Left in the Rain: A Melaka Couple's Unseen Struggle
Married in hope, now living without water or electricity in an inherited house buried in debt — and turned away by every door they knocked on. Even a crowdfunding campaign has yet to receive a single donation.
MELAKA, Malaysia — In an ancestral house on the outskirts of this historic city, a husband and wife cling to each other and to the rainwater that keeps them alive. He is 64. She is 48. They have been married since 2022, and for four years they have endured conditions that most people would not believe still exist in modern Malaysia.
🔹 Key facts about their living situation:
- The house belongs to the husband's late father, who passed away in 2008, and has never been legally reassigned since.
- Unpaid land tax, property tax, and assessment fees on the house have been piling up since 2016, and it was this debt that led to the water and electricity being disconnected that same year.
- Three people lived in the house before the couple: the husband's mother, his elder brother, and his younger brother. The mother passed away in 2019, and the younger brother later left for Vietnam, leaving only the elder brother behind.
- When the couple married in 2022 and moved in, the water and electricity were already cut off and the debts had already accumulated — they inherited a crisis they did not create.
- They rely entirely on rainwater for bathing, cooking, and drinking. The roof has partially collapsed and leaks badly.
- The elder brother, who is intellectually disabled, manipulative, and now also a senior citizen, still lives in the house and deliberately bathes naked outdoors — not in the bathroom — whenever he notices the wife stepping out to cook. This pattern has left her constantly on edge in her own home.
Every time dark clouds gather, the couple's hearts sink. "When it rains, we are forced to catch every drop – it is our only water source, but it also reminds us how broken our home is," the wife wrote in a message filled with both despair and a stubborn flicker of hope. The roof no longer protects them; instead, it channels rain into buckets and pots scattered across the floor.
The strain shows in different ways for each of them. The husband, also a senior citizen now, carries visible stress — he grows angry easily, and at times his words come out disjointed or unintentionally hurtful to people around him. The wife, meanwhile, has learned to time her days around her brother-in-law's movements: she now waits until he has genuinely left the house before she feels safe enough to cook or collect rainwater in peace.
They reached out everywhere – and were met with silence or insult
The couple have contacted well-known Malaysian social media personalities, a political party elected representative, a women's aid organisation, the ministry responsible for women and family development, and shared their plight in various Facebook support groups. Instead of compassion, one Facebook group member shouted them down as "scammers."
Desperate for any kind of lifeline, they also turned to a well-known charitable foundation after the wife recalled seeing social media posts describing home-repair assistance and monthly rental support for the poor. The husband, 64, is a registered recipient of that foundation's monthly food aid, and for that they are deeply grateful – it has literally kept them alive. Beyond the food aid, the couple say they have not yet received the kind of home‑repair help they recall seeing described online, and for a long time their calls for assistance with the collapsed living conditions went unanswered.
"We are very thankful for the food we receive. That food is what has sustained us all this time. But we still live in a house that is falling apart, without water or lights, and nobody wants to really see us."
Visits that brought cameras, not help
In April 2025, there were visits – but they only deepened the hurt. A delegation from a political party came, alongside officers from the social welfare department. Both groups spoke only with the elder brother, treating him as the sole resident, even though the husband and wife were present and the husband personally handed over his identity card and the household's water and electricity bills. The political entourage posed for photos with the elder brother, uploaded the pictures to their social media accounts, and left. The couple believed help would follow. It never came.
"They took photos with my brother and went away. They didn't help us. It was like we were invisible," the wife recalled, her words heavy with abandonment.
For four years since their marriage, this man and woman have been slipping through every safety net. The husband, already in his mid‑60s, is unable to work. They have no savings, no income, and no family willing to intervene. Every night they pray that someone – a rescue group, volunteers, ordinary Malaysians with big hearts – will come and witness their suffering with their own eyes.
⚠️ They are not asking for luxury. They are asking for a roof that doesn't leak, access to clean water, and a flicker of human dignity.
A desperate new step: crowdfunding, but still no help
Having exhausted every formal and informal channel, the couple recently turned to online fundraising. The wife tried to set up campaigns on three different platforms. Only one platform approved their appeal, and their campaign went live. They began sharing the link everywhere, hoping that kind-hearted donors might finally offer a helping hand. But since the link was circulated, not a single donation has been made. The silence online mirrors the neglect they face in real life. Another campaign on a different platform remains pending approval.
🌐 Their approved crowdfunding page (the only one that went through):
https://gogetfunding.com/?p=9628501
"We are waiting for generous and compassionate donors. Until now, no one has contributed. We still have hope that someone will see our suffering and save our lives."
A glimmer of human contact — the foundation reaches out
On 3 July, the couple received an unexpected call from the charitable foundation. A representative had finally responded to their case. But at that exact moment, the husband and wife were in the middle of their daily survival ritual: they were busy collecting rainwater — frantically directing the precious drops from the roof into jerry cans and mineral water bottles, stocking up for the days when the rain would stop. They had no choice but to let the call pass. They were fighting for water, the very thing that keeps them alive.
The foundation did not give up. They called again, twice on 6 July. This time, the wife was cooking — a simple meal over a small fire, one of the few comforts they can still manage. With her phone battery nearly dead (they have no electricity to charge it), she summoned her courage and called back. The staff told them to come to their welfare office for a face‑to‑face review.
On 7 July, the husband and wife went to the foundation's centre. They were received warmly by the staff, who listened to their story and began a formal review of their case. After the meeting, they were allowed to go home, with the instruction to wait for a follow‑up call about the next steps. For the first time in a long while, they felt a sliver of hope – that maybe, just maybe, someone was finally taking them seriously.
"We were so scared of missing the call again. When we finally went to see them, they were kind. They told us to wait. Now we are waiting – with our buckets and our leaky roof – hoping that this time, help will really come."
A visit that left them feeling judged, not helped
On 11 July, foundation volunteers called again to say a team would visit the house the following day. On 12 July, three volunteers arrived at 10:30 in the morning. According to the couple, the visit was mostly small talk rather than the assessment they had been hoping for. They say the volunteers suggested they should simply go out and find work, and remarked that the belongings inside the house were worth money – remarks the couple experienced as dismissive rather than supportive. The volunteers reportedly stayed only at the front porch, did not enter the house, and no photographs or proper documentation were taken. The conversation wandered aimlessly rather than focusing on concrete assistance. No help was arranged during the visit. The couple came away feeling judged rather than helped, and hope this was simply a misunderstanding that a further review can put right.
Neighbours even came out to peer at the commotion, assuming the couple was receiving some kind of complaint — not realising that what was unfolding was yet another failed attempt at getting help.
The wife continues to write messages full of longing, addressing herself to "rescuers," to "volunteers," to anyone who might read their words and feel moved to act. She wants the world to understand that they are not just a case number – they are two human beings who married later in life believing they could build a small world together, only to find themselves trapped in a forgotten corner of Melaka, carrying a debt and a broken house that were never truly theirs to begin with.
She has observed how welfare organisations in other countries, like Indonesia, show deep empathy — sometimes even moved to tears when they see people in distress. She wonders why that same compassion seems so hard to find here.
They beg not for pity, but for presence. For someone to walk through their leaking doorway, see the buckets of rainwater, smell the mildew, and recognise that survival here is an act of daily courage. If you can donate, share their campaign, or connect them with a reliable aid organisation, please take a step. Let's prove that no one should have to live like this, unseen and unheard.