A Shadow in the Mangroves of Tanjung Piai

The sun was already “stinging” like a spicy sambal when the school bus pulled into the car park at Tanjung Piai.

“Oi, Hyuga! Wake up lah, we’re here already!” shouted Faris, poking his best friend in the ribs.

Hyuga rubbed his eyes and adjusted his glasses. Outside the window, the sign proudly declared: WELCOME TO THE SOUTHERNMOST TIP OF MAINLAND ASIA. For most of his classmates from Johor Bahru, this was just a chance to skip Math class and take selfies. But for Hyuga, it was like visiting a holy place.

Hyuga wasn’t your typical 12 year-old. While other kids were busy playing Mobile Legends, he was busy collecting plastic bottles for recycling and following Greta Thunberg on Instagram. His classmates called him “Professor Pokok” (Professor Tree), but he didn’t care. He loved the mangroves. To him, these trees with their tangled, “spider-leg” roots were the guardians of the coast.

“Okay class, listen up!” Cikgu Sarah, their science teacher, clapped her hands. “Stay on the wooden boardwalk. Don’t throw rubbish. And please, jangan gatal tangan (don’t be itchy-handed)—don’t touch the mud skips or the monkeys!”

The Strange Oil

As the group shuffled along the boardwalk, the air turned salty and damp. The sound of the wind through the Bakau trees was peaceful, but Hyuga’s “eco-sense” was tingling. Something felt wrong.

Usually, the mud at Tanjung Piai was a rich, chocolate brown, full of tiny crabs waving their colorful claws. But as they reached a deeper section of the swamp, Hyuga noticed a strange, rainbow-colored shimmer on the water’s surface. It wasn’t the beautiful kind of rainbow—it looked greasy.

“Faris, look,” Hyuga whispered, pointing down.

“What? Just water lah,” Faris replied, busy trying to spot a proboscis monkey.

Hyuga knelt (which was technically against Cikgu Sarah’s rules) and sniffed. It didn’t smell like the sea. It smelled like a mechanic’s workshop. Diesel.

While the rest of the class moved toward the “Global Globe” monument for a group photo, Hyuga lingered behind. He saw a small trail of black, sticky sludge clinging to the breathing roots of the trees. If these roots got choked by oil, the trees couldn’t “breathe,” and the whole ecosystem would collapse.

He followed the trail, walking quietly on the boardwalk until he reached a restricted “No Entry” zone where the bridge was being repaired. He slipped under the yellow tape. Sorry, Cikgu, he thought, but the trees are calling.

The Hidden Threat

Deep in the thicket, hidden from the main tourist path, Hyuga saw it. A small, rusty fishing boat was tucked into a narrow creek. It wasn’t a local fisherman’s boat; it had no nets. Instead, it was loaded with large, blue plastic drums.

Two men were standing on the muddy bank. One was smoking, flicking his ash right into the water. The other was adjusting a hose that led from one of the drums directly into the roots of a massive, ancient mangrove tree.

“Faster lah, Boss says we need to empty these four barrels today,” the smoker said. “If the rangers catch us dumping this waste oil here, we’re finished.”

“Relaks lah,” the other replied. “Nobody comes this far. Everyone is busy taking photos at the monument. This is the perfect spot. No need to pay for proper disposal.”

Hyuga’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. These weren’t just messy people; they were environmental criminals. They were dumping toxic industrial waste into the heart of the national park.

He reached for his phone to take a video—evidence!—but his hands were shaking. Click. The sound of his camera shutter felt as loud as a gunshot in the quiet swamp.

“Who’s there?” the smoker shouted, spinning around.

The Great Escape

Hyuga didn’t wait. He bolted.

“Hey! Budak! Stop!”

Hyuga sprinted down the boardwalk. He knew he couldn’t outrun grown men on flat ground, but he knew this place. He had studied the map of Tanjung Piai until he could draw it from memory.

Instead of heading back to the Globe—where he might lead the men straight to his classmates—he turned left toward the dense fern trails. Behind him, he heard the heavy thump-thump-thump of boots on wood.

“Give me that phone, you brat!”

Hyuga saw a low-hanging branch and swung himself off the boardwalk, landing knee-deep in the thick, grey mud. It was cold and slimy, sucking at his sneakers. Most kids would have screamed, but Hyuga stayed calm. He crawled under the arching roots of a Rhizophora tree.

The men reached the spot where he had jumped off.

“Where did he go? The mud is too deep here, we’ll sink.”

“He’s just a kid, he can’t have gone far. Look for the trail!”

Hyuga held his breath. A tiny mudskipper hopped onto his hand, its bulging eyes looking at him curiously. Please don’t move, Hyuga prayed. The men hovered above him on the boardwalk, their shadows falling over his hiding spot.

Suddenly, a loud screech echoed through the trees. A troop of long-tailed macaques, startled by the shouting, began jumping through the canopy, throwing dry seeds and branches.

“Aish! Stupid monkeys!” one of the men yelled, shielding his face.

Taking the chance, Hyuga wiggled through the mud, staying low. He knew there was a ranger’s hut near the jetty. If he could just get there…

The Stand-Off

He emerged from the mud near the jetty, looking like a swamp monster. He was covered in grey ooze from head to toe, and one of his shoes was missing.

“Cikgu! Rangers! Help!” he shouted, his voice cracking.

Cikgu Sarah and a park ranger in a green uniform looked up in shock. “Hyuga? Ya Allah, what happened to you? Why are you so dirty?”

Before he could answer, the two men emerged from the bushes, looking breathless. They saw the ranger and immediately tried to play it cool, slowing down to a walk.

“This kid… he stole our… uh… he took something of ours!” the smoker lied, pointing at Hyuga.

Hyuga didn’t flinch. He wiped a glob of mud off his phone screen and pressed play. The video was shaky, but the faces of the men and the blue drums leaking oil were crystal clear.

“They are dumping oil into the trees,” Hyuga said firmly. “Section 4, near the broken bridge.”

The ranger’s face went from confused to furious in one second. He pulled out his radio. “Base, this is Rahman. We have a Code Black at the North Creek. Illegal dumping. I have two suspects in sight. Requesting backup immediately.”

The men turned to run, but they weren’t faster than the other rangers who were already patrolling nearby on electric buggies. Within minutes, they were cornered.

The Aftermath

An hour later, Hyuga was sitting at the park HQ, wrapped in a large towel. Cikgu Sarah had given him a bottle of mineral water and a bun, but she was still giving him “The Look”—the one that meant he was in big trouble even though he was a hero.

“You were very brave, Hyuga,” the Head Ranger said, patting his shoulder. “That waste oil would have killed hundreds of trees and all the fish. You saved the ‘lungs’ of our coast today.”

Faris walked up, looking at Hyuga with wide eyes. “Wah, Professor Pokok. You really went full ninja in the mud, eh? Respect lah.”

Hyuga smiled, looking out at the sea. The tide was coming in, washing the roots of the mangroves. He knew there was still a lot of work to do—the oil had to be cleaned up, and there were many more places that needed protecting.

As the school bus drove away from the southernmost tip of Asia, Hyuga didn’t look at his phone to play games. He looked at the green wall of trees against the blue sky. He had lost a shoe, but he had found his voice.

“Next time,” Hyuga whispered to himself, “I’m bringing boots.”