‘How do I get to Trafalgar Square?’ I asked.
‘You catch the northern line from Camden Town and get off at Charing Cross, you idiot’.
It had been a long day at the office. I had been sending messages about timetables, arranged some student transfers between offices and read through two dissertations. My brain had stopped working. I needed a night out.
Would I really be welcome at a group that was dedicated to Malaysian ex-pats? I invoked the inappropriate meetup group rule and messaged the organiser, Sam, and asked him whether it would be okay. Sam replied with one word: ‘come’, which was accompanied by a smiley face emoticon. It was a friendly response. I was going.
I know next to nothing about Malaysia. I once knew two really nice Malaysian students when I was at university and I regularly visit a Malaysian/Thai take away that is around the corner from my house. The thought of going to this event made me realise how poorly travelled I am and how little I knew about the world.
I climbed out of Charing Cross underground station and walked to Trafalgar Square. The location of the event, called Malaysia night, was intriguing, but soon became very clear. The whole square had been turned over to an event called Malaysia Night. One side of the square was lined with busy Malaysian street food stalls, all doing a brisk trade. Loud music was coming from a massive sound stage that had been erected. I started to head towards the centre of the square and quickly thought better of it: the square was packed.
My objective was to get to our meeting place, which was next to the Fourth Plinth. The plinth, situated on the corner of the square, was used to display contemporary art works. Our instructions were to ‘meet by the blue cock’; an instruction which was unambiguously clear.
I found the cock and I had a good look around. People were sitting on steps, eating Malaysian street food. I didn’t see any groups that might potentially be the Meetup: this was going to be tougher than I thought. I looked at my watch. I was exactly on time, but then reassured myself that most events generally start a little later than advertised. After fifteen minutes of watching the crowds, trying to give Sam a call and leaving a message, I decided to get something to eat.
I nudged my way through the crowds and had to make a difficult decision: which street food stall to visit. I looked at the fayre that was on offer and chose one that didn’t have a ridiculous queue, made a rapid choice then returned to the steps next to eat and to do some more people watching. In the distance I could see a tent that also doubled up as a food supermarket. The stage that was in the distance was magnified by huge television screens: singers were singing; musicians were playing some instruments I had never seen before.
There was also a commercial aspect to the event. I had walked by an entrance that was only for business delegates and a stand that displayed a sport car built by a Malaysian-owned company. There were cameras, interviewers and interviewees; the night was going to be featured on television. I had seen events happening in Trafalgar Square before, but I had never deliberately entered into the middle of one. Were they all like this? How often did these nights happen?
I glanced at my phone. Sam, our organiser, had left a message. He was apparently wearing a white branded sports jacket. Fifteen minutes earlier I had identified myself as being a bald man who was wearing a beige cord jacket. Things were happening. I decided to have a wander.
‘Are you Chris?’ I turned around. I met the first member of the group: a young woman called Farisa. Moments later, I saw Sam, who offered a hand to shake, whilst at the same time balancing street food in the other. He gestured towards another member, Phil. The group was starting to coalesce.
Phil wasn’t a Malaysian. Phil was like me, a bewildered Englishman who was overawed by the smells from the street food and the sounds from the stage. He was in his late twenties and was a freelance photographer who had once been to Malaysia, hence his interest in the group. After a couple of minutes, both Phil and Farisa decided to brave the crowds to get something to eat.
Suddenly, I was in the middle of the Meetup. I was introduced to Lianne and a Malaysian couple. New members were arriving; hands were shook and hugs were given and received.
‘I have to confess that I’m not from Malaysia’, I said to Lianne, who laughed.
‘I’m not either; I’m originally from Hong Kong’.
I had a quick chat with Sam, who was busy eating, meeting and greeting. I asked him how long he had been running his group for.
‘It’s not my group, it’s everyone’s group’, he replied, gently correcting me. The group had been formed around six years ago and had about six hundred members. Events seem to happen once a month and were generally centred around food.
Phil and Farisa had returned. I introduced them both to Lianne. Farisa wasn’t Malaysian either; her family was originally from Bangladesh. She had recently completed a degree in Sociology and Criminology at a prestigious London university and was trying to move from working in a school to the civil service. I really liked Farisa; she spoke about her enthusiasm for sociology and had a passion for kick boxing.
On the stage, the performers had changed. An Irishman who was playing a violin had been replaced by an immaculately dressed gentleman who wore a very shiny yellow jacket that was spectacularly offset by a pair of deep blue trousers. A heavy bass track started to make conversations more challenging.
A couple of new people arrived, some of whom were carrying an interesting looking Malaysian drink. I decided I needed one too, so I decided to dive into the crowds to see where I could get one from. I soon realised that I had embarked on an exercise in futility. The crowds had become spectacularly intense. Hundreds of people queued for stalls that sold rendang, satay and nasi goring. Moving amongst everyone was a challenge. I looked for a ‘café stall’ that I had been told about, but I couldn’t see it anywhere. The closest I got was to the Malaysian supermarket that was now overrun with shoppers. I’m usually good in crowds, and rarely get claustrophobic, but I was starting to feel a little overawed by the sheer numbers of people that were occupying that particular part of Trafalgar Square. After passing queue after queue, I decided that my patience was limited and returned to the security of the group.
‘Hello, I’m Chris!’ I introduced myself to Shruti, a new member of the group. Shruti was, like Farisa, Bengali. She taught IT in a secondary school and wanted to move into the IT departments of London finance companies. We chatted about programming languages that are used to teach kids and adults. I told Shruti about the ‘women who code’ Meetup, telling her about a talk by someone in finance who was looking to recruit new people.
After an hour or so, with food boxes eaten and exotic drinks gone, a number of people started to drift off home. I looked around; people were everywhere, laughing, eating and talking loudly. Despite the overwhelming number of people, I started to feel alone. It had been hard to talk to people due to the hustle and bustle and the continual bass lines from the distant stage, the clamour for food, and the challenge of language; it was difficult to find the opportunity to discover connections, to try to understand why people came to this group. I felt frustrated that I hadn’t been able to find its true character. What did strike me was its diversity. There was Sam, our busy host and the Malaysian couple, Phil, the English photographer, Lianne the contract accountant from Hong Kong, and the two Bangladeshi women.
It was time to go. I surveyed the crowds and took a deep breath, then fought my way through the crowds, past the stage, the Malaysian supermarket and food stalls, and on to Charing Cross station.
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