letters from Sabah - #2

I am heading to Semporna, the town from which I will be catching a
boat to Mabul. The drive from Sabahmas (the name of the estate I had
been staying at) to Semporna is 3 hours and as I have explained in my
first email, there is nothing but oil palm plantation in the
landscape. This explains why I am eager to write. (also, I am a litte
tired of reading a fiction book about a Ukrainian family in the UK. It
is not bad, I am just bored)

Plantation life is somewhat colonial. The oil palm industry was
previously dominated by the British (of course-which industry wasn't?)
so even though the estates are now owned and managed by Malaysians,
life there still smacks ever so slightly of old colonial ways.

In general, the Malaysian Chinese are the men that run the show from
the top. The office staff is mostly Bumiputra. Mid-management is
mixed-Chinese, bumi, kandazan-dusun (indigineous peoples). At the
bottom of the organizational chart are the field laborers, and they
are mostly immigrants from Indonesia because the work is too lowly and
menial for Malaysians. I wonder where will we all turn for menial
labor when the third world (someday) becomes first?

Colonial practices continue. Among the mid and senior management,
meals are almost always eaten together. Every morning at 7am we gather
out on the guest house verandah and someone calls us in when breakfast
is served. This is not just a toast and butter breakfast. We get
noodle soup, sometimes poori and dahl or even curry noodles. Then we
break off to do our work. Mine was not laborious by any means. I was
attached to the ecological management unit and they were tasked on
doing an internal audit in preparation for the external "sustainable
palm oil" audit and certification. We spent time in the field watching
how harvesting was done, how they apply fertilizer to prevent surface
run off and water pollution (like we learned in geography class) and
make sure these procedures are safe and environmentally friendly.

At 12.30 we break for lunch and unlike the rest of us city rats, they
eat slowly, chit chat, watch TV for a bit and resume work at 2. At 7,
we all come back from our various areas of work and at 730 dinner is
served again in the common dining hall. After dinner we adjourn to the
same verandah that overlooks the vast expanse of oil palm and drink
beer while cracking jokes and peanuts.

Last night we went boar hunting. There is an overpopulation of wild
boar that feeds on the oil palm fruit so they have to be culled. I had
the privilege of joining on one such expedition. I sat high up on the
elevated seats of the land cruiser with the estate manager. A few
ex-hunters who are now on the estate's payroll stand in the back with
their spotlights trying to spot the glint of the animal's eyes. We
spotted about 12 in total but killed none in the end. They were hard
to target from the land cruiser and the ground was too muddy to run
after them. So we ended the night/early morning with no prize but I
think it was the first time I had ever seen and heard a gun being
fired.

The staff address everyone as Mr so and so. If it is an english name,
it is Mr Jeremy or Mr Philip. If it is a chinese name then it is Mr
Foo or Mr Chang.

Plantation life is simple and good but one would have to get used to
giant milipedes and locusts that hover around and sometimes bump into
you.

Ok, I have arrived at my destination. So long folks!