The Chinese name for figs is 無花果 / 无花果 wúhuāguǒ / “not-have flower fruit”.
We initially got these two grafted fig trees for the shade their big leaves could provide our kitchen from the fierce tropical sun, no more. The variety out in S.E. Asia (don't know about other Asian countries) doesn't have serrated leaves that the European ones do but straight edges; the fruit is deep maroon, not purple.
All we knew was that one could dry the huge leaves, then boil them for drinking as a cooling tea (凉茶 liángchá). Cooling teas are common throughout S.E. Asia, not for cooling down externally from the tropical heat, but for cooling down the internal heat built up from the air temperature, as well as from eating food that’s too “heaty” or yáng 阳 (yáng 阳 as in yīn 阴 and yáng 阳), e.g., deep fried food, or food of a yáng nature (such as durian). We also used the green leaves for wrapping up fish that we used to get in huge quantities (my father worked as a bookkeeper at a wholesale fishery place, so we got the unsold ones for free or at greatly discounted prices) to give to friends and relatives.
Throughout the year, the trees would produce clusters of fruit that would go from green to brown, shrivel up, then drop off. We had to sweep them up and burn them in our garden bonfire (allowed in those early days).
Twice a year — mid year and end of year — during the ripening seasons, the clusters of fruit would ripen, turning deep maroon and attracting lots of birds, then insects when the birds left big gaping holes in the fruit. Whatever was not eaten by the birds would drop off, leaving a pulpy mess on the ground, with more insects buzzing around the piles, which made clearing up quite an odious task. We also had to leave them to dry in the sun for longer before burning as they were so wet. We used to curse and swear at the trees for giving us all this work.
One day, a little old lady turned up at our gate, asking if she could have some of our figs. Yes, certainly, we said, but learning from the 靈芝 / 灵芝 língzhī lesson (see blog entry: The Tree Fungus), we decided to ask up front this time, “What do you want them for?”
She said her granddaughter was suffering from a serious case of goitre (called “big neck frame” in my dialect), so bad that her eyes were full of pus and swelled up until she couldn’t see.
When it first happened, the family took her to the (Western medicine) doctor, who said she had to have surgery, and it would be S$600 — as a point of reference, my third sister’s salary as a bank clerk some six years later was S$160 / month. They agreed, even though the Chinese generally don't like having their bodies cut up.
Back it came three months later, equally serious. Back to the doctor. Another operation. Another 600 dollars.
Another three months later, it returned, equally bad. The family decided that even if they had a bottomless wallet, they couldn’t let her be cut up every three months, so they started asking around. Someone said to let her eat figs for breakfast, lunch and dinner, nothing else. So, the old lady went around looking for fig trees, and found us. We gave her two sack loads, and started eating figs ourselves, recommending and giving them to neighbours, friends and relatives too.
Six months later, the old lady came back for another lot. Her granddaughter’s condition had improved hugely: the eyes didn’t swell up this time, no pus, the relapse was six months later, not three months later like before.
We gave her another two sack loads, and never saw her again.
I cannot be entirely sure that she hadn’t decided she couldn’t keep coming back to us for more figs and managed to source another supplier, but I’d like to think that it was because her granddaughter’s goitre had been cured for good by our figs.
(Singapore, mid-60s)
PS, 2023: To this day, I regret not having asked her for her phone number so that we could monitor the situation. I'd like to have known.
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