It was my last ship that day. I noticed its age and all the rust. A Tanzanian sailor pointed me to a reluctant Ukrainian officer who shrugged, said they didn’t need anything, and motioned for me to leave. For some reason they didn’t want me there, but I understood why only later. I reported my concerns on the Ship Visitor app and went home.

The next morning, I got a message that while refuelling at 3 am that same ship caught fire. Two crew members had died and one was air-lifted to hospital. I flew into action, going straight to the terminal where I saw the black smoke residue of a devastating fire.

In the grey and cold of early morning the crew were huddled outside a nearby building facing the ship, while the authorities did their work. There were two distinct groups, Russians/Ukrainians, and Tanzanians. They were in shock, so I simply took time to talk with them before making my way downtown to the hospital. The injured seafarer was still being treated with major damage to his lungs and throat. I stayed with him for a few hours praying, although he was under heavy sedation.

Returning to the terminal I found the sailors in the same place. Remembering how hot drinks can help those in shock I picked up coffees and distributed them, and they began to open up. I knew from experience that as Muslims the Tanzanian seafarers were probably missing their prayer times, so I looked up Muslim prayers for the sick and used my phone to play them in Arabic. One sailor read a phrase out loud. The others repeated it seven times, and they bowed with their hands upraised by their faces. With tears running down their faces, they all came up to me shaking my hand and expressing thanks. The leader said “Thomas, you have no idea what you have done for us”. From that point on, all mistrust or fears were vanquished.

The crew were taken to a hotel where I helped them settle. With the assistance of the hotel, we made toiletry gift bags for each sailor, and also gave them leftover Christmas gifts. Having evacuated quickly they had nothing, so I sent a driver to Walmart to get the essentials. Simple acts perhaps, but the difference they made was clearly significant.

I continued to visit the crew—those at the hotel, the officers at the port, and the one in hospital. I made sure they all had my WhatsApp number. They knew I was there for them. I suppose I just tried to love them well as I could. Without visas they were unable to leave the hotel, but were permitted to do so if accompanied by me.

The crew was eventually sent back to their countries and their families. I remain in contact with them by WhatsApp from time to time.
I visited often and talked at length with the Ukrainian and Russian officers stationed near the ship. To help them feel a sense of home my wife found a recipe for Paska, a bread traditionally eaten during Easter. It was a long process to make, but one evening I took the cloth-wrapped loaf to them with butter and knives. As he unwrapped the cloth, a smile spread across the Ukrainian officer’s face. “It’s Paska!”, he said, “yes, this is religious bread, served only at Easter”. He was very thankful and understood our simple effort to help him.

I continued to visit the seafarer in hospital. He has had a difficult and distressing journey, but as the months passed he began to improve. The last time I saw him he was walking up and down the corridors of the hospital as part of his physical therapy. I got him a Texas baseball cap which he loved. We have had longer and deeper conversations in this time. After five months, at last it looks like he might go home soon, and he will leave with a blessing from me.

Please support our vital work by making a donation this Easter, so that we can help more seafarers who are caught up in tragic circumstances, as only the Mission has the time and the ability to respond in such personal ways.
Thank you.