LIFE behind bars wasn't what my husband, Paul, and I had in mind when we left Singapore after 17 years and moved to Kuala Lumpur in July.

Both over 45 and teachers in an international school, we were forced out by Singapore's high cost of living and rocketing housing rentals. However, we weren't done with Asia yet and KL seemed handy. But we had no idea how tough relocating would be.

For starters, the ugly black grilles blighting KL's streets made us wish we'd returned home to Canada instead of joining another international school here.

'Why do the houses have jail gates on them?' asked our nine-year-old son and only child, Cameron, as we searched for a home.

'Many robbers, lah!' said the estate agent showing us around. 'Must keep out!'

But I disagreed. Incarceration seemed no way to live.

So when we found a place, off came the oppressive bars.

'What about security?' warned our landlady. 'You'd better get a dog to guard the place.'

'We'll take our chances,' I said, reminding her that we're in a 'gated community' with 24-hour security guard protection. 'That'll keep trespassers out,' I added.

Little did I know what was to come.

Incredibly, it happened right after we moved in, with unpacked boxes still everywhere. We had only one bed and camped in the master bedroom where Cameron had pitched his tent.

The first two nights passed without incident. But around 3am on our third night, the sound of Cameron's tent unzipping wakened me.

I saw a figure walking from the tent towards the door and assumed it was Cameron visiting the loo. But why was he leaving the room with a bathroom right there?

Must be sleepwalking again, I thought, so I called out to him.

'What?' he answered grumpily from inside the tent.

I watched helplessly as the burglar fled. So much for the security guards. 'There's somebody in here!' I shouted. Paul, who was starkers, lept out of bed to give chase but the robber had gone. And a pity too, as the sight of a frantic white man in the buff wielding a spear (a Filipino souvenir he yanked from a box) would've stopped that burglar in his tracks.

He got away with my favourite handbag (and cash inside). What's more, he'd snatched it right off the table next to me before I'd wakened.

An interloper hovering over me as I slept didn't bear thinking about. What if I'd wakened at that moment? And what was he doing in Cameron's tent?

We called the police and had burglar alarms and grilles installed. But the emotional impact of the incident still lingers. Cameron doesn't like sleeping alone now, and in our darker moments, KL feels like a predatory place. And living behind bars is an adjustment.

Crime here is no joke. Public safety and the rising cost of living will be the two biggest issues facing the government in the next election, expected early next year. House break-ins and snatch thieves on motorbikes are plaguing the country's towns and cities, and schools routinely conduct lock-down drills so kids know what to do during terrorist attacks.

'Should I get a gun?' Cameron asked recently.

Difficult things always come in numbers and the burglary wasn't the last of our troubles.

One evening, while I was having a tipple alone, three guys in long white robes marched up to our gate. Their manner of leaning on the gate said they weren't budging until I responded. So I put down my glass of Merlot and called for Paul. Together we opened the door to see what they wanted.

'Is this a Muslim house?' asked one, grinning. He appeared to be the leader.

'Well, sort of,' stammered Paul, who was feeling a tad intimidated. 'Our landlady's Muslim,' he added.

'We're just going door to door to chat with our Muslim brothers,' the grinning guy responded. And with that, they moved on.

The question is, why were they looking for their Muslim buddies in a neighbourhood that's mostly expats and Chinese? The next day I called the United States Embassy to find out.

We'd just been paid a visit by the Syariah police - people who enforce a strict code of Islamic law based on the Quran.

They search for Muslim women living out of wedlock with foreigners - a breach of Syariah law - and ask to see marriage certificates. They'd obviously got wind of the nice married couple (he's British; she's Malay), who live next door with their baby. The Syariah police asked to see their marriage licence.

Such door-to-door activity is against the law in Malaysia; so the US Embassy advised that should the Syariah brigade ever call again, we should just call the police.

Their trespassing on our private property and demands to know our religious orientation left me feeling bullied.

Twice in a single week I'd been violated: first by the burglary and then by religious crusaders. I wanted to pack my bags and leave.

How we miss Singapore's greener, safer pastures - which should never be taken for granted. Our homesickness had us in front of the TV on Aug 9 for the National Day celebrations.

Relocating is indeed harder than we realised. But to be fair, it's not all bad.

What's wonderful about less Westernised places is how life unfolds in the streets.

Shopping, cooking, eating, socialising - it all happens outdoors. With Ramadan upon us, KL resembles a country fair, its streets plugged with tables offering curries and other fare.

And unlike Singapore, where Ramadan festivities are confined to Geylang, here the carnival snakes throughout the city's kampungs where the extended family way of life still thrives.

Watching kids and adults at play in the back alleys one day, Cameron asked: 'Why do people have more fun here than in Singapore or Canada?'

Already, our boy is seeing the pros and cons of different ways of life.

So there are good things about living here. People smile more. And cars are cheap, thanks to the booming trade in old but roadworthy heaps. We picked up a 20-year-old Volvo for about S$2,000.

Inexpensive, quality housing is also easy to find. Our brand new 2,500 sq ft bungalow on a corner lot rents for S$1,500 a month when the same thing in Singapore would fetch S$10,000 or more monthly.

Moreover, there's fine hiking on the cliffs above our place and just up the road is Skyline Park overlooking the Petronas Towers and the messy cityscape.

The park's sunrises bring tai chi enthusiasts out in force, while sunset brings prayers from distant mosques wafting through the window as I make dinner.

I guess KL deserves more time. It's too soon to bail, so we're stuck with this city and its chaotic roads which reduce car conversations to a string of expletives. And we're stuck with ATMs that always run out of money (all 10 machines at my bank branch were out one day).

But Hari Raya's approaching and we've already booked a hotel in Singapore. After all, home is where the heart is.

Margo McCutcheon is a Canadian teacher and writer. She has lived in Asia since 1984.

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