A boy’s love of photography sparks a family journey from Canada back to their Nyonya roots.
WORDS Poh Tan │ IMAGES Khafri Mau, Paulus Mau, and Poh Tan

The Tan jetty, one of six traditional jetties in the Pulau Pinang area. Our family is part of the Tan Clan. After Great-Grandfather Tan immigrated from China to Malaysia, our family started building the jetty, which was gradually completed between 1880 and 1960. Photo: Khafri Mau and Poh Tan
A Complex, Intersecting Identity
My name is Poh, and I am of Malaysian heritage. When people first see my name, it’s not clear to them where I am from. After moving to Canada as a child more than 35 years ago, I lost my Malaysian accent and my fluency in Bahasa Melayu (Malaysia’s national language). Luckily, conversations with my parents, cousins, aunties, and uncles helped me preserve some traditions and useful phrases from our culture.
Specifically, I am Nyonya (also called Baba-Nyonya or Peranakan), a descendant of Indigenous Malay women who married Chinese men. My cultural identity intersects with that of an immigrant, a woman, an educator, a researcher, and a mother. So, I have learned to live with complexity.

Younger brother Khian (L) and Khafri (R) enjoying a summer day on the water, Burrard Inlet, Vancouver. Photo: Paulus Mau
In the beginning, Khafri had little connection to his Malaysian heritage, with only occasional cultural stories from my parents.
Raising Sons Far from My Homeland
Khafri, my eldest son, and Khian, my youngest, are four years apart and were born in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. In the beginning, they had little connection to their Malaysian heritage, with only occasional cultural stories from my parents. Khafri is a Muslim and Egyptian name, and also the name of one of my favorite cousins in Malaysia. That was the closest connection to Malaysia that Khafri had. Khian has even less.

Khafri Mau and his mother, Poh Tan, onboard Hōkūleʻa, in Vancouver’s Heritage Harbour. Hōkūleʻa is a Polynesian double-hulled voyaging canoe that traverses the globe every four years to remind humanity of love, care, and responsibility for planet Earth. Photo: Paulus Mau
In time, Khafri’s curiosity and interest about his cultural heritage grew. After discovering his passion for photography, he wanted to know more about his family’s stories, traditions, language, and food.
Through a community photography program, he developed skills in using a camera to capture scenes in the local park. While others in his class tended to capture photos of people, Khafri preferred to focus on landscapes and nature. “I like taking pictures of nature better because it’s more interesting. There’s so much more to see when you zoom in,” he says. At first, his photos captured wide-angle scenes of forests, bays, inlets, and gardens.

Burrard Inlet, Vancouver, Canada, summer 2022. Photo: Khafri Mau
Making Sense of His World through a Camera Lens
Slowly, Khafri began to notice the details in his photography, like the family of fungi living amongst the roots of a giant cedar tree.
As Khafri continued to hone his photography, he began to focus on the intricacies of each scene he was capturing. At first, he was preoccupied by the technical side of capturing the micro-ecosystems on leaves, tree trunks, trails, and rocks. Then, slowly, Khafri began to notice and appreciate the details of what he was capturing. As he examined his pictures closely, he noticed the family of fungi living amongst the roots of a giant cedar. He saw the reflections in a single dew drop hanging off the tip of a pine needle. And he remembered racing the sun’s trajectory with his camera before it disappeared behind an oceanic horizon. When he paused to observe, he found deeper meaning in his photos beyond mere esthetics.

Dew drop on a pine needle after sunrise. Photo: Khafri Mau
It was in August 2023 that his love for photography helped deepen his connection with his Malaysian heritage. We decided to take a three-week trip to visit family whom I had not seen during the COVID-19 pandemic. Khafri brought his camera along to take photos of the plants and animals during a planned jungle hike.
Though Khafri was meeting his Malaysian relatives for the first time, he felt as if he had always known them.
Into Our Extended Family’s Open Arms

Malaysia’s national flower, the Bunga Raya (hibiscus), is a symbol of the courage, strength, and life of the Malaysian people. Its five petals signify the five principles of unity. Different varieties grow in Malaysia, with red the most common. Photo: Khafri Mau
We arrived at noon after a 16-hour flight from Vancouver, and were greeted by hugs and kisses by our family. Cousins, aunties, uncles, great aunties, great uncles, and other relatives came to show us how much they had missed us.
Though he was meeting them for the first time, he felt as if he had always known them. While we all took pictures, Khafri took many selfies with his phone instead. Some of his photos were posed whereas others were candid to capture the high spirits during the three-week trip, which included excursions to the beach, the rainforest, favourite food stalls, and a heritage jetty. As the weeks progressed, he connected more deeply with his cousins, uncles, and great aunties.

Khafri enjoying Ketam Lada Hitam, a Malaysian crab dish in Pulau Pinang. Photo: Poh Tan
When we got back home, we shared our pictures with our family in Vancouver. Then, when the school year started, Khafri showed his photos to his friends.
One evening, I was walking by his room and overheard his conversation with a friend. He was describing his time in Malaysia:
“Yo, I had so much fun! It was super-hot, but I met all of my cousins, and they all play the same games that I do, here let me show you a pic,” he excitedly shared. “I met my other relatives too, oh my gosh, like my great-aunt. She lives with her dog and she, like, has her own mini farm. She grows all the vegetables my mom likes to eat! Oh, and I ate durian, check this out.”

Variety of durians at SS22, a popular durian stall in Petaling Jaya, Kuala Lumpur, during a family feast. Photo: Khafri Mau
Capturing Raw Moments
I could see my son actively piecing together his biocultural heritage.
Later that week, I asked Khafri about what I had overheard. Specifically, I asked about his favorite parts of our journey and why he had taken photos only using his phone.
Although Khafri had brought his bulky professional camera on our trip, he chose to use his phone most of the time because he felt such a connection with his cousins that he wanted to capture memories from a more organic and emergent place. He felt the images from his phone captured raw moments and conveyed the growing love he felt for his relatives. And he knew he would miss those moments when it was time to go home.

Khafri’s great-auntie’s purple eggplant in her garden. Photo: Khafri Mau
Khafri’s favourite memory was connecting over delicious food and listening to the stories and jokes shared by his relatives. He loved hearing about their lives in Malaysia, what school was like, who his cousins’ friends were, and what Malaysia was like when I was his age. I could see him actively piecing together his biocultural heritage.
Thirteen Years, 13,000 km: A Biocultural Heritage Lost and Found
I learned that Khafri’s love for photography was about capturing stories and searching for a connection to better understand his heritage. For him, photography became a mode of documentation. He used it to preserve experiences, memories, and stories, which helped him appreciate the relationship between culture, nature, and storytelling.
He was greeted with an open heart, and the 13-year absence and 13,000 km that had separated him from his extended family dissolved.
Before our trip, he had never communicated with our extended family because he feared that the distance, both physical and emotional, made him a stranger or outsider to the family. As soon as we touched down on my homeland, Khafri felt he was greeted with an open heart and love. Suddenly, the 13 years and 13,000 km that had separated him from his extended family dissolved.

Yellow Hibiscus, one of several subspecies in Malaysia. Photo: Khafri Mau
One year after the trip, Khafri continues to chat with his cousins by text message. And, this time, he bonds with them over conversations about the similarities and differences between Vancouver and Kuala Lumpur, the capital city of Malaysia.
Photographs and Words, Threads in a Growing Tapestry
When Khafri reads this published story, he will also realize that I had the same worries and concerns about “re-bonding” with my family. Unlike Khafri, photography is not my passion. Instead, stories and storytelling, among other activities, help deepen my connections with the world. Khafri forms bonds with people and places through photographs and I form bonds through words.
Words from stories shared by my aunties and uncles are a connection to the past. Stories about how they grew up in the ’50s, the struggles they and the entire Baba-Nyonya community had during World War II, and their appreciation for all they have now, weave a rich tapestry of our family’s history.
Each story I listened to became a thread, weaving my present life back into my family’s lineage, making me realize how the person I am today is shaped by these stories.

Pink Hibiscus, one of several subspecies in Malaysia. Photo: Khafri Mau
Devouring Stories at Auntie Diana’s Table
During our stay, I often sat with my Auntie Diana at her cluttered dining table. There, she regaled me with stories about her 1-year scholarship in England and my great-grandmother, an Indigenous shaman. She told me how, after my grandfather died, she and her sisters had to leave school to start working to support her family of nine siblings.
At my Auntie’s table, I also savored my family’s Baba-Nyonya heritage more deeply. For example, she explained that different Nyonya dishes are more “Malay”- or “Chinese”- influenced. In my family, there is greater influence from the Malay side.
In this way, each story became a thread, weaving my present life back into my family’s lineage and making me realize how the person I am today is shaped by these stories.
We will share more stories with them over delicious Baba-Nyonya cuisine, sinking new biocultural roots a little deeper, one trip at a time.
New, Strong Roots Take Time to Grow
Although, unlike Khafri, I did not form a deep connection with family through photography, I found a renewed bond with them through their stories and a sense of belonging. Their stories are my link to traditions and values that might otherwise have faded with time and distance. My aunties are our family’s storytellers, guardians of our collective memory. And through their words, the past remains alive in the present, a living, breathing part of Khafri’s and my daily lives.

Great tree roots, Lynn Canyon Valley, Vancouver. Later, Khafri noticed the tree’s roots supporting thriving communities of flora and fauna. Photo: Khafri Mau
In the next chapter of our mother-and-son journey, Khafri and I are looking forward to our second meeting with our family in Malaysia. Next year, we will share more stories with them over delicious Baba-Nyonya cuisine, sinking new biocultural roots a little deeper, one trip at a time. Eventually, our reviving roots will bind us all together again to the land that birthed us.
Read More from Poh Tan:
Poh Tan is co-author of “A Reverence for Nature: A Biocultural Journey in Botanical Gardens”, which features her story, “The Sweetness and Power of Hibiscus”.
Poh is a scientist and educator with a PhD in Science Education from Simon Fraser University and a PhD from the University of British Columbia.
Khafri Mau is a high school student who sees connections with nature and culture through his camera lens. He aspires to be an aerospace engineer who sees that people and the world can be connected through innovation and creativity.