Ah, but wait—what’s this? As we saunter along, the narrative thickens like a good mystery novel. We’re now venturing into Malay Street and Dickson Road. You’re wondering, “What’s the big deal?” Well, let’s just say that this isn’t your average stroll down memory lane.

But before we plunge into the quirks and curiosities of this stretch, let’s rewind a bit. Picture this: a small river called Sungai Bunus meandering into the Klang River. In the 19th century, the banks of this river were alive with the vibrant settlement of the Mandailing people (read about the Padri War in Sumatra). Kampung Bunus – and who was at the heart of this community? None other than Jabanus, affectionately known as Tok Bunus.Quite the leader, I’d imagine—probably the kind of man who could convince you that crossing a river full of crocodiles was just a bit of “exercise.” Hence, we have Kampung Bunus, named in his honour.

Haji Mohamed Thaib

Now, the Mandailing, a subgroup of the Malays from Sumatra, were not just here for sightseeing, mind you. Oh no. These folks knew how to make things happen. And speaking of making things happen, the early history of Kuala Lumpur is practically painted with the entrepreneurial spirit of Minang migrants. They didn’t just stroll into town; they took the town, particularly in business and mining. Among the standout success stories was Haji Mohamed Thaib, a Minang trader who made it big in KL (Selangor Secretariat 4304/1896, Gullick, 1998: 34). You know, the kind of guy who doesn’t just own a shop or two—he had a swath of shops along Malay Street.

And then there was Haji Ja’far Amin, (nephew of Haji Mohamed Thaib and grandfather to Restoran Waspada owner Dato’ Firdaus Abdullah) and a chip off the old Minang block. Not content to merely follow in his uncle’s footsteps, he branched out and opened a Malay restaurant on Malacca Street. I imagine he was one of those taukes who could whip up a nasi so good, you’d swear you’d heard angels singing while you ate.

So yes, the Mandailing and Minang weren’t just passing through—they were laying down roots, building businesses, and in their own way, shaping the story of this city.

And now, as we draw closer to Malay Street, Dickson Road and Gombak Lane, you can bet your curiosity will be rewarded. This isn’t just any ordinary stretch—it’s history, commerce, and a few good stories.

 Malay Street (Jalan Melayu)

A bustling stretch of road once upon a time, starting from Java Road and meandering all the way to Batu Road, as if it had a mind of its own. In the early days, it was home to a lively lot, Malays from Sumatra, who set up shop like they were about to build their very own kingdom. And why not? They had a market at the Dickson Street junction and, for good measure, a Malay school nearby—the Gombak Lane Malay School. But this wasn’t just any old school, mind you. No, the land was graciously donated by none other than Haji Mohammad Yusof Abu Bakar, or as we lovingly knew him, Nakhoda Yusof @ Che Soh.

Yes, the man from Losong, Terengganu, who could trade rice and spices like nobody’s business. And when I say “nobody’s business,” I mean it. He took those profits and plopped them straight into 58 prime shop lots along Batu Road and Malay Street. Che Soh knew how to pick his investments, and Malay Street was a goldmine.

Malay School, Gombak Lane. Image source: Pioneering efforts in Education in Kuala Lumpur from 1875 till 1900 by J. S. Henry

Now, the businesses that sprouted along this street were a sight to behold. By the early 1910s, you couldn’t walk a few steps without stumbling upon something unique. Take Ceylon Restaurant, for example, tucked in at 10, Malay Street, it was run by the late K. Aruliah, serving up dishes that had a way of sticking to your ribs in the best possible way. And if you fancied a bit of baked goodness, there was Dinesh Hamy’s Ceylon Bakery at number 7. I’ll never forget the smell of freshly baked bread wafting through the air—it was enough to make even the sternest faces soften for a moment.

But then, as it often happens, things changed. The 1940s came rolling in, and suddenly Punjabi businesses were sprouting up left, right, and centre. I suppose it was only natural, what with a sizeable Punjabi community living just across the road in Gombak Lane. Shops like Pahang Khalsa Store and Harbhajan Singh’s, selling everything from textiles to sundry goods and, of course, Punjabi cuisine from Jai Hind Restaurant, the oldest surviving reminder of this milieu. There was also a row of shops selling batik and kain pelikat such as Peerbhai Trading and Goodwill Trading Company. There was also a shop along Batu road known as Bhagwan Singh Mela Singh, owned by a Sikh merchant, selling spices from India.

To quote a blogger, Siti Zainon Ismail: “Sometimes, it truly feels as if anything connected to your heritage is slipping away. Malay Street, once an essential artery, thrived with activity near the river, while Malacca Street ran alongside, home to the Len Seng bus stop.

On Malay Street, Malay trade pulsed with life—tailors, embroiderers, songkok-makers, and capal craftsmen lined the road. Until the 1960s, Minang traders filled the area: Pak Yassin and Pak Agus Salim were renowned for their kebaya embroidery, and the street was lively with Minang food stalls, Indian vendors selling jasmine flowers, and street barbers.

To the north, the junction led to Jalan Bunus, another bustling strip, with eateries and a bookstore importing books from Indonesia. The most notable was Pak Sabirin’s (father of the poet Anis Sabiri) bookstore, a beloved cultural stop and home to the poet Anis Sabiri’s father.”

I recall hunting for Malay antiques, circa 1949, along the Malay Bazaar here, In the Malay bazaar off Malay Street, you will find a heterogeneous collection of barang, including everything from over- powering French-labelled perfume at 10 cents a bottle, to the latest thing in songkoks, from sewing machines to beautiful Sarawak silver, filthy, dirty and unrecognisable, unappreciated by the shop- keepers and sold for a mere song.

And let’s not forget the tailors of Malay Street. Oh, they were a cut above the rest—pun fully intended. These guys had an encyclopaedic knowledge of traditional attire from all corners of the Malay Peninsula. If you needed something bespoke for an official function, these were your go-to guys. From ministers to VIPs, they all came running for the finest baju and songkok that money could buy. I sometimes wonder if the humble surroundings of their shops made the tailors even more legendary—modest environment, grand reputation. Go figure.

So yes, Malay Street, once a thriving hub of life and commerce, was more than just a street. It was a living, breathing entity—a place where you could pick up a bit of history along with your daily shopping, if you knew where to look.