There was a time in my early career when travelling to town was not a simple matter of getting into a car and driving away.
The palm oil mill where I worked was located about 90 kilometres from Lahad Datu, Sabah. By road, the journey could take nearly three hours. The mill was surrounded by thousands of hectares of oil palm plantations, stretching as far as the eye could see.
One plantation complex covered almost 15,000 hectares and consisted of nearly ten estates and a palm oil mill. The neighbouring complex covered another 12,000 hectares and had its own mill. That neighbouring mill became my second workplace during my third year in the palm oil industry.
Life there was very different from living in town.
I stayed in the executive housing area, which consisted of only five houses situated on a high hill. Further down the hill were the staff quarters, followed by the workers' housing area, located about 300 metres from the magnificent palm oil mill standing on another hill.
The mill was surrounded by the typical landscape of a large oil palm estate—rows upon rows of mature palms, estate roads, drainage systems, worker housing, workshops, field facilities, tractors, lorries, and collection points for fresh fruit bunches.
It was a self-contained community.
People lived, worked, raised families and depended almost entirely on the plantation and mill for their livelihood.
The Monthly Journey to Lahad Datu
Normally, I would travel to Lahad Datu once a month to purchase enough food and household supplies to last for several weeks.
After I got married, travelling to town became even more important. There were more things to buy and more responsibilities to take care of.
Sometimes, I would also explore the monthly market across the Kinabatangan River at Kampung Sukau. There was also a monthly market held within the workers' housing area, usually on a weekend after payday.
But at that time, I did not have my own vehicle.
My only option was the estate's mini bus.
The mini bus service was operated by the husband of one of the estate staff members. He would start his journey as early as seven in the morning, moving from one housing area to another before finally leaving the plantation for Lahad Datu.
A seat had to be booked at the office one day in advance.
If I was lucky, the driver would reserve the front seats for my wife and me.
If not, we would sit somewhere at the back.
Before sunrise, my wife and I would wake up, prepare ourselves and wait in front of our house for the mini bus.
Then the journey would begin.
The bus would stop from house to house, collecting passengers until it was completely full.
And every stop gave me an opportunity to observe something that I will never forget.
I saw the daily lives of plantation and mill workers.
I saw fathers and mothers preparing themselves for another day of hard work. I saw people who worked under the hot Sabah sun, in the rain and sometimes in difficult conditions, simply to earn enough to support their families.
Whenever they saw my wife and me, they would greet us respectfully with a smile.
Those simple smiles often touched my heart.
Behind every face was a story.
Behind every smile was a family.
And behind every working man and woman was a struggle to put food on the table.
Sometimes passengers brought agricultural produce from their homes to sell in town.
There were vegetables, fruits and occasionally even live chickens.
The mini bus was not merely transportation.
It was part of the economic and social life of the plantation community.
A Moving Picture of the Oil Palm Industry
After collecting all the passengers, the mini bus would stop at the estate and mill offices.
There were letters, reports and official documents packed into a green bag and locked securely. The bag would be sent to the regional office in Lahad Datu.
Then we would begin our long journey out of the plantation.
For someone like me who loved observing everything around me, the journey was like watching a never-ending documentary about the palm oil industry.
Everywhere I looked, there were oil palms.
The plantation landscape was not simply a forest of trees. It was a carefully managed agricultural ecosystem.
There were young replanted palms, immature palms developing their canopy, and mature palms carrying heavy bunches of fresh fruit.
Along the roads, I could see workers maintaining the plantation, tractors transporting field workers, and harvesting teams collecting fresh fruit bunches.
The harvested fresh fruit bunches would then be transported by lorry to the palm oil mill, where they would eventually be processed into crude palm oil and palm kernels.
The cycle was continuous.
Plant.
Maintain.
Harvest.
Transport.
Process.
Replant.
And begin again.
Along the roadside, green cover crops such as Mucuna bracteata grew vigorously. These plants played an important role in plantation management by protecting the soil, reducing erosion and helping suppress weeds.
Drainage channels ran through many parts of the estate, particularly in low-lying areas.
Estate roads connected one division to another, while bridges, culverts and field access roads allowed workers and machinery to reach harvesting areas.
Everywhere there was movement.
Tractors.
Harvesters.
Lorries.
Workers.
And the palms themselves.
The oil palm environment was a world of its own.
I could see how the landscape changed over time.
A newly replanted area looked completely different from a mature plantation. Young palms appeared small and widely spaced, while mature palms formed a dense green canopy.
Years later, some of those same palms would become old and less productive. Eventually, they would be felled and the land would be replanted.
Time moved quickly.
A few years could completely transform the landscape.
Leaving the Plantation
The mini bus continued through one estate after another.
At every main gate and checkpoint, we passed from one plantation to another.
The further we travelled, the more I realised how enormous the oil palm industry was in this part of Sabah.
Along the Jeroco route were dozens of plantation companies, hundreds of thousands of hectares of oil palm estates and numerous palm oil mills.
The road was effectively an artery connecting these remote agricultural communities to Lahad Datu.
Sometimes, the journey took us past the mill's effluent ponds, stretching across a large area of the plantation.
From certain locations, the palm oil mill could be seen standing proudly on a hill, with its boiler chimney rising into the sky.
Steam could often be seen coming from the mill.
To someone unfamiliar with the industry, it might have looked like an ordinary factory.
To me, it represented the final destination of thousands of tonnes of fresh fruit bunches harvested from the surrounding plantations every day.
The Famous Jeroco Road
Eventually, we reached the main road—the famous Jalan Jeroco.
For almost 50 kilometres, the gravel road stretched towards Lahad Datu.
During the dry season, the road became extremely dusty.
Whenever a vehicle travelled ahead of us, clouds of dust would rise behind it.
Sometimes the visibility became so poor that the mini bus driver had to slow down or close the windows.
During the rainy season, the situation was completely different.
The gravel surface became slippery and muddy.
There were two particularly challenging hills along the route.
Vehicles occasionally slid into the roadside drains.
When a heavy lorry became stuck across the road, the entire route could be blocked.
Everyone had to wait until a backhoe or excavator arrived to pull the vehicle out.
Sometimes the delay could last until evening.
That was the reality of living and working in a remote plantation.
There were no shortcuts.
The road had its own personality.
Dust in the dry season.
Mud in the rainy season.
And uncertainty throughout the journey.
Jalan Jeroco itself carried a history. The area was associated with natural resources such as jelutong timber, rattan and cocoa before oil palm became the dominant commercial crop.
Over time, the landscape changed dramatically as commercial oil palm plantations expanded.
The road became an important connection between remote plantations, mills and the town of Lahad Datu.
When the main route was completely cut off, the only alternative was sometimes to pass through another company's plantation roads—with permission from the management.
Lahad Datu
After several hours, we finally reached Lahad Datu.
It was usually close to ten in the morning.
We had only about three hours before the mini bus would begin the journey back to the plantation.
Three hours.
That was all.
My wife and I would quickly complete everything on our list.
Rice.
Sugar.
Chicken.
Fish.
Vegetables.
Cooking oil.
Household necessities.
Everything had to be planned carefully because we were buying supplies for an entire month.
One of our destinations was Pusat Membeli-belah Ramai-Ramai, located near the bus station and opposite the Lahad Datu District Officer's Office.
Nearby were the wet market and dry market.
The area was close to the Darvel Bay estuary, and from the waterfront, Sakar Island could be seen in the distance.
The town felt completely different from the plantation.
There were shops, people, vehicles, markets and activity everywhere.
But we knew we could not stay long.
Before one o'clock, the mini bus would leave.
As the departure time approached, passengers began carrying their purchases back to the bus.
Each person might bring five or more bags.
Multiply that by all the passengers, and soon the mini bus became completely packed.
If the journey out had been accompanied by the smell of live chickens, the journey home might be accompanied by the smell of fish stored underneath the seats.
That was our monthly routine.
Simple.
Crowded.
Sometimes uncomfortable.
But memorable.
The Journey Home
We returned through the same road we had travelled earlier.
Sometimes the mini bus air-conditioning system broke down.
The windows had to be opened to allow fresh air into the cabin.
But during the dry season, opening the windows meant allowing the dust inside.
Whenever another vehicle passed us, we would quickly close the windows.
Dust covered everything.
By the time we reached home, my body would usually be covered in fine gravel dust.
The first thing I would do was take a shower.
Only then would I feel that the journey was truly over.
This became my monthly routine during those early years.
And throughout all of it, my wife was beside me.
What touches me most is that she never complained.
Not once.
Even after all these years, as I write this story, I still remember her patience.
She accepted the difficult circumstances without making them heavier for me.
No Turning Back
Looking back today, those journeys were more than trips to buy groceries.
They were lessons in life.
Every kilometre of Jalan Jeroco taught me something.
Every worker I saw reminded me that life was not easy.
Every dusty road reminded me that I had to work harder if I wanted to change my circumstances.
At that time, I realised something important.
If I did not want the same difficult routine to continue forever, I had to change myself.
There was no point complaining.
There was no point looking backward.
I had to improve my knowledge, strengthen my skills and take responsibility for my own future.
That became one of the reasons I worked hard to obtain my Steam Engineer licence during my third year in the industry.
Eventually, I was given the responsibility of managing my second palm oil mill.
And, finally, the company provided me with a vehicle.
The mini bus was no longer my only means of transportation.
But strangely, when life became easier, I sometimes missed those journeys.
I missed the early mornings.
I missed the workers waiting beside their houses.
I missed their smiles.
I missed the smell of dust and oil palm.
I missed the long gravel road.
I missed watching the landscape change from one plantation to another.
And I never forgot Jalan Jeroco.
A Road That Shaped Me
Today, when I think about the mini bus, I realise it was never merely a vehicle.
It carried workers, families, food, agricultural produce, documents and countless stories.
It connected remote plantations with the outside world.
More importantly, it carried me through one of the most important chapters of my life.
Those three-hour journeys taught me patience.
The dusty roads taught me endurance.
The plantation workers taught me humility.
My wife taught me sacrifice.
And the difficult circumstances taught me determination.
The oil palm landscape that surrounded me every day became more than just my workplace.
It became my classroom.
Every palm tree, every tractor, every lorry, every worker and every kilometre of gravel road became part of my education.
Years later, when I finally had my own company vehicle and greater responsibility, I realised that the journey had been worth it.
Sometimes, the hardest roads are the ones that take us to where we need to be.
And for me, one of those roads was Jalan Jeroco.
That road remains in my memory—not because it was smooth, but because it helped shape the person I eventually became.
That is my story today.
