Born in 1989, Cecily Chan Nga-li is the eldest daughter of Chan Chauwing
and a 10th-generation indigenous resident of the Chan clan in
Shui Hau Village. She grew up in a well-to-do family during the 1990s,
enjoying a childhood filled with all kinds of toys. In recent years, she has
developed a deeper appreciation for her family’s heritage and has been
actively involved in village affairs. As a result, she has formed friendships
with many new residents in Shui Hau. Currently the caretaker of House
No. 49, a Grade III historic building, Cecily hopes to preserve the house
properly so more people in Hong Kong can learn about Shui Hau’s
stories.
I was born at Nethersole Hospital on Hong Kong Island.1 My dad Chan Chau-wing ran a
holiday home business and Fung Wong Bungalow Store.2 My mum took care of the housework
and looked after me and my younger sister when we were little. In the 1980s and 1990s,
Hongkongers loved carrying around those big radios and often rented holiday homes in
Shui Hau Village for at least two days and one night. So, the holiday home business was doing
pretty well. On top of that, my dad and a few uncles built some ding houses (small houses that
male indigenous villagers are entitled to build under the New Territories Small House Policy),
while Uncle Kuen (Chan Chau-kuen)3 ran a plastics factory in Shui Hau. Our family was quite
well-to-do back then. I literally grew up never having to lift a finger around the house. We had
plenty of material comforts and life was quite happy.
I went to kindergarten in Mui Wo. When I was six, I started attending the afternoon session at S.K.H. St. James’ Primary School in Wan Chai. In Primary Two, my little sister got into the same school, and my mum taught me how to take the bus with her to school. Mum would take the ferry with us to Central and then head to Sheung Wan for her part-time job, while I’d hold my sister’s hand and go to school with her. The daily commute was long. After school, I’d make use of the time on the ferry to do my homework. We usually got ordinary seat tickets and brought our own small plastic stools to work on our homework. Sometimes mum would buy deluxe class tickets, and we could enjoy a bowl of instant noodles and have a table to do our homework comfortably. The school had alternating schedules for Saturdays — every other Saturday we had a morning session. We’d catch the first ferry in the morning. At noon, dad would pick us up in his truck. Tsing Ma Bridge wasn’t completed yet, so trucks could still take a ferry to cross the water.
Because getting to school was quite exhausting, I moved to Hong Kong Island with my mum and little sister during the second half of Primary Two to live with my uncle. But a year later, I had some health issue. I kept having fevers and ended up in the hospital for a month. So I moved back to Shui Hau Village and have been living here since.
I went to kindergarten in Mui Wo. When I was six, I started attending the afternoon session at S.K.H. St. James’ Primary School in Wan Chai. In Primary Two, my little sister got into the same school, and my mum taught me how to take the bus with her to school. Mum would take the ferry with us to Central and then head to Sheung Wan for her part-time job, while I’d hold my sister’s hand and go to school with her. The daily commute was long. After school, I’d make use of the time on the ferry to do my homework. We usually got ordinary seat tickets and brought our own small plastic stools to work on our homework. Sometimes mum would buy deluxe class tickets, and we could enjoy a bowl of instant noodles and have a table to do our homework comfortably. The school had alternating schedules for Saturdays — every other Saturday we had a morning session. We’d catch the first ferry in the morning. At noon, dad would pick us up in his truck. Tsing Ma Bridge wasn’t completed yet, so trucks could still take a ferry to cross the water.
Because getting to school was quite exhausting, I moved to Hong Kong Island with my mum and little sister during the second half of Primary Two to live with my uncle. But a year later, I had some health issue. I kept having fevers and ended up in the hospital for a month. So I moved back to Shui Hau Village and have been living here since.
Back in the ’90s, there were plenty of fun things to do in the village. I’d run all over the place
with a dozen kids my age playing hide-and-seek. We also played a game called “leg-grabbing
ghost” 4 near the stone ping-pong table. Just a few steps down from the Stone Gate , there was
a grassy field with chickens roaming under the trees and their droppings all over the ground.
But we didn’t care. We’d roll around on the grass, get chased and pecked by the chickens, and
often ended up with cuts and bruises.
Uncle Kuen ran a plastics factory in Shui Hau that produced parachute soldier figures. The toys had to be hand-assembled and fitted with parachute nets. That’s why there was often a “toy mountain” in the open space outside Fung Wong Bungalow Store. The pile was stacked as high as a dining table. My parents and uncle would sit on small stools around the mountain assembling the toys. My little sister and I were still young, so we would sit on top of the pile and pass the toys to whoever was nearly finished.
When I was a kid, our family was quite well-off. We would go to Mui Wo to rent videotapes, and I would watch Flash Fax5 or play the “red and white console” 6 at other villagers’ homes. My mum’s friends were doing well too. Whenever we had gatherings, I’d end up getting loads of gifts — Barbie dolls, Lego sets and puzzles, and I had almost every version of the Game Boy,7 from the original grey model to others in colours like yellow, silver, transparent and purple.
There was a time when Fung Wong Bungalow Store had an arcade machine and it had Street Fighter. At the age of five, I already knew how to sneakily use a key to open up the machine, take out the coins and put them back in to start a new game. My friends got to play too. When I tell new friends about my childhood, they are always intrigued. But back then, I didn’t think there was anything special and never really appreciated it.
I later went to secondary school in Tung Chung. Some of the young villagers I grew up with went overseas to study, others moved to the city. One by one, they left, and eventually only the elderly people were left in Shui Hau. There was no one my age to hang out with. After finishing secondary school, I started working in the city. As tensions grew between me and my family, I became less involved in family affairs.
Uncle Kuen ran a plastics factory in Shui Hau that produced parachute soldier figures. The toys had to be hand-assembled and fitted with parachute nets. That’s why there was often a “toy mountain” in the open space outside Fung Wong Bungalow Store. The pile was stacked as high as a dining table. My parents and uncle would sit on small stools around the mountain assembling the toys. My little sister and I were still young, so we would sit on top of the pile and pass the toys to whoever was nearly finished.
When I was a kid, our family was quite well-off. We would go to Mui Wo to rent videotapes, and I would watch Flash Fax5 or play the “red and white console” 6 at other villagers’ homes. My mum’s friends were doing well too. Whenever we had gatherings, I’d end up getting loads of gifts — Barbie dolls, Lego sets and puzzles, and I had almost every version of the Game Boy,7 from the original grey model to others in colours like yellow, silver, transparent and purple.
There was a time when Fung Wong Bungalow Store had an arcade machine and it had Street Fighter. At the age of five, I already knew how to sneakily use a key to open up the machine, take out the coins and put them back in to start a new game. My friends got to play too. When I tell new friends about my childhood, they are always intrigued. But back then, I didn’t think there was anything special and never really appreciated it.
I later went to secondary school in Tung Chung. Some of the young villagers I grew up with went overseas to study, others moved to the city. One by one, they left, and eventually only the elderly people were left in Shui Hau. There was no one my age to hang out with. After finishing secondary school, I started working in the city. As tensions grew between me and my family, I became less involved in family affairs.
I can see that society has been changing fast in recent years, and some cultural heritage needs
to be actively protected in order to survive. I’ve also become more aware of the responsibility
I have towards my family. When I look back on my childhood, I realised my childhood was
actually a happy one, but I didn’t appreciate it at the time. Take House No. 49 as an example.
It’s not just my family’s ancestral home, but it’s also the last remaining village house on
Lantau Island built with granite and blue bricks. It has been listed as a Grade III historic
building. The building materials and the craftsmanship are now extremely rare, which makes
the house especially precious. Once houses like this are gone, they are gone for good and
there’s no way to bring them back. But in order to have the right to preserve our ancestral
home, I have to be a stakeholder. Only then can I have a say, rather than see it redeveloped.
That’s why we’re doing our best to restore House No. 49 to its original condition. We want
more people to learn about the history of Hong Kong.
I’ve become more mature because of my work experience. A few years ago, my job required me to visit car repair shops all over Hong Kong, so I was constantly driving to remote places. That really pushed my driving skills to improve dramatically. Also, my younger sister and I bought a car, so I no longer had to rely on the store’s delivery van. Because of that, I started driving to places I’d never been before. I listened to music while driving, and was in full control of my speed. That’s why I truly felt the joy of driving. I also realised that when learning something new, as long as you are willing to face the challenge, you’ll gradually get the hang of it. Being able to take control feels amazing because you are no longer held back by fear and don’t have to tiptoe around anymore.
Which is why I now enjoy trying new things, like farming and growing vegetables with my boyfriend. That’s something I never imagined myself doing. When we deliver fertilisers to the village, we’d give some to other villagers so that they can grow vegetables too. We also brew coffee. There’s this couple who visits us every week and each time they want three cups of coffee.
I’ve got to know many people who moved to the village from the city. Some of them have already lived here for six to 10 years. A few foreigners often have gatherings at the store. They are cheerful people and love sharing their travel stories. Since 2020, some young villagers from my generation have started moving back to Shui Hau because they enjoy the peace and quiet here. Some of them ask me when I moved back here, and I just tell them: “I never left!” There’s a social network of people from my father’s generation, and I’m building a new network myself.
I want Shui Hau Village to be a comfortable place where people feel happy. To make that happen, it often requires us to take the initiative. When others see the results, they would follow. For example, I reorganised the space in the store and even offered the store’s exterior walls to WWF-Hong Kong to paint a mural. In recent years, I’ve hosted village meetings, which my dad used to do while I helped with note-taking. I saw how villagers went around in circles over the same issues for years, which really strained their relationships. So I started preparing the meeting agendas in advance and gave everyone a copy during the meetings. This made our discussions more efficient. Now there are fewer disputes among the villagers. That’s exactly what I hoped to achieve.
For many visitors, clam-digging is one of the major attractions of Shui Hau. But in recent years, I’ve noticed the clams are getting smaller, and tourists leave right after visiting the mudflats without even knowing there’s a village here. If there are no more clams to dig for in Shui Hau Wan in the future, Shui Hau could become a dead town. Shui Hau Village doesn’t need to be famous, but I don’t want activities to be limited to just one thing. Offering more things to do beyond clam-digging will ease the ecological pressure on the mudflats and improve Shui Hau’s well-being in the long run.
I’ve become more mature because of my work experience. A few years ago, my job required me to visit car repair shops all over Hong Kong, so I was constantly driving to remote places. That really pushed my driving skills to improve dramatically. Also, my younger sister and I bought a car, so I no longer had to rely on the store’s delivery van. Because of that, I started driving to places I’d never been before. I listened to music while driving, and was in full control of my speed. That’s why I truly felt the joy of driving. I also realised that when learning something new, as long as you are willing to face the challenge, you’ll gradually get the hang of it. Being able to take control feels amazing because you are no longer held back by fear and don’t have to tiptoe around anymore.
Which is why I now enjoy trying new things, like farming and growing vegetables with my boyfriend. That’s something I never imagined myself doing. When we deliver fertilisers to the village, we’d give some to other villagers so that they can grow vegetables too. We also brew coffee. There’s this couple who visits us every week and each time they want three cups of coffee.
I’ve got to know many people who moved to the village from the city. Some of them have already lived here for six to 10 years. A few foreigners often have gatherings at the store. They are cheerful people and love sharing their travel stories. Since 2020, some young villagers from my generation have started moving back to Shui Hau because they enjoy the peace and quiet here. Some of them ask me when I moved back here, and I just tell them: “I never left!” There’s a social network of people from my father’s generation, and I’m building a new network myself.
I want Shui Hau Village to be a comfortable place where people feel happy. To make that happen, it often requires us to take the initiative. When others see the results, they would follow. For example, I reorganised the space in the store and even offered the store’s exterior walls to WWF-Hong Kong to paint a mural. In recent years, I’ve hosted village meetings, which my dad used to do while I helped with note-taking. I saw how villagers went around in circles over the same issues for years, which really strained their relationships. So I started preparing the meeting agendas in advance and gave everyone a copy during the meetings. This made our discussions more efficient. Now there are fewer disputes among the villagers. That’s exactly what I hoped to achieve.
For many visitors, clam-digging is one of the major attractions of Shui Hau. But in recent years, I’ve noticed the clams are getting smaller, and tourists leave right after visiting the mudflats without even knowing there’s a village here. If there are no more clams to dig for in Shui Hau Wan in the future, Shui Hau could become a dead town. Shui Hau Village doesn’t need to be famous, but I don’t want activities to be limited to just one thing. Offering more things to do beyond clam-digging will ease the ecological pressure on the mudflats and improve Shui Hau’s well-being in the long run.