By Abdool Aziz
EARLY in December 1962, she slipped out of a dry dock and was christened – M. V. Malali. A modern ferry, the best ever built by Guyanese expertise. She was the flag ship of the marine fleet of the T&HD. Her mission: to run a daily ferry service from Parika to Adventure. It was a treacherous crossing in the Essequibo Delta festooned by a submerged sand bank and mud flats. Though a special channel was dug for her, she still encountered dangers and by night, the inevitable happened. She became a ‘sitting duck’.

That evening, she ‘limped’ out of Parika harbour loaded with passengers and cargo. She was touching the plimsol line and her sailing was ‘laboured’. We were steaming and the tide was ebbing and just as she turned murder bush the captain turned on the search light, and to our fear the back of the marine obstacles were manifested – sand banks and mud flats.
“Steady!” the Captain barked.

“Steady, skipper!” I replied. He cut the engine to ‘slow’ then ordered a reading of the depth. The leadsmen shouted, “Quarter less nine, Captain!” (That is eight and three quarter feet). The ship’s keel was seven feet, six inches. The vessel began to vibrate.
‘Mid ship!’ he shouted. I placed the rubber at ‘O’. He stopped the engine then we felt her bottom grazed. She shuddered and it happened. She ran aground!

Some passengers, asleep on the deck had their chairs jolted and they look bewildered while others got up from their seat and peered through the windows.
“What’s happened?” they asked. The captain went to the intercom.
“Passengers your ship is on a sand bank. As soon as the tide returns, we’ll sail again. Please stay calm. Some coffee and other refreshments will come your way.”
He placed his radio to the mic and some cool music wafted into the promenade deck. I stepped down the bridge. One irate passenger said, “What you doing up deh? A lil sailor … see what you done!” I tried to calm him down.

Another passenger said, “Alyou bin sleepin? The captain don’t know the jab. I am a captain too – never got stuck like dis. Alyou gon bruk up the ship!”
The captain stepped down. An angry mob surrounded him
“How dis happen Cap?”
The old man tried to explain.
“You didn’t see the sand bank or you nah sleep?”
The captain smiled and said, “The tide is too low. Our ship was loaded.”

One pregnant woman said “When we go sail? Look ah me condition!”
Captain said, “Please understand, we got to wait on the flow tide.”
The civilian captain, “I going up the bridge, the ship can come off the sand. I’ll put it astern.” Sailors blocked the steps. The captain took the troubled man to the aft and showed him the exposed blades of the propeller. “See, those screws will spin in the air. No thrust, we must wait!”

The ‘Floating City’ stood its ground. Anxiety gripped the minds of the beleaguered passengers. Babies were crying, women were lambasting the crew. I took the brunt of it as the inefficient helmsman. People scurried from bow to stern calling on the captain to move the ship. Accusations of carelessness filled the air. Some called on the captain to resign.
Others accused us of trying to harm the state–of– the-art ferry. The captain and crew remained calm. No one took the refreshments. All were angry, tired and anxious to keep moving. And move they did. What appeared to be an external nightmare ended in cheers as the flowing tide lifted her up and sailed her forth. It was back at the wheel.