The palms in the border villages rustle with more than just sea breeze these days—there’s talk of weddings, whispers of “jodoh” (fate/partner) and deals struck over durians and duty-free stops. For many women from Thailand’s deep south—especially the provinces of Yala, Pattani and Narathiwat—a marriage with a Malaysian man is more than romance. It is often a transaction. According to an imam at the Al‑Furqan Mosque in Pattani, interviewed by NST Online, many southern Thai women “choose” Malaysian men because they are seen as financially stable and willing to take care of the family. Another recent feature, in the Malaysian newspaper The Star, described how “the allure of Malaysian men” in southern Thailand has become a phenomenon: for some Thai women, especially those from disadvantaged backgrounds, marrying a Malaysian man is regarded as the chance to improve their standard of living.
From a cultural‐religious vantage, this trend feeds into the long-standing Malay-Muslim cross-border ties. Ethnic Malay communities straddle that Thailand-Malaysia frontier, sharing religion, language, food, and marriage practices. One anthropological study describes how Thai‐Malay women view marriage to a Malaysian “jodoh” as also a quest for “rezeki” (fortune/ livelihood) — especially within a region where employment opportunities and infrastructure remain fragile. Because so many of these unions are polygynous (where the Malaysian husband may already have one or more wives), the Thai spouse may become a “second wife” in effect, entering what looks like a matrimonial deal more than a love story.
In practice, here is how it often plays out: A Malaysian man—often from Kelantan, Terengganu or other northern states—spots a Thai woman through social media or via border ties. He likes her “appearance”, her charm, her willingness to relocate or at least maintain connection across the border. The woman, keen to lift her life beyond subsistence wages in southern Thailand, responds. The dowry (“mas kahwin” in Malay) demanded in the Thai side can be lower than in Malaysia—averaging around THB 100,000 (roughly RM12,000) but sometimes as low as THB 30,000-50,000 for middle-income families. Since procedures in southern Thailand can be less burdensome (with a wali am – the male guardian, present for Muslim weddings) and due to the proximal geography, the process is more “accessible” than one might expect.
The result? A union where economic calculus and cultural comfort intersect: for the Thai woman, marrying “abang Malaysia” (older Malaysian brother) might mean improved join-income, better domestic status, maybe a house, maybe children with schooling. For the Malaysian man, a second or “co-wife” (isteri kedua) arrangement sometimes offers the fantasy of a younger, industrious bride willing to traverse the border and adapt. Observers note that Thai‐Malay women are often stereotyped in Kelantanese male discourse as “comey” (cute), “muko molek” (beautiful face) and “lemah lembut” (gentle).
Of course, at the heart of all this is religion: Most couples are Muslim; the marriage ceremony is a nikah (nikah ekspres) in some border mosques or Thai provincial offices – sometimes faster than typical Malaysian processes. Yet critics argue that the speed and economic framing risk reducing the woman’s agency. When the union is cast as “second wife” it raises legal, ethical and gender questions: Is she fully consenting, fully informed, fully supported? Anthropologists note that risk of abuse, marginalisation and precarity lurks, particularly when the Thai spouse lacks full legal status in Malaysia, or falls into the “helping hand” role rather than equal partner.
Border-marriage isn’t automatically romantic. It is entangled with class, language, faith and migration. For a Thai southern woman who becomes the second wife of a Malaysian man, the deal might proceed like this: “I’ll become your wife, you’ll provide for me and maybe relocate me—or we’ll stay cross-border—while I’ll help with your business and children.” But the power balance tilts. He holds the job, the network, the funds; she holds the hope, the mobility, the willingness. In Bahasa Melayu, it is a kind of pertukaran (exchange) dressed as marriage. And though the mosque might sanctify it and the border customs might normalise it, the lived reality for many involves sacrifices.
Still, the practice persists and likely will continue so long as the border remains porous, the economics favourable, and the cultural/ethnic affinities strong. Whether the outcome for the Thai woman is empowerment or another form of dependency depends on the husband’s goodwill, the legal protections he offers, and her ability to navigate two societies. Love knows no borders, but transactional border-marriages speak loudly of unequal power, cultural capital and the quiet complicities of gender.
Malaysia, land of halal food, haram fun, and a bureaucracy that moves at the speed of light — but only when it comes to legitimizing a man’s second wife. Suddenly, forms get stamped, gates swing open, and religious officials find their moral compasses perfectly aligned with men’s desires. Efficiency, at last! If only tax refunds or women’s rights were processed with such divine urgency.
Let’s not pretend this is about love. Most of these marriages — between Southern Thai women and Malaysian men — are what the Malay aunties would call kahwin muafakat (a marriage of convenience). The border checkpoints may say “Imigresen”, but they might as well read “Poligami Express.” Local imams nod approvingly, quoting scripture faster than you can say “second wife,” and the authorities look away, as if this trade in women’s lives were just another cross-border business deal.
The irony burns like bad sambal. In a region where poor women are told to stay home, be modest, and obey their husbands, here they are—turned into “solutions” for men who want a little extra sweetness without the paperwork of divorce. And don’t even mention the first wives. These women, who have shared a lifetime of labor, loyalty, and childbirth, wake up one morning to find their husbands “importing” a new spouse from across the border, blessed by the same state that once promised to protect their family.
But oh, the clerics will tell you—it’s permitted under Islam, as long as it’s “fair.” Fair? The Prophet may have been fair, but Malaysian men are not prophets. Fairness, in this context, is a fiction, a bureaucratic fig leaf covering a thousand wounds.
And yet, the whole machine keeps turning. The imams get their duit kopi (tea money), the border officials their photo ops, and the men their fantasy of moral masculinity. Meanwhile, the women — Thai and Malaysian alike — carry the emotional, social, and economic cost of this institutionalized double standard.
So yes, my sisters, my sympathies lie squarely with the first wives — the invisible, faithful, long-suffering ones. They deserve medals for endurance, not sermons on patience. As for the men? Let them pray that karma, or at least a sharp-tongued Auntie, is not waiting for them on Judgment Day. Because even in heaven, I suspect, there’s a long queue — and only one wife allowed at the gate.