If I were an oil palm seed

BASICALLY, there are three major fruit forms in the oil palm family: Dura, Pisifera and Tenera.

Think of them as siblings raised under the same roof, but blessed – or burdened – with very different work ethics.

Dura is the solid, thick-shelled one. Its fruit carries a heavy shell, leaving less room for oil-rich flesh and delivering roughly 30% less oil over its lifetime compared to Tenera.

On the other hand, Pisifera is the clever but unreliable sibling – virtually shell-less and genetically valuable, yet often poor at fruiting on its own, making it unsuitable for commercial planting.

The industry’s star performer is Tenera – also known as DxP, the carefully bred hybrid born of a Dura mother and a Pisifera father. With its thin shell and generous oil-bearing mesocarp, Tenera strikes the perfect balance between yield and reliability.

That is why serious planters do not gamble on chance seedlings or fallen fruits, nor raise their own seeds on hope alone. They know the first decision is also the longest one.

Instead, they deliberately buy and plant DxP Tenera – because in oil palm, the right parentage is not romance; it is economics.

Get it right, and the plantation rewards you for decades. Get it wrong, and no amount of fertiliser, management or prayer can rescue a seedling that was never what it claimed to be.

Dura contamination and DNA testing

In oil palm, not all mistakes shout. Some smile politely, grow tall and quietly short-change planters for life-span of 25 years.

Dura contamination is one of those. A Malaysian Palm Oil Board or MPOB survey tells a story few like to hear: for every eight oil palm trees planted nationwide, one is a Dura impostor – standing tall, looking healthy, yet silently robbing plantations of oil yield year after year.

To the untrained eye, a Dura palm looks just like any other – green, healthy and obediently producing bunches. The problem hides inside the fruit, where a thick shell steals precious space from oil.

The result is less oil from a palm that will occupy your field for a quarter of a century, reminding you – year after year – that the cheapest seed may often turn out to be the most expensive decision.

That is why modern plantations no longer rely on faith, fallen seeds, or friendly assurances from unscrupulous sellers.

They rely on genetics. They rely on verification. They buy their planting material from reliable commercial seed producers.

Because in oil palm, DNA is not academic trivia – it is destiny.

Today, DNA-based testing has emerged as a powerful tool against Dura contamination, allowing fruit form to be identified early with high accuracy.

It is a genuine breakthrough, especially in managing scale and risk. Like all good tools, however, its value lies in judicious use.

DNA testing carries real costs and practical limits, and if applied as mandatory requirement across all commercial seeds or seedlings – it may end up becoming a sledgehammer to kill a fly.

With some 80 million DxP seeds produced annually in Malaysia, scale matters and so does economics. The challenge is not whether the tool works, but where, when and how it is best applied.

The strongest defence still begins earlier – sound breeding, controlled pollination, certified seed systems and disciplined nursery practices – supported by firm inspection and enforcement against fraud.

Technology should reinforce these fundamentals. Prudence, cost-effectiveness and accountability remain key.

My journey as a DxP seed

I was a quality, proven DxP (Tenera) seed – produced, purchased and raised through legitimate, certified seed producers or subsequently as seedlings by certified nursery operators who stand firmly by their genetics, supported by disciplined quality controls from pollination to germination.

This is the story of my journey.

At the start of every good oil palm commercial seed is a little matchmaking – very strict matchmaking. This is called controlled pollination, where nothing is left to chance or wandering insects with poor judgement.

My chosen parents, a selected Dura mother, is carefully chaperoned, while pollen from a selected Pisifera father – certified, tested and trusted – is delivered at precisely the right moment.

It is all recorded, supervised and anything but romantic.

But then again, like most successful reproduction in nature, it turns out that discipline, timing and good parentage matter far more than spontaneity.

Names are verified, dates logged and every quality step is tagged like a birth certificate.

It may sound fussy, even pedantic, but that fuss is the fine line between a true DxP (Tenera) seed and a lifelong disappointment.

In oil palm planting material, romance is overrated – discipline is what produces yield. In Malaysia, the production and sale of oil palm seeds are not left to goodwill or guesswork.

The entire process is governed by Sirim Standard MS 157, the national benchmark for oil palm seeds intended for commercial planting. This standard sets clear requirements on genetics, handling and quality control to ensure consistency and long-term yield performance.

Compliance with MS 157 is not optional – it is a prerequisite for licensing seed producers and sellers, making it the industry’s de facto seal of credibility.

In short, if a seed does not meet MS 157, it should not be meeting a planter.

Why I took my time to be born

Oil palm seeds are not impulsive. In scientific terms, I am recalcitrant – I do not tolerate being dried beyond my comfort zone. I also carry a dormancy trait that flatly refuses to be rushed.

I do not sprout on demand, respond to impatience or bend to enthusiasm. I break dormancy only when conditions are right. I do not leap into life because someone is excited.

I awaken only when science, timing and discipline finally agree. Sorry – I am a little biologically fussy.

Throughout the germination process, I began life with a long, deliberate pause. Not hesitation – preparation.

Before I ever knew soil, rain or the audacity of sunlight, I was placed into heat. A sauna of 40ºC, and 60 days. A controlled warmth, carefully measured and patiently applied.

This was not discomfort; it was design – made possible by decades of careful research and quiet perseverance by oil palm scientists who figured out what patience, in this crop, truly means.

And then came water. After heat, a slow and purposeful soaking – just enough to raise my moisture to the right level, enough to stir the tiny embryo within me and whisper, “Now – germinate”.

A root tip emerged. Quietly.

No fanfare. Germination, like wisdom, has never cared for noise.

Childhood under nursery

Because my journey mattered – because it would one day be measured in decades, not weeks – I was sent to a proper nursery.

Flat land. Good drainage. Prepared soil. A place where mistakes are expensive and shortcuts unforgiving. A nursery, after all, is not a convenience. It is a covenant with the future.

My first home was the pre-nursery. A small polybag. Gentle shade. Careful irrigation.

Thousands of us stood in disciplined rows – certified, quietly ambitious. Life here was protective, but never indulgent.

Rats hovered with criminal intent. Diseases lurked patiently. Fungicides made their discreet rounds. Vulnerability attracts predators – both biological and human.

Within two to three months, I grew my first leaves. Three. Four. Upright, alert, eager. I had crossed the invisible line from seed to seedling.

After a few months, I was carefully transplanted into the main nursery – more soil, more space, more responsibility. Shade was eased back gradually, like a teacher who believes in you just enough to be demanding.

Sunlight arrived in stages. Roots deepened. Leaves thickened. Water and nutrients were measured, never guessed.

Then came the moment of truth: culling. In every serious nursery, there are seedlings showing weak vigour, distorted growth, poor symmetry, or early disease is quietly removed.

They may still be green. They may still be alive, but they are just not good enough. These are not flaws time will fix. Culling is not cruelty; it is honesty.

Oil palm does not grow out of bad genetics or weak starts – it only grows taller mistakes.

For those that remained, time passed. Seven months. Eight. Nine. Leaves multiplied – 12 then 15. Each new frond was a quiet affirmation: you belong here.

Lessons only nurseries teach

The nursery teaches lessons no brochure can print. That genetics matter more than hope, and certification carries more weight than confidence.

What feels thrifty at the beginning often matures into the costliest mistake a planter can make.

Oil palm is patient, but it has a long memory. A wrong seed does not announce itself early; it simply commits land, labour and capital. Experienced growers know this well.

They procure germinated seeds or seedlings from reputable, certified producers not because they lack skill, but because they respect consequence.

The nursery phase may last only a year, but it quietly determines the next 25 years. Good plantations are not accidents. They are decisions made early –and made right.

Graduation without applause

By 12 to 14 months, I was ready – firm stem, anchored roots, leaves upright and unapologetically green.

I could face full sun now. I had earned that right. Soon, I would be planted in the field, where space widens and accountability begins. No more shade nets or polybags – just soil, sky and responsibility.

With good care and balanced nutrition, I would begin producing commercially meaningful bunches in less than three years, my worth measured not in promise, but in yield for decades.

People admire oil palm for its yield and debate it endlessly for its footprint.

Yet, few pause to consider how much discipline, restraint and foresight are required simply to begin well.

Remember this, before I was productive or profitable, before I was praised or blamed, I was chosen correctly. I was DxP (Tenera). I was certified. I was prepared before I was planted.

And in oil palm, that first, quiet decision is the difference between a plantation that merely grows and one that truly delivers for the next quarter-century.

Joseph Tek Choon Yee has over 30 years of experience in the plantation industry, with a strong background in oil palm research and development, C-suite leadership and industry advocacy. The views expressed here are the writer’s own.