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By Sheryll B. Casanova, Reporter
A DRUNK crew, inaccessible life vests, and
barter in the middle of the sea: perfect elements of a possible sea
disaster.
I had the opportunity to witness the practice of
an operator of wooden-hulled ships, the San Nicholas Shipping Line.
I boarded Catalyn-A bound for Coron, Palawan, on August 14, 2003, at
around 3 p.m.
The ship was scheduled to leave Pier 2 on Isla
Puting Bato at around 4 p.m., but only when all the cargoes were
loaded, at around 9 in the evening, did we leave port. Waiting for
five hours was such a grueling experience.
It was my first time to ride in a small
wooden-hulled ship. I was in the company of more than 60 strangers
who were also passengers of Catalyn-A. We were all given tejeras, a
folding bed made of wood and tarpoline, around 20 inches wide and 60
inches long. These beds were arranged side by side to make the best
use of the little space of the second deck. Tejeras were on both
sides and in the middle of the deck, leaving only two 12-inch-wide
aisles on the left and right sides.
We were jam-packed. Most of the ship’s 60-odd
passengers were small-time traders with cargoes under our beds and
in the deck below. The first deck, which houses the kitchen and the
toilet, was packed with sacks of vegetables, spices, fruits, junk
foods, fruit juices in tetra packs, storage boxes and cylinder
styropor used for fishing. More cargoes lay in the ship’s belly. I
saw sacks of the same goods there.
I talked with people in the ship, but I could
not tell a passenger from a crewman. Crewmembers were not wearing
uniforms.
That was a long trip, taking 20 hours from
Manila to Coron aboard a 99-ton ship speeding at 9 knots. To while
away the long travel time, some passengers played the card game
Tong-Its; others, like the four widow biyaheras around me, shared
their stories about love, life and business while others slept.
Terrorist attack?
In the morning of the next day, I woke up to see
that we were in the middle of the sea. No island was in sight.
Suddenly, at around 11 a.m., a motorized banca,
or dugout, approached our ship. One of the two men in the boat blew
a kiss, as if signaling something while holding a basketful of fish
in his other hand, and then the banca trailed our ship.
The passengers were clueless about why this
banca was following our ship. Could they be pirates? Terrorists?
Would they hold us hostage? The passengers were a little nervous.
To my surprise, Catalyn-A stopped at midsea. The
crew entertained the men in the banca.
The two fishermen exchanged the fishes they had
caught for some packs of cigarettes–two packs of Hope and one
Marlboro brand.
I wondered: what if those fishermen were real
terrorists?
On Tuesday last week, rebels of the New
People’s Army boarded a ship docked in the pier of Real, Quezon.
Wrapped life vests
I don’t know how to swim. That is why it was
the life jacket I checked out first when I boarded Catalyn-A.
Life jackets or life vests of Catalyn-A, though
many, were stored in a wooden space fixed in the ceiling with small
wooden bars for locks.
I wondered what I would do if abandon ship was
called. First, I told myself, I would get a life vest.
I was glad no such announcement came. But if
there was, passengers would have a hard time getting a life jacket.
Because besides being stored overhead, the life vests were in
plastic bags. Before passengers could get a life vest, the ship
could have sunk already.
Another thing: the ship had no demonstrations or
signs informing passengers of what to do in an emergency.
Birthday party
After one night and one day in Coron’s
Poblacion, I again took a 20-hour trip, this time going back to
Manila. Again, I rode Catalyn-A.
Unlike the full-packed trip to Coron last
Thursday, the ship had fewer passengers and fewer cargoes. It had 13
passengers, four live chickens and cargoes, mainly seafoods stored
in chest boxes.
But just the same, we were delayed. This time
our time of departure was moved from 4 p.m. to 8 p.m. For the same
reason, all cargoes had to be loaded in the ship.
The second deck was spacious this time. There
was less work for the crew and more time for rest and recreation.
For a small ship like Catalyn-A, rest should be
sleeping and recreation could be a simple board or card game. This
time, however, while the ship was cruising, the crewmen had a
birthday party at the lower deck for one of their seafarers. They
opened bottles of Red Horse beer and drunk until they were soused.
They were quiet after the party. They fell
asleep drunk.
What could happen if an accident occurred when
most of them were drunk?
A study conducted by the Transnational
Diversified Group Inc. on “Maritime Accidents in the
Philippines” said accidents, generally, are due to human error,
among others.
“Shipping companies surveyed already have an
understanding that to lessen human error, the seafarers must be
trained not only to properly navigate and maintain the vessel, but
also how to handle the passengers in times of crisis,” the study
recommended.
By the window
Besides the tejeras for sitting and sleeping,
passengers and crew alike like to sit on the ship’s window panels.
There were two things to see in these window panels: the beautiful
scenery outside and death.
Crewmen sat on the panel, one even dared to put
his legs outside the pane, above the tides.
The sea was peaceful during the trip; no typhoon
loomed at that time. But if the tides were strong, a man
sitting on the window panel can definitely be blown out of the
window to the sea. There were no warning signs, and no crewman
cautioned those sitting on the panels not to do so. Why would they?
Some of the crew also sat on the panel.
Overloaded
When I was on Coron Island, I met the owner of
GF Carinderia on Malvar Street. She was once a passenger in M/V San
Nicholas, the three-deck ship of San Nicholas Shipping Line whose
collision with WG&A killed 23 people on May 26, 2003.
She said overloading has been the practice of
San Nicholas.
For some reason she was in Manila in December.
She decided to go back to Coron to her family in time for Christmas.
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