IN MONTEVIDEO
Montevideo is the country’s capital and it is in the
south, on the shores of the Atlantic Ocean. It has a population of 1,5 million
and maintains its colonial architecture, and it very green and full of
impressive plane trees.
At night, the city is filled with the sounds of drummers
moving around the city or sitting around fires playing the so-called Uruguay
beat, created by the African slaves brought over by the colonialists a little
before 1800. This drumming is a poignant expression of the enslaved Africans’
nostalgia for freedom.
The drumming has an impressive sound and rhythm and
the white invaders fell under its spell and included it in today’s Uruguayan
culture. Mostly on Sundays, the people crowd the streets and parade with their
African drums made of wood and animal skins. In formation, they proceed
drumming loudly and in sync while men and women, usually youngsters, follow
them dancing with animated moves. The renowned tango was created in these
neighbourhoods by street dancers and in these same streets the internationally
known song “Cumparsita” was heard for the first time.
The day we docked at the port of Montevideo was hot
and humid from the constant and relentless drizzle of rain. The heat combined
with the humidity made the clothes stick to our sweaty bodies. Unfazed, we
donned our best clothes and walked down the ship’s ladder to go into town, the
rain soaking us to the bone. None of us thought to wait till the rain stopped,
we were in a rush just like a hungry man needs food and a thirsty man needs
water, eager to go into the bars around the port and meet women, party with
them and get drunk, touch them and be touched in return.
In a side street there was a dark and empty bar. I
entered with my companion, one of the stokers. It was completely empty, with no
barman or proprietor in sight. We were about to leave when an internal door
opened and a beautiful woman with an amazing body appeared. She spoke to us in
Greek and my friend the stoker immediately started flirting with her.
I sat at the edge of the bar and ordered a brandy
coke. Slowly sipping my drink, I watched them cuddling. My clothes were stuck
to my back and every now and then I looked outside at the weather planning to
go and change clothes as soon as the rain stopped. As the rain abated and I was
about to tell my friend that I was leaving, the door opened again and another
girl walked out, slim with slender legs and narrow hips. She must have been
about twice my age with a kind and sad face. She looked like a person who led a
troubled life, psychologically tired, with sweet and sorrowful eyes. She
saw me getting up, came close and took me by the hand.
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“Where are you going?” she asked in
broken Greek, “stay and let’s get to know each other, we love Greeks and your
ancient culture”.
She
did not release my hand but continued holding it tenderly, putting me in an
awkward position. After a while she realised I was feeling a little
uncomfortable and, on her own accord, went behind the bar, poured two drinks
and gave me one. In a while I ordered two more, the again two more, and without
really knowing whether I picked her up or she picked me up, we left holding
hands.
These
are everyday human experiences that turn into indelible memories even after the
passage of many years, especially in cases of seamen who, while away from their country and in bleak foreign
lands, find solace in female arms that offer false tenderness and make-believe
love and try to create fake feelings, in faces soon to be forgotten at the next
port, but these memories remain ineffaceable in their mind for life.
My
next shift begun at 04.00 next morning. I sleepily forced myself out of bed,
got dressed, paid the lady, said my goodbyes, and left. I walked back to the
ship and found it had discharged its cargo and stood empty, something which
caused the ladder to be too high for me to reach. I called the sailor on duty
who was leaning on the railings and he signaled to me to wait. He used the
walkie-talkie in his hand to call the boatswain and he came to the hoist with
one more sailor and lowered a large basket-like cage on the pier. I hopped in
and they pulled me up.
I
went to my cabin to put on my work overalls and go down to the engine room to
start my shift.
While
below deck I was walking up and down to pass the time and suddenly caught
myself having forgotten her name. I realized that it was merely a simple sexual
encounter with fake feelings of tenderness, an act of human necessity and
facilitation that I received from a skinny woman in a cheap hotel in exchange
for payment.
The sea was rough and
the ship, being without cargo and with less ballast than usual, was being
shaken by the currents and the waves, making a bad situation even worse.
It was a summer’s day
and I was carrying out my afternoon shift. I was working on the boiler changing
a broken join and being scorched by the insufferable heat. I was bare-chested
and in shorts, with thick asbestos gloves on my hands, trying to loosen the
tight screws that were warped due to the high temperature of the steam.
Exerting myself in the unbearable heat, I managed to change the broken join and
was gathering the tools to climb down when I heard the third officer calling me
to get down quickly. I picked up the bucket with the tools and swiftly jumped
off. Out of breath, the third engineer explained that we had an urgent
incident. A message came from the bridge to accelerate full speed ahead and
fill the ballast tanks to capacity so that the ship could reach its full speed.
Extremely curious but
without complaining, we got to work. The stoker altered the dials on the
boilers to increase the supply of fuel and strengthen the fire in order to
produce the steam we needed. I opened the valves and turned on the large pumps
to increase the ballast of the ship, and the third engineer took over the
control panel to ensure the smooth operation of the engine room and issued the
relevant necessary orders. Everything took place in a matter of minutes but
before we even finished, the first and second engineers came down into the
engine room. Pleased to see that in a case of emergency everything in the
engine room was executed without delay, the first engineer explained that we
had received a message about a ship in danger and that we were sailing full
speed ahead to assist.
I finished my shift
and went up to the stern. I sat on the metal floor and felt the heat radiating
from it, despite the fact that it was under the shade provided by the stern’s
awning, and I allowed my eyes to sweep the distant horizon, just visible
through the foggy atmosphere and hazy under the hot sun.
I leaned with my back
to the bulkhead and allowed my body to rest, my thoughts transcending the
distant horizon and travelling far away, reaching my country. I visualized how
many countries stood between me and my homeland and how many countless miles
separated us. I had sailed to earn better wages because in 1973 Cyprus was
suffering from high unemployment and great poverty. I chose to work on a tanker
because it docked less frequently so I avoided spending a lot of money at ports
in an attempt to save most of my pay. My salary was low and every pound I
managed to save was a good profit. If we managed to be the first ship to reach
the ship that sent the mayday call and saved the shipwrecked sailors, in
accordance to shipping laws. we would get an extra month’s pay for free. This
would be a very welcome extra income, I thought, but I was immediately angry
with myself for thinking this way, of my own personal benefit that derived from
misfortune instead of worrying about my fellow seamen in peril.
I got off the floor
and stood at the railings watching the long white frothy line formed by the
propeller behind the ship; when the ship rose high on the waves, the sound of
the engine and the spinning propeller changed. I watched this while my thoughts
run wild and, at some stage, I noticed that the ship stopped heaving and the
sea was calm and resembled oil. Its colour changed to white like that of
phosphorous and the day grew dark even though the sun had not gone down yet.
Puzzled, I watched all these strange occurences wondering whether they were
real or whether they were figments of my imagination.
On the horizon,
clearly in front of us and at a distance I saw a ship with white sails and a
huge hull in shades of brown, appearing like a bright vision in the darkened
evening. There was no human activity on deck, and it sailed at great speed,
parallel to us. I thought I saw some white images moving on deck. It seemed
deserted and sailing on its own and I watched ecstatically as it caught up,
sailed by and quickly disappeared in front of us. It seemed like a scene from a
film in fast-forward mode. A sudden and inexplicable vision outside normal
parameters, and my mind recalled stories told by seamen during the endless
hours of their shifts when they had nothing else to do.
I recalled the
well-known story widely recounted among seamen about a ghost ship that appears
when a big disaster was imminent, such as a shipwreck or an accident at sea
that would result in death. They say it is a beautiful vessel without a crew
and in it sail the spirits of all who perished at sea and that these souls are
so many, the cargo holds overflow and souls trail behind forming visions of
colourful waterfalls upon the surface of the sea, in brilliant shades of
colour. They also say that it appears and disappears suddenly. The souls of the
drowned seamen stay behind and beckon the crews of other ships to follow. Just
like the ancient Sirens of Ulysses, they bewitch those with weak hearts and
willpower and persuade them to follow.
I was overcome with
worry and my mind immediately thought the worst, I wondered whether the ship of
death had come for us. Maybe the old steam boilers could not withstand the
pressure for maximum speed and would explode. I knew the pressure was immense
and that an explosion would be similar to a big bomb going off and would result
in great material damage and loss of life.
I wrestled with cold
logic and told myself that I was just thinking bad thoughts and that my mind
was playing tricks; such things do not happen, they are simply illusions caused
by superstitions. I even thought that I was imagining things, that I was
daydreaming. Suddenly, and while uncertainty had taken over my thoughts, I felt
the ship reduce speed. Surprised and full of curiosity, I went down into the
engine room to see what was happening, sure that new information had been
received regarding the salvage order we had been given.
Indeed, the third
engineer informed me that we were ordered to continue our course as before the
change for the salvage because others had already arrived first to the ship in
danger and offered their assistance.
I didn’t think of one
month’s free salary lost since we didn’t help the other ship. My mind lingered
on the ghost ship I thought I had seen. I say “I thought” I had seen because,
when I asked my colleagues, nobody else had seen it. The incident stayed in my
mind because I considered it a forewarning, or, alternatively, maybe I was
simply affected by all the books I had been reading.
Later that night, the
wireless operator informed us that he had received a message that the ship
needing assistance had suffered an explosion in one of its ballast tanks where
welders were at work, it flooded and drowned three sailors.
The thought that, as
the legend would have it, the ghost ship appears in areas where a disaster is
about to happen in order to take the souls of the drowned and sail away with
them, entered my mind once more.
I was convinced now
that I really had seen the ghost ship, but it had not come for us, it had come
for the three drowned sailors on the other ship.
They are huge and have a capacity of up to 500.000
tons. The liquid cargo transported is dangerous because it is unstable. Tankers
sink and even break in two more easily. They are high risk vessels because they
carry dangerous cargo. The seamen working on these ships are strong, brave and
patient people, able to tolerate a life full of danger and isolation since life
on tankers requires great stamina because they sail for long periods of time
and seldomly set foot on dry land. It is a choice of employment that requires
courage because it is full of danger and long periods of loneliness.
As my commission on the ship “SAN DENNIS” ended, and
knowing all the above facts about tankers, I decided to work on a tanker
because the pay was much better, triple the amount I was earning so far.
It is easier to recruit crews for cargo ships because
they carried out shorter voyages, docked in harbours every few days and usually
remained docked in the harbour for a few days while discharging or loading
cargo. Life was better on cargo ships, more agreeable, and many seamen
preferred working on these ships. This was the reason why it was easy for me to
find a placement on a tanker. Tankers were manned mainly by seamen who
consciously took the dangerous nature of the job and placed it into the
furthest compartment of their subconscious, simply because they desperately
needed the higher income.
I walked up and down Akti Miaouli and entered office
after office looking and enquiring about work. I finally signed an employment
contract with the company “S. Niarchos” and sailed as a Trainee Engineer with a
monthly salary of 140 Pounds Sterling on a 45.000-ton tanker called “SOUTHERN
UNION”, built before 1960. This was one of the first ships Niarchos, the
shipowner, had purchased, most probably for a good price, and it was so beat,
it risked drowning us every time it hit rough seas. The shipowner however did
not take into consideration such small details and continued using it.
It was a golden
age for tankers. Stavros Niarchos was a self-made man, he started as an
employee in a flour mill and ended up being a multi-millionaire. He convinced
his uncles and his employers to purchase six cargo ships to transport grain and
he personally borrowed the money to purchase one of these ships himself. During
World War II, he chartered it to the Allies, but it was destroyed in the war.
He used the money he received from the insurance company as capital to extend
his fleet. He mainly purchased tankers. This is how Stavros Niarchos made his debut
as a significant presence in the field of international trade.
One of his first ships, “SOUTHERN UNION” was a tanker
with an old hull, made of steel plates which gave it strength to withstand
rough seas but had no air conditioning. The combined heat from the steam
boilers and the naturally insufferable hot climate of the Persian Gulf made the
lives of the crew unbearable. The temperature in the engine room would reach
50° C. As a bit of fun, we would break eggs on the hot plates of the deck and
watch them cook in seconds under the hot sun.
The ship’s propulsion was by propeller attached to an
axle. The axle itself was turned by a steam turbine fed with steam from the
boilers. The engine room of the ship was located in the depths of the stern and
was divided into two compartments; the boiler room housing the boilers running
on diesel and the engine room where the turbine turned the axle. The pipes
carrying the steam were old and fatigued, could not withstand the high pressure
and a lot of steam escaped every now and then causing the air to fog up. By the
time we fixed one worn gasket, another blew out. It was a tiring process of
constant repair in order to limit losses and maintain adequate steam to move
the turbine which in turn spun the propeller’s axle. It was dangerous, hard
work and, I am adamant that, in the history of steam propelled ships, there is
not even one engineer who can say that he never sustained a serious burn.
Despite all this, we gritted our teeth and waited for
the days to pass and we dock at the next port and enjoy a good sleep on dry
land and off the ship. Fortunately, the aged and battered ship did not
undertake long voyages, and this time there was a charter agreement for the
island of Ceylon.
Sri Lanka, the name meaning Blessed Island, known in
the past as Ceylon, is in the south east of India. It has a warm and humid
climate because it is near the Equator. This is an island with dense vegetation
and jungles, endless tea plantations, huge statues of Buddha sculpted on
rockface, as well as National Parks with wild animals and dangerous snakes with
horns and other repulsive diabolical creatures with weird colours. For its
strange beauty, Ceylon has been described as India’s Tear as well as Tahiti of
the East. Colombo is the capital city and the port. Before 1980, the buildings
were low, mainly makeshift shacks with some majestic stone buildings left over
from the time of British Colonialism.
The weather during our last voyage to Ceylon was bad,
and so was the sea. When a tanker is laden and in rough seas, sailing is
exceptionally dangerous because, due to the heavy cargo, the ship is low on the
sea, with only a minimal part of the deck above water. Therefore, when the sea
is very rough, the waves cover the deck and only the crews’ quarters and the
masts remain above water.
The weather on the day we were approaching the port of
Colombo was this bad but, as always, a few hours before arrival, we needed to
inspect the pipes that supplied the anchor and deck machinery with steam. We
slowly opened the valves and allowed steam to gradually flow into the pipes so
the sudden expansion would not crack them. Despite our care, one of the flanges
broke and needed repair. It wasn’t a difficult job and the Third Engineer
assigned it to me. The broken flange was approximately half way between bow and
stern. Huge waves washed over the deck and caution needed to be exercised
because many times in such weather the sea snatched people off tankers’ decks
and washed them out to sea. Usually nobody survived such mishap as the wake of
the ship would draw them under and they would disappear.
I donned my asbestos gloves as necessary protection
from the hot steam, and holding on to the steam pipe for balance, I started
making my way out to fix the broken flange. I reached the fault near the middle
mast, and very carefully, balancing on alternate legs depending on the rolling
of the ship, I removed the screws to change the flange. The waves mounted the
deck and every time would wet my legs. Carefully and methodically I worked,
taking care not to be swept off by a large wave while under my breath I prayed
to the Virgin Mary to look after me. Screw after screw, some I unscrewed easily
and others I had to cut with the cutter, I was almost finished when suddenly a
huge wave covered the deck and swept me off my feet. With immense force, it
swept me away and I was unable to react and hold on. On the bridge, the Captain
and the Second Officer together with the duty sailor were dumbstruck seeing the
huge wave sweep me away. They stared with their mouths open, unable to utter a
word. They were sure I was lost, swept out to sea.
When the wave rolled off, I was lying on the ship’s
deck and not lost in the deep waters. I had taken the precaution of tying a
rope around my waist which I had also connected to the steam pipe. The Captain
and the others breathed a sigh of relief. They had not realised I had survived
because from such distance, they could not see I was tied by a rope. They
started making the sign of the cross and thanked God, believing it was a
miracle that such a strong wave did not sweep me off. For me, however, it was
the Virgin Mary’s grace that led me to think of tying myself down, thus saving
me from drowning.
IN CEYLON
Colombo is the capital city and a significant Asian
commercial centre. Because of its naturally large harbor and strategic location
on the commercial routes connecting the East with the West, it was known to
traders since ancient times.
We travelled to Colombo regularly for a whole year.
Stavros Niarchos’ company had a contract to transport fuel to the country and
our ship was assigned to carry out the charter for the next term. We would load
from Libya, navigate the Suez Canal, Red Sea and Arabian Sea, enter the Indian
Ocean and reach the large harbour of the city.
Colombo was a beautiful Meridian city with wild
vegetation and a lot of mosquitos. Unfortunately, there was also the threat of
contracting malaria because of the humid and warm atmosphere hovering over
still and stagnant waters in many parts of the country.
Every voyage, I eagerly awaited to disembark on the
land spread before me, a place so green, so beautiful and overgrown with
tropical vegetation. I loved walking the streets and observe the people moving
up and down, their simple clothing being but a piece of fabric thrown over
their shoulders partially covering their body. Among them, countless traders
peddled their wares while the streets were buzzing with two and three-wheeled
motorbikes and bicycles as well as cars of a passed era. A city unlike those of
Western countries, a different culture untouched by progress and development,
as if time had stopped.
Colombo harbour was deep, and the ships docked
practically next to the shore, on wharves that extended considerably into the
sea. They were wooden and narrow yet sturdy since large tonnage tankers could
tie alongside. The distance to the entrance of the port was 200-300 metres and
there we would meet a medley of taxi drivers and guides waiting to transport us
and give us guided tours of the city and the country.
Even though the city was an extension of the port and
at a short distance, we usually took a taxi because the fare was cheap but also
because the taxi drivers would give us tours of the sights and the parts of the
city they knew well. This was particularly useful to us sailors because the
first things on our minds were pleasure and entertainment as each round trip,
loading and discharge, lasted up to a month. With a minimal fee, they gave us
tours from morning till night, until the opening hours of the bars, which were
our final destination.
Even though Colombo was the capital city of a country
with a population of eighteen million people, it boasted only two bars, and
there should have been more. Both bars were huge and full of prostitutes
looking for customers. No prostitute exercised her profession publicly as
family values and, even more, religious beliefs, were strict and did not allow
it. Despite this, there are prostitutes all over the world, some hidden and
others out in the open. I remember the first impression I had during my first
visit to these bars. I saw a vast establishment, a huge banquet hall, full of
women trying to hook up with the few customers. There were no local customers,
the only local men were the waiters. It was obviously a place specifically made
for foreign visitors, mainly sailors, who yearned for female company after
their long voyages across oceans. This was why the place was so big; it had to
accommodate all the prostitutes of the capital. Drinks were cheap and so were
the women, so we offered them all drinks and danced with them until we settled
with one girl and were taken by her to a cheap hotel.
The national currency, the rupee, had small value
against international currencies and so the drivers used to ask payment in
dollars and pounds sterling. Even the Cyprus pound had value. We knew this and
would reach an agreement with them to exchange dollars for rupees for a
significant profit which covered our expenses during our stay in the country.
During one of our trips, we docked and noticed that
the city was very still, with no life around and no movement. It seemed asleep
and the people were closed in their homes and did not go out to work nor carry
on with everyday life. It appeared that the city was under a curfew. The
labourers and engineers assigned to discharge the ship’s cargo were few on the
dock, and further inland, there were only one or two taxi drivers awaiting us.
The taxi drivers knew Greek and we could easily
communicate with them. It was the same in every other port as Greek shipping
was number one in the world.
We found out from these taxi drivers that this particular
day was a great religious Buddhist festival and that was why everything was
closed; it was a holiday for all. Even the bars, the owners of which eagerly
awaited a ship to dock so the seamen would rush to spend their money, were
closed. The few who were circulating around the city that day were not
Buddhists but probably belonged to another religion and were not celebrating.
Most of the population of Ceylon are Buddhists, but there are other religions
such as Hinduists, Muslims and even Christians.
I had just finished my shift in the engine room and,
together with a new recruit trainee engineer, we dressed in our finest and went
on shore leave. It was nine o’clock in the evening and we planned to go
directly to one of the two bars at opening time. On learning that everything
was closed we were very upset because after so many days at sea we were looking
forward to going on shore, letting our
hair down and having fun. We walked a little in the hope of finding some shops
that were opened but everything was closed, and the streets were empty. Every
now and then an old car would speed down the street and disappear into the
city. Even the open-air fruit market that buzzed with life was deserted. It was
obvious that the vast majority of the residents were Buddhists and were
celebrating their grand festival. So, with nothing to do and having walked for
quite a while, we felt disappointed and decided to return.
We started heading back with our heads hanging down in
discontent since arriving at a deserted city was of no value to us. The fact
that we didn’t do any shopping was not a serious matter to us, but not having
picked up women was indeed monumental. In the middle of the ocean and
interminably lonely, with hard work our only solace, we longed to dock and have
some fun, drink, get drunk and indulge our libido. The voyage was long, and so
was the longing. Here we were, on shore. I was clean shaven and doused in
expensive cologne. I wore my fanciest clothes, and, with my buddy, we walked
the town. Yet, here we were, returning to the ship unfulfilled and morose. We
would go to bed and, by the time we were relieved again from our shift, the
ship would have discharged its cargo and we would be ready to sail away.
With a heavy heart,
we walked slowly without being in a hurry to get back. At a distance, we saw
the ship standing tall in the water looking huge, a sign that it had discharged
most of the cargo.
As we walked silent
and pensive, an old taxi stopped, and the driver started talking to us in a
mixture of Greek and English.
I will never forget
his appearance no matter how many years pass, it is etched in my memory as if I
had seen him only yesterday. His skin colour was an odd blend of black and
brown and, combined with the asymmetrical features of his face, made him look
very ugly. However, the thing I cannot forget is how detestable he was, with
hard furrows across his face and with eyes an indescribable colour that looked
like the eyes of a venomous serpent ready to pounce without warning and inject
its deadly poison. He reminded me of a strange snake I had seen in the large
zoo of the country during my last trip, a snake with a huge horned head on a
slender and very disproportionate body. A snake so terrifying that I have never
seen again despite researching in encyclopaedias, I still remember it and
shudder. In any case, he did not look like a normal man and as soon as I set
eyes on him, I disliked him.
While chatting he
asked us whether we wanted to have fun and, if we did, he said that he had his
own women and could take us to them. There was nothing we wanted more at the
time and we immediately said yes. He grasped the opportunity and charged us
more than the regular fare, explaining that everything was prohibited on this
day and that his risk was double, therefore he charged more. We asked him what
the second risk was, and he explained to us that, on this day, the prostitutes
did not work and so he would take us to his wife and daughter and that this was
the risk. If people found out, they would shun him.
I was immediately
furious because, in my country, family is a highly sacred institution. I was
ready to tell him to go to Hell, but the trainee turned and said:
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“What do we care, it is his family,
and, in any case, he may even be lying to justify the extra money he is
demanding”.
Wanting to have my
fun, I accepted my friend’s explanation without giving it much thought.
We entered the taxi
and he drove for a few kilometres. We arrived in a neighbourhood with small
houses that looked like they were made of thin cardboard, like the shantytowns
of underdeveloped countries shown on the news. The asphalt had come to an end,
and he was driving the car on a dirt road. Obviously, this was a very poor
area. There were street lights attached to poles and, in the faint light, we
could see the poverty and misery of the place. The streets were without
pavements or asphalt and riddled with potholes filled with stagnant water. All
the houses were tiny, with one or two rooms, low and crooked, listing towards
one side because of the wind as they were made with thin and crude materials.
We stopped in a yard
in front of a cardboard house a little bigger than the others. He opened the
makeshift door and in the faint light we saw a woman sitting on an old chair
with a bowl in her lap, cutting some vegetables. He spoke to her in their
language and we saw her giving him a surprised look.
My friend and I
became worried, but the taxi driver turned and reassured us. The woman went
into the other room and came out holding a young girl by the hand. She did not
look older than sixteen. Being young at the time, we paid no attention to the
fact that she may have been underage. In any case, my friend had chosen her for
himself and he was barely eighteen.
We noticed however
that both women looked frightened I thought that they may have been terrified
and unable to refuse the commands of their master.
The despicable man
said something further to the two women and they beckoned us to follow them. We
went out into the yard and they led us into a room. It was a single room
divided by a low wicker mat, and on either side of this there was a bed. My
friend and I stood with the two women and we all felt very uncomfortable.
The older woman
removed her clothes and lay naked and on her back on the low bed and beckoned
me to approach. I however no longer wanted sex, under the circumstances I
considered it to be a humiliating act. At the same time, I heard the young girl
crying silently at the other side of the room.
We understood exactly
what was going on. The wicked taxi driver was selling them against their will
and forcing them to have intercourse with clients. They were terrified to
refuse. I understood that the older woman had accepted her fate, but it may
have been the first time for the young girl, and she was terrified. In the end,
she explained that this was the case to my friend and was crying in fear,
pleading with us to show mercy and not tell her stepfather that she cried.
My friend the trainee
engineer was a kind and sensitive boy, so it was easy to agree not to touch
them nor tell on them and ask for our money back. We managed to somehow explain
our intentions to them and relieved, they kissed our hands.
I never regretted
this and felt relieved with our decision. On the way back though I could not
help but think that the poor girl was spared this time, but what about next
time, and the time after that?
In time, whenever I
recalled this episode in my life, I felt pleased with the way I conducted
myself. I knew that I had done the right thing and hoped that I would continue
doing so for the rest of my life.
All over the world,
ports are centres for the sale of sex and drugs where unemployed lonely seamen
looking for employment, or crews off ships that docked to discharge cargo, seek
warmth in carnal gratification after long voyages across seas and oceans.
Sometimes the prostitutes walk the streets alone trying to sell their body and,
in other cases, pimps are willing to give seamen a tour around the temples of
entertainment and lust. Usually this is conventional and classic lust and
carnal pleasure, but sometimes it is heretic unorthodox lust out of the context
of traditional values. These are sex and drug markets transcending the limits
of human denigration, full of drug mules with no inhibitions, women who sell
their bodies, and men who pimp and exploit them shamelessly with profit the
only thing on their mind, where all limits of morality, decency and propriety
are breached.
In ports, young women
and little girls line up waiting for clients, and young sailors unfamiliar with
the system or those who want something alternative, turn to the pimps and sex
dealers to find it.
Depending on the
stringency of the law in every country and port, things may vary.
I remember once in
Bari, before the ship even tied up, locals jumped the rails and boarded the
ship. The fact that in Italy private citizens had the right to board a ship
under foreign flag when docked in a port did not seem strange to me and did not
raise any suspicions in me. I simply assumed they were customs officials or
port labourers. In my greasy overalls, I stood by the engine room door and
watched them walk up and down.
Having nothing better
to do until my shift was over, I watched. Standing a little further from
everything and watching what was going on, I quickly comprehended that
contraband and games were taking place between the crew and the visitors.
Dealings were taking place in goods seamen bought from other countries for
trading, such as Seiko watches and calculators from Japan, Zenith cameras from
the Soviet Union and illegal substances from cheap countries, usually Latin
America or Africa. I remember once in Nigeria, we anchored outside the harbour
to refuel and launches actually came alongside with customs officers and
labourers offering us such substances very cheaply, mainly in exchange for
luxury cigarettes such as Rothmans.
In all this frenzied
commercial activity, I saw a local youngster talking with the ship’s cabin boy
and, after a while, they walked away together and entered the cabin boy’s cabin
at the end of the corridor. I figured he was going to show him something for
sale or that they reached a more private arrangement since one usually does not
know another’s sexual preferences, whether he is straight or not. The cabin boy
seemed a serious young man, very masculine, and we never thought of him as
homosexual. However, my eyes had seen many things, too many things, and nothing
would surprise me.
In time, it was
obvious that something other than contraband had taken place in the cabin. Not
only because they were inside the cabin together for a long time but because,
after we sailed, our cabin boy came down with a serious illness caused by a
sexually transmitted disease and we just managed to deliver him for treatment
in time before he died at sea as his illness took hold very quickly and ate
away at his body, causing him intolerable pain.
Homosexuality has
genetic origins and, combined with environmental influences, makes a person a
homosexual. That is to say, most gay people are born with a predisposition and
homosexuality is not a choice they make later in life. The wider public
considers this bad and even a crime sometimes while open-minded and educated
people simply see it as a sexual preference.
Scientific research
however emphasises that particular care needs to be exercised during such
sexual encounters because, as public criticism forces homosexuals into secrecy,
they tend to change partners. Doing so facilitates the spread of diseases.
All seamen are at
risk of contracting contagious diseases because of their unusual living
environment and circumstances of work. Again, studies have shown that of those
seamen who fall ill and die, most deaths are not due to accidents or drowning,
as many would think, but to contagious diseases, mainly sexually transmitted,
especially during the past when these were not treatable. It is therefore and
undisputed fact that seamen risk contracting a wide range of diseases, most of
which are caused by having sex without taking the necessary precautions. In my
view, the most usual ailments suffered by seamen are herpes, papilloma, genital
lice and gonorrhea. Many definitely contract more dangerous diseases but
because of their severity nobody wants to mention them, in contrast with the
more frequent and usual STDs mentioned by many because they are considered run
of the mill, like ‘flu or a cold.
So, our young cabin
boy contracted gonorrhea. Those few moments of sexual pleasure for which
obviously no precautions were taken, brought him a lot of suffering, pain and
hardship. In his haste and in the throes of passion, he hurriedly released
himself into the enjoyment of sexual deeds without using protection. For a few
seconds of lust that were over so quickly, he did not operate correctly, he did
not protect himself.
And here he was now,
in the middle of the Indian ocean, suffering the manifestation of a dreadful
disease. In the beginning, he hid the problem masking his pain and serving food
in the mess without showing discomfort.
As the hours and the
days passed however, the sickness started eating away at him and weakening his
system. It was clear on his face and in his movements that something was
hurting. When we asked, he said that he had a problem with his back and at the
beginning we felt sorry for him and helped by serving ourselves.
Until one day, I saw
him come out of his cabin with his legs spread open as if he suffered from ire,
totally unable to walk, with tears running from his eyes, his face in a spasm
brought on by insufferable pain. I asked him what was wrong and, crying, he
answered that he contracted a disease, that it was eating away at him and
finishing him off, and that he could no longer stand the dreadful pain. He
wanted to die, to spare himself. At that moment, the boatswain appeared at the
other end of the corridor and approached. He was an older seaman and
experienced, so he immediately realised what was going on and asked:
-
“Faggot, you got the clap up your
bottom?”
Turning
to me he said:
-
“Hey, Cypriot, this is a serious situation,
run and get the Second Mate.”
The
Second Officer, or Second Mate as he was usually called, was responsible for
everything that happened on the ship, and had to ensure that everything run
smoothly and correctly. He was, of course, answerable to the Captain and would
update him about everything and would take orders only from him.
In
the cabin boy’s case, he concluded that he had to be confined to his cabin
until we arrived in port, to see a doctor. His ailment was contagious, and he
should not circulate or work, and, most importantly, should not serve food to
the crew. So, he gave him some painkillers, locked him in his cabin and gave
the order that nobody should let him out or visit him.
As
the days passed, the cabin boy was writhing in pain locked in his cabin, and
his cries were heard throughout the day and night, piercing our ears. It was a
situation that frightened us because his cries were heartbreaking. The pain, it
seemed, was unbearable and got worse by the day.
I
considered the situation inhumane. Why wasn’t the Captain requesting a
helicopter to lift the cabin boy off the ship? I wondered whether it was
deliberate because the cost to the company in such cases would be high. I also
thought that possibly the Second Mate did not care about the human lives on the
ship and left the poor boy to suffer his destiny and bad luck. My thoughts were
valid because, during a previous voyage, I had seen evil and inhumanity in this
man. I remember an incident like it was yesterday, an incident that made me
very sad and caused me to write him off as a human being. We had sailed from a
port and the assistant boatswain (his name was Sakis, I still remember him
well) had bought a small monkey. This monkey was a tiny thing, very graceful,
calm and well trained, a delightful little creature. We all loved him and would
play with him. That was until the day the Second Mate, a man made of skin and
bone, as if food did not touch him because of his heartlessness, found out
about him. He grabbed the little animal and forcefully threw him overboard.
This was a sad incident that has remained etched in my memory, as I watched the
little creature swimming in his desperation to stay afloat. And the ship sailed
away leaving the poor little monkey behind, to drown and be eaten by fish. I
knew that animals were not allowed on ships because there was a danger of
transmitting contagious diseases to the crew and that the Second Mate acted
based on regulation but, notwithstanding this, I still considered his deed
cruel.
One
day, the screams of pain and the cries of despair from our patient that
saddened and embittered our hearts, stopped. We all thought that the worst had
happened and worried, we asked the Second Mate for information. He gave us a
reasonable explanation, that he was transferred to sickbay in the front deck,
so that the rest of the crew’s work and efficiency would not be affected by his
cries. I did not really believe this explanation and I wonder to his day if
this was indeed the case, or if the poor cabin boy did not survive the pain and
the dreadful disease, whether he breathed his last breath in that ship and
whether the Second Officer and the steward carried his lifeless body to the
fridge until we arrived in port, as provided in the regulations.
We
all had this horrible thought, but we were obliged to accept the Second
Officer’s explanation.
The largest part of these countries is covered by the
Sahara Desert and are sparsely populated by humans. In many cases the only
residents are a few wild animals and plants that survive without water.
In ancient times there was plenty of water in the
Sahara and it formed large rivers with banks covered in vegetation and full of
life, but after the passage of millions of years the climatic changes and
strong earthquakes changed everything. Today, scientists say that all rivers
that flowed on the surface of the Earth have submerged and now flow underground
in the depths of the planet and that they are at such depth that man cannot
exploit them and to try to do so would be counter-productive due to the high
costs involved.
As part of this area, Saudi Arabia is a country that,
upon arrival, a visitor receives a different feeling. Another kind of sense,
dangerous and deadly like the desert surrounding it. Saudi Arabia is a country
that very frequently imposes the death penalty on both locals and foreigners.
On weekdays, people walk without worries and children
play ball and other games in the squares, but on Fridays people are executed by
beheading for crimes such as possession of drugs or robbery, but mainly for
offences against religion as their sense of religion is very strong. After
all, this country is the cradle of the Muslim religion and birthplace of
Prophet Muhammad. These are offences that are punishable with death by
beheading in public areas, and this is a powerful deterrent.
In those years,
before 1980, the country’s authorities made life very difficult and repressed
for both locals and foreign visitors, except for seamen who worked on Greek
ships, and this was because the Saudis liked the Greeks. There was a deep
appreciation for anything Greek and an infinite respect for the Greek people.
This is what I noticed and received from the local population, even from my
first voyage there, and older seamen explained to me that indeed, this was the
case. I thought that maybe they admired us as Greeks because of Alexander the
Great who conquered their country and spread Greek culture.
The people in Saudi
Arabia engaged in the production and cultivation of pearls, as well as the
cultivation of palm trees because, as a desert state, palm trees flourished in
its soil. Mainly however, they engaged in the extraction and worldwide
exportation of petrol which is abundant in its sub terrain. In the large port of Dammam, in the middle of
the Persian Gulf, there are huge terminals for the extraction of petrol. Huge
metal structures extending deep into the sea form artificial docks, where ships
tie to load the precious liquid. Our ship docked at one of these docks and
anchored to load mazut.
We came from Japan.
We had travelled to Nagasaki, one of the best natural harbours on the island of
Chiusu, the ancient town of Shogun and the Samurai.
We had carried there
a cargo of mazut, and, after unloading, we quickly departed for the Persian
Gulf. Sailing the Indian Ocean, we reached the Gulf of Oman, on the
north-western part of the Arabian Peninsula and passed through the Ormuz
Straits that link the Ocean with the Gulf.
The Persian Gulf or
Arabian Gulf is important to the world economy as it produces and exports large
shipments of oil. It links Arabia with the Indian Ocean, and touches the coasts
of Oman, Qatar, Bahrain, Saudi Arabia, the Arab Emirates, and part of Iraq and
Persia.
Shipping traffic was
high at that time, so we were sailing carefully at low speed. The sea was calm
and still, with a murky white colour like that of the desert. The weather had
changed, the coolness of the sea slowly faded away and a hot wind started to
blow from the shore, and, as we approached, it became hotter. The wind was
light, and it brought high temperatures from the Sahara Desert, turning the
atmosphere dull and hazy. In a short time, we realised that the weather had
totally hanged and had become unbearably hot.
It was a dry,
scorching wind originating in the great desert, dragging sand and dust in its
wake. It was a Sirocco, hot and dangerous like Livas (south-west wind), the
wind that scorches crops and causes damage in its wake.
It was a Sirocco, blistering and perilous,
blowing from the south-east, originating usually from the Sahara, crossing
North Africa, passing the Mediterranean where it gathers moisture and thus
cause rainfall and fog. It moves at a speed of 55 knots and may last half a day
to several days at a time.
From my porthole I
watched the sailors handling the ship’s ropes wearing thick gloves to prevent
burns on their hands as the whole deck had heated to great temperatures by the
boiling Sirocco. My cabin was located quite high up and, having a panoramic
view, I watched the ship approach and come alongside the pier, docking under
the pilot’s guidance. I saw the labourers passing the slack lines over the
dock’s bollards and the sailors manning the winches, slowly and steadily
tightening the ropes so that the ship gently came alongside the dock, tightly
secured and safe.
Having tied up, my
gaze wandered towards the shore and a little further away I saw a desolate land
without housing or infrastructure apart from a straight, wide road, black like
a snake, starting from the coast and disappearing into the desert.
Sleeping quarters,
warehouses, offices, machinery installations and petrol pumps were erected in
the middle of these artificial large platforms and docks and all together
formed a large floating port secured and immobilised on the surface of the sea
by weights and anchors. It was an immense floating platform with all the infrastructure
and installations of a Lilliputian town, with a helipad and large oil
extraction and pumping machinery.
A little further off
the dock, a few hundred metres away from where we had tied up, I saw another
tanker lying low in the water, a sign that it had almost finished loading. The
logo on the funnel was of a Greek ship owning company, indicating that most of
the crew would be Greeks. I immediately wondered whether there were any
Cypriots among them. I was away from Cyprus for a long time and I missed
receiving news and updates from my home country. It was the period after the
1974 Turkish invasion, and I was concerned about what was happening in my
divided country. I also wondered whether I would meet anyone from my own
village. Two young villagers from Chloraka had left a little earlier than me to
work on the ships. First to go was Paschalakis Fouartas, and a little later
followed Giannakis Polemitis who went to meet Paschalakis. They were both older
than me and I thought at the time that, since they were not daunted by the
prospect of leaving for foreign lands, why should I be? With them as an
example, I took the big decision and sailed on the ships. I left my land and
now, here I was, in a faraway country, standing on a high deck, wondering
whether I would meet fellow villagers on board the other ship.
I shook my head from
side to side to escape my nostalgic musings. I thought once more, how possible
would it be …..? In the whole world to meet someone from my village here, just
because I felt nostalgic. The Earth is inhabited by almost seven billion people
and I was from a small village with a population of just one thousand five
hundred souls. A very poor place for someone to easily find work, any type of
work, during those hard times. That’s why some young people ventured to leave
and travel far away from their land in the hope of a better future. Paschalakis
and Giannakis thought of working on ships and, eventually, when they docked at
an American port, jump ship and stay in that rich western country described in
the newspapers and shown in films as the promised land, as an affluent country
of opportunity. With this dream, Paschalakis decided to go abroad and with the
same ideas, his friend followed. I did the same thing a little over two years later.
So, the two left, and nobody had received any news from them, neither friends
nor family knew what had happened to them. I imagined that they had already
settled in a foreign country, surely after all this time they had found the
means to succeed. They were probably comfortably settled somewhere washing
dishes in a restaurant. A difficult job nobody liked but was in high demand, a
job degrading for a man and therefore always considered as temporary, a
beginning, until given an opportunity for something better. For those who
travelled abroad for a better future, America was an attractive and favourite
destination because it was a prosperous country. This was why the two friends
thought of going there. Maybe when they landed there, they would have a chance;
this is what they thought and dreamt.
Nostalgia for home is
generated in travellers of the world who leave their poor countries in search
of a better fortune. It is fed and watered by their sweat and blood in exchange
for a little hope in life, in exchange for bread and employment.
In me it appeared and
took hold when I began my long sea voyage, my wondering around the world, with
hope in my heart for a better future.
My thoughts were
racing, memories took me back to my village, and a sadness took over because I
hadn’t communicated with my people for a long time. I had travelled abroad for
the sole purpose of finding work and now, in the middle of an Arabian desert, I
was overwhelmed by an unbearable longing for what I had left behind. My
nostalgia hurt like being stabbed with a sharp knife, a pain known only to
those who emigrate. Nostalgia for beloved places and people, friends, siblings
and relatives, a bitter and raw pain.
With my mind clouded
in memories, I climbed down the deck and walked to the bow of the ship, the
point that was nearest to the ship tied in front of us. I lifted my hand as a
shield against the sun and carefully observed the deck, trying to make out if
people were moving around. The hazy atmosphere was shimmering in the high
temperature and my vision was limited. Looking carefully, I eventually saw a
sailor stooped next to the mast, the sun pitilessly beating him, strenuously
stripping rust, and at the same time my ears were assaulted by the loud noise
of the copper stripping tool banging upon the thick plates of the deck. Every
now and then he would stop and with a cloth in his other hand, would wipe the
profuse sweat off his naked torso. It was extremely hot and the light Sirocco
wind blowing made the heat even more unbearable and intolerable. The sailor
however continued working, he seemed tough and had stamina since sailors
working for months and years under adverse weather, in both hot and cold
conditions, become hardened and learn to endure and persist under duress since
the nature of their profession involves contending with the wild elements of
nature and the sea…
The bow under my feet
was incredibly high, many metres above sea level because the ship had its
ballast removed and was ready to load crude oil. The sea was motionless like a
mirror and reflected the sun while in the water the fish were clearly visible
swimming around the ship looking for food.
I turned towards the
stern and walked until the middle of the ship where the sailors had placed a
rope ladder. I placed one foot on the first rung and hung on. I descended very
carefully. The heat was relentless, and any reasonable man would have stayed in
the cabin or the cafeteria, but I decided to walk up to the other ship and say
“Hi” to the sailor who was tirelessly stripping the steel plates.
With no particular
reason, an inexplicable feeling drove me to go and greet him. An unusual
premonition pushed me to do it. And so, my steps led me where the sailor was
working. I stepped over the low railings and hopped onto the deck. I walked
towards him and greeted him loudly so my voice could be heard over the noise of
the stripping tool. Startled by the volume of my voice, he abruptly turned
towards me. What I saw surprised me, I did not even dare believe it. He was
also surprised to see me ….. It was Paschalakis.
And so, a seaman’s
life is full of surprises, it is unbearable and relentless, sometimes even
cruel, full of danger and longing for the country and the people left
behind.
THE
LARGE WAVE
It was daybreak and I
was standing on the stern after finishing my night shift. It had become a habit
to come out onto the stern at this time in the morning when everyone except
those on shift were asleep. I would sit under the fading stars as daylight
broke and would feel the ship under my feet creak and shudder as the propeller
met the resistance of the water. I would listen to the rudder under the
waterline groan constantly as it tirelessly kept the ship on course. I sensed
and felt the immense power of the ship under my feet wrestling with the sea and
pushing against it in order to keep going. Leaning on the railings and watching
the seawater being churned into white froth by the ship’s propeller, I allowed
my mind to travel across the grey twilight and take me wherever it wished. On
that day and at that time – maybe a coincidence – I was thinking of the great
force of the sea and all the unexplained things that lay hidden in its dark and
unknown depths when, suddenly and without being sure of when exactly it started
happening, I thought I felt the atmosphere’s gravity changing and the ship,
together with the sea moving downwards, like the water in a lake goes down
without actually forming a whirlpool. Startled and horrified, I looked at the
sea around us and it seemed that the ship was at the bottom of a huge wave,
while its crest was far above us. It was like a gorge between two mountains,
all made of water, and the ship was sailing at the lowest point of all this
water.
It was a uniquely
dangerous situation so inconceivably real, that my brain refused to believe it
at first and I felt I was in a dreamlike state watching this phenomenon unfold
from the position of an external observer. I could see the wave’s crest
touching the sky ready to turn and cap us, and the ship was nothing but a small
toy in its shadow. The sea looked like an immense mountain, and we sailed up
its side until we reached the top. Then, we descended sailing downwards, and
found ourselves floating in calm waters while the large wave left us and
disappeared in the distance.
It was a massive
wave, something I had never come across before during my travels. A huge wall
of water, a gigantic wave over thirty meters high, maybe even over one hundred
meters, that had just appeared out of nowhere.
When everything was
over, I was not even sure whether the incident was real. I pinched my arm until
it hurt, but I could still see the huge wave disappearing in the distance,
continuing its path, enormous and terrifying, and it was real. It had really
happened, it was a gigantic wave that rolled into our path, passed us, and did
not sink us.
During the endless
hours of our shifts down in the engine room, we would recount stories, mainly
of the sea. Once, an old stoker told me that he heard of a gigantic wave
hitting a ship in Mozambique, lifting it upon a mountain of water and then
sinking it in the sea trench that followed. He explained however that it was probably
a myth because there are no such waves, same as the Gorgon, sister of Alexander
the Great, does not exist. I tried to find out more about this huge wave asking
old seamen and also researching in books, but all I found were unconvincing
theories because a regular earthquake could not cause turmoil of such an extent
in the sea, nor was it a tsunami, as there was no earthquake registered
anywhere in the world on that day.
I stood at the end of
the ship and watched the wave depart and panic had not taken over yet because
my mind had not grasped the huge risk we came across and passed. The sun slowly
rose in the sky and there was no other vessel on the horizon. The thought
“maybe they were swallowed up by the wave” crossed my mind. The light and cool
night breeze disappeared, the wave had taken it away with it, leaving behind a
deathly stillness in the atmosphere and there I was, standing still in deep
silence, slowly comprehending the strange unnatural phenomenon that had
occurred.
