that towns and cities are not only defined by their buildings or streets, but also by the stories of the people who inhabit them.

At the moment, Chua is writing another book that may see publication next year.

Through his eyes, I can see Sibu not just as a town on the map, but as a living tapestry of memories, culture, and communities – a place where the past and present flow together like the Rajang River itself.