Chapter 2: SOS on the Open Sea

Around 6 a.m. on July 25, 2011, two other fishing vessels—Okirika Star 1927 and Okirika Star 1928—operating in the eastern waters near Gabon, both received a distress message at the same time:

"1927, 1928, abeg help."

The message came through the company’s internal 82770 radio channel. His voice sounded like man wey see juju for bush—shaky, almost not human.

Inside the cramped radio cabin, a sleepy deckhand on Okirika Star 1928 blinked hard, hearing the desperate plea cut through static. He quickly scribbled the message on a notepad, knuckles white around the pencil, his pulse racing.

The sender was none other than Okirika Star 2682, the vessel that had been missing for over a month.

Immediately, some crew whispered prayers, crossing themselves or whispering "Chineke!" as if hearing a ghost.

All three vessels belonged to the same company: Niger Delta Xinfay Fisheries Group Ltd.

Among fishermen, the company’s name meant you fit buy land after two contracts, but stories of "wahala trips" followed their ships like bad market.

Auwalu Musa, captain of Okirika Star 1928, quickly responded: "Wetin happen?"

His voice came out sharp, with that northern edge, betraying the worry hidden beneath captain’s gruffness. One of his mates whispered, "Abeg, make e no be pirates again o."

"This na 2682. For South Atlantic near Angola, the engine room dey leak water, the ship wan sink."

Even across the static, panic laced the voice. In the background, you could hear men shouting orders, the metallic clang of tools, and somewhere, someone calling on Jesus.

"Where una dey exactly?"

"500–800 nautical miles southeast of Angola, 27°1' S, 13°20' E."

Those coordinates might as well have been on the moon for many in the crew, but Auwalu Musa scribbled them down, sweat beading on his bald head. He silently cursed the day he ever left Kano to find fortune on water.

After Auwalu Musa ended the radio call, he quickly used the satellite phone to contact the company and report the situation.

He struggled with the connection, nearly breaking the phone with how hard he pressed the buttons. When the line finally picked, his voice came out ragged: "Oga, wahala dey! 2682 wan sink! Abeg, do something fast!" The operator promised action, but the tone was more tired than urgent.

Meanwhile, the crew of Okirika Star 2682 dey struggle for their lives.

Water rose up to their ankles in the engine room. Some men bailed with buckets, others jammed rags in the leaking valves. Above deck, men shouted prayers and curses in every tongue: "Ya Allah!" "Jesu!" "Chukwu e mere anyi ebere!" Each man working with the frantic energy of those staring death in the face.