STORY 1130 — BECOMING A “RAIN SHAMAN” AT SUNGAI BOK

The journey to Loagan Bunut from Miri took almost three hours. The route passed through Bukit Lambir National Park, Simpang Bekenu, and eventually reached Beluru town. That was where the paved road ended.

From Beluru onward, the journey became a different kind of adventure. The road turned into a rough gravel track, full of potholes, dust, mud and unexpected challenges. By the time I reached Beluru, I would usually stop for a while—to use the restroom, buy some snacks, or simply take a short break before continuing the journey.

Sometimes, instead of stopping in Beluru, I would stop at the Petronas station at Simpang Bekenu to perform my Zuhur prayer. Since the journey was more than two marhalah, it had become my usual practice to perform Jamak and Qasar for Zuhur and Asar while travelling.

From Beluru, another 46 kilometres remained—nearly an hour of driving. And somewhere along that route was Sungai Bok.

Sungai Bok was not an ordinary river crossing.

The crossing was only about 30 metres wide, but during heavy rain, flooding or high tide, the entire stretch of road could disappear beneath two or three feet of water. For me, this became one of the most memorable lessons in learning how to drive a four-wheel-drive vehicle.

The first time I had to cross the flooded river, I listened carefully to the advice of my more experienced colleagues.

“Open the door slightly when crossing deep water.”

“Use low gear.”

“Never release the pressure on the accelerator.”

“Keep the engine running steadily, otherwise water may enter through the exhaust.”

And after crossing, always stop and check the air filter. If it had become wet, it needed to be dried immediately.

Some of my colleagues had even modified their vehicles by raising the air-intake pipe to a higher position. This simple modification made it safer to cross water that could reach two or three feet deep.

At the time, these seemed like practical tips for surviving a difficult journey.

Years later, I realised they were much more than that.

They were lessons in life.

In a remote palm oil mill, we learned not only about engineering and machinery. We learned to observe nature, understand the environment and respect the conditions surrounding the operation.

One of the routine practices in a palm oil mill was recording daily rainfall.

Every morning, the laboratory assistant would take the reading from the rain gauge and record the rainfall in millimetres in the daily operating report.

Initially, I regarded it simply as another routine piece of data.

But gradually, I began to realise how valuable that information was.

Rainfall could affect harvesting, transportation, fruit quality and ultimately the oil extraction rate. When heavy rain occurred, plantation operations could be disrupted. Fresh fruit bunches might not reach the mill according to schedule. Roads could become inaccessible, and transporters could face delays.

For a mill located beyond Sungai Bok, the consequences could be even greater.

Whenever flooding occurred, tankers carrying crude palm oil and palm kernels could become stranded. If the products could not be transported out of the mill, storage tanks would gradually fill up.

Eventually, rainfall was no longer just a number written in a daily report.

It became something I began to watch.

Something I began to study.

And, perhaps without realising it, something I became fascinated by.

Because of the frequent flooding at Sungai Bok, I started collecting monthly rainfall records. Year after year, the data accumulated.

Nearly ten years of rainfall records became my personal reference.

As I studied the data, I began noticing patterns.

Rainfall during the first and fourth weeks of the month generally appeared to be lower than during the second and third weeks. The pattern seemed to repeat itself from month to month and, to some extent, from year to year.

Then I noticed another interesting relationship.

Flooding at Sungai Bok seemed to occur more frequently around the middle of the lunar month and during the full moon.

Of course, rainfall alone was not the only factor.

Heavy afternoon and evening convectional storms could coincide with high tides from the river. When heavy rainfall and high tide came together, the relatively small river crossing could quickly become impassable.

Suddenly, the rainfall data became more than historical records.

It became a tool for planning.

By combining rainfall patterns, the lunar calendar, high tides and my observations of the river, I could make a reasonable prediction of when Sungai Bok was more likely to flood and when the road was more likely to remain passable.

I began sharing these observations with the transporters.

I advised them to concentrate more vehicles on the weeks when the risk of flooding was lower. If possible, they should avoid sending too many tankers around the middle of the Hijri month, particularly when the full moon coincided with heavy rainfall and high tide.

It was not a scientific weather forecast.

It was simply field experience supported by years of observation and data.

But surprisingly, it worked quite well.

The lesson followed me beyond the palm oil mill.

Whenever I organised outdoor activities, sports days or recreational programmes, I would also consider the same pattern. Whenever possible, I preferred the first or fourth week of the month and tried to avoid the second and third weeks, particularly around periods associated with heavy rain and high tides.

My colleagues eventually began to joke about it.

Because of Sungai Bok and my obsession with rainfall records, I had somehow become the “rain shaman.”

A dukun hujan.

I could almost imagine them thinking:

“Ask him. He will know whether it is going to rain.”

But behind the joke was something much more meaningful.

Working in a remote palm oil mill taught me that knowledge does not always come from textbooks, classrooms or formal training.

Sometimes, knowledge comes from standing beside a rain gauge every morning.

Sometimes, it comes from crossing a flooded river.

Sometimes, it comes from listening to an experienced colleague telling you not to release the accelerator.

And sometimes, it comes from patiently collecting small pieces of information for years until a pattern begins to reveal itself.

The Sungai Bok experience taught me the value of observation, data, experience and anticipation.

In engineering, we often solve problems after they happen.

But the better engineer learns to recognise the signs before the problem arrives.

For me, Sungai Bok was more than a dangerous river crossing.

It was my classroom.

The rain was my teacher.

The rain gauge was my instrument.

The river was my laboratory.

And the ten years of rainfall records became my textbook.

That was how, somewhere along the gravel road to Loagan Bunut, I unknowingly became the “Dukun Hujan of Sungai Bok.”

And that is my story today.

🌴 Hana’s Field Exposure: A Day in the Oil Palm Estate

The sun had barely risen when Hana arrived at Pamol Estate, Sabah. Unlike the mill’s heavy clanking of machines, the estate greeted her with morning mist, the hum of cicadas, and the distant echo of a chainsaw. It was her first day shadowing the estate team to understand the journey of the Fresh Fruit Bunches (FFB) before they ever reached the mill.

🌅 Morning Roll Call

At 6:30 a.m., dozens of harvesters, loaders, and field staff gathered under a large shelter. The estate supervisor, Encik Musa, stood before them with a clipboard.

“Selamat pagi semua. Today we harvest Blocks 15 and 16, and manuring will continue at Block 12. Safety first — remember your gloves and helmets.”

Hana noticed the discipline. Attendance was taken, tasks assigned, and safety reminders emphasized. It felt like a military roll call — precise, structured, and essential to daily success.

🌴 The Harvest Begins

By 7:00 a.m., harvesters were already deep among the palms. Hana followed, her boots sinking into soft earth. She watched a seasoned harvester skillfully cut a ripe bunch with a long chisel pole. With one strike, the spiky FFB, weighing up to 25 kg, crashed onto the ground.

“Not all bunches are ready,” Musa explained. “We look for loose fruits on the ground. That’s nature’s sign the bunch is ripe.”

The harvesters worked quickly, slicing bunches, collecting them in wheelbarrows, and placing them neatly by the roadside for collection. Hana admired their strength — and discipline. Without good harvesting, the mill would never receive quality fruits.

🚜 Collection & Transport

By mid-morning, FFB collection tractors rumbled along estate paths, loading bunches from roadside stacks. Hana watched them weighed roughly in the field before being taken to the mill.

“This is the lifeline,” Musa said. “If harvesting is delayed, Free Fatty Acids (FFA) rise, and the oil quality suffers.” Hana noted how critical time and logistics were to palm oil value.

🌱 Manuring for the Future

In the afternoon, Hana joined another team in Block 12. Workers carried heavy sacks of fertilizer, spreading it carefully around the base of each palm.

“Manuring is the heart of productivity,” Musa told her. “Without proper nutrients, palms produce fewer and smaller bunches.”

Hana bent down to see the white granules dissolving into the soil. She realized that just like people needed food, palms required balanced nutrition to thrive — nitrogen, phosphorus, potassium, and magnesium.

🛠 Field Maintenance

As they moved along, Hana also noticed pruned fronds stacked neatly between palms. “This helps sunlight reach the fruits,” Musa explained. “Good field upkeep means better yields.”

She learned that estate work was not glamorous, but it was systematic: pruning, pest control, weeding, drainage upkeep — every detail mattered to ensure that the mill received quality fruits.

🌟 Hana’s Reflection

At the end of the day, Hana stood at the edge of the estate, looking out at endless rows of palms stretching towards the horizon. She whispered to herself:

> “The estate is the beginning of everything. Roll call brings discipline. Harvesting brings fruit. Manuring brings future yields. Field upkeep ensures sustainability. Without the estate, the mill is nothing. And without the people, the estate is nothing.”

She felt a new respect not just for machines in the mill, but for the sweat, patience, and skill of estate workers who made palm oil possible.

📚 Footnotes

1. MPOB (Malaysian Palm Oil Board), Good Agricultural Practices for Oil Palm Cultivation, 2020.

2. Corley, R.H.V. & Tinker, P.B., The Oil Palm, 5th Edition, Wiley-Blackwell, 2016.

3. Basiron, Y., Palm Oil — Nature’s Gift to Malaysia, 2007.

4. Rankine, I.R., Field Handbook on Oil Palm Cultivation, 2009.

5. Goh, K.J. & Härdter, R., General Oil Palm Nutrition: International Potash Institute, 2003.

#blog #blogger #kembarainsan #oilpalm #palmestate #mill #pamol #sabah #sarawak #malaysia

Kembara Insan ; My Blogging Journey

My Blogging Journey

I started my career in the plantation industry back in 2004, working at remote locations in Sabah and Sarawak. Life in the estates and mills was very different—isolated, challenging, but full of valuable experiences.

By 2009, I moved to Miri, Sarawak. At that time, my eldest child was five years old and needed to attend kindergarten, so we decided to rent a house. It was also around then that I got internet access for the very first time since 2004.

That changed everything. I started my own blog and also opened a Facebook account. One of the main reasons I began blogging was to share stories about life inside the palm oil industry—whether in the estates or the mills.

Over the years, I’ve tried different social media platforms. But for me, blogging has always been the best place to write and preserve my experiences. Unlike social media, where posts can disappear or accounts may be lost, a blog remains—a record of your journey.

Now, after almost 16 years of blogging, I’ve published more than 2,500 posts. The blog has received over 1.2 million views and continues to grow.

If you’d like to read more, please visit my blog. Thank you for your support—and do share these stories with your colleagues.

Bau kilang sawit dalam kenangan

Matahari pagi memancar garang di langit Lahad Datu. Udara di ladang sawit terasa segar, tetapi baunya bercampur antara aroma dedaun basah dan minyak sawit mentah yang keluar dari cerobong kilang. Farid berdiri tegak di hadapan papan tanda besar bertulis Selamat Datang ke Kilang Sawit Jeroco.

Dia baru seminggu tamat pengajian Ijazah Kejuruteraan Mekanik di sebuah universiti tempatan. Sewaktu di kampus, dia tidak pernah terfikir langsung untuk bekerja di industri sawit. Baginya, kilang sawit hanyalah tempat jauh di pedalaman, penuh dengan bunyi bising dan asap hitam. Tetapi semua itu berubah apabila seorang pensyarah yang pernah menjadi jurutera sawit menceritakan kisah sebenar—tentang betapa kompleksnya proses di kilang sawit, lengkap dengan boiler, turbin, sistem rawatan air buangan, dan pengurusan tenaga stim.

Hari ini, Farid memulakan hidup baru sebagai Kadet Jurutera di sebuah syarikat terkemuka.

Minggu pertamanya penuh cabaran. Setiap pagi dia perlu memakai coverall tebal berwarna biru, lengkap dengan topi keselamatan dan kasut bertapak besi. Dia berpeluh, bukan kerana cuaca semata-mata, tetapi kerana otaknya ligat menyerap setiap ilmu yang diberikan oleh juruteknik senior.

“Farid, tengok ni,” kata Pak Hassan, seorang Boilerman Gred 1 yang sudah 25 tahun bekerja di situ. “Boiler ni jantung kilang. Kalau dia sakit, semua operasi berhenti. Kau kena belajar dengar bunyinya, rasa getarannya… itu cara kau tahu dia sihat atau tak.”

Farid tersenyum. Dia kagum dengan pengalaman orang lama seperti Pak Hassan—orang yang namanya jarang keluar di akhbar, tetapi tenaganya menjadi nadi industri ini.

---

Tiga bulan berlalu. Farid semakin mahir membaca steam balance chart dan memeriksa suhu heat exchanger. Dia juga mula sedar bahawa kehidupan di ladang bukanlah seperti yang orang bandar sangka. Rumah disediakan, bil air dan elektrik percuma, malah jarak ke tempat kerja hanya beberapa minit berjalan kaki.

Suatu petang, Farid duduk di anjung rumah sambil memandang hamparan pokok sawit sejauh mata memandang. Angin petang membawa bunyi riuh dari asrama pekerja—gelak tawa, muzik radio, dan aroma kari dari dapur. Dia teringat kata-kata Pengurus Besar sewaktu temuduga dulu:

> “Farid, kalau kau sanggup bermula dari bawah, industri ini boleh bawa kau sampai puncak. Bukan saja gaji, tapi pengalaman dan masa depan yang stabil.”

---

Sepuluh tahun kemudian, Farid bukan lagi kadet. Dia kini seorang Pengurus Kilang yang mengetuai lebih seratus pekerja dari pelbagai negara. Dia masih ingat saat pertamanya menjejakkan kaki ke kilang itu, penuh ragu dan soalan. Kini, tangannya tidak lagi sekadar memegang buku teori, tetapi memegang tanggungjawab besar yang memastikan kilang itu terus beroperasi, memberi rezeki kepada ratusan keluarga.

Dan setiap kali dia berdiri di anjung rumah pengurus, memandang matahari terbenam di ufuk ladang, dia tersenyum sendiri. Di tapak tangannya masih terasa jejak minyak—bukan kotor, tetapi tanda perjalanan yang mengubah hidupnya.

Tamat

Jarak yang menjadi guru cinta

Jarak Yang Menjadi Guru Cinta

Di Kanawit yang dikelilingi kabus pagi dan rimbun kelapa sawit,

Irfan memulakan hari dengan deru jentera dan bau tanah basah.

Jauh di sana, di Sendayan, Aina menyusun langkah hidup bersama anak-anak,

menggenggam rindu yang setiap hari membesar dalam diam.

Jarak ribuan kilometer itu,

bukan sekadar memisahkan tubuh,

tetapi menguji hati,

mengajar erti sabar, setia, dan percaya.

Malam-malam di ladang,

Irfan duduk di beranda kecil,

menghadap gelap hutan yang bernafas dalam sunyi.

Di tangannya, telefon yang kadang-kadang merengek lemah mencari talian.

Namun setiap panggilan, walau suara pecah dan gambar beku,

tetap sarat dengan cerita tentang sekolah anak,

tentang lauk yang Aina masak,

tentang mimpi-mimpi yang mereka kejar bersama.

Mereka saling menjaga satu sama lain

dengan bahasa yang tak tertulis —

bahasa kepercayaan,

bahasa kesetiaan.

Kadang rindu itu datang seperti ombak,

menghempas hati tanpa amaran.

Tetapi Irfan tahu,

setiap peluh yang tumpah di bumi Kanawit

adalah benih masa depan anak-anaknya.

Dan saat cuti tiba,

pelukan Aina memadam semua letih,

senyum anak-anak menjadi cahaya yang menyapu gelap di hati.

Jarak itu akhirnya hanyalah jarak,

kerana cinta mereka sudah punya sayap

yang terbang jauh, merentasi sungai, hutan, dan laut,

lalu mendarat tepat di dada masing-masing.

Rubit Gugu, Pemimpin Keselamatan

Di pinggir Sungai Baram, berhampiran Long Lama, berdiri sebuah kilang kelapa sawit yang menjadi nadi ekonomi penduduk setempat. Di sinilah bermulanya kisah Rubit Gugu, seorang jurutera muda yang baru berusia 27 tahun tetapi sudah dikenali kerana tenaganya yang luar biasa dan semangat kepimpinannya.

Sejak hari pertama melapor diri, Rubit sudah jelas dengan misinya — keselamatan bukan pilihan, ia kewajipan. Dia tidak mahu menjadi jurutera yang hanya duduk di pejabat memeriksa laporan; dia mahu berada di lapangan, merasai denyut nadi operasi, dan memastikan setiap pekerja pulang ke rumah dengan selamat.

Hari yang Menguji

Suatu pagi Isnin, ketika bunyi enjin lori buah sawit bergema di loading ramp, Rubit perasan seorang pekerja kontraktor sedang memotong besi tanpa memakai cermin mata keselamatan. Tanpa membentak, dia menghampiri dengan senyuman.

“Abang, saya tahu kerja ini nak cepat siap. Tapi mata abang tak ada ganti,” katanya sambil menghulurkan sepasang cermin mata keselamatan.

Pekerja itu tersenyum malu, tetapi sejak hari itu dia sentiasa dilihat lengkap dengan PPE. Bagi Rubit, kepimpinan bukan memarahi, tetapi mengubah tingkah laku melalui rasa hormat.

Budaya Lapor dan Cegah

Rubit memperkenalkan Near Miss Reporting System — papan putih besar di ruang makan pekerja untuk melaporkan bahaya atau insiden nyaris berlaku. Dia menjanjikan bahawa tiada siapa akan dihukum kerana melapor.

Dalam masa tiga bulan, jumlah laporan near miss meningkat lima kali ganda, tetapi kemalangan menurun secara drastik. Bagi Rubit, itu bukti bahawa pekerja sudah berani bersuara, dan budaya keselamatan sedang hidup.

Latihan Menyelamat Nyawa

Menjelang musim hujan, kilang mengadakan fire drill. Rubit memimpin sendiri pasukan kecemasan, melatih mereka memadam api minyak di sekitar stesen press dan mengendalikan hos tekanan tinggi. Latihan ini bukan sekadar rutin — bagi Rubit, ia latihan untuk situasi sebenar yang boleh membezakan antara selamat atau tragedi.

Legasi di Long Lama

Selepas setahun, kilang sawit itu menjadi rujukan GLC lain di Sarawak untuk amalan keselamatan. Rubit mungkin masih muda, tetapi semangatnya telah membuktikan bahawa kepimpinan keselamatan bukan tentang umur atau jawatan — ia tentang keberanian untuk bertindak demi nyawa orang lain.

Ketika ditanya apa rahsia kejayaannya, Rubit hanya tersenyum dan berkata:

“Kilang ini boleh beroperasi tanpa saya, tapi keluarga di rumah tak boleh hidup tanpa mereka. Sebab itu, saya mahu mereka semua pulang setiap hari, selamat.”

Kasih antara Gombak dan Kapit

Arman dan Nurul — dua jiwa muda yang menemukan cinta di lorong ilmu, mengikat janji di pelamin, membina impian di bawah satu bumbung. Namun tak lama selepas akad dan senyum bahagia, takdir mengetuk dengan ujian yang tak pernah terduga.

Sepucuk surat, dingin dan rasmi, menghantar Nurul jauh ke pedalaman — Sekolah Kebangsaan Kapit, di pelukan hutan rimba dan aliran Sungai Rejang. Arman tetap di Gombak, mengajar anak bangsa di kota. Jarak itu bukan sekadar peta; ia menjadi jurang rindu yang menguji sabar.

Ketika rahim Nurul mula berbicara dengan degup anak pertama, kerinduan bertambah berat. Ada yang sekadar berkata, “Kasihan awak.” Itu belas kasihan, bayang samar di tepi hati. Ada yang berkata, “Saya faham perasaan awak.” Itu simpati, langkah pertama memasuki ruang emosi.

Namun, yang benar-benar memahami — duduk di sisi tanpa banyak bicara, membiarkan air mata jatuh di bahu, cuba melihat dunia dari mata yang lelah. Itu empati yang memanaskan hati yang dingin. Dan ada yang lebih dari itu — menghulur tangan, mengiringi perjalanan, meringankan beban. Itulah kasih sayang di puncak spektrum empati.

Arman menjadi wira dalam senyap. Setiap cuti, walau hanya beberapa hari, dia sanggup menempuh ribuan kilometer — terbang dari Kuala Lumpur ke Sibu, kemudian berjam-jam perjalanan darat, diakhiri riak sungai yang panjang — hanya untuk memeluk Nurul dan menyentuh perut yang menyimpan anak mereka.

Saat Nurul bersalin di Kapit, Arman berada di sisi, tapi tidak lama. Tanggungjawab memanggil, dan Nurul membesarkan anak itu hampir sendirian. Namun cinta mereka tak pernah pudar. Setiap peluh dan air mata menjadi doa yang tak putus, setiap jarak menjadi alasan untuk lebih setia.

Dua tahun kemudian, pintu langit terbuka. Permohonan Nurul untuk berpindah akhirnya diluluskan. Di lapangan terbang, pelukan mereka bukan sekadar melepas rindu — ia adalah tanda bahawa cinta yang disiram empati akan bertahan, meski diuji ribuan batu dan ratusan malam.

Kerana dalam hidup ini, empati bukan sekadar “Aku faham.”

Ia adalah “Aku akan bersama, walau sesukar mana pun jalannya.”

The engineer who leads beyond titles

When Ir. Faris Ahmad took over as CEO of AgroPalm Global, one of the world’s largest multinational palm oil companies, the board expected a familiar corporate playbook — cost-cutting, tight control, and quarterly numbers obsession.

But Faris was no ordinary CEO.

He was an engineer by training — forged in the heat of boiler rooms, refinery floors, and oil palm estates. He knew the heartbeat of the business not from PowerPoint slides, but from the hiss of steam, the smell of fresh fruit bunches, and the grit of long days in the field.

On his first week, instead of sitting in the top-floor corner office, Faris travelled — to the remotest mills in Sabah, the refineries in Rotterdam, and the research labs in Johor. His goal wasn’t to command; it was to listen.

He asked the mill engineers,

"If you were CEO for a day, what would you change?"

He asked the harvesters,

"What slows you down the most in your work?"

And he asked the young management trainees,

"What’s your dream for this company?"

What he found was a company full of smart, capable people — but trapped in silos, waiting for “orders from above.”

Faris knew the problem: leadership had been hoarded at the top.

His solution: distribute it.

He launched the "Lead Where You Are" program — a leadership development initiative that trained supervisors, engineers, and even plantation assistants in decision-making, problem-solving, and cross-functional collaboration.

Instead of approving every small request, he gave department heads authority to act within clear boundaries. Mistakes were treated as lessons, not punishments.

He introduced Innovation Days, where anyone — from lab technicians to lorry drivers — could pitch ideas to improve safety, efficiency, or sustainability. One harvester’s suggestion to modify the collection ramp saved the company RM2 million annually.

And he personally mentored a cohort of 20 emerging leaders, insisting each one mentor two more in return. The effect rippled through the organization.

Within three years:

Operating efficiency rose 15% without cutting jobs.

Sustainability rankings improved, attracting major global buyers.

Employee turnover dropped to the lowest in company history.

And most tellingly — four senior managers were promoted to lead new overseas operations, each shaped by Faris’ leadership philosophy.

At his 5-year mark as CEO, a journalist asked him,

"What’s your proudest achievement here?"

Faris smiled, looked at the group of managers standing behind him, and said,

"You’re looking at it. My legacy isn’t the company I ran — it’s the leaders we built."

Because for Ir. Faris Ahmad, true leadership was never about the number of people following him.

It was about the number of people who could lead without him.

Feri ke Long Lama

Kenangan terindah.
Suka duka berhijrah merantau.

Ikan tapah 20 kg lebih jer

Di sini memang lubuk ikan sungai.

Tapah,
Belida
Biawan
Betutu
Baung
Mengalan
Haruan
Keli

serta banyak lagi spesis yang aku masih nak belajar kenal.

Mohd Najib Bin Serakim ; Transfer ke Kanawit POM

Selamat maju jaya dan terima kasih di atas perkhidmatan bermula Ogos 2008 hingga November 2011 di organisasi ini.

@ Kuching

Cerita bukit, sungai dan paya

1. Nun jauh di sana, terletak tiga buah ladang sawit di sebuah bukit, sungai dan paya.
2. Dimajukan sejak awal tahun 90 an.
3. Oleh sebuah syarikat ternama negara.
4. Sebuah kawasan pendalaman yang jauh dan cukup mencabar.
5. Hingga ke hari ini, masih tiada jalan tar memasuki ke ladang tersebut.
6. Dalam perjalanan ke sana, kami melalui beberapa ladang syarikat ternama. Kami berada di destinasi terakhir jalan ke tempat tersebut. Orang kata tempat jin bertendang.
7. Bagaimana dan siapa yang memilih, bukanlah urusan aku. Mungkinkah tempat jin bertendang dipilih oleh jin? gurau saja.
8. Adat planters, mereka memajukan sebuah hutan atau tempat jin bertendang menjadi maju serta seperti KL. Lepas dah maju macam KL, jin berambut hitam pulak yang menetap. gurau lagi.
9. Nama tempat ini menarik. Satu nama bukit, satu nama sungai dan satu lagi nama loagan dalam bahasa tempatan atau ditafsirkan sebagai paya pendalaman.
10. Pekan kecil namanya lapok. Sama seperti bujang lapok, ia nampak lapok bila kemarau, penuh debu, bila hujan, ada banjir kilat.
11. Ladang ini menjadi tumpuan bos - bos di atas kerana prestasi yeild yang rendah. Datanglah sendiri tengok keadaan bukit, sungai dan paya ini. Tiada siapa yang dapat ubah.
12. Secara geogrofi, bentuk muka bumi di sini banyak mempengaruhi prestasi ladang.
13. Semakin hari, paras sungai makin tinggi. Makin cetak dek lumpur serta pasir dari hulu. Projek merogol hutan giat dijalankan oleh tokey balak halal dan haram.
14. Bila musim hujan, banjir kilat berlaku. Bukan satu malah berpuluh pokok menari dan tertidur.
15. Bukit, sungai dan paya ini juga menjadi laluan orang kampung ke rumah mereka. Jadi, tempat ini bukanlah kawasan peribadi sepenuhnya.
16. Bila harga sawit tinggi, orang - orang yang mahu cari duit mudah, boleh memotong buah ibarat ladang ini mereka yang punya.
17. Kata pihak berwajib, tanah ini tanah kerajaan. Maka pelabur datanglah melabur dan membina tiga buah ladang.
18. Apabila sampai di tengah jalan, rupanya ladang dibina di tanah orang kampung.
19. Orang mana, banyak yang mengaku.
20. Bila ramai menuntut, banyak serta bersambung - sambunglah ceritanya.
21. Bila dibawa ke keadilan, ada yang betul dan banyak juga yang salah. Yang salah tu cuma mahu ambil kesempatan.
22. Berdiri sebuah kilang setelah buah yang hasil cukup untuk buat kilang.
23. Di tengah - tengah bukit, sungai dan paya.
24. Orang yang menjaga bukit, sungai, paya dan kini satu kilang silih berganti.
25. Setiap orang punya sikap yang berbeza. Namun mereka patut dipuji kerana berjaya hidup di bukit, sungai dan paya ini.
26. Kerana mereka cuba memberikan khidmat yang terbaik menjaga tempat ini.
27. Mengubah mana yang mampu.
28. Mendidik orang tempatan supaya mampu bersaing dengan ladang ternama di luar.
29. Mereka juga berkorban masa, berjauhan dengan keluarga dan berhadapan dengan pelbagai isu serta karenah segenap hidupan di sebuah bukit, sungai dan paya.
30. dan ..ceritanya akan terus dikenang buat mereka yang mengatakan, ini tempat yang cantik, tempat yang subur, tempat yang unik. Hanya mereka yang pernah sampai ke sini boleh dan berhak menceritakannya. Mau ke sini?
    

Keajaiban Taman Tasik Negara Loagan Bunut

gambar di ambil Disember 2010

Gambar Jun 2011 semasa musim kemarau

History of the Dayak People

The consensus interpretation in modern anthropology is that nearly all indigenous peoples of South East Asia, including the Dayaks, are descendants of a larger Austronesian migration from Asia, thought to have settled in the South East Asian Archipelago some 3,000 years ago. The first populations spoke closely-related Austronesian languages, from which Dayak languages are traced. About 2,450 years ago, metallurgy was introduced; it later became widespread.

The main ethnic groups of Dayaks are the Bakumpai and Dayak Bukit of South Kalimantan, The Ngajus, Baritos, Benuaqs of East Kalimantan, the Kayan and Kenyah groups and their subtribes in Central Borneo and the Ibans, Embaloh (Maloh), Kayan, Kenyah, Penan, Kelabit, Lun Bawang and Taman populations in the Kapuas and Sarawak regions. Other populations include the Ahe, Jagoi, Selakau, Bidayuh, and Kutais.

The Dayak people of Borneo possess an indigenous account of their history, partly in writing and partly in common cultural customary practices. In addition, colonial accounts and reports of Dayak activity in Borneo detail carefully cultivated economic and political relationships with other communities as well as an ample body of research and study considering historical Dayak migrations. In particular, the Iban or the Sea Dayak exploits in the South China Seas are documented, owing to their ferocity and aggressive culture of war against sea dwelling groups and emerging Western trade interests in the 19th and 20th centuries.

During World War II, the Japanese occupied Borneo and treated all of the indigenous peoples poorly - massacres of the Malay and Dayak peoples were common, especially among the Dayaks of the Kapit Division.[5] Following this treatment, the Dayaks formed a special force to assist the Allied forces. Eleven United States airmen and a few dozen Australian special operatives trained a thousand Dayaks from the Kapit Division to battle the Japanese with guerilla warfare. This army of tribesmen killed or captured some 1,500 Japanese soldiers and were able to provide the Allies with intelligence vital in securing Japanese-held oil fields.[6]

Coastal populations in Borneo are largely Muslim in belief, however these groups (Ilanun, Melanau, Kadayan, Bakumpai, Bisayah) are generally considered to be Islamized Dayaks, native to Borneo, and heavily influenced by the Javanese Majapahit Kingdoms and Islamic Malay Sultanates.

The Birth Of Gawai Dayak & Its Celebration

Author: Unknown

Gawai Dayak, a festive celebrated in Sarawak on 1st June every year is both a religious and social occasion. Dayak would visit their friends and relatives on this day. Such visit is more known as "ngabang" in Iban language. The far would receive greeting cards.

How it all started can be traced back to a 1957 radio forum organized by Mr Ian Kingsley, a radio programme organiser. This generated a lot of interest among the Dayak community. Up till 1962, British colonial government still refused to give recognition to the Dayak Day.

To the Dayak, Gawai Dayak would be a recognition of the Dayak race, their source of national pride and a way to reciprocate social hospitality extended by the other races during their festivals.

After numerous requests, it fell on the sympathetic ears of the First Sarawak Chief Minister, Datuk Stephen Kalong Ningkan and his cabinet comprising among others, the present State Chief Minister, Datuk Patinggi Tan Sri Haji Abdul Taib Mahmud. The then Governor, Tun Abang Haji Openg, who when he was a member of the council Negeri, had always supported the move in the Council, gave his assent.

Gawai Dayak was formally gazetted on 25th September 1964 as a public holiday in place of Sarawak Day. It was first celebrated on 1st June 1965 and became a symbol of unity, aspiration and hope for the Dayak community.Today, it is an integral part of Dayak social life. It is a thanksgiving day marking good harvest and a time to plan for the new farming season or activities ahead.

The word Gawai means a ritual or festival whereas Dayak is a collective name for the natives races in Sarawak; the Iban, Bidayuh, Kayan, Kenyah, Kelabit, Murut and a few more. Thus Gawai Dayak literally means the Dayak Festival.

The mode of celebrations varies from place to place. Preparation starts very early. Tuak (rice wine) are brewed and traditional delicacies like penganan (cakes from rice flour, sugar and coconut milk) prepared. As the big day approaches, everyone will be busy with the general cleaning and preparing the food or cakes. On Gawai eve, glutinous rice are roasted in bamboo (ngelulun pulut). In the longhouse, new mats will be laid out on the ruai (an open gallery which runs through the entire length of the longhouse). The walls of most bilik (rooms) and the ruai are decorated with pua kumbu (traditional blanket).

The celebration starts on the evening of 31st May. In most Iban's longhouse, it starts with a ceremony called Muai Antu Rua (to cast away the spirit of greediness), signifying the non interference of the spirit of bad luck in the celebration. Two children or men each dragging a chapan or winnowing basket will pass each family room. Every family will throw some unwanted article into the basket. The unwanted articles will be tossed to the ground from the end of the longhouse for the spirit of bad luck.

Around 6 pm, miring (offering ceremony) will take place. Before the ceremony, gendang rayah (ritual music) is performed. The feast chief thanks the gods for the good harvest, ask for guidance, blessings and long life as he sacrifices a cockerel. Dinner will then be served at the ruai. While waiting for midnight, the folks gather and mingle at the ruai and berandau (talk/converse). Meanwhile, drinks, traditional cakes and delicacies are served.

At midnight, the gong is sounded. The tuai rumah will lead everyone to drink the Ai Pengayu (normally tuak for long life) and at the same time wishing each other "gayu-guru, gerai-nyamai" (long life, health and prosperity). A procession up and down the ruai called Ngalu Petara (Welcoming the Spirits) will follow. The celebration by now will get more merrier. Some will dance to the traditional music played. Others will sing the pantun (poems). In the town, the Dayak will gather at the community centres or restaurants for a enliven the evening.

Other activities that may follow the next day include cock-fighting, demonstration of blowpipe skills and ngajat competitions. On this day, 1st June, the homes of the Dayaks will be opened to visitors. In the longhouses, there is a practises called masu pengabang where guests will be served with tuak by the host before they can enter the longhouse. Dayaks will attend a church mass to thanks God for the good harvest. Gawai Dayak celebration may last for several days. Visitors are most welcome to the homes of the Dayaks during the festival.

Lapok Road, Miri, Sarawak on Feb 2011

Keindahan Hutan Tropika Malaysia di Borneo Tropical Rainforest

Pepatah Iban

‘Agi idup agi ngelaban’

atau

selagi hidup, selagi itu kita berjuang.

A Story of Lapok Folks