LETTER | When I first met Abang Mus, his eyes held the quiet weight of a man holding onto hope by a thread. Beside him, his toddler clung tightly to his leg, her small face mirroring his stress with a worried gaze.

In that moment, they weren't just a trader seeking a permit; they were a family whose future felt as precarious as the roadside spot where he operated.

Mus had owned a small F&B business before the Covid-19 pandemic. When the lockdowns struck, his revenue vanished while his bills remained, forcing the painful closure of his dream.

After Covid-19, to rebuild, he turned to his family’s beloved bakso recipe. Like countless micro-traders, he started informally at a roadside warung.

He was one of the "lucky" ones, securing a temporary licence from the Petaling Jaya City Council (MBPJ). But "temporary" was the operative word; it required renewal every three months, a constant, gnawing reminder of how fragile recovery could be.

For Mus and traders like him, this uncertainty is the true enemy. The issue was never a lack of effort or a poor product - the aroma from his stall was testament to that.

The issue was the invisible ceiling of informality: no guaranteed location, no legal standing, and the exhausting daily calculus of staying visible to customers while invisible to enforcement.

As a former city councillor, I have seen this story unfold many times.

Replacing fragility with foundation

Informal businesses exist in a state of constant friction. For food sellers, the risks multiply - hygiene concerns, territorial disputes, complaints from nearby businesses.

Even the most conscientious trader, like Mus, lives on borrowed time. With enough complaints, councils are compelled to act, often leading to public relations crises that pit livelihoods against perceived order, missing the larger point entirely.

This is why a structured platform like the MyKiosk initiative matters. It is designed precisely for the Abang Muses of our communities. It isn't just about a kiosk; it's about replacing fragility with foundation.

The programme reflects thoughtful policy. It offers a route to formalisation - recognition, a secure location, clear operating terms, and a proper licence.

The evolution from MyKiosk 1.0 to 3.0 shows a focus on practical dignity: durability, weather resistance, and energy efficiency aren't just features; they are tools for better hygiene, lower costs, and operational consistency.

The initiative has shown its resilience. When scrutinised, the Housing and Local Government Ministry proactively invited the MACC to audit the programme, which found no abuse of power.

On the ground, demand speaks: over 94 percent of 1.0 kiosks are in use, with councils like Penang requesting more. A task force to relocate underused units and a performance dashboard for councils show a commitment to optimisation, not just expansion.

But policy is abstract until you see its human result.

Changing lives

Today, the man who once greeted me with worried eyes now stands with unbridled pride beside his MyKiosk unit. The same little girl, now a preschooler, does not hide in fear anymore when she sees me. Instead, she will salam (shake) my hand with genuine warmth and a smile.

For Mus, I believe the kiosk is more than a stall; it’s security for his entire family. It gives him the confidence to invest in better equipment, to plan his inventory, and even an expansion. The exhausting uncertainty has been replaced by stability.

Therefore, if Malaysia is serious about empowering its micro-entrepreneurs, we must get serious about the foundational, even if "boring", work of formalisation: clear rules, predictable pathways, and fit-for-purpose spaces.

In my opinion, MyKiosk is a powerful step on this path. Its true success is not measured merely in units deployed, but in the transformed lives behind them.

The goal was to dismantle the uncertainty that stifles growth. It is about building a longer, sturdier bridge so traders like Mus can cross from survival to sustainability, and so local councils can better manage public spaces.

The writer is a former Petaling Jaya city councillor.

The views expressed here are those of the author/contributor and do not necessarily represent the views of Malaysiakini.