BASED on a recent The Star report, she was found where she should not have been. A young sun bear cub, clinging rather stubbornly to a coconut tree in Keningau, Sabah – which, if you know anything about sun bears, is not quite their preferred address.
No mother in sight. No forest within reach. Just a small creature holding on, as if waiting for the next chapter to arrive.
Fortunately, in Sabah, the next chapter often arrives with people. Villagers stepped in. Authorities responded.
And in due course, the cub was transported to Sepilok in Sandakan, into the steady hands of the Bornean Sun Bear Conservation Centre – that quiet sanctuary where second chances are not advertised loudly, but practised daily.
It was rescue and conservation in action – not as a polished phrase for a brochure, but as something lived: ordinary people, field officers and dedicated conservationists working together to give one vulnerable cub the one thing every wild creature deserves, a fighting chance.
There, Dr Wong Siew Te, founder and chief executive of the centre and together with his team, gave the little orphaned cub her name: Sandokan.
Yes – that Sandokan, and not Sandakan.
At this point, one might be forgiven for raising an eyebrow.
A sun bear named after a fictional pirate created by an Italian writer who never set foot in Borneo?
It sounds suspiciously like the beginning of a joke.
But stay with it. Because sometimes, history does not merely rhyme. It smiles.
One letter, two worlds
When I was recently invited by the Sandakan Tourism Association to speak in Sandakan about Sandokan, I began with a simple question.
Did you catch it? One “A”. One “O”. Sandakan. Sandokan.
At first glance, it looks like a vowel that got lost on the way to customs.
But look a little longer, and it begins to feel less like an error and more like an invitation.
An invitation into a story that stretches across continents, languages and imagination – and now, it seems, across species.
Sandakan is real: a town with sea breeze in its lungs, history in its bones and seafood that can rearrange your priorities. Sandokan, on the other hand, is imagined: a pirate hero, the “Tiger of Malaya”, who has sailed across pages, screens and generations.
And now, thanks to a rescued cub in Sepilok, the two have shaken hands.
The legend that travelled further
Emilio Salgari, the Italian creator of Sandokan, never set foot in Borneo.
He travelled by map, by second-hand accounts and by imagination – which, in his case, proved more than sufficient.
From that distance, he wrote of tropical seas, jungle intrigue and defiant heroes.
His adventures first appeared in publication in 1883 and films were made in 1941 in Italy. Europe read and saw him. Then much of the world did.
Movies and television followed. Animation and streaming, not wishing to miss the boat, climbed aboard later.
If you doubt Sandokan’s reach, try a small experiment. Google “Sandokan” for images and videos.
You will not find silence. You will find a parade – posters, actors, heroic poses, dramatic stills. The man has had more lives than some politicians, and better wardrobe support besides.
That is not a niche curiosity. That is a franchise before we began calling everything a franchise.
And yet, somewhere in that global success story, a quiet irony crept in.
The world embraced Sandokan, but somehow failed to notice Sandakan.
What a missed opportunity – one letter away, yet a whole tourism story left waiting at the jetty.
From harbour to hero – with a little help from the Italian ear
It is widely believed that Salgari came across the name Sandakan in maps and maritime records of his time.
And then, quite naturally, it changed. Sandakan became Sandokan.
Why? Partly storytelling instinct. Partly linguistics. Partly, perhaps, what I like to call the Italian ear.
In Italian, many names end with “-o” : Emilio, Alberto, Mario, Carlo, Leonardo, Lorenzo, Antonio, Giovanni and more.
That vowel gives a word a certain fullness, a rounded finish, the kind of sound that seems to wear a cape even when standing still.
“Sandokan”, to an Italian ear, sounds like someone who will eventually draw a sword.
“Sandakan”, on the other hand, sounds like somewhere you might dock a ship and have an excellent lunch.
So, the shift may not have been deliberate scholarship. It may simply have been instinct.
A place adjusted to fit a story. A harbour recast as a hero. And just like that, a vowel quietly changed the narrative.
Globalisation in Sandokan
Long before we began discussing globalisation in conference rooms with mineral water and PowerPoint slides, it was already happening in stories.
What a story this is. Salgari, an Italian, dreaming of distant seas he never sailed, yet sending his imagination farther than many people with airfare and hotel points.
A Spanish adventurer-turned-priest, Don Carlos Cuarteron, whose remarkable life may well have stirred the former’s imagination.
A German scholar, Dr Bianca M Gerlich, later tracing intriguing threads back to North Borneo – to places such as Kota Marudu and Labuan, and to figures like Syarif Osman.
Then comes cinema, never one to miss a dramatic entrance: famous actors from India’s Kabir Bedi to Turkey’s Can Yaman, carrying Sandokan across continents with sword, stare and suitably heroic hair.
Audiences across Europe and Latin America embraced the tale, while museums and memorials in Italy and Spain helped preserve a legend rooted, however imperfectly, in North Borneo.
Yet somewhere along the way, the story drifted. The geography blurred.
The narrative packed its bags and, in some retellings, seemed almost to relocate itself away from Sabah.
Which is why the question becomes both obvious and slightly uncomfortable: if the world has already discovered Sandokan, what are Malaysia, Sabah and Sandakan doing to reclaim, interpret and anchor their own side of the story?
Even the 50th anniversary of the famous Sandokan television series (1976 to 2026) could become, if handled with imagination, a quiet marketing gift waiting for someone to unwrap.
Here is globalisation without tariffs. Storytelling without borders. Heritage with cinematic reach.
And, if we are alert enough, tourism opportunity with Sabah and Malaysia’s names written all over it.
Sandakan: Not dead, just untold
Which brings us to that rather unfortunate label so lazily pinned on Sandakan by many – “zombie town” – usually because it is seen as lagging in infrastructure, investment and visible development.
Fair enough, there are gaps, and no honest friend of Sandakan should deny them.
But one suspects even the zombies might wish to file a complaint.
The label may be catchy, but it is also careless.
It mistakes slower progress for lifelessness, and underdevelopment for absence of soul.
Sandakan may need better roads, stronger connectivity and renewed investment, yes – but dead it is not.
Sandakan was never lifeless. It was merely under-introduced – like a very good seafood dish that nobody bothered to describe properly on the menu.
This is a town also known as Elopura or “beautiful city” that was once the capital of British North Borneo.
A port that traded with Hong Kong, earning the nickname “Little Hong Kong”.
A place that rebuilt itself after war, adapted through economic cycles, and now offers something that cannot easily be manufactured: authenticity.
Sepilok’s orangutans do not clock in for performances. The Kinabatangan does not follow a script.
The Sandakan Heritage Trail does not need a narrator – though one certainly helps.
Sim Sim seafood arrives with such confidence that even the chilli seems well-adjusted.
Sandakan does not shout for attention. Sadly, perhaps. It simply gets on with being interesting.
One letter, one rather useful tourism opportunity
Now add Sandokan back into the picture.
Sandakan is real. Sandokan is global.
One letter apart. One story bridge waiting to be walked.
London has Sherlock Holmes. Paris has the Three Musketeers. Transylvania has Dracula.
And here in Sabah, Sandakan already has Sandokan.
The difference is not in having the story. It is in telling it.
Let us be clear. Nobody is suggesting Sandakan turns itself into a theme park where orangutans wear eyepatches and sun bears brandish cutlasses.
That would be... ambitious. But storytelling can be done lightly. Cleverly.
Imagine a Sandokan Corner at the waterfront – small, thoughtful, quietly intriguing.
Imagine murals across town, Penang-style, where fiction and history shake hands on a wall.
Imagine wayang pacak screenings – open-air film nights where Sandokan returns, not on a phone, but on a wall under the stars.
Imagine kopitiams playing old episodes, where nostalgia meets kopi-O and no one minds if the conversation runs longer than the plot.
Imagine storytelling walks, where guides move from trade routes to pirate lore without missing a beat.
These are not billion-ringgit ideas. They are million-smile ideas.
Verona meets Sandakan
Stretch the idea a little further. Verona – Salgari’s hometown – also has Romeo and Juliet and, by extension, a fair claim to literary romance.
Sandakan – possibly echoed in Sandokan – has something rather different: trade, survival, sea, memory, reinvention.
Why not a symbolic Twin Cities link?
Not to compete with Shakespeare, but to offer another kind of romance: maritime, tropical, quietly resilient.
And then, if one is feeling particularly imaginative, a Sandokan Cruise.
Not necessarily pirates – insurance would become difficult and the immigration paperwork unbearable – but storytelling at sea, linking Sandakan to Salgari’s Labuan, Kota Marudu, perhaps even Sarawak.
A journey through waters that once inspired a legend.
Back to the orphaned sun bear
And then, of course, we return to Sepilok. To the cub. Now named Sandokan.
There is something rather perfect about that. A fictional name, possibly inspired by Sandakan, travels across continents only to return, gently, to the forests of Sabah.
Not as a pirate. But as an orphaned sun bear.
A story that began in imagination now ends – or perhaps begins anew – in conservation.
You could not plan it. Which is precisely why it works.
Not reinvention. Better storytelling
So what does Sandakan need – and for that matter, many other places in Malaysia?
Not reinvention. Not imitation. Not a sudden urge to become something it is not.
It needs something simpler, yet harder to practise: out-of-the-box thinking followed by in-the-field action.
To connect Sandokan to Sandakan’s wildlife, food, history and people into one narrative that flows, instead of sitting in separate brochures like distant relatives at a wedding.
Because tourism is not only about places. It is about stories people remember, retell and return for.
If Sandakan must endure that tired “zombie town” label a little longer, then perhaps it should respond not with protest, but with humour.
Laugh a little. Then out-storytell it.
After all, the world has made room for pirates – remember Pirates of Caribbeans, detectives, vampires and entire cinematic universes that defy explanation.
Surely it can make room for one more story – grounded in reality, lifted by imagination, and now, improbably and beautifully, endorsed by a sun bear.
Sandokan, it seems, has quietly come home. And sometimes, all it takes is one letter to change the way a place is seen.
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.
