Hong Kong’s Disappearing Communities: Pokfulam Village
At first glance, it's easy to overlook Pokfulam Village. Its ramshackle tin dwellings seem a bit out of place, dwarfed by the wealthy apartment blocks that dot Pokfulam. This village, however, is rich in history, and its residents have helped to shape the area for more than two centuries. With the chief executive’s pledge to increase housing supply in Hong Kong, the future of the village is being called into question, which is why we decided to pay it a visit and learn more about these communities that are gradually facing extinction. Photos by South Ho.
Dragon Brothers
While Tin Hau’s Mid-Autumn Festival fire dragon dance is famous in Hong Kong, few people know that Pokfulam Village has its own fire dragon. The ritual is central to village life—an annual boost of solidarity among the villagers. Today, the Ng brothers are two important figures keeping the festivities alive, and they share a hope that the tradition will be passed to Pokfulam Village's future generations.
A peculiar, eye-catching altar lies at the entrance of the village. It's built with bamboo scaffolding and perched on top is a large dragon made of hay. There are tools scattered all over a nearby table, and numerous plants dot the interior. This unusual setup is, in fact, the self-built studio of younger brother Ng Kong-kin, who hand-makes the village’s fire dragon every year. “I have been making fire dragons for more than four decades," says Ng. “In the past, we made money from it, so we would steal materials for the dragon from around the neighborhood.” When the fire dragon dance became a community event, Ng volunteered his time and resources annually to make his 100-foot hay beast.
The craft of making fire dragons has passed along the generations of Pokfulam villagers, but there has never been formal training. As a child, Ng observed how the older villagers did it. He then tried on his own with the seniors there to correct him when he did something wrong.
The very traditional dragon does not allow much room for creativity, so Ng likes to produce his own dragon sculptures in his spare time. He usually spends his afternoons inside the “altar,” where he can toy with different designs. The workshop is only a few steps away from his fish stall, making it convenient for Ng to hop back and forth when customers arrive.
For his smaller sculptures, Ng uses just about everything that comes his way: a combination of wooden strips, metal wires and straw for the frame, while glitter, aluminum foil, electric lights, marbles and even torches can be used as adornments. However, he prefers natural materials, having once used hanging banyan tree roots in his work. He also likes to place his dragons on bonsais, as he believes the sculptures look more beautiful when placed beside the plants.
Ng’s studio always attracts curious glances from passers-by—villagers and outsiders alike. They are eager to know what Ng is up to, but he delights in surprising people. “It’s not fun if they know what I am doing,” he says. He insists on spontaneity and refrains from planning ahead. “Real artists only produce inspired works. If they always think in terms of size [and the like], it is only craftsmanship.“