The Bajau Laut of Borneo: Life on Water
- Justyna Oller
- Feb 15
- 28 min read
Updated: 1 day ago
Go to GALLERY to see all the photos from this story.
Join me on a journey to Semporna, Malaysia, where I traveled by boat across the Celebes Sea to the stilt villages of the Bajau Laut - sea nomads who have lived on the open water for generations, often disconnected from life on land. What I encountered was a way of life closely tied to the natural environment, shaped by everyday resilience and complex realities rarely seen by outsiders.
This article provides the context behind my photographs. It is a field journal of sorts - a record of places, people, and moments encountered along the way, as well as the circumstances in which these images were made. The story moves beyond familiar routes and guidebooks, reaching places that are difficult to locate on a map and rarely visited by tourists. Through this lens, I invite you to step into a world that exists largely beyond view, and to see daily life of Bajau as I witnessed it, capturing moments that stayed with me long after I left.
Chapters:
Introduction
In June 2025, I had a rare chance to join a four-day photography workshop in Semporna, Sabah (Malaysia). It’s a small coastal town that feels like the edge of the world. It was my first time setting foot on the island of Borneo, a place I had only seen on stunning photos in National Geographic and travel blogs. But now I know, they barely scratched the surface of its magic.
The trip was organized by the award-winning Malaysian photographer Nazri Sulaiman, and our group of twenty included participants from Malaysia, China and Myanmar. I was the only participant from outside Asia (Poland).
For context, Borneo is the third-largest island in the world and politically shared by three countries: Malaysia (with its two states: Sabah and Sarawak), Indonesia (which occupies the largest portion known as Kalimantan), and the small kingdom of Brunei. Sabah, located at the northeast corner of Borneo, is home to Semporna, that acts as a gateway to a paradise of islands scattered along the Celebes Sea. It’s so close to the Philippines that your phone might accidentally switch to roaming if you go too far in the ocean. Semporna itself lies at the heart of the Coral Triangle, an area spanning Malaysia, Indonesia, and the Philippines, often called the "Amazon of the seas" for its extraordinary ocean life and recognized by WWF as a global center of marine biodiversity.
For four unforgettable days, we journeyed by speedboat from island to island, navigating through turquoise waters and into the heart of Bajau Laut communities. The waters looked so impossibly clear, it seemed like we were flying over glass. Our mission was to photograph the Bajau Laut, the legendary sea gypsies who live their entire lives at sea, with houses on stilts and boats as their only means of travel.
We stayed in stilt houses ourselves, right in the middle of the sea. No luxury, no Wi-Fi, and definitely no room service. At night, the sky exploded with stars, and the Milky Way draped itself across the horizon like a silk scarf. My bed (which doubled as a rocking chair because of the waves slapping the stilts beneath) reminded me that sleep, out there, wasn’t about comfort. It was about surrender. I learned to trust the process and follow the rhythm of the sea.
In summary:
I saw water so clear it looked digitally enhanced
I tested the limits of my balance on speedboats (almost fell out while leaning too far for the “perfect shot”)
I learned that nature doesn’t care about your physical limitations or energy levels
I wandered through the sandy lanes of Mabul Island, getting happily lost in the laughter of local children who ran faster than my camera focus could keep up
I hiked Bohey Dulang - climbed with confidence, descended with too much confidence (with an inevitable fall that bruised both my coccyx and my ego)
Days blurred into sunburned hours and endless shutter clicks
By the end, I was exhausted and possibly running on biscuits and adrenaline alone. But my heart was full. The Bajau smiles, the scent of salt on my skin, the roar of boat engines, the aching shoulders from carrying heavy gear - all of it rooted deep in my memory. This trip was much more than a photography workshop. For me, it was a reminder that beauty often hides in discomfort, that growth happens quietly between exhaustion and wonder, and that calm can somehow be found in a place where everything moves: the sea, the boats, even your thoughts.
I felt compelled to write this travel diary, because my eyes have witnessed too much to keep it all to myself, and also, my poor overworked back has earned the right to have its story told. I also realized there isn’t much content out there about the Bajau Laut ethnic group, which made me even more determined to share their story.
About Bajau Laut
One of the main goals during this trip was meeting and photographing the Bajau Laut, the sea nomads who live entirely on the ocean. Their faces tell stories of salt, sun, and shifting tides, and their children dive so fearlessly into the ocean it feels as if the sea is simply an extension of their bodies. Witnessing their life up close was raw, humbling and deeply eye-opening.
The Bajau Laut in Semporna belong to the Sama Bajau ethnic group, one of the Indigenous maritime groups of Southeast Asia, and they speak a Bajau language. Because most Bajau lack citizenship, they are not formally recognized by Malaysia or the Philippines and are often treated as undocumented migrants despite having lived on these waters for generations. Without citizenship or papers, they can't live like other citizens, always fearing eviction operations, avoiding medical help when sick, and restricted from moving freely.
The sea is their home and main source of food, income, and livelihood. Tides and weather dictate the rhythm of daily life and fishing activities. In response to these environmental conditions, the Bajau have developed highly effective, low‑impact fishing practices. They rely on traditional methods such as spearfishing, gleaning, and small communal nets. Their exceptional freediving abilities allow them to reach significant depths and remain underwater for extended periods, thanks to genetic adaptations, including an enlarged spleen. Their boats, known as lepa-lepa, are traditionally carved from a single piece of wood.
Bajau children may wear Western clothes, but they couldn't be more different from Western kids. They swim before they walk, they row canoes solo with no life jackets or supervising parents. Formal education is rare, many kids never attend school, growing up illiterate but sharp in survival skills. I remember our guide Nazri saying he once asked a mother her children’s age - she couldn't answer. They don't track time like we do.
During this trip, we had many encounters with the Bajau. Thanks to Nazri, who had spent years exploring these waters, scouting hidden villages, and building trust with local families, we found ourselves right in the middle of their daily lives for the next few days.
NOTE: Before diving into this Semporna diary, I want to be upfront: these photos capture genuine, candid moments from real Bajau Laut lives - raw, unposed, and worlds apart from the staged tourist clichés. Only two quick shoots were staged by our organizer, which I'm disclosing transparently here. The rest captures pure, immersive reality from our 4-day sea adventure.
Let’s start from the beginning…
It was a Tuesday. I was in the office, business as usual, and that same evening I started my trip to Borneo. Around 8 pm, I headed to Penang airport with my Malaysian friends: Rafidah and Fauzi. They are just as obsessed with photography as I am, and actually it was thanks to them that I even found out about this workshop. So they fully deserve a big shout-out for dragging me into this beautiful chaos and for joining me on this adventure. We had worked our 9-5 jobs that day, so by the time we got to the airport, we were already tired, and of course the trip hadn’t even properly started yet.
In hindsight, starting a “serious” trip at the end of a full workday was not, perhaps, the smartest logistical decision we’ve ever made. Next time, we all agreed we would fly out a day earlier and arrive like humans, not zombies. Lesson learned.
We landed in Kuala Lumpur around 11 pm, but our next flight to Tawau, in Sabah, was only at 6 am the next morning. The plan was simple: “We’ll sleep at the capsule hotel in the airport.” The reality: word “sleep” was a stretch. By the time we collected our luggage, took the airport train, found the right terminal, located the capsule hotel, checked in, it was already after midnight. We set our alarms for 3:30 am to check in for the 6 am flight. So yes, technically we “rested”, but it felt more like a very expensive, horizontal nap.
Lying there, I got that strange, eerie feeling that usually hits me the night before a big trip, especially to somewhere new. It’s when your body is exhausted, but your brain decides to host a 3 am TED Talk titled: “Everything That Could Possibly Go Wrong.” There were never-ending mental to-do lists, mixed with excitement, mixed with “why am I doing this to myself” and a tiny sprinkle of fear for my life. On top of that, I had classic traveler paranoia: my luggage was stored in a locker far from my capsule, so I kept imagining it disappearing, growing legs, or flying to another country without me. I also really needed to go to the toilet, but it was too far, and I was too lazy. So I stayed lying down, overthinking everything, and when I finally stood up, I felt worse than before. Don’t get me wrong though, a capsule hotel is a great solution if you have more time to actually sleep.
While boarding the flight to Tawau, we bumped into my Malaysian friend Nazer, whom I had met just a month earlier in Indonesia on another photography workshop. Watching him meet my Penang friends felt like two worlds colliding in the nicest possible way: different trips, different memories, suddenly merging into one new story. It made the whole thing feel even more like a real photo expedition rather than “just a short trip.”
One of the moments that stayed with me was looking out of the airplane window as we approached Sabah. Below us stretched an endless carpet of deep green rainforests, rivers carving their way through the land, hills disappearing into the distance. It felt like flying over a completely different country, even though it was still Malaysia.
We landed in Sabah around 9 am, flying for about three hours yet somehow staying in the same time zone. Fun fact, Malaysia has one time zone for both Peninsular Malaysia and East Malaysia (including Sabah and Sarawak), even though they are separated by the South China Sea and are geographically quite far apart. So, your body feels like it has traveled across time, but your watch insists nothing has changed. Very rude.
After landing in Tawau, we had to go through immigration and have our passports checked, even though we hadn’t left the country. In Malaysia, traveling between Peninsular Malaysia and East Malaysia is considered “domestic” but you still go through a kind of internal immigration due to administrative and entry regulations between the regions. So you get the feeling of crossing a border without really crossing one.
We were the last participants to arrive. Everyone else had been smart enough to come a day earlier. While I was crawling out of my capsule in KL, they were probably out there shooting the Milky Way. And later, while we were in the air, they were already exploring the street markets in Semporna town. Seeing their updates in the WhatsApp group gave me major FOMO ("fear of missing out"). I was still in airplane mode and they were already in National Geographic mode. We stepped out of the airport and the heat hit us instantly, wrapping around us like a thick blanket. It was hot like Penang, but the air felt different, greener somehow, as if the jungle was already breathing down our necks, waiting for us just beyond the runway. A driver picked us up at the airport, and after about an hour on the road we finally reached Semporna. Straight from the van, we walked onto the jetty, had our first meet-and-greet with the rest of the group, grabbed lunch at a very local mamak (open-air Muslim Indian-Malay restaurant), made a quick supermarket stop, and then suddenly, we were on a speedboat heading out into the open sea. That was the moment it hit me: the adventure had officially begun.
Day 1 – Selakan Island
Our first destination was Selakan Island, which would be our home for the next two nights. Located around 30 min by speedboat from Semporna, it is home to a local community living in stilt houses along wooden boardwalks. It features a mosque and a local school for children from neighboring islands. It’s a genuine slice of sea nomads' life rather than a tourist hub, perfect for authentic photography. Selakan is primarily known among visitors for diving and snorkeling, but for our group it served as the perfect pitstop to reach nearby Bajau Laut communities and capture their lives up close.
On the way to Selakan Island, I realised that whatever expectations I had were far too small for this place. I had seen “beautiful water” before, and I always thought that impossible turquoise existed only in small patches near the shore. But in Semporna, that color stretches endlessly in every direction. The crystal-clear water isn’t just a strip by the beach. The entire ocean glows in shades of blue and green so vivid it almost looks fake, like someone turned the saturation all the way up.
Anyway, our lodge sat on wooden stilts right over the turquoise water, like something out of a dream. Through the gaps in the wooden floors, bright turquoise water peeked at me, glowing so vividly it felt like I was floating above an aquarium, completely unreal. There were only a few modest rooms, and since women were the minority in the group, 7 of us stayed together. There was one small bathroom and the door refused to close properly. It had clearly given up on privacy as a concept.
Behind the lodge, there was a small community going about their daily lives, and during one short walk down the pier, I spotted a mosque tucked on the island, people cooking meals, kids playing.
Food-wise, the lodge owners cooked local dishes every day as buffet: rice, vegetables, and seafood straight from the sea. It looked simple but delicious, and honestly I wanted to eat everything, but I was following a specific food regimen on that trip (more on that later).
Every day, we woke up early and embarked on a speedboat trip, ready to chase the perfect light and the ever-shifting tides. We were shooting until sunset, maximizing photo opportunities (and our bodies’ energy capacities). We barely spent time at the lodge. Just enough time for meals, frantically packing our gear between boat trips and eventually collapsing into sleep. The real magic happened out on the water.
First Bajau Encounter
That afternoon, after check-in, lunch and fresh clothes, we hopped on a speedboat for our first photo hunt, searching for Bajau communities at sea. It’s wild to think I had started the day in a KL airport capsule hotel, and there I was in an entirely different world.
Thirty minutes by speedboat from the lodge, we had our first Bajau encounter. Our boat pulled up near an island shore, and their boats drifted over. They were as curious as we were. We stayed on board. There was a small lepa-lepa boat carrying a mother and her three kids, and a larger boat with another family. The clothes, pots and containers on the boat made it clear they lived there. They didn’t use any paddles, just long wooden poles to push through the water. One woman had her face coated in a thick yellowish paste. Later, I learned that it’s called borak paste, and it’s a mix of pounded rice and turmeric that these sea nomads swear by, for protection under constant sun.
Next, we reached the Bajau stilt houses. They rose directly above the sea on fragile wooden legs, patched together from whatever materials they could find: wood, bamboo, scrap metal. Some degrading structures barely stood upright. We saw kids jumping into water, others steering boats solo with no life jackets. Some were naked, so we signaled parents from afar to cover them for photos. We ended at a stunning bay for some sunset landscape shots, then headed back to the lodge after dark.
The night on Selakan was wild. The waves gently rocked my bed, and the whole structure creaked with every movement of the water. It was a pure adventure. I remember a bright lamp right outside our room that shone directly into my corner bed, straight into my eyes. On any normal day that would have annoyed me, but I was so exhausted that night that I fell asleep in seconds. I slept through the light, the creaking wood, and the snoring orchestra from both rooms. The speedboats were parked by the pier, and the young boatmen slept outside on mats, which made my minor discomforts feel insignificant.
At night, the soft sound of muslim prayers floated through the air. And in the early morning, the roosters announced the day at full volume.
Day 2 – Selakan Island
The next morning, we woke up early, grabbed breakfast, snapped a quick group photo, then headed out to sea in search of Bajau communities.
Behind the scenes:
We reached a Bajau Laut settlement of stilted houses where multi-generational families lived. They sat on their porches, staring at us in quiet curiosity, as we looked back.
Privacy doesn’t really exist in Bajau homes. The space is shared, walls are thin or absent, and life happens out in the open. Children wandered freely from one house to another, carrying tiny fish in their hands or chasing barefoot across makeshift planks. I saw a grandmother quietly watching her grandchildren splashing in the water, while a girl, maybe ten years old, carefully carried her baby sister on her hip as she climbed the narrow ladder to their stilted home. It felt like a floating neighborhood, breathing in unison with the sea.
Afterwards, we shifted locations and approached a Bajau stilt village from a distance. The tide was low, so our boat couldn't get close. We had to wade through the shallow water until it was knee-deep. Our organizer had arranged a simple staged photoshoot with two Bajau boys in a traditional canoe. Full transparency: it was one of the two arranged shoots during the trip, and their family was compensated by the organizer.
But the real magic unfolded around us. While the group focused on the setup, I noticed other kids splashing nearby, laughing and playing in the shallows. I came over, chatted with them in broken phrases and smiles, and snapped candid shots as they posed shyly. The whole scene was mesmerizing, with the shallow water, stilt houses silhouettes against the horizon, kids completely at home in this floating world.
By the time we wrapped up, our boat had drifted even farther out with the current. We had to trek back through deeper water while clutching cameras and lenses overhead, trying to avoid the starfish on the seabed. I was excitedly screaming “Starfish!” every time I spotted one, while walking hand-in-hand with my friend Rafidah toward the boat.
Hidden Bay
In the afternoon, Nazri took us to a hidden bay with a lagoon, surrounded by green hills. He admitted that he had never been there himself, so it was virgin territory for all of us. Bajau communities are true sea nomads, drifting between spots for better fishing and living. The second our boats pulled in, the wooden Bajau boats swarmed us out of pure curiosity. Kids gripped out boat rails while we chatted, took photos, and watched everything unfold before our eyes.
As we moved closer, dozens of Bajau boats appeared around us. Children clung to the sides of our speedboat while we tried to capture the moment through our lenses. A sense of connection formed quickly. The place drew us in - it felt authentic, full of life, and compelling enough that we stayed for more than two and a half hours. At one point, together with a few others from our group, I jumped into the water to photograph the scene from a closer perspective. Toward the end, one of the families invited Nazri, Nazer, and me into their stilt house. By then the rising tide had reached our chests, and the wooden ladder hung far above the waterline. With cameras held overhead, it was impossible to climb up. Instead of entering the house, we photographed it from the water, while the rest of the group waited in the speedboats. Next trip, I'm climbing in.
That evening, we wrapped the day shooting sunset from one of the island shores. I took a long-exposure shot (huge thanks to Fauzi for letting me use his tripod), then captured the rest spontaneously, quietly watching a Bajau family framed by a majestic tree. After dark, we spotted another Bajau family cooking dinner over open flames on their lepa-lepa boat.
Behind the scenes:
Day 3 - Bohey Dulang
The morning was supposed to be “light,” but nothing on that trip really was. Between photographing the Bajau Laut and island hopping, we squeezed in a hike up Bohey Dulang. It was a steep, sweaty and absolutely spectacular climb that was worth every bit of effort.
It had rained the night before, so until the last minute we weren’t sure if the trail would even open. Technically the hike was “optional,” but for anyone with a case of FOMO as bad as mine, it was non‑negotiable. Since the day I moved to Malaysia four years ago, Bohey Dulang had been on my dream list. I saw it on postcards and travel guides and finally got to witness it with my own eyes. Bohey Dulang is part of the Tun Sakaran Marine Park and was formed from the remnants of an ancient volcano. It is now covered in lush forest, with its crater flooded by the sea. I left my camera behind this time, as the heat and humidity were brutal, and I wanted to soak up the moment without carrying heavy gear. The photos below were all taken with my iPhone.
On the way up, we met only a few hikers, but by the time we descended, the island was flooded with tourists, mostly locals, some foreigners, everyone buzzing with excitement. I have to shout out my friend Rafidah, who conquered the hike like a champ despite her knee problems. Her strength and sense of adventure were a proof that determination can take you places.
From the summit, the view took my breath away: a mosaic of turquoise lagoons, coral reef, and scattered emerald islands floating on the horizon. From up there, the landscape took on a whole new perspective, making it easier to grasp the sheer scale of the place.
On the way down, adrenaline replaced caution. I was too hyped and too confident. One slippery step later and the gravity won. I landed straight on my coccyx in muddy glory. The pain followed me for the rest of the trip and returned a few months later, just in time for another photo adventure in northern Vietnam. More on that another time.
We arrived back at our lodge on Selakan Island around 1 PM. Most of the group had wisely stayed (no judgment, they missed nothing epic), but when they spotted our sweaty, triumphant speedboat pulling in, they clapped from the deck like we just summited Everest. By 2 PM we had already checked out and departed towards Mabul.
Endless Waters
Our final stop on the route was Mabul Island. On the way there, our speedboats suddenly stopped in the middle of the open sea. In pure silence, my ears finally took a break from the roaring engines. I could only hear the gentle slap of waves against the boat and feel the warmth of the sun on my skin. In the distance, I saw a Bajau village, and I understood why we had stopped. Stilt houses seemed to rise directly from the endless water, hovering just above the shallow, clear-blue surface.
After a moment, the silhouettes of two Bajau boys appeared on the horizon. They must have been curious to see us photographing from the boats. They splashed in the water, wading waist‑deep and collecting clams into bowls. We stood calmly on the deck, too stunned to speak, kind of frozen in time. Our eyes locked on this timeless frame. There was no one else in sight, just us and them. It was such a unique moment, one of those "wow" moments that's impossible to recreate in photography.
Day 3-4 - Mabul Island
Mabul Island is located farther down south from Selakan island, about 1 hour by speedboat from Semporna. It attracts divers from around the world for its incredible underwater life and renowned dive sites. It’s definitely more developed than remote spots like Selakan, as it offers dive centers and overwater bungalows. It serves as the main gateway to iconic desinations like Sipadan and Kapalai.
During our stay, Mabul revealed a striking contrast between tourism and everyday life. Tourist resorts stood alongside traditional stilt villages. From the windows of our guesthouse, we could watch turtles gliding just below the surface, while nearby Bajau paddlers sold fresh seafood and coconuts directly from their traditional canoes.
This was the only stop on our itinerary where we dove into street photography and observed Bajau life on land. That afternoon, we walked along sandy paths through the village of Mabul, passing a lively school, a mosque, small local shops, and hundreds of giggling children running freely through the streets. For me, this place stood out as one of the most compelling locations to photograph during the entire journey.
Sunrise Shoot Around Mabul Waters
The next morning, we set out before dawn into pitch-black sea, and the only light came from the stars shining over our heads (which was a quiet giveaway that we were in for an epic view). At one point, our speedboat stopped alongside a small Bajau boat. A man and his young son climbed aboard with us. The boy, we learned, would be the focus of our early‑morning shoot. Full transparency: it was the second and final staged photoshoot, and the Bajau family was compensated by the organizer. Once we reached open water, the sky began to warm with soft shades of orange. The boy’s silhouette, seated in a traditional canoe, stood out sharply against the sea. We were lucky, as the weather conditions were perfect, and none of the other sunrises we witnessed during the journey matched the clarity or intensity of that morning.
Last Street Photography in Mabul Village
After the sunrise shoot we returned to our hotel for a quick breakfast, then back into the Mabul village one last time before heading back to Semporna. For the next two hours I strolled through the village, and frankly, I will never forget the unique scenes I witnessed, the colors, the light, the kids' and their wide-eyed curiosity, the fleeting encounters and raw moments that hit me right in the chest. My head was practically spinning 360°. I could write pages about it, but the photos capture it better than words ever could.
Before returning to the hotel to pack, I sat on the bridge above the water. Our guesthouse was on the outer side of the island, with this arched wooden bridge where we could photograph Bajau people as they floated by, selling coconuts and seafood from their canoes. I honestly couldn’t imagine a more picturesque way to end our photography expedition, it made me want to come back before I had even left.
My favorite moment was a little Bajau girl looking up toward my camera while I lay flat on the bridge, face and camera down between the wooden beams, leaving the dark edges of the bridge in the frame. Her boat was passing by underneath and, suddenly, she glanced straight up at me and my lens.
After that memorable shot, I took a few more photos of Bajau in their boats, then headed back to my room to pack. Right before opening the door, another boat pulled up, and two Bajau girls climbed barefoot up the hotel’s wooden pier and called out to me “Hello! Hello!”. That's when I took my last Sabah photo and handed out the remaining candies I brought along.
I officially packed away my camera, backpack, and luggage. We took off in the speedboats toward Semporna, and I observed the horizon while trying to wrap my head round everything I had experienced. Faces I had seen, lives I had never imagined.
To me, this trip was an adventure in every sense. It felt like stepping into a world untouched by time. Sabah, you’ve left a mark.
Behind the scenes:
Reflections and Context
Our trip wrapped up here, but now I'd like to share with you some key points, to add context to this unforgettable journey and the photos I took.
Itinerary
Itinerary-wise, it’s impossible to list every single spot we visited. We were constantly moving from one place to another, hopping between tiny islands and stilted Bajau villages in the middle of the sea. In some areas there was no phone signal at all, and my Google Maps simply gave up, so I couldn’t even save the exact locations. What mattered most was that these places were not tourist destinations. We didn’t visit any luxury resorts, although there are some in the area on islands like Mabul, Kapalai, Sipadan, or Mataking. We focused only on real, lived-in communities that are normally inaccessible to regular tourists. There were no crowds, no souvenir shops.
Out of respect for the organizer, who spent years scouting these locations and building trust with the locals, I won’t be sharing the exact spots. The route also changed all the time depending on tides, water conditions, and weather. And honestly, a part of me hopes it never becomes overrun with tourists.
Rough itinerary for your reference:
Day 0:
Late evening flight from Penang to Kuala Lumpur
Day 1:
Early morning flight from Kuala Lumpur to Tawau
Van to Semporna, quick lunch and speedboat to Selakan Island; check into lodge
Island-hopping by speedboat for nature and Bajau lifestyle photography until sunset
Dinner and overnight at lodge
Day 2:
Breakfast at lodge
Early morning speedboat trip for nature and Bajau photography
Lunch on boat
Afternoon photography at sea until sunset
Dinner and overnight at lodge
Day 3:
Breakfast at lodge, then hike Bohey Dulang (non-hikers were shooting on sea)
Lunch, check out from Selakan, photography from speedboat on the way to Mabul Island
Check into Mabul Island, lunch
Street photography in Mabul village
Sunset photography
Dinner and overnight on Mabul
Day 4:
Early sunrise photography around Mabul waters
Breakfast at lodge
Street photography in Mabul village
Lunch, check-out, speedboat to Semporna, van to Tawau Airport
Evening flight to Kuala Lumpur
Day 5:
Early morning flight from Kuala Lumpur to Penang
Milky Way night photography was optional every day, but exhaustion and tight schedule meant none of us managed to stay awake long enough to try.
Safety
Most visitors who come to Semporna stay in more established areas like hotels, popular islands or organized dive resorts where everything is structured and managed. Those places are beautiful and are generally considered safe for travelers, especially when trips are arranged through licensed operators and local guides. The region is monitored, there are security and military patrols around to keep Malaysian waters safe and to protect both communities and visitors. For me, travelling with an organized group was seamless. At every stage of the journey, everything was coordinated, and I never felt unsafe. Our boatmen spoke the local Bajau language and knew these waters like the back of their hand, which added that extra layer of reassurance.
That said, Semporna is located near the Malaysia-Philippines maritime border, an area with past security challenges including rare incidents of piracy and kidnappings for ransom, as noted in some government travel advisories. To stay safe, always check current updates from reliable sources like your government's foreign affairs site, book with reputable operators, follow local guidance, and avoid venturing into remote areas alone or without proper arrangements. Common sense, respect for local rules, and trusted guides turn potential risks into unforgettable adventures.
Food
You might be wondering what I meant earlier about my food regimen. One of my biggest challenges on this trip was that I followed a very strict diet the entire time. It’s worth mentioning that I’ve been living in Malaysia for 4 years now and I eat local food regularly, but ironically, my severe food poisoning experiences happened outside Malaysia during trips around Southeast Asia. I’ve ended up in hospitals in Singapore, Thailand, and most recently (just a month before this trip), in Indonesia. It happened so many times that, alongside my travel experiences, I carried a fair share of health‑related trauma.
So, this time, I made a deal with myself. I was still hungry for travel and adventure, but I knew we would be in very remote areas, far from easy hospital access. The idea of getting seriously sick in the middle of the ocean, with no clinic nearby and a packed photography schedule, was my worst nightmare. It was also a group trip, and I didn’t want to risk derailing the plans or creating extra stress for the organizer and other participants. The only way I felt I could fully commit was to make a pretty big sacrifice: eat very little and stick ONLY to the safe food I brought from home. It wasn’t fun watching delicious local dishes pass in front of me, but for this journey, staying healthy and being able to shoot every day mattered more than eating freely. However, please don't let my experience discourage you from visiting Semporna or even Southeast Asia. I still don't know exactly what caused my past food poisoning incidents (it could have been something I ate, bad luck, or even an undiscovered allergy).
My diet was simple survival food, carefully planned:
Breakfast: Prebiotic protein drink + instant oatmeal + fruit mousse
Lunch: Oatmeal or mac 'n' cheese/mushroom pasta packets
Dinner: Mac 'n' cheese or mushroom pasta packets
I snacked on packaged biscuits when I could and chugged electrolytes constantly to survive the heat. Before leaving Penang, I stocked up on mac 'n' cheese packets, the kind that needed 3 minutes of actual cooking (hot water alone wouldn't cut it). This was an annoying limitation: every meal, I would have to politely ask the locals to cook it for me in their kitchen (or sometimes on the floor in desperate times). I was ultra careful, even asking them to cook it in bottled water that I provided. I had to explain the cooking instructions, and yeah, one batch was definitely butchered. But the locals were absolute saints: patient, smiling, never made me feel like a burden. Honestly, it was tough to follow that regimen, especially with constant movement, heavy backpacks, physical exhaustion, scorching humid heat, and little sleep. But I didn’t travel all that way to relax and tan on the pier (although there is absolutely nothing wrong with that). My goal was clear: to discover Semporna and photograph its people. I knew that to do that, I had to leave my comfort zone back in Penang. And it was worth every hungry moment.
Other participants enjoyed three home-cooked meals a day: a generous portion of rice and seafood, freshly prepared with local ingredients. I can only imagine how much that added to the full experience.
How to Survive the Sun in Semporna
Semporna is located in Malaysia's equatorial climate zone, and June brought relentless heat with daytime temperatures hovering around 32-35°C and humidity that makes you feel like you're breathing hot soup. We spent our days blasting across the ocean on speedboats or shooting photos under direct sun on remote islands. The harsh equatorial sunlight was unavoidable.
As a fair-skinned European who's lived in Malaysia for quite some time, I've learned from the locals: sun is not always your friend. I suited up in full armor: SPF leggings & long-sleeve shirts to block every ray and avoid turning into a lobster. While spending all day on the water, the reflections intensified the UV rays, so extra layers were absolutely essential.
It worked like a charm: my only sunburns were behind my ears (who even knew that was possible?) and on my knuckles. I felt like a true local, even braiding my hair tight to fight the wild wind on those speedboats. Fauzi lost his hat once, but thankfully our captain stopped the boat, circled back, and fished it right out of the water.
My photo gear went in a waterproof bag left on the boat, and for village street shoots it was backpack time. Some participants were next-level smart, wearing hats with a neck-flap. It was a total game-changer for full coverage.
Packing smart is everything for trips like this. I'm an OCD packer who overpacks for every "what if" (better safe than sorry). I also used packing cubes religiously to keep chaos at bay. In general, my must-haves included: sun hat, sunglasses, SPF clothing, phone strap, water tumbler filled with electrolytes, sturdy Teva sandals and water shoes (they saved my feet a few times). Oh, and a few anti-nausea pills if you get seasick like me.
Workshops Participants
Last but not least, I met some truly great people on this trip, including Kar Yee - a sweet Malaysian pharmacist from Penang with whom I shared a room in Mabul Island. She deserves a special mention as she became our unofficial caretaker and also helped me a lot. She even packed a full first-aid kit to help anyone with medical issues. She traveled with her mom and sister, and all three of them were just incredibly warm and kind.
I also reunited with some familiar faces from Malaysia I met a month earlier, at photography workshops in Indonesia: Nazeer, Mr Zahar and his wife Noor Ani, Mr Jimmy and his wife Chee. Apart from them, I travelled with my dear friends from Penang I mentioned earlier, Rafidah and Fauzi, along with others I met for the first time.
Joining such workshops holds special meaning for me. I can really say that photography weaves an invisible thread that unites people from diverse backgrounds, professions, and nationalities, sparking shared passions that transcend our differences.
So many things could have gone wrong on this trip, but thankfully we all returned safe and sound, with our SD cards full of priceless photos and memories to last a lifetime.
Thoughts from the organizer
Our photography expedition to Semporna was intense and demanding. From navigating deep waters and logistical challenges to overcoming language barriers, meeting passionate photographers and filling SD cards with treasures, this workshop proved to be unforgettable. Among all the participants, boat crew and local people we met on the way, one name stood out: Mr. Nazri Sulaiman, our visionary organizer.
Mohd Nazri Sulaiman is an award-winning Malaysian photographer based in Kuala Lumpur. He is best known for his fine art, documentary, and storytelling photography that explores culture, tradition, people, and places across Malaysia - with a particular focus on rural life and communities living in harmony with nature. His photography style is rooted in visual storytelling, aiming to produce images that speak emotionally and culturally without lengthy captions. His iconic image “Mowgli Malaysia” earned top honors like first place at the 2018 Asian Geographic Images of Asia Awards and the Remarkable Award at Siena International Photography Awards in Italy, while his book "Terengganu: The Face of Life" celebrates the state's cultural heritage. Nazri also earned the Gold Star Award in street photography at the ND Awards. As a Sony Alpha Professional, he continues to excel, recently winning the grand prize in the Camera category at Malaysia Photo Hunt 2025.
Mr. Nazri's expertise turned logistical challenges into seamless magic, scouting prime spots over years of visits. To add an extra layer of depth to my story, I reached out to him with questions about his Semporna travels and the most memorable Bajau moments.
1. How many times have you traveled to Semporna for scouting and workshops? N.S.: I have been traveling to Semporna for photography since 2006 until today. Since then, I have organized photography trips there almost every year, on average twice a year, and in some years up to three times - except in 2020, when I did not travel due to the COVID-19 pandemic. I have lost count of how many times I have been there, but it is certainly more than 40 trips. I have personally witnessed the transformation of Semporna from its earlier days to what it is today. 2. How many years did it take you to perfect this itinerary and discover all the prime photography spots? N.S.: There is no such thing as a “perfect” itinerary when organizing photography trips to Semporna, because it is impossible to capture the same images every time we visit. Locations and itineraries are constantly changing due to several factors. Some accommodations that once existed are no longer available, so certain islands have been removed from the itinerary. There are also islands that were once essential photography stops but have since been purchased and developed into private resorts. In addition, some Bajau Laut communities that once lived on certain islands have relocated or been forced to leave. As a result, the itinerary continues to evolve over time. 3. What were the biggest difficulties you faced in organizing this trip? N.S.: The greatest challenge is constantly restructuring the itinerary and selecting locations, as the Bajau Laut communities do not remain in fixed places. They are sea nomads who frequently move from one island to another, either due to eviction or in search of safer places to live.The second major challenge is cost. Operating in remote islands naturally involves higher expenses - accommodation, boats, and food are significantly more expensive compared to the mainland. These rising costs inevitably affect the participation fees for the photography trips. 4. How has your own photography style evolved from leading these workshops? N.S.: Travel photography has always been my favorite genre, and Semporna is essentially a natural studio for this type of photography. Therefore, it is not difficult for me creatively, but it does require careful planning - especially understanding tidal schedules. During low tide, we must be on specific islands at specific times, and the same applies during high tide.Street photography is also one of my passions, so I deliberately seek out islands that are suitable for this theme. The same approach applies to landscape photography, where location, timing, and conditions are carefully planned. 5. What’s your most memorable story from meeting a Bajau Laut community, during this trip or previous ones? N.S.: I have many memories with the Bajau Laut communities that are difficult to forget. One of the most meaningful experiences involves a Bajau Laut family that I became very close to over the years. During the COVID-19 pandemic, there were no tourists or photographers visiting Semporna, and the communities were not allowed to go out to fish due to lockdown restrictions. As a result, many of them had no food to eat. At that time, I gathered photographers who had previously joined my Semporna trips and organized a collective donation. The funds were channeled through an NGO or the resort where we usually stayed. They used the contributions to purchase essential supplies - especially food and medical necessities - which were then distributed to the Bajau Laut communities in Semporna.
Below you will find a selection of Nazri Sulaiman’s magnificent photographs taken in Semporna.
Instagram: @nazriphotoelements
Beyond the Horizon
To wrap up, my first journey to Semporna left me with more questions than answers, particularly about the fragile marine environment and the future of Bajau Laut traditions. This is a community with instinctive ocean wisdom, shaped by generations of life on the water.
I wonder how their unique lifestyle will endure amid tourism pressures, overfishing and evictions. Could they lead efforts to protect these waters they know so intimately? Who knows, perhaps one day I will return with a boat, a notebook, and better questions. I hope that, in time, this marginalized community will gain real empowerment as ocean guardians, helping to protect the sea on which we all depend.
This journey left me with one clear realization: what happens in these distant, turquoise waters is deeply connected to all of us, whether we ever set foot there or not.
~ by Justyna Oller
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