Chapter 3: Rescue and Revelations

Around 9 a.m., the Nigerian Fisheries Administration Law Enforcement Vessel 118 received a call from the Niger Delta Fisheries Administration Bureau, asking for their location and telling them to wait for further instructions from headquarters.

Inside Vessel 118, the radio operator, a small woman named Edidiong, jotted down the details and quickly relayed them to Captain Ifeanyi Udeh. The whole crew tensed up, knowing that orders from headquarters usually meant trouble—nobody gets called for rescue unless palava don land.

At that time, Vessel 118 and another enforcement ship had just passed the eastern entrance of the Bight of Bonny, heading into the South Atlantic on official duty.

Salt wind battered their faces, the horizon a blue blur. Some junior officers murmured about bad omens, recalling stories their fathers told about ships lost in the Bight—"No cross Bonny anyhow, make you no see wetin you no suppose see." But duty was duty, and they pressed on.

Around 11 a.m., Vessel 118 received a fax from headquarters, ordering them to head straight to the western Atlantic, 1,080 nautical miles away, to rescue Okirika Star 2682.

As the news was announced, a hush fell on deck. Chief Engineer Olawale grumbled about the distance, "Abi dem think say we be Superman?" The crew got to work, tightening belts and preparing for a long, tense journey.

It wasn’t until evening that Vessel 118 finally managed to get through to the distressed ship, but the distance was too far, so the radio signal was very poor and communication almost no work.

The static on the line carried more fear than words. Voices faded in and out, questions hanging in the air. The officers pounded the radio like it could force the Atlantic to behave. They could only pray the other crew held on till help arrived.

After another night of sailing, around 6 a.m. on July 26, the two vessels finally fit talk normally on radio.

Dawn broke with an uneasy peace, the radio crackling awake with full force. Everyone crowded around as Ifeanyi Udeh leaned in, voice taut with urgency, ready for answers.

Ifeanyi Udeh, captain of Vessel 118, quickly asked about the situation on board.

His voice was firm but fatherly: "Oga, abeg, talk true. How ship dey? Wetin una dey see?" The silence before the answer felt like thunder building in the bones.

"The fishing vessel dey stable now, e no go sink."

Those words made everyone let out small sighs—no be every day you hear good news for sea. Yet, suspicion lingered in the captain’s tone.

"All 33 people for your ship dey okay?"

A long pause, like somebody holding his breath underwater.

"...Now...na only 11 remain." The captain of the distressed vessel, Tunde Ajibade, clearly hesitated before answering.

You could almost hear the chill settle across the radio room, eyes growing wide. One deckhand muttered, "Jesu! Wetin happen to the rest?"

Ifeanyi Udeh was shocked: "Where the other 22 dey?"

He leaned forward, voice cracking as he struggled to keep his composure. Every officer around him felt the air tighten, their hearts skipping.

"Ehn...the matter get as e be. Make I reach house, I go report to oga." Tunde Ajibade answered with reluctance.

His voice sounded tired, shaky, like a man who had seen what eyes should not see. Even the junior officers exchanged glances, sensing things weren’t as simple as they seemed.

Ifeanyi Udeh immediately knew say something serious must have happened on Okirika Star 2682.

He took off his cap and ran a hand over his head, already calculating the political and spiritual wahala that might follow. In his mind, he prayed quietly, "God abeg, make this matter no disgrace us."

He no ask further, but quickly reported to the Fisheries Administration Bureau.