In October 2020 I was working as a deck hand on a cargo ship bound for San Antonio Chile from Durban South Africa. I’d been working the same ship for almost a year at that point and had grown accustomed to most of the other guys. I was no longer the newest crewmember as we’d picked up two greenhorns in Durban.
The first night leaving port we were approached by an unmarked smaller vessel that eventually fired several rounds towards our ship. The captain realized we were too far out to expect help to arrive in time, but that the small size of the attacking boat would mean it couldn’t handle rougher seas. We had no chance to outrun it, but the seas were already in excess of four meters and a storm was brewing.
An hour later the boat had finally fully caught our ship and were yelling threats and demands in a language I didn’t understand. From their vantage point they couldn’t really shoot at us anymore, but they must’ve said something about a bomb in their native tongue…because one of the new recruits abruptly yelled “they have a bomb” and then everything went white.
When I came to I couldn’t hear anything but a deafening ring. The ship was listing heavily to starboard…at least fifteen or twenty degrees. The captain and everyone else on the bridge were dead. I couldn’t tell where the rest of the crew were…or if they’d met a similar fate.
I made my way over to the railing and could see a gaping hole in the hull at the waterline. The smaller boat was nowhere to be seen, but based on where the hole was it looked like the bomb went off on or very close to the smaller boat. As I peered over the edge I heard the containers begin to shift. I realized they were beginning to spill into the ocean.
The wind had picked up and the seas were getting rougher. I made my way to the stern to try and access the lifeboats…but one was already gone. The second had been partially launched but a stack of containers had shifted and bent the release mechanism. I scrambled up the structure to where it was impeding the launch and realized that if I leveraged myself between the lifeboat and the bent mechanism I could push with my legs and free the boat…but it would launch without me.
At that point I realized I had no choice until I saw one of the greenhorns climbing the other side of the structure. I recognized him as the one who spoke almost no English…but he had eyes just as I did and could see the way the lifeboat was lodged and that we needed to free it to escape. He mouthed “rope” and mimicked putting it around his waist, but then he pointed at me. I realized that I was probably a foot taller and more than a few kilos heavier and that it made more sense for me to push as I had a better chance of making it work.
Once I fastened the rope to my waist I gave a thumbs-up gesture and leaned into the most difficult leg press of my life. Suddenly the entire boat slipped the snag and lurched behind me. Immediately the rope spun me sideways and slipped from my waist.
I found myself falling towards the water just behind the life boat. They say water feels like pavement after a certain height…and its not exactly concrete…but it sure could be softer. I had the wind knocked out of me and sucked down about a liter of seawater. I felt myself beginning to slip beneath the waves when I saw the lifeboat and the greenhorn gesticulating wildly for me to grab the rope. Amazingly as a large wave crested in front of me I was able to see it was only a few meters away. I wrapped one end around my wrist and hoisted myself arm over arm to the lifeboat opening and climbed in. Once inside I threw up and passed out.
My throbbing skull jarred me to consciousness the next morning. I surveyed my surroundings and realized that this particular lifeboat wasn’t exactly state of the art. It had a few flares, but didn’t look to have an EPIRB. I noticed the young man pointing to the emergency flares. The box contained five shots and that meant five good chances at being located. There were a few MRE’s stashed in the only other dry box onboard and those were expired by several years. The taste was terrible but after a day passed without any sickness I assumed that meant they were safe to eat. We had only two bottles of water and had to do our best to ration…but it was so hot and the lifeboat magnified the sun’s heat.
On day five I opened the top hatch to shoot the final flare. A small amount of seawater had begun to accumulate inside the stifling hot lifeboat and I felt as though I wouldn’t last much longer. The flare fizzled and only flew half the height of the previous four. I hurled the empty gun into the ocean with what little energy remained. The sea had calmed but the sun was oppressive and our fresh water had run out after the first day. This felt like the end.
I tried to give my last ration to the Greenhorn…but he wouldn’t take it. He just kept mouthing “eat” and pointing up. I didn’t get it and did my best to convince myself that the ketchup that came with the MRE would provide me enough hydration to last a few more hours. I fell asleep.
If you had told me I died then…I would’ve believed you. The dreams I had bordered on hallucinations. Nightmarish is another good way to describe the moment. I was trapped in the lowest level of Hell and could feel myself entering the eternal fire. It was so hot and large that the sound was deafening. The roar…is a sound I still think of. Just before it consumed me I felt the most invigorating fresh gust of wind. The heat left my body and I figured that was it; I was dead.
Until my eyes opened and I saw straight up through the now-open hatch of the lifeboat and peered into the eyes of the men who would save my life. They gingerly poured cool water into my mouth and I slipped into and out of consciousness and eventually into their helicopter.
I had not realized that my tongue had swollen from dehydration. I could not speak for over a week and was told that I’d very nearly died. I tried to explain to them that it shouldn’t be this bad. The doctor spoke and it took me a moment to realize he was speaking French. French isn’t my first language, but I know enough to get by; over a dozen African countries speak it. He explained that I’d been at sea for over five weeks. I tried to tell him that couldn’t be right until he showed me an article about my rescue on his computer.
Apparently a small pirate vessel tried to hijack our ship with the threat of a bomb attack. They tried to throw a bomb into the air to scare us but it detonated near the water level and destroyed half of the bridge as well as a large portion of hull. Their own boat disintegrated almost instantly and no survivors were located. The other crew members who weren’t on the bridge at the time had quickly assessed the situation and after viewing the carnage on the bridge they assumed everyone had died. They attempted to radio their position using what little equipment looked functional and quickly took a lifeboat once the list increased past fifteen degrees.
The South African Navy picked them up a few hours later. By that time, the container ship was already mostly submerged. They had no idea that the other lifeboat had been launched and only looked in the area of the debris field where the ship sank. I had drifted further north…and over the course of five weeks eventually ended up offshore of Pointe-Noire Congo.
I asked them about my friend. I knew his name to be Joseph, but hadn’t seen him since I’d fallen asleep on the lifeboat. They were confused and tried to explain to me that I’d been alone when I was recovered. I assured the doctors that I was not alone and I’d never have been able to survive without him. They insisted that I was until one of the doctors said “le troisième homme” which translates to “the third man.” Again I was confused and tried to explain that it was just two of us. The doctor patted me on the shoulder and said in English “It was just you. Joseph died in the explosion. They recovered all of the bodies of the crew within the first week. Friend, you were alone in the lifeboat.”
A few days later I left the hospital and returned to my home outside of Johannesburg. The memorial for the lives lost was small. I felt a great sense of unease between myself and the remaining crew who had abandoned ship. I didn’t hold it against them…but I felt they were…almost afraid of me. The first mate, who’d been just outside of the bridge but far enough from the explosion to survive unharmed, told me that most were heading in different ways. A few had signed on with a new cargo ship…but none wanted anything to do with me. They said I was cursed. I think the opposite. If not for Joseph I sink with the ship or drown. So…Joseph…if you’re out there to read this. Thank you.