Once a familiar sight at the void decks of Housing Board flats, mama shops – or mamak shops, as they are also called – are becoming harder to find.
While their numbers have dwindled, some continue to keep familiar daily rituals alive.
Every morning at 7am, Mr Ong Thian Kim, 68, unlocks the shutters of his mamak shop in Shunfu Road, a routine he has kept up for years.
Step inside Hoe Peng Kiosk and you will find shelves stocked with everyday essentials, alongside old-school snacks that evoke memories of simpler times.
Most traditional Chinese mamak shops come with a signboard like this one. The Chinese characters on Hoe Peng’s translate to “peace”. It was chosen by the owner’s father in 1985 and has been there since.
At the shopfront, glass-door fridges are a common sight, packed with chilled Milo, 100Plus and bottled teas, ready for a grab-and-go.
Non-food items such as batteries, torches and shavers often hang overhead, their assortment changing according to the shopkeeper’s whims.
Fresh items such as eggs are often displayed at the front of mamak shops, available by the carton or apiece. Shoppers often stop by to pick up small essentials they have forgotten or run out of at home.
In traditional mamak shops, you might also find large biscuit tins filled with old-school snacks like iced gem biscuits and cream crackers. In the past, these were sold by weight and well loved by children and adults alike.
A small corner of the shop is dedicated to sweets, which draw in kids and students. The most popular treats — from colourful lollipops to chewy candies — are placed right up front to entice.
Mr Ong also sells toys like trading cards and bubble solutions, popular with the elderly buying gifts for their grandkids.
There is no particular order to their arrangement, but he knows exactly where everything is. He is the one who placed them there.
The shelves inside are packed with an eclectic mix of potato chips, buns, ice cream, Chinese prayer offerings, Pokemon cards and even cotton candy in small tubs. The items Mr Ong brings in are guided by what he thinks his customers will like.
Hoe Peng Kiosk has been part of his life for as long as he can remember. His late parents opened the store to make a living and serve the estate’s daily needs. When his father died in 2018 at age 90, Mr Ong took over – not for profit, he says, but out of duty and love.
“My parents left it to me and my wife, so we should continue running it,” says the former delivery driver.
However, customer traffic has thinned. When Sheng Siong supermarket and Shunfu Mart Food Centre opened nearby more than 10 years ago, Mr Ong’s earnings dropped by at least half.
Today, most people do their weekly grocery runs at the supermarket, visiting Mr Ong only if they forget one or two items. Bread, newspapers, sweets, cigarettes and tidbits remain his small but steady sellers.
“Some seniors and long-time residents still drop by regularly, but many of the shop’s old regulars have passed away. Fewer children come for snacks as nowadays, health-conscious parents restrict sweets,” says Mr Ong.
“This estate is old. That’s why this mamak shop still has a place. But in new estates like Punggol or Sengkang, you won’t see shops like this any more.”
More than grocery stores, they were community hubs
Why the name mamak? According to Assistant Professor Aidan Wong, who teaches Urban Studies (Education) at SMU’s College of Integrative Studies, many of the shops were initially operated by Indian-Muslim men. The word "mamak" comes from the word maama, which means uncle in various Indian languages.
Indian Muslims arrived in colonial Singapore in the 1800s as part of the wider South Asian migration under British rule, taking on roles as traders, labourers, merchants and workers in the service economy.
Along the way, some established mamak shops in urban neighbourhoods, often at street corners or near mosques. And, since the 1960s, at the void decks of public housing estates, adds Prof Wong.
But mamak shops were not the only corner stores to spring up in these estates.
Chinese-owned provision shops also emerged during this period. According to Prof Wong, they did not so much “take over” mamak shops as grow alongside them, “reflecting the general spirit of entrepreneurship at the time”.
These small family-run provision shops became more than just places to buy everyday essentials such as milk, bread, eggs or newspapers.
Open from early till late, they were tightly woven into the rhythm of neighbourhood life. Residents lingered for a chat, caught the latest news and even sought a bit of advice from the shopkeeper on occasion.
Over time, mamak shops became informal community hubs, playing a quiet but vital role in shaping the kampung spirit of Singapore’s early years.
Why are traditional provision shops disappearing?
In the 1980s and 1990s, it was still common to see a mamak shop every few blocks. Over time, their numbers fell due to a combination of factors: competition from supermarkets and convenience store chains, the rise of online shopping and changing lifestyles.
In the 1970s and 1980s, Singapore had around 3,000 provision shops, including minimarts and convenience stores, based on data from the Accounting and Corporate Regulatory Authority.
Today, only about 250 remain.
These are usually found in HDB estates like Bedok and Hougang or in historic shophouse areas such as Little India and Tanjong Pagar.
Prof Wong says the rise of online shopping, with its convenient doorstep delivery, has contributed to the decline of mamak shops.
“Fewer households cook daily and many working adults grab their daily essentials at convenience stores at MRT stations on the way home, which also impacts the patronage of mamak shops,” he adds.
Despite the fading footfall, Mr Ong and his wife, Madam Toh Bee Lian, keep the shop open every day. They close only during Chinese New Year or the rare family trip overseas.
Their two children, aged 37 and 41, have their own lives and careers. Mr Ong does not expect them to take over the business. Nor does he want them to.
“Last time, we were not educated, so we took over. But kids now have their own thoughts and jobs. We don’t want them to do this,” he adds.
Running the shop is no longer about making money. It is about holding on to something that feels irreplaceable: a connection to the past, a service for the remaining few who still need it and a place where old neighbours remember one another.
Sometimes, people who have moved away come back just to take a photo or to tell Mr Ong they still remember his shop. Those moments, he says, make him happy.
While Mr Ong’s shop in Shunfu sits in the shadow of a supermarket and food centre, Yak Hong provision shop on Pulau Ubin faces a different reality – one shaped by distance and a dwindling population.
For 75-year-old Madam Ng Ngak Heng, running Yak Hong is as much a part of her life as waking up each morning.
The shop has stood on the island for roughly a century. It was started by her father-in-law, who ran it until he died. Madam Ng took over at 25, when she moved from her kampung in Punggol to marry her husband Law Kuing Liak, now aged 80.
In the early days, Yak Hong served a thriving island community of 4,000 to 5,000 residents, stocking daily necessities like rice, canned food and toiletries. Now, with barely 20 residents living on the island, the shelves cater mostly to weekend visitors and tourists.
Coconuts, sweets and snacks take pride of place, while the barest essentials for locals are kept inside.
Like Mr Ong, Madam Ng does not stick to a fixed arrangement of goods in her shop.
She places them wherever space allows, though the most sought-after items are always within reach.
Keeping Yak Hong running is not cheap. Supplies come by boat from the mainland, with transport and delivery fees amounting to about $300 a trip. Madam Ng used to get the supplies from mainland Singapore by herself. Following knee operations in 2017 and 2019, she now relies on workers.
She says her earnings have dipped in recent years, especially since the Covid-19 pandemic restrictions were lifted and visitors began travelling abroad again.
“Before the pandemic, visitor numbers were still decent. During Covid-19, there were many people coming because everyone was stuck in Singapore. But now, very few make the trip,” says Madam Ng, who has two children in their 40s.
Still, she has no plans to close. “I don’t want it to die in my hands,” she says.
My father-in-law left it behind, so I will run it for as long as I can.
Madam Ng keeps her doors open all year.
Even during Chinese New Year, when other small businesses might take a break, she continues operating. The holiday often brings a surge of visitors to Ubin, especially Indian tourists.
However, some mamak shops are finding digital ways to keep up
The rise of the digital economy, Prof Wong says, has impacted traditional bricks-and-mortar businesses across the board. For those which have been able to pivot to online platforms, it has been a great benefit.
“Online shopping, which includes doorstep delivery, has proven to be a substitute for mamak shops. Yet, several mamak shops have become collection points for items purchased through online platforms – particularly for households that are not comfortable leaving their purchases at their doorstep, and prefer to have a safe location they can collect their items from,” he says.
“So, mamak shops must not be seen as digitally naive. They can quite easily pivot to the digital space with some support and assistance.”
Hoe Peng Kiosk and Yak Hong, for example, have introduced PayNow as a mode of payment. Hoe Peng goes a step further by accepting CDC vouchers.
Compared with today’s minimarts, which operate with streamlined layouts, barcode systems and a focus on efficiency, traditional mamak shops function on a smaller and more informal scale.
Products are often sold in loose quantities rather than pre-packaged units. Whatever is stocked reflects the shopkeeper’s personal ties with suppliers and the neighbourhood’s demand.
The contrast shows how shopping has shifted from a personal and neighbourhood-based experience to a more standardised and impersonal kind of convenience.
Still, many could not withstand the changing times
Mr Yahyah Amudin, 83, gave up his mamak shop, Toko Sapama, in 2011 when business was failing and his health was deteriorating.
He still remembers the date he opened the shop in Ang Mo Kio Avenue 5: “It was Jan 1, 1980.”
Business, he recalls with a smile, was very good then. He sold everything: sugar, cigarettes, sweets, toys, provisions, newspapers and magazines. He also sold biscuits such as cream crackers, alphabet biscuits and iced gem biscuits.
Biscuits were among his top-selling items, along with cigarettes.
“Just by selling cigarettes, I could pay the monthly rent of about $400 or $500,” says Mr Yahyah, who is married with three children aged 50, 48 and 46.
He would spend his entire day at the shop, opening at 6am and returning to his second-floor flat to sleep only at 11pm.
He was so trusted and well known in the community that parents would ask their children to sit outside his shop on a stool to be picked up after school.
He ran a credit-based system with his regular customers, allowing them to take whatever they needed and pay the following month. They simply wrote down their names, the items they had bought and the amount owed in his notebook.
Over the years, however, challenges mounted.
More minimarts, value-dollar shops and supermarkets sprung up, offering better variety and prices.
“Parents also prefer to take their kids out to the supermarket to walk and see things, rather than go to a mamak shop. There is more variety and sometimes better offers there,” says Mr Yahyah.
Rent gradually increased from around $400 to about $1,000 a month by 2011.
Age and health also played a role in him calling it quits. That year, Mr Yahyah was diagnosed with prostate cancer and decided that work should take a back seat.
Last time, I used to make about $2,000-plus a month. As supermarkets started springing up, monthly earnings decreased and were not enough to cover the rent.
On the last day of running the shop, Mr Yahyah remembers feeling very upset. But the reality was that he was struggling to pay the rent. “I have no regrets. I gave it my all.”
He feels there is no future for mamak shops in Singapore. But the loss of this cultural heritage and neighbourhood icon saddens him no longer. “Seeing the decline over the years, I've accepted it.”
He recalls reading in a newspaper in the 1970s that a Japanese person had predicted these provision shops would eventually close down.
“I didn’t believe it then. I laughed. But now I realise it’s true,” he says.
His wife, Madam Jasiah Wanteh, 78, would help him run the shop whenever he took breaks to rest. Due to the shop’s proximity to their home, their children would sometimes hang out there as well.
Their 50-year-old daughter, Madam Nurrita Yahyah Amudin, helped out in the shop when she was a teenager.
She recalls that the busiest times were in the morning, when adults and children left for work and school, and in the evening, when they returned home.
When Mr Yahyah ran the shop for long hours, he had little time for family. “With my family, there is no time,” he says. “Most of the mamak shop owners are all like that.”
Choking up, Ms Nurrita adds: “Family vacations were always without my father. If I could bring back one thing from the past, it would be to spend more time with him.”
Mr Yahyah says: “Last time, when you thought of closing, it was a loss of money for the day.”
In a typical year, he closed his shop for only three days: two during Hari Raya Puasa and one on Hari Raya Haji.
Mr Yahyah, whose cancer is in remission, shut the shop for good on Feb 28, 2011, and held a closing-down sale.
Even as times change, mamak shops still have a place in Singapore if given the right support
The closure of mamak shops may not spell the end of community interaction altogether, as neighbours still meet at supermarkets, MRT stations or lift lobbies, says Prof Wong.
But he adds: “It would be important to acknowledge that the disappearance of mamak shops leads to one of these platforms being lost, and an intergenerational reference point being lost to history.”
It is important to preserve these community nodes, he adds. “We will probably need to support them with subsidised rentals, and with digitalisation so that they remain sufficiently profitable.”
With support for digitalisation, these shops can provide something akin to doorstep delivery to customers in their catchment area, he adds.
When asked if modern minimarts can be considered the new mamak shops, Prof Wong says they can serve as a continuation of these.
“They are an updated form of the mamak shop. They are not entirely new or different, but rather an evolution of the mamak shops we grew up with and love.”
What Madam Ng hopes people remember of Yak Hong, when the shop eventually calls it a day, is the warmth of its welcome. “I want them to have happy memories here,” she says. “Everybody remembers me well.”
For shopkeepers like Mr Ong, however, the future feels uncertain.
“I don’t know how long I can keep it going for, but I’ll continue to do my best. I’m not thinking about retirement because if I stay at home, it’ll be boring,” he says.