My whole life, Piasau Camp has been synonymous with one of the most iconic small yet, I would say, secluded town in Miri. Its location is on the Piasau Peninsula, an area that almost feels like an island, where today the Piasau Nature Reserve, MPACTT, and the Miri Golf Club are located. The road there is now connected by a modern bridge linking the mainland to the peninsula.
Back then, I remember travelling there as a child via the old Bailey Bridge, built in the 1950s (some sources suggest 1956), where cars had to take turns crossing a single narrow lane. According to my research, the bridge was constructed by Sarawak Oilfields Limited (S.O.L.). With Miri’s rapid development, the bridge eventually fell out of use and was later decommissioned, aging quietly without restoration. In 2011, a modern two-lane bridge was built beside it, replacing the once-essential crossing. As of 2026, most of the timber structure of the old bridge has disappeared, leaving largely a steel skeleton.
Nevertheless, the old Piasau Bridge remains iconic to me, a fragment of history that helped shape Miri into what it is today.
Miri is widely known as the Oil Town following the discovery of oil at Well No. 1 on Canada Hill in 1910, where the Petroleum Museum stands today. I once heard someone describe Miri as a city built by corporations, and in many ways, that is true, as the foundation of this town was closely tied to Royal Dutch Shell’s early operations. Even today, the symbolic structures of the early oil industry can still be seen at places such as Saberkas Roundabout. I often wonder if the younger generation realises that the earliest oil extraction once took place on land right within the city itself.
Back to the story.
In my previous article, I mentioned that my late father used to work in Brunei. But this chapter begins with my mother. She was among the early migrants from Sarawak’s Third Division who moved to Miri in search of work. Her first stop was serving as a maid, or amah, at Subis Plantation for a European plantation manager. After working there for some time, she moved further north to Piasau Camp and continued working as a domestic helper.
I believe my mother had been in Miri since the early 1980s, after completing her form 3 education at St. Patrick’s Secondary School in Mukah in 1977. From what I recall, she followed a relative to Miri to find employment and became the first among her siblings to migrate outside the Third Division.
Naturally, there were fears when she first ventured into unfamiliar surroundings.
Growing up in Balingian and Mukah, she was surrounded mainly by Ibans, Melanaus, and Chinese communities. She did not know much about the Orang Ulu until arriving in Miri, where she began to understand the diversity of ethnicities and cultural backgrounds present in northern Sarawak. As Piasau Camp was home to many expatriate Shell staff and their families, she was likely amazed to encounter so many foreigners, even though she had previously studied under European teachers and priests during her secondary school years.
My mother lived in Piasau Camp for many years, even until I was born. Our first rented house was still in the Piasau area at Piasau Utara, not far from the camp itself. Eventually, we moved to the Tudan area, where I still reside today.
But the story did not end there.
Even though we were no longer part of the iconic Piasau community, my childhood remained deeply connected to it. My aunt, Sudau, continued working there as an amah and lived in the domestic servants’ quarters until 2013. She was among the last residents, together with her employer, to move out before Shell handed the area over to the Sarawak Government. The site was later gazetted as the Piasau Nature Reserve on 31 December 2013, preserving the ecological and historical value of the former residential enclave.
I still remember visiting for the last time as a resident’s family member when I was in Form 2. At that time, Tenby International School was still operating in the area, long before parts of the former camp were transformed into conservation and administrative spaces. My aunt’s last home stood directly in front of the school building, which today serves as part of the Piasau Nature Reserve’s facilities.
Every weekend, I would stay with my aunt, often spending time at the beach, especially at the Piasau Boat Club (PCB), which was established in 1983. The playground still exists today, and now, as a journalist, I frequently return there for events and assignments. Some of the staff still recognise me, watching me grow from a child into the adult woman I am today.
Before my career began, my late father would always bring me there. He loved sunbathing under the hot Miri afternoon sun. As a child, I never understood why he preferred the beach so early in the day, but perhaps now I do. Being half white myself, I realised I cannot stand the cold. I thrive in the heat. Maybe it is simply a lifelong need for sunlight and vitamin D.
I had wonderful memories growing up there. I spent countless hours at the playground and along the beach, where local fishermen built huts while catching bubuk (udang geragau) during its season, as well as fish. My aunt would often buy fresh produce from them. I picked wild ferns such as kemiding and paku kubok, as much of the area was still forested.
Hornbills and monkeys frequently roamed near the porches and streets. Life felt natural, slow-paced, and calm. There were no smartphones or internet as we know today. My imagination flourished in nature. I collected random jungle treasures, once even picking up a shed python skin beneath a tree, unaware of how dangerous that might have been if the snake were nearby.
I was gathering leaves for my pretend cooking game and accidentally woke up a bee’s nest. They chased me to the house, and one of them stung me! I smeared some Colgate toothpaste on it to soothe the pain. Surprisingly, I did not cry. Growing up with a hands-on childhood taught me to toughen up. Talk about childhood mischief!
Dirt was my companion, not something to fear. I learned to cycle there, progressing from four wheels to two. I remember falling, getting injured, and trying again. Mini bridges connected neighbourhood streets, shaded by trees arching overhead. It felt like stepping into a storybook - magical in a way adulthood rarely allows us to experience again.
Life in Piasau Camp reflected a European-style living environment. People cycled frequently, and my aunt relied on a bicycle for years before obtaining her driving licence in 2014 because living there hardly required a car.
Eventually, circumstances forced change. Leaving was not easy. There were tears, because a place that shaped my childhood disappeared from daily life. Yet the memories remained.
I made many friends there, including children from the former Kampung Api-Api. I remember visiting the village where my mother and aunt bought deer meat...something I only tasted again more than a decade later at a barbecue with clients. The flavour instantly brought back childhood memories.
I also attended annual drama competitions and activities at Piasau School as a guest, with easy access through my aunt. It was perhaps the only time I was surrounded by children who looked somewhat like me. Though those friendships did not last permanently, the memories did. Many Eurasian friends eventually moved overseas, and our paths naturally diverged with time.
One memory that remains vivid was the yearly Chinese New Year celebration at House No. 100. I would sit outside the large porch enjoying the variety of food served while receiving angpau. Inside, the wives of Shell staffs organised and prepared meals together. I remember a friendly European lady, possibly a teacher, who noticed my curiosity as I searched for the bathroom and kindly guided me.
The nights in Piasau Camp were cool and filled with mosquitoes, yet the air felt different then…lighter, happier and unique. My days were filled with imagination and playfulness.
If a time machine existed, I would return to relive those moments again. But for now, I am grateful that parts of that neighbourhood remain preserved, with its relics quietly holding stories of the past.
My story with Piasau Camp did not end when I was 14. It persists into adulthood, and in my own way, I hope to help preserve its heritage as an important chapter in Miri’s history.
As a side story
My late grandfather, Lampun, once worked in Miri during his younger bachelor years. He was employed by a Chinese merchant, tapping wild jelutong trees found in the jungles of Lopeng, Riam and Kuala Belait - an industry that was once common in northern Sarawak before the dominance of oil and gas. Jelutong latex was widely collected at the time for use in chewing gum and other industrial products, making it an important early economic activity in the region.
Even in his old age, he remembered Miri vividly. During a visit in the late 1990s, shortly before his passing, he pointed to a shop in the Pujut Padang Kerbau area and told my aunt, “This used to be Bulan’s shop.” The memory remained clear to him despite the many changes the town had undergone.
Eventually, my grandfather returned to Balingian, where he settled down and continued agricultural farming on our ancestral land for the rest of his life.
For further historical reference on jelutong tapping in Miri:
https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1CiK3wjhEc/?mibextid=wwXIfr
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