A Maritime Security Officer on the road

Meeting Bashir and the ride to Sues

The story I am about to tell is nothing out of the ordinary. Actually I guess it is something that most Maritime Security Officers experience on a frequent basis. However, it is so ordinary that we don’t even give it a second thought anymore. But I am sure it will get a laugh out of you and just in respect of Bashir, it is worth telling. Without exaggerating, our job isn’t all that dangerous. Yes we go to the high seas and wait for armed gangs of pirates, armed with 7.62 AK-47’s and RPG’s (Rocket Propelled Grenade) and a doped up will to kill and conquer. But still, we have the solid and stable high ground. We have a prepared crew, precision weapons, razor wire and fire hoses (which only do any good in the minds of the people at IMO thinking up ways how to kill pirates by having the die of laughter and maybe ammonia after a cold shower). So all in all, it is pretty safe which is the reason that no vessel with armed security on board has ever been taken.

No, it is not the job in itself that is so dangerous. I have noticed that we have risked our lives more often in the drive to and from International airports in our countries of embarkation and disembarkation. For example Egypt or Sri Lanka. Being a resident of Belgium, I am used to people driving like their hair is on fire and execute manoeuvres that look strange even to the half-blind. But in Sri Lanka for example I have woken up in the car seconds before the driver was about to hit a cow which was having its lunch break on the middle of the road. The cow wasn’t really the problem; it was the traffic on the other side of the road. The driver decided that he could take the oncoming lane to go past the cow. That this lane was occupied by a 20 ton “goods carrier” with limited or no brakes was left in the middle. Forget RPG’s and getting hit straight through the ballistic vest by a 7.62 stray round (stray because these pirates can’t aim for shit. But stray or not, bullets don’t discriminate).

So, on this particular occasion I was heading to Egypt on an Alitalia flight to embark on my vessel going from Sues to Galle, Sri Lanka. A trip I have done many times, a lot of people have done it. It is one of the most frequent South bound trips. Going through the Red Sea, passing Bab-el-Mandeb (a narrow straight just between Eritrea and Yemen which is considered as a High Risk Area within the High Risk Area declared by the IMO), going through the IRTC (Internationally Recognised Transit Corridor) in the Gulf of Aden and then heading South East towards Sri Lanka through the Indian Ocean. It is a 12 day trip approximately. Great!!

Packed with my North Face XXL duffle bag and my 5.11 72h back pack I got on the Alitalia flight to Rome, transferring to another Alitalia flight to Cairo. The flight was ok, it was Italian. I didn’t get spaghetti on any of the flights, but I was surrounded by the necessary: “Pronto” – “Quattro Staggioni” – “Vene, Vini, Vici” and what-not. The only exciting thing about the entire trip to Cairo was that the A-321 taking us from Rome to Cairo was the oldest A-321 in the fleet of Alitalia. I bet that Capone himself invested in this plane in the days he still had the cash to pay for one. But ok, it flew and got us there and the emergency exit seating gave me a good sleep.

Once arrived in Cairo, at around 0200h in the morning of the 28th of December I was a bit tired. However, I knew that I was probably going to be driven to Sues (about a 2 hours’ drive) so the local agent would have me as close to the vessel as possible, just in case it came out of the Sues Canal early. To my big surprise and happiness, I was taken to the Holiday Inn just next to the Cairo Airport and told to be ready at 1800h, when a driver would pick me up and drive me to Sues. GREAT!! Some rest, grub, swimming and a gym. So far so good, me happy.

At 1700h I was packed and ready in the lobby of the hotel. Just in case the driver would show up early, I would be ready. Like as if I was supposed to provide the agent with a service. Damn service industry background of mine. Anyway, I checked out, thanked the lady at the reception and even witnessed an Egyptian wedding, as the married couple was taking their happy pictures in the lobby. I positioned my 5.11 backpack so that my name tag would be visible to all those looking for someone. Since I didn’t know my driver, I thought he might know my name and when seeing the name tag would come up to me. At 1758h precisely, I see this old man stumbling into the reception. Glasses that could use a good wiping, a hip that could use replacing and a shiver that could use a cup of coffee. The man walks to reception and wildly gesturing shows his cell phone, the first ever to be produced phone by Nokia, to the receptionist. I can see the whole deal happening and as soon as I see a frown on the receptionists face, I understand that this is for me. As I am already checked out, the receptionist only sees on his computer screen that the room is vacated and paid for. But, he is not going to disappoint the old man, and looks around the lobby, all of a sudden pointing at me. For operational security reasons, I ignore this, and pretend that I haven’t seen anything. Let them find me, and not I find them, just in case it isn’t ME they are looking for but some other American looking white eye.

The old man comes up to me and shoves the phone in my face: “this you name?” he says with the accent of a Pharaoh? Yes, this me name…. on his screen, my name is spelled in capital letters. Now your name my friend and what the f.@#ck are you doing with my name in your cell phone? Of course this is my driver, I know, but operational security. Don’t just stand up and walk away with the first Jihadist looking for an easy ransom sale. So he produces an id with the shipping company’s logo and a picture that looks like him minus 65 years. Good enough for me, I still need to get on the vessel. So I follow Bashir outside, where he asks me to wait while he gets the car. In the meantime it is dark in Cairo, the evening air fairly chilly. As I wait for Bashir to come back with the car, I scan the parking lot to see what he will be driving up in. My eyes are still adjusting to the outside ambient light, and all I can see is a shadow doing weird things to the hood of his car. Anyway, still convinced that all is fine and falling into my na?ve “I am ok and nothing can go wrong” attitude, I wait.

A vehicle, I think a Hyundai from the days when Hyundai still only made refrigerators, appears on the driveway of the hotel. As it squeaks to a halt, the trunk opens in a majestic motion. There is dust covering the dents and holes and to half-moon shaped clearings are visible through the windshield. Bashir sitting behind one of the clearings gesturing me to use the trunk for my gear. I lift my North Face bag and as soon as I go to drop it in, I notice that I can see my own feet beneath the trunk. Ok, North Face goes in, I am keeping my 5.11 in front. Great, this vehicle has manual air-conditioning… For those who don’t see what I am saying, there was a hole in the trunk, big enough to see through and for me to doubt that my 5.11 backpack would stay inside.

I open the door and manoeuvre myself in the passenger seat next to Bashir. He is holding a plastic cup filled with a steaming liquid. As a true Arab gentleman he offers me a cup, of homemade tea. Traditionally the Arab tea is very hot and very sweet. Excellent to get your body over the excruciating heat of the desserts. I guess Camel humps must be filled with this tea also. It is a beautiful gesture and I feel at home in Bashir’s Hyundai, but since I have no way of knowing where he took his water from, I decline. I do so by thanking him in Arabic, “Shukran Habibi” but wildly gesturing that I don’t need one. He understands and proceeds to put the car in a gear, which one even he doesn’t know, but the car gets into motion and starts its way towards the road to Sues. Bashir is driving with no lights on. I guess he is a big believer of: “in the land of the blind, one eye is king…” in the land of the vehicle with lights on, he is most visible with lights off. Maybe I should have had some tea to understand this. Oh well, Iphone in the ears, music on and sleep, the road and my night are going to be long.

While listening to the tunes of Blazzin Fire, “Bad Boys” and dozing off a just a little, I can hear the screams of a Camel. As I am half sleeping, I dismiss this sound as part of a dream I am falling into. But the sudden shaking of the car makes me open my eyes just as the tail of a Camel, and actual Camel with tea-filled humps and everything, is almost hit by Bashir. Instinctively I grab the wheel and yank it to the left to make sure the car goes back on the paved road. Bashir suddenly opens his eyes and looks at the Camel, the road, my hands on his wheel…. He mutters: “Shukran..” and continues driving. Ok, Iphone OUT of my ears, sit straight up and follow the road with my eyes. Communicating with Bashir is futile, so I just give him a small laugh and try to make him understand I don’t want to die being stuck in the ass of an Egyptian Camel. I can see in the eyes of this old man he has no clue what I am saying, but politely nods. I am convinced he doesn’t even realise what just happened. Looking back at things, I am sure that he has actually woken up inside Camels’ anus before and thus he wasn’t the least bit shocked by everything.

The rest of the voyage goes well, except that Bashir used the white line of the road as his center target to keep on track. The rest of the Egyptians heading to Sues couldn’t really appreciate this, so I used my Westerner diplomatic skills to motion people a ‘I am sorry, Bashir is very old’ sign. It seemed to work, as all other vehicles just passed us with the occasional honking of the horn. Once we arrived in Sues in front of the agents apartment building, Bashir shakes my hand and gestures me to get my stuff and take a different car. The agents car.

To set the record straight, the driver wasn’t called Bashir, I don’t know what he was called, but I am sure that he could have been called Bashir. I bet I will see him again and will fear for my life. But you know what, I have never been so happy to embark in one piece on a vessel. Let the pirates come, I have met Bashir.