This journey isn’t just about land; it’s about deeply rooted family history, emotional bonds, and a tangible challenge that weighs heavily on my grandmother. My 9-acre revival project is an ambitious endeavor to honor this legacy and bring peace to a cherished family member.
The Burden of Inheritance: A Grandmother’s Worry
My grandmother inherited 9 acres of land in a Malaysian village: a 2.35-acre fruit orchard and a substantial 7.19-acre palm oil estate. But instead of prosperity, this land has become a source of profound worry. I’ve come to understand this burden stems from poor management, unresolved inheritance issues, and her sincere desire to liquidate these assets to contribute more to the family’s well-being. My grandmother’s wish is clear: she wants to sell the land, use the funds for her family, and simplify future inheritance. However, the land’s current disarray makes this impossible. Her attempt to bequeath the land equally—the palm oil estate to two sons, Pak Long Latif and Pak Ngah Ghazali, and one daughter, my mother, and the fruit orchard to another daughter, Mak Su Ummi—unintentionally caused dissatisfaction among some family members, especially Mak Su Ummi. The orchard, you see, is ancestral land that cannot be sold except to a family member according to the applicable law, while the palm oil land, despite its current poor condition, is agricultural land with potential for sale or commercial yield.
A Legacy Born from Compassion and Childhood Memories
To truly grasp the weight of this land, we must look to its origins. Many years ago, after Malaysia gained independence, villagers were not well-off. Agriculture was the nation’s backbone, and inherited farmlands were common. For Muslims, the pilgrimage to Mecca, the Hajj, is a lifelong dream, often out of reach due to poverty.
In our village, people turned to my late grandfather, the respected village leader. A retired government servant with savings, he extended a hand of compassion. Villagers offered him their lands in exchange for the cash they desperately needed for their pilgrimage. My late grandfather, with his generous spirit, accepted these lands, providing a path to spiritual fulfillment for his community. After his passing, he willed all these lands to our grandmother.
I see these lands not merely as parcels of earth, but as a sacred trust, imbued with history and a profound legacy of generosity and faith. These are the very grounds where I formed some of my earliest and fondest memories. The 2.35-acre fruit orchard, though it sadly turned into a dense jungle until two years ago, was once a vibrant playground. While Mak Su Ummi, its intended inheritor, has since cleared the bushes, she now bears ongoing maintenance costs and lacks the time for proper development. It was in this orchard that I spent countless hours with my late grandfather, reading books under fruit trees, and later, joyfully harvesting and sharing the fruits with my family. This orchard also held a small lake where I used to play with a raft made from bamboo.
The Challenge: Disarray and Distance
Despite their rich history and personal significance, these lands are now in a state of neglect. The 7.19 acres of palm oil land are currently managed by Tok Borhan, a distant family member through an unofficial, expired agreement. Tok Borhan, who should be paying rent, is unable to do so consistently. Compounding the issue, the physical boundaries are unclear, and the tax status is unknown. With no immediate family members able to oversee the lands directly, the problems have significantly grown. My grandmother, despite her strong wishes, is unable to act due to her old age and declining energy. Witnessing her distress, I felt compelled to step in. This is why I’m taking this on as my personal project: to bring peace and happiness to our grandmother.
My Commitment: A Remote Revival
My objective is clear: to resolve the legalities and boundary issues of these lands; to explore the business viability of the palm oil estate to increase its value; and to revive the orchard farm to grow its trees back to their former glory. Specifically for the orchard, I’m stepping in to bear all maintenance costs and implement a plan for its full development. In return, as part of this professional agreement, I can reap the harvest from the orchard for three years, after which the land will be returned to my grandmother. Crucially, my intention is to clearly understand the values of both lands. After these three years, with clear valuations, our family will have the clarity needed to decide how to divide these assets fairly. I’ve set a three-year target to achieve this. To formalize this commitment and offer immediate relief, I’ll pay a tenancy fee to my grandmother for three years, entering a professional agreement. While any profit from the palm oil harvest (separate from the orchard’s specific arrangement) will be a bonus, it’s not the primary goal. My biggest constraint is living outside Malaysia, making remote management a necessity. To ensure success, I’ve appointed a local manager—my own father, Jamal—who will be my eyes and hands on the ground. We’ll adopt a structured, systematic approach to this complex endeavor. This means methodically addressing every aspect: from understanding stakeholder needs (especially the grandmother’s!) and managing contracts, to acquiring trustworthy resources, streamlining collaborations, managing suppliers, and efficiently handling all financial matters. This project is a significant challenge, but it’s one I’m embracing with full dedication. It’s about more than just land; it’s about upholding a legacy, bringing peace of mind to our grandmother, and setting a clearer, more positive path for our family’s future. I invite you to follow along on this journey.
After months of navigating legal and familial systems, today was the day we finally turned our attention back to the land itself. Our goal was to meet with the local caretaker, Tok Borhan, the man who held the key to the palm oil estate’s past and who, we hoped, would be our business partner for…
During Eid ul Adha, our family gathered at our village, a time for tradition and connection. Over breakfast, my knowledge-holder uncle, Pak Ngah Ghazali, a retired land officer with vast experience, brought up a significant matter: my grandmother’s wish to sell a 7-acre parcel of land. Her desire was to secure funds to contribute to…
After extensive deliberation on the 9 Acre Revival Project, the initial idea of purchasing Grandmother’s land presented a significant dilemma. While the allure of full ownership was strong, the risks associated with the land’s current unmanaged state – particularly the unknown costs and profitability – weighed heavily. How could I commit to buying something that…
The 9 Acre Revival project has always been about more than just land. It’s about legacy, family, and most importantly, our Matriarch’s peace of mind. Today marked a truly pivotal chapter, moving beyond the drafting table and into heartfelt family discussions and formal commitment. I’m pleased to report that much of this mission was accomplished…
The air was heavy with anticipation as we left home. Today was the day I would meet with Kalsom, my lawyer cousin, to clarify the legal questions that had been haunting the 9 Acre Revival project. Knowing her personality—her deep belief in the lawyer’s authority and her conviction in her legal standpoint—I reminded my parents…
The 9 Acre Revival project is a journey of unexpected twists, as we saw with the recent discovery of the Power of Attorney documents. Yet, even amidst that looming legal question, another pressing issue demanded our immediate attention: the 2.35-acre fruit orchard. This was the very reason I had flown back to Malaysia, and it…
This journey isn’t just about land; it’s about deeply rooted family history, emotional bonds, and a tangible challenge that weighs heavily on my grandmother. My 9-acre revival project is an ambitious endeavor to honor this legacy and bring peace to a cherished family member.
My grandmother inherited 9 acres of land in a Malaysian village: a 2.35-acre fruit orchard and a substantial 7.19-acre palm oil estate. But instead of prosperity, this land has become a source of profound worry. I’ve come to understand this burden stems from poor management, unresolved inheritance issues, and her sincere desire to liquidate these assets to contribute more to the family’s well-being. My grandmother’s wish is clear: she wants to sell the land, use the funds for her family, and simplify future inheritance. However, the land’s current disarray makes this impossible. Her attempt to bequeath the land equally—the palm oil estate to two sons, Pak Long Latif and Pak Ngah Ghazali, and one daughter, my mother, and the fruit orchard to another daughter, Mak Su Ummi—unintentionally caused dissatisfaction among some family members, especially Mak Su Ummi. The orchard, you see, is ancestral land that cannot be sold except to a family member according to the applicable law, while the palm oil land, despite its current poor condition, is agricultural land with potential for sale or commercial yield.
In our village, people turned to my late grandfather, the respected village leader. A retired government servant with savings, he extended a hand of compassion. Villagers offered him their lands in exchange for the cash they desperately needed for their pilgrimage. My late grandfather, with his generous spirit, accepted these lands, providing a path to spiritual fulfillment for his community. After his passing, he willed all these lands to our grandmother.
I see these lands not merely as parcels of earth, but as a sacred trust, imbued with history and a profound legacy of generosity and faith. These are the very grounds where I formed some of my earliest and fondest memories. The 2.35-acre fruit orchard, though it sadly turned into a dense jungle until two years ago, was once a vibrant playground. While Mak Su Ummi, its intended inheritor, has since cleared the bushes, she now bears ongoing maintenance costs and lacks the time for proper development. It was in this orchard that I spent countless hours with my late grandfather, reading books under fruit trees, and later, joyfully harvesting and sharing the fruits with my family. This orchard also held a small lake where I used to play with a raft made from bamboo.