Before 2005, the palm oil mill where I worked received approval to implement a **land irrigation system** as part of the final discharge arrangement from its Effluent Treatment Plant (ETP).
At that time, this was not simply another environmental project.
It was critical to the survival of the mill's operation.
The mill was located within the catchment of the **Kinabatangan River**, one of the most important river systems in Sabah. The river was not merely a body of water flowing through the landscape. It was a source of water, livelihood, transportation and economic activity for many local communities. Some parts of Sabah's rivers had also become attractions for tourists because of their natural beauty and rich wildlife.
The palm oil industry was expanding rapidly.
Malaysia had become the world's second-largest palm oil producer from 2003 onward, while Sabah had emerged as the country's largest palm oil-producing state. Millions of hectares of oil palm plantations stretched across the state, supported by more than a hundred palm oil mills.
But development always comes with responsibility.
As plantations and mills expanded, environmental concerns became increasingly important. Occasional pollution incidents involving rivers and waterways attracted attention from the authorities and the public. Consequently, environmental regulations became more stringent.
Effluent treatment standards were tightened.
The industry was increasingly expected to achieve lower BOD levels before final discharge, with **BOD 20 mg/L and below** becoming an important environmental target in the industry.
For a large mill like ours, this was a serious challenge.
The mill had a processing capacity of approximately **105 metric tonnes of fresh fruit bunches per hour**, and on an average day, it could process around **2,000 metric tonnes of FFB**.
Naturally, the volume of wastewater generated was enormous.
At the foot of the surrounding hills were large effluent ponds stretching across the landscape. The treated effluent had to pass through a series of treatment stages before reaching the final discharge system.
The final treated water would then be pumped uphill into a **distribution pond**, from where it would flow through a land irrigation network covering dozens of acres of oil palm plantation.
The system was designed so that treated effluent could be distributed to the surrounding oil palms as irrigation water and nutrients rather than being discharged directly into the river.
It was an environmental solution.
But maintaining it was another story.
---
## My New Responsibility
Because the land irrigation system was directly connected to the mill's environmental compliance and operating licence, the management considered it a critical system.
I was the most junior engineer at the time.
Perhaps that was one reason the manager decided to give me the responsibility.
I was instructed to supervise the operation of the **Effluent Treatment Plant and land irrigation system**, together with a senior supervisor named **Mukmin**.
Mukmin was a tall, thin man who had been working in the mill for many years. He knew the surrounding plantation almost like the back of his hand.
Under us were three middle-aged operators.
Together, we were responsible for an enormous area—from the effluent ponds at the bottom of the hill to the land irrigation network spread across dozens of acres.
Every day brought another problem.
The treated effluent, after going through the treatment process, would be pumped uphill into the distribution pond.
From there, **six-inch HDPE pipes** carried the water to various sections of the irrigation system.
The flow was controlled by valves and gates.
The irrigation channels were designed to allow the treated water to flow by gravity, almost like a series of small rapids running through the plantation.
The water would eventually reach the oil palms.
In theory, it was simple.
In reality, it required constant attention.
The drainage channels had to be cleaned regularly.
The wooden gate valves had to be opened and closed carefully to control the flow and prevent the channels from overflowing.
Every few months, the distribution pond had to be cleaned and desludged.
The six-inch HDPE pipes frequently developed scaling and blockages.
Sometimes sections of pipe had to be replaced.
There were also areas where the soil characteristics could cause seepage outside the designated irrigation channels.
A small mistake could result in an overflow.
An overflowing channel could damage the plantation.
And an uncontrolled discharge could potentially become an environmental compliance issue.
So the operators spent almost the entire day outside.
They would start their work in the morning and continue until the afternoon, moving from one irrigation channel to another.
I often accompanied Mukmin in a single-cab 4WD.
We drove along small plantation roads, checking channels, valves, pipes, distribution points and water flow.
In a strange way, I began to feel like a plantation manager.
But instead of inspecting the health of the oil palms, I was inspecting the **water that sustained them**.
Day after day, I travelled through the plantation.
I watched the young palms grow.
I watched the mature palms produce their heavy bunches.
And somewhere along those journeys, without realising it, I developed a deep affection for every oil palm tree standing across that vast landscape.
---
## Then Came the Ghost Story
One day, one of our operators developed severe itching after working in the plantation.
It could have been caused by insects, plants, or something he had come into contact with while working in the field.
Whatever the cause, his condition became bad enough that he took several days of medical leave.
Initially, nobody thought much about it.
Then, about a week later, something else began to spread.
Not through the official communication channel.
Not through the morning safety briefing.
But from one worker to another.
A story.
They said the operator had been **"keteguran."**
Among some Bugis workers, the word was associated with being disturbed, disturbed by an unseen entity, or, in ordinary language, being **possessed or disturbed by a ghost**.
The story grew.
As these stories often do.
One person told another.
Another added a detail.
Soon, some of the operators became reluctant to enter the land irrigation area.
Some started giving excuses.
Others did not want to work alone.
The vast plantation, which had previously been just another workplace, suddenly became something frightening in their minds.
To me, however, there was a much bigger problem.
The land irrigation system still had to operate.
The valves still had to be opened and closed.
The channels still had to be inspected.
The pipes still had to be checked.
The distribution pond still needed maintenance.
The palm trees did not stop growing because someone was afraid.
Mukmin eventually came to me.
He looked worried.
"We have a problem," he told me.
The operators were becoming increasingly reluctant to go into the irrigation area.
He asked me what we should do.
I didn't have an immediate answer.
That night, I thought about the problem.
Should I ignore the story?
Should I simply order the workers to continue?
Or should I tell the manager?
After thinking about it for the entire night, I decided that the matter had already become serious enough to involve our manager.
His name was **Tahang Muhamad Tang**.
The next morning, I intended to explain the situation to him.
But I didn't realise that he had already decided what to do.
---
## The Morning Lecture
The following morning, I woke up late.
Instead of driving, I had to walk to the mill.
As I approached the **Main Gate**, I saw something unusual.
Our manager was standing outside the office.
With him were the two operators.
Both men were standing with their heads bowed.
The manager was speaking to them.
And judging from his expression, he was not having a friendly conversation.
At the same time, the rest of the workers had already gathered at the parade ground near the CPO tanks for the morning safety briefing.
I had two choices.
I could walk directly to the safety briefing and leave the manager to deal with the matter.
Or I could walk toward them.
My instinct told me to go there.
So I did.
I walked toward the three men and stood beside the manager.
The two older operators remained silent.
Their heads were still bowed.
Tahang was not a loud man.
His voice was actually quite soft compared with the manager who had previously occupied the position.
But his words were sharp.
Very sharp.
His eyebrows were enough to tell me that he was angry.
He looked at the two operators and asked them why they had started spreading the story about being disturbed by ghosts.
"What is the purpose of telling stories like this?"
"Why are you frightening the other workers?"
Then came the sentence I will never forget.
"If what you are saying is true, call the ghost here."
He paused.
"Call it here and let it hit me now!"
The two operators remained completely silent.
Tahang continued.
For almost **thirty minutes**, he lectured them.
There was no shouting.
There was no dramatic screaming.
Just a controlled, sharp lecture from a manager who clearly wanted to put an end to the matter.
The message was simple.
This was a workplace.
People had responsibilities.
There was work to be done.
Fear could not be allowed to interfere with operations.
And stories that frightened workers without evidence had no place in the workplace.
I stood quietly beside him.
I listened.
I watched the two operators.
And I watched the manager.
That morning taught me something about leadership.
Sometimes leadership is not about raising your voice.
Sometimes the quietest voice can carry the greatest authority.
---
## A Hidden Family Background
Only later did I discover something interesting about Tahang.
His parents were **Bugis Bone**, and his family was respected for their knowledge of traditional healing practices.
That discovery made the morning's confrontation even more interesting to me.
Here was a man who came from a cultural background where stories about spirits, traditional healing and unseen matters were not necessarily unfamiliar.
Yet when such a story threatened workplace discipline and safety, he dealt with it firmly and practically.
For him, whatever someone might believe privately, it could not become an excuse for failing to perform a responsibility.
---
## Back to the Effluent Pond
That afternoon, I returned to my normal routine.
I went back to inspect the effluent ponds.
The cooling pond had a small shelter where the operators could rest during their long working day.
When I arrived, the same two operators who had been reprimanded that morning were sitting there.
I greeted them.
Then I asked about the progress of the day's work.
The atmosphere was completely different from the morning.
They were working again.
The valves were being operated.
The irrigation channels were being checked.
The system was functioning.
After a while, one of the men looked at me.
Then he asked a question.
"How did the boss know about this?"
I looked at him.
For a moment, I didn't know what to say.
I could have told him that I had spoken to the manager.
But something made me pause.
So I simply answered,
"I don't know. I also don't know how he knew."
He looked at me.
I looked at him.
And then the conversation moved on.
To this day, that small moment remains in my memory.
Perhaps there was nothing mysterious about it.
Perhaps someone had told the manager.
Perhaps the story had travelled through the mill before it reached me.
Or perhaps it was simply the way information moved through a small community where everyone knew everyone else's business.
Whatever the explanation, the story became one of those unforgettable episodes from my early years in the palm oil industry.
---
## What I Learned From the Land Irrigation Site
Looking back, the story was never really about ghosts.
It was about **fear**.
Fear can spread faster than facts.
One worker becomes frightened.
He tells another.
The second person adds another detail.
Soon, an entire group becomes afraid of a place they had worked in for years.
The land irrigation system taught me many technical lessons about effluent management, pumps, pipelines, valves, drainage and environmental compliance.
But it also taught me something about people.
**A workplace is not operated only by machines. It is operated by human beings, and human beings carry their beliefs, fears, experiences and cultures with them.**
As an engineer, I had to understand the pumps and pipes.
As a supervisor, I had to understand the people.
And as a young engineer, I slowly learned that solving a technical problem was sometimes easier than solving a human one.
The effluent continued to flow.
The irrigation channels continued to run.
The oil palms continued to grow.
And the story of the ghost at the land irrigation site eventually became another unforgettable chapter in my journey through the palm oil industry.
That is my story for today.
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