WHEN my first employer, posted me to Sandakan in 1991, I believed – like many young plantation men – that I was ready for anything. I arrived with the usual frontier kit: a well-thumbed guidebook, a suitcase of essentials, boots ready for mud and an impressive surplus of youthful confidence.
After all, how complicated could a coastal town in Sabah be? As it turned out – beautifully complicated. My real education did not come from manuals or management briefings. It came from the town itself: kopitiams where conversations flowed freely, seafood dinners that quietly drifted into philosophy, waterfront walks where history seemed to arrive with the tide, and the warm humour of people who called this harbour home.
Somewhere between the prawns, the laughter and those long tropical evenings, something unexpected happened – I met my wife. Sandakan did not merely shape my career, it ambushed my life plan in the most delightful way.
Years later destiny or plantation life brought me back again. This time I returned with family, older but still curious, and stayed until retirement.
Looking back, Sandakan was never just a posting. It became a classroom where experience replaced textbooks, a community that turned strangers into friends and, eventually, a second home whose stories linger long after the ships have sailed.
So here is my Tek-style reflection on Sandakan – seasoned with a little wit, a touch of nostalgia and plenty of sea breeze.
After spending decades there, this is simply my way of saying thank you to a harbour that gave me more stories than I ever expected.
Where history came by boat
If towns could talk, Sandakan would not shout. It would lean back in a wooden kopitiam chair, sip thick Tenom coffee, and begin with the immortal Sabah conversation starter: “Bah...you know the story or not?”
Because Sandakan is not merely a town. It is a harbour full of chapters, and like all good port towns, its history did not arrive by highway. It arrived by boat.
Long before colonial surveyors drew straight lines across tropical maps, these waters were already busy highways. Sulu traders sailed in search of pearls and trepang. Bajau seafarers skimmed the sea like maritime nomads.
Chinese merchants followed monsoon winds in wooden junks that knew these waters long before steamships appeared.
Eastern Sabah was part of a vast regional network shaped by the Sultanate of Brunei and the Sultanate of Sulu, whose influence stretched across northern Borneo and the surrounding seas. So Sandakan’s story did not begin with Europeans. It merely became better documented when they arrived.
Elopura: When a harbour found its name
Sandakan’s modern chapter began with a dramatic combination of fire, ambition and a determined British administrator who believed that if one town burned down, the logical response was simply to build another one nearby.
In 1879 an earlier settlement – nicknamed Kampung German –was destroyed by fire. Rather than mourn the ashes too long, William Burgess Pryer relocated the settlement to the shores of Buli Sim-Sim along Sandakan Bay. There he founded a new town on June 21, 1879, naming it Elopura – meaning “Beautiful City” or “Beautiful Harbour.”
To be fair, Pryer was not exaggerating. Sandakan Bay is one of those natural harbours that makes sailors nod approvingly: protected waters, gentle coastlines and a safe anchorage. A perfect maritime parking lot.
Yet, poetic colonial names rarely survive where local memory runs deeper than administrative paperwork. Before long the older name returned – Sandakan, believed to come from the Sulu language referring to a place that had been “leased” or “pledged.”
Which, when one thinks about it, is rather appropriate for a port town. Everything in a harbour is temporarily borrowed – ships, cargo, traders, fortunes and sometimes empires. History itself often feels on lease.
Little Hong Kong
Soon the town caught the attention of the British North Borneo Chartered Company. In many ways colonial expansion in those days resembled a venture capital project with imperial backing.
The company obtained its royal charter in 1881 and began administering North Borneo as a commercial territory.
By 1884 Sandakan replaced Kudat as the capital. Suddenly the harbour came alive. Ships arrived from Hong Kong, Singapore, China, Japan and Australia. Traders followed opportunity.
Labour followed the traders.
Chinese merchants established shops, warehouses and businesses. Soon Sandakan earned a nickname that any port city would envy: “Little Hong Kong.” Which in practical terms meant two things: Business was booming. And dim sum was improving.
Timber, trade and a touch of chaos
By the early 20th century Sandakan was thriving. The harbour exported timber, rattan, birds’ nests and other jungle treasures to markets across Asia.
Planters, traders, explorers and administrators passed through the port like characters from a Joseph Conrad novel – though with slightly better food.
Sandakan became cosmopolitan in the most tropical sense.
Chinese merchants balancing ledgers. Suluk sailors negotiating prices. European officers drafting regulations. Local communities weaving commerce into everyday life.
If one wished to understand North Borneo in those days, the answer was simple: Stand at the waterfront and watch who arrives.
When war changed everything
Then history turned dark. During World War II, Sandakan fell under Japanese occupation and became the site of the tragic Sandakan Death Marches, where Allied prisoners were forced through jungle terrain toward Ranau under brutal conditions.
A total of 2,434 Allied prisoners of war entered Sandakan, only six Australians survived. By the end of the war, Sandakan itself had been almost completely destroyed. War does not merely break buildings. It breaks memory.
After the war, the British faced a difficult decision. Rebuilding Sandakan would require enormous resources. Instead, the capital of North Borneo moved west to Jesselton – today’s Kota Kinabalu. Sandakan lost its political title. But it never lost its spirit.
Today Sandakan lives more quietly than during its colonial heyday, yet in many ways it has grown richer. Just beyond the town lies the Sepilok Orangutan Rehabilitation Centre, where orphaned orangutans swing patiently back toward the wild.
The surrounding forests hold even more wonders – the gentle sun bear, the unmistakable proboscis monkey, and the shy Bornean pygmy elephant that roam the lush banks of the Kinabatangan River.
Back in town, the Sandakan Heritage Trail winds gently through temples, churches and old stairways that somehow survived both war and time – quiet reminders that while buildings may fade, stories endure.
And then there is the true diplomatic heart of Sandakan: Seafood. Butter prawns. Fresh fish. Yummy mangrove crabs. Maybe if world leaders ever wish to resolve geopolitical tensions, they should meet over Sandakan seafood. Diplomacy would soften quickly.
So if adventure, wildlife, history and good food appeal, here is a simple invitation: Go and discover Sandakan.
Sandakan and Sandokan
Then there is Sandakan’s curious literary cousin: Sandokan. In the novels of Italian Emilio Salgari, Sandokan was a romantic pirate prince roaming the seas of Borneo. European readers devoured the tales. Whether the fictional hero truly drew inspiration from Sandakan is debated. But the resemblance is too delightful to ignore.
I first encountered this curious connection not in an archive but over dinner. At a Malaysian Estate Owners’ Association (MEOA) gathering in Kuala Lumpur, I happened to be seated beside HE Cristiano Maggipinto, the Italian Ambassador to Malaysia. When I mentioned I was from Sandakan, his eyes lit up. “Ah... Sandokan, the Tiger of Malaya,” he said casually. Diplomats carry more than passports. They also carry their nation’s literary heritage.
As the evening unfolded, I realised we also shared another connection - palm oil. After all, Ferrero, maker of Nutella, Kinder, Tic Tac and Ferrero Rocher, relies on palm oil in its creations. So there we were - one man from Sandakan and one diplomat from Italy - and somewhere between dessert and diplomacy, palm oil, pirate literature and chocolate quietly met at the same table.
Naturally, curiosity took over. Back home I began digging deeper into the story and discovered the delightful connection between a real harbour town in Sabah and a fictional pirate prince born entirely in an Italian imagination.
Tiger of Malaya, Robin Hood of Borneo
In Salgari’s novels, Sandokan is no ordinary pirate. He is a Bornean prince whose kingdom was seized by colonial powers, forcing him to the sea in rebellion. From the mysterious island of Mompracem-today’s Pulau Kuraman in Labuan-he commands the feared Tigers of Mompracem, launching daring raids across the South China Sea with his loyal Portuguese companion, Yanez de Gomera.
Sandokan is ruthless to enemies, fiercely loyal to friends and incurably romantic. In Salgari’s tales he even befriends Sharif Osman, the formidable figure who once challenged British naval power in northern Borneo. But rebellion alone does not make a legend. Sandokan also falls for Marianna Guillonk-the “Pearl of Labuan”-adding a dash of tropical romance to the saga: a Bornean pirate prince, a European lady and Labuan as the backdrop.
One might say the story contains all the ingredients of modern cinema-rebellion, romance and empire beneath tropical skies-easily worthy of standing alongside the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise.
In 1976, Indian actor Kabir Bedi brought the character to life in a European television miniseries that turned Sandokan into a household name across the continent. It was already a global story long before globalisation became fashionable - a legend from Borneo, imagined by an Italian writer, performed by an Indian actor, and, interestingly, carefully researched by a German. Even before the word “international production” became trendy, Sandokan had quietly assembled quite the multinational crew.
Today the pirate sails again in modern adaptations, the latest in Netflix, reminding us that long before streaming platforms discovered it, Borneo already had all the ingredients for great drama: rebellion, romance and empire beneath tropical skies.
Turning Legend into Creative Tourism
I would like to raise an intriguing thought: could Sandakan turn this literary coincidence into a creative opportunity? Many great destinations thrive on stories. Paris has the Three Musketeers. London has Sherlock Holmes. Transylvania has Dracula. And here in Sabah, Sandakan already has Sandokan.
Few places can claim a link to one of Europe’s most famous pirate heroes. This presents real potential for cultural tourism and creative collaborations, perhaps even new film or television adaptations. Intriguingly, research by a German, Dr Bianca M. Gerlich suggests that Sandokan may not have been purely Salgari’s invention - that the legend may have real historical roots
Sandakan - and perhaps neighbouring towns and islands - could gently weave the Sandokan legend into its tourism story. An interpretive corner, themed cafés or waterfront spaces, storytelling walks, outdoor movie screenings or small festivals could bring literature, imagination and local history together. Like Penang’s street art, Sandokan murals could turn town walls into colourful canvases of adventure.
And who knows - one day the story might sail further with a “Sandokan Cruise” linking Sandakan, Kota Marudu and Labuan, tracing the seas that inspired the legend of the seafaring Robin Hood of Borneo.
A Harbour That Remembers
Sandakan today is not just a destination. It is a memory bank. A place where fishermen, colonial traders, wartime survivors, timber barons, oil palm planters, wildlife conservationists and curious travellers all share the same harbour.
Different centuries. Same tide. In Sandakan, history does not sit quietly in museums. It floats on the water. And if you listen closely - perhaps over a cup of kopi-O, perhaps over prawns - the town will lean toward you and say once more: “Bah... you know the story or not?”.
Joseph Tek Choon Yee has over 30 years of experience in the plantation industry, with a strong background in oil palm research and development, C-suite leadership and industry advocacy. The views expressed here are the writer’s own.
