One of my favourite moments from 2026 was meeting Linda kakak.
After the miraculous way my siblings and I managed to reconnect with Linda Kakak (big sister) in 2019, for years I’ve prayed for an opportunity to meet this long-lost family member we hadn’t seen for over 20 years. Initially, the COVID pandemic and the uncertainties of travelling abroad quashed any serious hopes of a face-to-face meeting. Yet as my siblings and I began to plan the itinerary for a long-awaited reunion in Kuching (the city we were born in), 2026 seemed like the right time for us to move from finding Linda Kakak, to meeting Linda Kakak. But how on earth would we be able to do so?
Over the years since we re-established contact, I’d kept in touch with Linda sporadically, exchanging a few letters and messages. This time, thanks to relatives lending their Whatsapp accounts (Kakak still doesn’t have her own phone!), I got to have a couple of phone conversations prior to our trip. We promised to find a time to meet. (All of this required speaking and writing in Bahasa, a language I had barely used, but in which I suddenly found words and courage to speak with. After all, what’s a wrong word here or there, when you’re chatting with someone you once thought you’d never see again?)
Initially, we explored whether driving all the way to her village in Indonesia would make it possible to meet her. But that proved a border crossing too far for us to manage, especially once we discovered first-hand the difficulties of navigating broken and dusty roads in the region without accurate online maps. Instead, kakak graciously offered to cross the border herself to meet us in Kuching, and where Linda’s husband worked for most of the year to make ends meet for their family back in Indonesia.
So we arranged to meet on a Tuesday. Her older daughter Wendy would join her for the visit to Kuching. Her younger son Gonzalez would remain at their village as he’d already started school. We’d find them both at her nephew’s place.
Finally, after twenty years apart, on a hot and humid day in July, we met Kakak again.
It’s even more striking how much a person ages once you meet them in person. Kakak is now in her 50’s, raising two teenagers. Her life is completely different to ours. Susah (hard), she repeatedly described to us, as we sat in the shop apartment together. It was hard not to feel guilty at our divergent lives. Yet for a few precious hours, over a meal and a walk, we got to reunite, reconnect as family again, and reaffirm our love for each other.
My Taiwanese aunt-in-law (who joined me, Kim and Henry on this trip) got to say how grateful she was for kakak’s hospitality during her two previous visits to Kuching – especially during mum’s funeral and the chaotic days which followed. My brother got to pass on a game for Kakak’s kids, and see first-hand the result of his Facebook algorithm magic from 7 years ago. My sister got to sit with Kakak for the first time as an adult. Yet what I wanted to know most, and finally got to hear in person, was what had happened in the 20 years since we’d been in the same room together.
This is Linda’s story.
Lindawati Nosep was born in Jagoi Kindau, a small Bidayuh village just inside the border of West Kalimantan, Indonesia. We don’t know much about her childhood in the 70’s and 80’s. We know that by the time my sister Kimberley was born, Kakak had left her village to begin life as a live-in domestic helper in our family home in Kuching. While today this kind of vocation is more regulated, in the early 90’s, the life of a migrant worker in Southeast Asia was not so straightforward. Despite the many hardships, sending your unmarried daughter off to be a stranger’s live-in maid was a risk many rural Indonesians were willing to make in order to find extra income that could support the wider family. In exchange for board and a small monthly allowance, house helpers would follow the parents’ instructions and help with whatever chores or household duties were needed. Not only did kakak’s arrival relieve our mum from some of the demands of raising four children (including a newborn), it quietly signalled to friends and family some measure of middle-class status.
Kakak was 16.
Despite the cross-cultural shock of life in a new country and a big city (at least “the language was the same”, she quipped), Kakak began supporting our family with all kinds of jobs around the house: cooking, cleaning, tidying, folding, dusting, mopping. My early memories include potty training us on a round plastic “bucket”, changing the sheets for yet another wet bed, walking us home from school. I recall many a time seeing her stand imperiously over the stove, tossing the wok, chatting to us in her own creole of Bahasa, English, and eventually Mandarin as she grew to understand my mum’s instructions, ideas and laments. Once when cooking up one of her amazing dinners, she confidently told us: “One day I work in restoran, ya?”
During the 1990’s, most domestic helpers stayed at one house for a couple years before searching for better opportunities. Yet kakak stayed with us year after year, until it became hard to tell whether she was employed by our family, or simply another member of our family. We ate out at hawker stalls together, took long car rides together, spent beach holidays together, and more. Sure, she would still fold laundry, wash the dishes and so on – as part of her official employment. Unofficially, as kids we started to go to her for help, ask her to solve an argument, and listen to her share stories of her relatives back in the village she’d visit on her weekends off. Each tale was a window into a world completely different to ours. Kakak told us how our dad often had a temper, but generally treated her well through these first few years.
When we first immigrated to New Zealand in 1996/1997 as primary school children, one of the things we quickly learned was that the household chores were now up to us to handle. So as we learned to wash our own dishes (by hand, the way Kakak showed us) and mowed the lawns (good for character building!), we also got to appreciate her diligent service in a new light.
Living in different countries changed how often we saw Linda. Yet we did visit once or twice a year, and in doing so she got to watch us grow from awkward teenagers into young adults. In return, we got to see her take on more and more responsibilities around the home. Eventually, she had added nurse assistant (at my dad’s general practice) to the many different skills on her unwritten CV.
One of the last times we lived in the same house as Kakak was in 2006, when three brothers flew back to Kuching after the news that mum had died suddenly. As we bawled our eyes out during those sorrowful days, Linda — now in her 30’s — continued her quiet and faithful service: cooking and cleaning and caring for us and the many guests who streamed into our home to offer condolences. She was a calm voice of comfort when the darkness of mum’s death overwhelmed dad and others.
Our final all-in family photo together was on what would have been mum’s 50th birthday. At the airport, united by grief, we promised to keep in touch. “Strong ah”, she said before we parted ways. But after mum died, our family home gradually unravelled in ways we would only later discover. When Cheryl and I visited Kuching in 2010 to meet the relatives as newlyweds, Linda’s absence was a puzzling footnote to our time together.
We now know that Kakak was 36 when she left our home abruptly. We learned how there was a relationship breakdown; how she was falsely accused of stealing things that went “missing”. Faced with an impossible situation, unable to defend herself, she packed her bags and left without saying a word. For 20 years, she’d spent the prime years of her life serving our family dutifully. Once her life was a living sacrifice. Now she had to start over.
Freed from an unhappy home, but bereft of any security, Kakak tried working in a few places – a noodle stall at a hawker centre, then even a Hong Kong-style restaurant (fulfilling her long-held dream). However, without a passport, formal education or a permanent work solution, she eventually found her way back to Jagoi Kindau.
From Kakak’s description of her home town, the community sounded incredible. Yet life in a rural village has its own challenges. When she first arrived back “home” in the 2010’s, she told us she almost wanted to cry. “That place is not that good oh. Very suffer, I’m staying in the kampung. Stay at the kampung very suffer! Sometime we don’t have electricity, sometime we don’t have the water, very suffer. Yeah, sometime can ten time no electricity… on off on off on off. The water also. Very suffer… Very, very suffer.” Reintegrating with her community was hard too. Some saw kakak, an older single woman, as a misfit. “Too clever”. Eventually her mother encouraged her to consider marriage. “I don’t want to be married”, she replied. “But after I’m gone, who will look after you?” her mother asked. Reluctantly, she agreed for her mum to find someone among her Bidayuh community.
Kakak was 38 when she married Rusdi Lesam, a man from a neighbouring village she had never met before. Their greatest challenge came upon learning that their first child had trisomy 21 (Down syndrome), and a heart defect that required surgeries. The first few years of Wendy’s fragile life were filled with hospital visits, expensive bills, and tearful stories. Flying her beautiful daughter to Jakarta for specialised treatment was out of the question. Thankfully, Sarawak General Hospital agreed to enrol Wendy as a patient. So for several years, Kakak based herself back in Kuching. Life became a simple routine as she followed her via dolorosa to and from each hospital visit with her daughter in tow. Rusdi faithfully worked several jobs to cover the extra expenses. “This is our sports car”, he joked. Unlike other men in similar situations, Kakak’s husband supported her fully – a guardian-redeemer in more ways than one. A healthy baby brother, Gonzalez, was born two years later. Kakak was now in her 40’s.
As I heard Kakak’s full story for the first time, the Bible story of Ruth and Naomi also came to mind. A young woman who left home and crossed cultures in search of a better future, but who returned “empty handed” to find uncertain days ahead.
“That country is a very poor country. If you study there, doesn’t mean you have the good job if you finish university in Indonesia. A lot of Indonesia people come here (Kuching) to work, at kopitiam, if you have no permit also, if you get can. But I don’t have. I come here into the house (ours). Cannot go very far.”
It was hard to know whether Kakak, like Naomi, similarly felt “bitter” at all the LORD had given her. Yet in our conversation that day, I also got to hear for the first time how Kakak’s faith shaped her deeply. In her trials, the Catholic church in Kuching became a refuge. “That time every day I go church, I go pray.” For years, Kakak and her church prayed for Wendy’s health and a future. How good to see our gracious Father answer her prayers so clearly! Her entire Bidayuh village are nominally Catholic — the fruit of decades of post-war missionary activity among the many tribal groups in Borneo. When we celebrated Wendy’s 14th birthday a few days ago, kakak asked if we could pray for her. “William tolong doakan Wendy agar dia sentiasa sehat gembira…” (William, help pray for Wendy to be healthy and happy every day.) It’s a privilege to pray in Jesus’s name for this and so much more for her. The God of this world can do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think (Eph 3:20).
Kakak’s story continues to challenge me. Here was a sister who helped raise our family first, and now raises her own children through hardships we’ve never known. The doctors said Wendy likely had her congenital issues because of Kakak’s older age. Thanks to the amazing care of doctors and nurses, Wendy is now in high school, where she spends her days speaking in her own special language. She works diligently at the level of a pre-schooler, yet is incredibly perceptive of the world around her. Her medical costs since she was born have amounted to five-figure sums. Kakak’s husband works two jobs in Kuching to make ends meet, and sends as much as possible back home. They reunite when they can, including at Christmas. Kakak stays with family members in Kindau who all surround them with love, especially Wendy. A cross-border agreement allows some freedom of travel, but without formal education or the right opportunity, many in her village experience a life totally different to ours.
Us Chong kids continue to wonder what it looks like to honour Kakak, our big sister; and to keep supporting her family from across the seas. Despite our busy lives, we would love to take up her invitation to one day meet her family in Jagoi Kindau. To meet Gonzalez and play a game of Dobble together. To see Wendy’s schoolwork and find more ways to connect as family. As Tim Urban has pointed out: “Despite not being at the end of your life, you may very well be nearing the end of your time with some of the most important people in your life…”
But for now, we’re grateful that we’ve not just found Kakak, but also met Kakak again. And we’re thankful to have learned Kakak’s bittersweet story of love that crosses cultures, languages and hearts. Now that we’re family again, we hope the story continues!
As my brother likes to say:
“Sila menjaga satu sama lain, dan sentiasa ingat orang-orang yang membantu anda ketika anda masih muda. (Keep looking after one another. And always remember those who raised you when you were young.)” – Henry Chong, 2019
P.S.: If you remember Kakak’s love and kindness and would like to share a story, memory or gift for her family, we’d be happy to pass on your well wishes!
