Morning Runs by Kallang

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Muhammad Uncle and I became friends in late 2019. I had relocated to Singapore a few months ago, and was living in an apartment next to the Kallang river. The building I was living in was close to the park connector that stretched along the river and ended at the iconic Gardens By The Bay. As I began a new routine of morning runs, I would be greeted with a pleasant hello by a man in his sixties in the park. A small figure, dressed in a warm orange and fluorescent green uniform, black cap and work boots, he would usually stop and wave as he saw me approaching.

His face, dotted by sun spots, would be dripping with sweat. White wisps of what would’ve been a beard grew on his chin, and a few broken teeth showed as he smiled. This went on for a few days, until I decided to stop and chat with him. He was pleasantly surprised when he heard my name.

“Oh! You are a Muslim?” His smile widened.

I replied, matter-of-factly, “I’m born to Muslim parents, yes.”

“So, what time did you get up to pray?”

“I woke up 30 minutes ago,” I said. Way past the fajr praying timings in Singapore.

Disappointed, he began telling me about the blessings that Allah showers on those who pray on time. We chatted about his work duties and my routines, then went about our days.

By early 2020, we had become friends, with one coffee meeting in the park, a promise of dinner, and phone numbers exchanged. Every time we met, he’d tell me something about Islam and the many reasons to pray on time — the beauty of heavens and wrath of hell, the significance of one Quranic verse over the other. Despite his consistent efforts, he did not see much improvement in my prayer routines. However, he did begin calling me his adopted daughter. Our relationship opened his heart to talk about the passing of his mother, estrangement from his wife and children. He lived alone in a room, and spent his evenings meeting friends, after cleaning duties ended at 6 p.m.

Muhammad Uncle is one of about 58,000 park cleaners responsible for Singapore’s public cleanliness and hygiene. With daily eight- to ten-hour shifts and one day off a week, his day comprises of picking up trash, blowing and clearing leaves, collecting rubbish from bins, sweeping the running and bicycling tracks, picking up fallen fruits, and keeping a watch for littering. There have been times, when he complains about “miscreants”, that he tells me about keeping out a watchful eye to deter potential “vandals.”

When the pandemic was at its peak, I did not see Muhammad Uncle for weeks. He visited the park regularly as his work was part of ‘essential services’, but my job was considered ‘non-essential’ and I stayed home. He would sometimes forward me WhatsApp messages, marked as warnings and alerts about the way the virus was affecting people. A few of them were clear cases of fake news, and I would promptly tell him so.

As new vaccines emerged, Muhammad Uncle was caught again in a web of misinformation. One morning he showed me a video of an American doctor explaining how lying in a prostrating position could help one’s lungs recover quickly from a Covid infection. I didn’t know how much scientific truth was in that video, but I knew he was making no attempt to fact-check.

On a few occasions, when we did catch up during my morning runs, he told me about his worries of getting the vaccine. He laughed at my expressions of bewilderment and tried to convince me that he was still staying cautious and would not catch the virus.

“My friend took the vaccine and had high fever for many days.”

“That could be a side-effect, but he won’t fall sick anymore,” I said.

Muhammad Uncle shook his head. The WhatsApp messages had convinced him not to take a shot. He wasn’t alone; many others were fearful and sceptical too, even after the Singaporean authorities had deployed the Protection from Online Falsehoods and Manipulation Act to counter misinformation about Covid vaccines. I don’t know what eventually changed his mind, but he finally did go for his shots.

Vaccinated and boosted, Muhammad Uncle and I went for iftar together during the month of Ramadan earlier this year. Him on his purple-colored electric bike and me on my bicycle, we rode to Aperia Mall. He was sceptical of going inside a mall wearing his uniform, so he changed into a black polo shirt with a DBS Bank logo on it, a pair of black jeans and black cap, looking like a rapper. He wore large gemstone rings, making his hands look like Thanos’s. We roamed through the mall and finally decided on an outlet which served broth-based dishes of all kinds. (“I have no teeth to chew!” he’d said) As we waited for our meal, he opened a mobile application to check the qiblah [Islamic prayer direction], pulled out his tasbih [prayer beads] and performed his evening prayers. Later, over bowls of abalone peanut porridge, kimchi soup and lemon tea, we talked about my family, career plans, and his experiences of having spent a lifetime in Singapore.

It’s been over three years that we’ve known each other. My morning runs have been sporadic, and he sends me fewer WhatsApp forwards, primarily because he knows I will fact-check his sources. I don’t know his full name, but that hasn’t stopped me from knowing quite a bit about him.

Last month, he informed me that he was going on a pilgrimage to Mecca in December.

“You’re performing Umrah?” I remarked. He nodded with a slight frown.

“Aren’t you looking forward to it?” I asked.

“Yes, I am going with a friend who has visited many times, but it’s scary lah.”

I nodded, and tried consoling him: “You’ll be fine. You’ve always wanted to go.”

He smiled weakly “Yes. I will pray for you.”