IN the spring of 1799, the To clan was celebrating a wedding on the fishing island of Tap Mun. Suddenly, an incredible thunderstorm lashed Mirs Bay. Lightning snapped like cannon, enormous seas broke over the sheltered harbour, and the winds tore at the furled sails of the clustered junks.
The terrified hosts and their guests from other fishing hamlets in Sai Kung and Tolo Harbour fell to their knees and beseeched Tin Hau and her attendant gods of mercy and war to save them from the fury of the storm. As always, Tin Hau heeded the calls of the Tanka fisherfolk.
Two centuries later, the descendants of the wedding party survivors gathered last week to thank the goddess, just as they have done every 10 years since the great tempest.
The sole lane on Tap Mun, usually empty save for a couple of gossiping great-grandmothers, was crammed with thousands of visitors, many of them Tanka and Hakka who have settled overseas. There were accents from Edinburgh and Birmingham. You could hear conversations in German, French, Dutch and Swedish. For the first time in a decade, the sojourners of Mirs Bay had come home for the elaborate festival to honour the merciful Tin Hau.
They came from California and Sydney, from Scottish villages and the great cities of Europe. For some, like Annica Ho, who was born and raised in a small town in Sweden where her father Ho Ngau worked in a Chinese restaurant, it was the first glimpse of her ancestral roots.
The guest list in 1799 included visitors from surrounding islands and coastal villages, places such as Kau Lau Wan, Kat O, Wong Wan and Sam Mun Tsai. Ten generations later, the same families were there to remember the miracle. There were the scattered villagers of the Lee, Lai, Lam, Wong, To, Lau, Chan, Cheung, Ho, Fong and Shek families.
