It was my husband who first alerted me that a Flying Doctor Service (FDS) helicopter had crashed near Long Lellang.
At that point, information was scarce. There was a helicopter, a remote airstrip and five people on board. Like many breaking stories, it first reached me as a collection of facts waiting to be confirmed.
The journalist in me immediately wanted answers. Who was on board? Had rescuers reached the scene? But behind those questions was a more difficult one: were they safe?
As the hours passed, the worst was confirmed. Five lives had been lost — a pilot, a doctor, an assistant medical officer and two nurses.
Suddenly, five was no longer simply a number in a news alert. They had names, families, colleagues and communities that depended on their service.
It broke my heart to see the posts shared on social media by the captain’s wife, who is now left to raise their two children without him.
As the wife of a pilot, it struck painfully close to home.
Losing our husbands in such circumstances is something no pilot’s wife wants to contemplate. Yet, however much we try not to dwell on it, the possibility inevitably crosses our minds.
We may imagine how we would cope or tell ourselves we would remain strong for our children. But when tragedy happens, I do not think anyone can truly comprehend the magnitude of suddenly losing a loved one this way.
There is a difference between imagining loss and being forced to live through it.
The tragedy also brought me back to 2021, when I flew aboard a Fire and Rescue Department (BOMBA) MI-17 helicopter to witness the delivery of COVID-19 vaccines to rural communities. Long Lellang was among our destinations.
At every village, children ran towards the field to watch the helicopter land. They looked on with excitement as an otherwise ordinary field became the centre of attention.
To them, perhaps, it was simply the thrill of seeing a great machine dropping out of the sky. Yet it carried something far more important.
At the height of the pandemic, that helicopter brought protection and hope to communities that could not simply drive to the nearest vaccination centre.
The journey gave me a glimpse of what distance truly means in Sarawak.
From the comfort of a city, we speak about reaching remote communities through words such as logistics, allocations, coverage and access. On paper, they appear straightforward.
From the air, the challenge becomes clearer. Below us were vast forests, winding rivers and settlements separated by distances not easily overcome by road.
In parts of Sarawak, a helicopter is not a luxury. It is a lifeline.
In the interior, healthcare can mean travelling for hours by river or road, waiting for a scheduled medical visit or depending on an aircraft to bring doctors, nurses, medicines and treatment.
The FDS represents the promise that where someone lives should not determine whether they receive care. That promise is sustained by people willing to make difficult journeys so that others are not forgotten.
Covering their deaths also carries a particular weight for journalists. Breaking news demands speed, but grief demands care.
Every detail must be checked. Families deserve to receive official confirmation before the rest of the world learns of their loss through a headline or social media.
The Civil Aviation Authority of Malaysia (CAAM) confirmed that BO-105 helicopter 9M-LLF crashed near Long Lellang STOLport on September 8 during an FDS flight. The Air Accident Investigation Bureau is investigating, and it would be irresponsible to speculate on the cause before its findings.
However, the tragedy highlights wider concerns about rural healthcare aviation. The Ministry of Health and Federal Government should comprehensively review the FDS fleet, including aircraft age, airworthiness, maintenance, spare parts and backup capacity. A clear aircraft replacement plan, backed by dedicated federal funding and a transparent timeline, is also urgently needed.
Where necessary, the Federal Government must invest in a newer, modern and fit-for-purpose fleet. While newer aircraft cannot eliminate every risk, personnel flying into difficult terrain should have access to the safest and most reliable resources available.
Investment must also cover regular aviation safety and emergency training, reliable weather information, communications and navigation support, fatigue management and adequate insurance.
Allowances must be reviewed. Reports following the tragedy highlighted that healthcare workers receive just RM30 for a return FDS flight under an incentive introduced in 1978. The Health Ministry has since said the rate is under review.
If unchanged for almost five decades, this raises serious questions about how long the welfare of these personnel has been overlooked. RM30 cannot reasonably reflect the responsibility and occupational risks involved in flying into some of the country’s most remote areas.
Putrajaya should examine the entire protection framework, including meaningful risk allowances, insurance, injury or death compensation, psychological support and long-term assistance for affected families. Any indemnity documents personnel must sign should also be reviewed. Those undertaking official healthcare missions should never feel that they and their families bear the consequences alone.
Once the Air Accident Investigation Bureau completes its work, its recommendations must be made public and implemented within a clear timeframe. The lessons from this crash must not disappear into another report.
Sarawak’s geography is not new. Rural medical services are not an additional logistical burden; they are an essential public responsibility that must be properly reflected in federal healthcare planning and expenditure.
The personnel undertaking these journeys have demonstrated their commitment. The Federal Government and Ministry of Health must now demonstrate the same commitment by protecting them.
Premier Datuk Patinggi Tan Sri Abang Johari Tun Openg has announced RM100,000 for each victim’s family, with the state government also covering the education costs of the victims’ children.
No assistance can replace a husband, wife, parent or child, but it offers some assurance that the families will not face the difficult road ahead alone.
When I think back to 2021, I remember children running towards the field as our helicopter descended. They may not have understood the planning and risks behind its arrival. They only knew that someone had come.
We often measure healthcare access by the distance to the nearest clinic. In Sarawak, perhaps we should also remember the distance someone else is willing to cross to reach us.
The five lives lost at Long Lellang remind us that behind every promise to leave no community behind are people who make that promise real.
We owe them remembrance, care for their families and lasting improvements for those who continue this essential work.
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DISCLAIMER:
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of Sarawak Tribune. The writer can be reached at sarahhafizahchandra@gmail.com.
