For Mohammed Aisha, a Syrian sailor, life on the open sea was a familiar and cherished calling. Born in the Mediterranean port city of Tartus, Syria, Mohammed followed in the footsteps of many in his region, carving out a career as a seafarer. In May 2017, he boarded the MV Aman, a 4,000-ton cargo ship, as its chief officer. It was a routine job, or so he thought. Little did he know, this assignment would spiral into an almost four-year ordeal of isolation, hardship, and despair.
It all began on July 2017, when the MV Aman docked at the Egyptian port of Adabiya and was detained. The reasons were procedural—expired safety equipment and classification certificates. These issues, typically resolved quickly, became the first domino to fall in a series of events that would change Aisha’s life forever. The ship's Lebanese contractors failed to pay for its fuel, and the ship's owners, a Bahraini company, were in financial distress, leaving the vessel stranded. The crew was left in a precarious situation, caught between bureaucratic red tape and corporate negligence.
The MV Aman's Egyptian captain went ashore, leaving the remaining crew behind. A local court, adhering to Egyptian maritime laws, declared Mohammed the ship's "legal guardian." The 29-year-old, unaware of the gravity of this designation, signed the order, assuming it was a routine procedural step. Only months later, as the rest of the crew began to leave, did the weight of his new responsibility dawn on him. He was effectively trapped on the ship, bound by legal obligations to remain aboard until the vessel's issues were resolved. What followed was an unimaginable struggle.
Over time, the ship’s condition deteriorated. Without funds to buy fuel, the vessel was left without diesel, rendering its generators useless. Power outages became the norm, plunging the ship into darkness at night and cutting off access to basic amenities like sanitation and refrigeration. Mohammed described the ship as feeling like a "grave at night." The silence was deafening, and the darkness overwhelming.
For the first two years, Mohammed had some companionship. But by August 2019, the remaining crew had departed, leaving him entirely alone except for the occasional presence of a guard. The ship became a tomb of dust and disrepair, with rusting equipment and debris strewn about. Without a steady supply of drinking water or food, Mohammed’s survival hinged on infrequent provisions brought by local suppliers. Communication with the outside world was sporadic, as he relied on a dwindling phone battery and occasional trips ashore to recharge it.
As months turned into years, the psychological toll became crushing. In August 2018, Mohammed received devastating news: his mother, a schoolteacher and the person who had instilled in him a love for the English language, had passed away. Stranded on the MV Aman, Mohammed was unable to attend her funeral or mourn with his family. He later recalled this as the darkest moment of his ordeal, admitting that he had seriously contemplated taking his own life.
"I felt like I was in a coffin," he said in one interview, describing the oppressive sense of hopelessness that consumed him during those long, isolated nights.
In March 2020, after nearly three years of being stranded, a storm struck the MV Aman. Violent winds dislodged the anchor, and the ship drifted five miles out to sea before running aground on a sandbank just 500 meters from the Egyptian shoreline. While terrifying at the time, the event proved to be a small blessing. Now closer to land, Mohammed could swim ashore every few days to buy food, collect water, and recharge his phone.
Though this newfound freedom provided a reprieve, it was a far cry from a solution. The storm had damaged the ship further, making it clear that it would never sail again. Still, the legal designation as the ship's guardian meant Mohammed could not simply abandon the vessel. He was bound by Egyptian law to remain aboard until a replacement guardian could be appointed—something that seemed increasingly unlikely as months passed without any intervention from the ship’s owners or other responsible parties.
While Mohammed's story is extraordinary, it is far from unique. According to the International Labour Organization (ILO), the abandonment of seafarers is a growing global issue. In 2020 alone, over 250 cases were reported, marking a significant increase from previous years. The ILO defines abandonment as a situation in which a ship's owner fails to fulfill basic obligations to the crew, including providing wages, food, and repatriation. In these cases, seafarers are often left stranded, unable to leave the vessel due to legal or financial constraints.
One such case was reported at the Iranian port of Assaluyeh, where 19 crew members of the bulk carrier Ula went on hunger strike after their vessel was abandoned in 2019. Depression and financial strain became widespread among the crew's families, highlighting the human cost of this systemic issue.
“The first time I came across one of these cases, I was in total shock,” said Andy Bowerman, Middle East and South Asia director for the Mission to Seafarers. From his base in Dubai, Bowerman has worked on numerous cases like Mohammed’s, often involving companies overwhelmed by debt or legal complications.
"We're currently working with a case here, where the company has a huge mortgage on the vessel, but their debts are way beyond that. So sometimes, it is just easier to tell the crew to drop anchor and to almost literally walk away," Bowerman explained.
Mohammed’s case caught the attention of international organizations in December 2020, when the International Transport Workers’ Federation (ITF) began advocating on his behalf. The ITF, which has long fought for the rights of seafarers, identified Mohammed’s situation as emblematic of a broader crisis within the shipping industry. The organization worked tirelessly to negotiate a resolution, but progress was slow.
The ship’s owners, Tylos Shipping and Marine Services, insisted that they had done everything in their power to help Mohammed, blaming the Egyptian courts for failing to lift his guardianship status. However, critics pointed out that the owners had failed to provide adequate support for years, leaving Mohammed to fend for himself.
In April 2021, a breakthrough finally occurred. The ITF convinced an Egyptian union representative to take over as the ship’s legal guardian, freeing Mohammed from his obligation. After nearly four years of isolation and suffering, Mohammed was finally allowed to leave the MV Aman.
On 22 April 2021, Mohammed boarded a flight from Cairo to his hometown of Tartus, Syria. As the plane taxied on the runway, he sent a simple text to a journalist who had followed his story: "Relief. Joy." In a voice message sent moments later, he elaborated: "How do I feel? Like I finally got out of prison. I'm finally going to be rejoined with my family. I'm going to see them again."
Mohammed’s journey home marked the end of an ordeal that many could hardly fathom. As the plane ascended into the sky, he stared out of the window, the vast expanse of clouds below symbolizing a long-awaited sense of freedom. The memories of the last four years, however, lingered heavily in his mind. He thought about the endless days spent staring at the horizon from the deck of the MV Aman, wondering if anyone would ever come to his rescue. Even in this moment of relief, Mohammed couldn’t shake the sense that he was one of the lucky ones.
The road to freedom had been anything but straightforward. Mohammed reflected on the countless pleas for help he had made over the years—letters sent to the ship’s owners, appeals to maritime authorities, and desperate calls to anyone who would listen. For much of his time aboard the MV Aman, those cries seemed to fall on deaf ears. He had been left to navigate a Kafkaesque nightmare, where bureaucracy and negligence conspired to leave him in limbo.
One of the most difficult aspects of his experience was the isolation. He had always enjoyed the camaraderie of life at sea, working closely with crewmates to ensure the smooth operation of their vessel. But after the other crew members departed, Mohammed found himself utterly alone. The occasional visits from a guard provided no real comfort, as they were brief and impersonal. The ship became a place of haunting silence, where the only sounds were the creaking of its aging hull and the distant murmur of waves.
The mental toll was immense. Days blended into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. Mohammed tried to maintain a routine, cleaning the ship and taking inventory of the dwindling supplies, but the monotony was crushing. He often found himself pacing the decks, staring at the passing ships and imagining the lives of the people aboard them. He envied their freedom, their ability to come and go as they pleased, while he remained tethered to a vessel that had become both a prison and a symbol of abandonment.
One of the most heartbreaking moments came when he learned of his mother’s death. The news reached him months after the fact, delivered by a family member over the phone. Mohammed’s mother had been a central figure in his life, a guiding force who had encouraged him to pursue his dreams. Her death was a blow made all the more devastating by his inability to be with his family during their time of mourning. He grieved alone, his sorrow amplified by the oppressive solitude of the ship.
Yet, even in the darkest moments, Mohammed clung to the hope that his ordeal would one day come to an end. He found solace in small acts of defiance against the despair that threatened to consume him. When the storm in March 2020 caused the ship to drift and run aground, he saw it as a turning point, an act of divine intervention. The proximity to shore allowed him to swim to land, where he could buy food, recharge his phone, and briefly escape the confines of the MV Aman. These small reprieves became lifelines, offering a glimpse of normalcy in an otherwise surreal existence.
The involvement of the International Transport Workers’ Federation was a turning point. For years, Mohammed had felt invisible, his plight ignored by those who had the power to help. But the ITF’s advocacy brought his case into the spotlight, drawing attention to the broader issue of seafarer abandonment. As he spoke with representatives from the organization, Mohammed felt a renewed sense of hope. Finally, someone was listening.
The resolution of his case required delicate negotiations and a willingness to challenge the systemic failures that had led to his predicament. The ITF worked tirelessly to navigate the legal complexities of Egyptian maritime law, ultimately securing a replacement guardian for the MV Aman. This crucial step allowed Mohammed to leave the ship and return to his family, a prospect that had once seemed like a distant dream.
The moment Mohammed stepped off the plane in Tartus was one of profound emotion. His family was there to greet him, their faces etched with joy and relief. They embraced him tightly, their tears mingling with his own. For Mohammed, it was a moment of closure, the end of a chapter defined by struggle and resilience. He was home.
In the days that followed, Mohammed struggled to adjust to life on land. The freedom he had longed for felt overwhelming at times, and he found himself haunted by memories of his time aboard the MV Aman. Sleep was elusive, as his mind replayed the countless nights spent in darkness, the creaks of the ship echoing in his ears. He knew that the scars of his experience would take time to heal.
Despite these challenges, Mohammed remained determined to move forward. He spoke openly about his ordeal, sharing his story with journalists and advocates in the hopes of raising awareness about the plight of abandoned seafarers. His story became a rallying cry for change, a stark reminder of the human cost of systemic neglect within the shipping industry.
The discovery of similar cases around the world only strengthened Mohammed’s resolve. He learned about the 19 Indian crew members stranded on the bulk carrier Ula in Iran, who had resorted to a hunger strike to draw attention to their plight. Their situation mirrored his own in many ways, underscoring the urgent need for reform. Mohammed reached out to the ITF and other organizations, offering his support and lending his voice to the growing movement for accountability and justice.
The MV Aman itself became a symbol of the crisis. The ship, once a functional cargo vessel, now sat in disrepair, its rusted exterior a testament to the years of neglect. For Mohammed, it was a reminder of the system that had failed him and countless others. He hoped that his story would inspire industry leaders, governments, and maritime authorities to take action, ensuring that no other seafarer would have to endure what he had.
As the weeks turned into months, Mohammed began to rebuild his life. He reconnected with friends and family, finding comfort in their support. He returned to the sea, resuming his career as a sailor despite the trauma he had experienced. For Mohammed, the ocean was both a source of pain and a place of purpose—a reminder of the challenges he had overcome and the strength he had discovered within himself.
In reflecting on his ordeal, Mohammed often spoke of the resilience that had carried him through. He had faced isolation, despair, and uncertainty, yet he had emerged with a renewed sense of determination. His story was one of survival, but it was also a call to action—a plea for systemic change and a commitment to protecting the rights of seafarers everywhere.
For Mohammed, the MV Aman was more than just a ship. It was a chapter of his life, a crucible that tested his limits and ultimately shaped the person he had become. As he looked to the future, he carried with him the lessons of those four years, vowing to use his experience to advocate for others and ensure that no sailor would ever be abandoned again.
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