made the ship roll from side to side with tiresome monotony. We promptly succumbed to seasickness, the worst misery known to man as far as I am concerned. I almost wished to die right then and there, to get rid of that terrible agony. Fortunately (as if anything could be fortunate under these foul circumstances), the constant roll of the ship kept us in a state of absolute exhaustion, an exhaustion that helped us doze through some of the worst stages of the storm.
Once the storm abated and the seas calmed down, most of us quickly regained our sea legs, and once again started to enjoy life onboard. I said “most of us” because father was unfortunately unable to shake off the lingering effects of his seasickness, and remained uncomfortable all the way to Lobito.
As far as Harry and I were concerned, the on-board activities were ready made for the two of us. We played shuffle board, table tennis, cards and all kinds of board games. Personally, I also liked to lie on a deck chair and peek through the handrail at the rushing ocean. What amazed me was that the “footprint” of the ship’s wake remained in the water long after we moved on. How could an imprint last on such a fluid surface?
Two interesting events altered the daily routine of our trip. The first one was the Abandon Ship drill that was held early on, and the other was the Rite of Passage Through the Equator, which was celebrated half way through our journey. The Rite of Passage is an ancient naval custom, one that is observed, to this day, by most sailors.
The Abandon Ship drill was thorough and well planned. Each passenger was assigned to a particular lifeboat and trained on the proper use of a lifejacket. We were told firmly that, once the alarm was heard over the public address system, we were to drop whatever we were doing and assemble promptly at our specific lifeboat location.
The second interesting event, the right of passage, was one that added real excitement to our routine.
As we progressed in our voyage, the days became longer and the temperature started to rise noticeably. We were nearing the equator which divides the earth in two equal parts, between the North and the South Poles, i.e. the Northern and Southern Hemispheres. And when we were about to cross that imaginary line, the ship’s company became busy planning for the ceremony honoring King Neptune, and for the compulsory initiation rites that were to be administered to those crossing the equator for the very first time (they were known as “Polliwogs”). Once a sailor goes through the required ritual, he becomes a “Shellback”.
Mythology makes us believe that King Neptune, the Roman god of the ocean (Greeks called him Poseidon), rules over all the waters of the earth. Sailors crossing the equator for the first time must appear before him, and show why they should become future subjects of the ocean. Once initiated, they emerge as the adopted sons of King Neptune, and receive full authority to haze all Polliwogs on future crossings of the equator.
King Neptune is usually dressed in flowing garments, with a crown on his head and a long beard across his face. He carries a three-pronged spear called the “trident”, and holds court with his son Triton by his side. The King’s retinue stands respectfully around the throne, and helps the King hand out the various trials and punishments that a Polliwog must go through in order to become a Shellback.
There are two levels of hazing, one for the ship’s company and one for the passengers. The passengers are subjected to an easygoing type of hazing that promotes good humor, and consists of harmless ordeals that, at worst, are only moderately embarrassing and only slightly physical in nature. For instance, there are absurd characters to impersonate, funny tunes to vocalize, quinine to taste (there is nothing more acrid in the world), etc.
But, by contrast, sailors are treated harshly and without the least compassion during the entire hazing process. The ordeals reserved for them are unpleasant, occasionally offensive and definitely grueling. There is lathering with grease and tar, crawling through slop, cutting or dyeing of hair, and other preposterous trials meant to leave a lasting impression on the unfortunate candidates.
One more thing needs to be said about the equator. While it is the mid-line on the globe, it is also the latitude where the earth’s seasons reverse; when it is winter in the north of the quator, it is summer in the south. For us, that meant that we had transitioned, within a few days, from Europe’s chilly winter right into Africa’s hot and humid summer. Initially, the change was not perceptible, but eventually the intense heat and burning sun became hard to tolerate. Our cabin, without air-conditioning (remember that this was in 1939), became really uncomfortable and we ended up spending all our waking hours topside, under the canopy that covered the deck.
And suddenly, here was our last day on board. It was marked by the crew’s scramble to prepare the ship for next day’s early arrival in port, and by the Lobito passengers packing their possessions.
As for me, I could hardly believe that the magic day, the day I so longed for, was finally within reach, and that I was going to take my first steps on the African mainland within the next few hours. The anticipation was killing me, and sleep eluded me for a while during that final night in our stuffy cabin.
Then morning came and, as I awakened, I could tell that something had changed. The ship was not moving. We had arrived. Still half asleep, I clambered topside and found that we were actually moored to a pier in the Angolan port of Lobito.
After two weeks on the ocean, here was Africa at last.
08. First Glimpse of Afirica
Harry had also come topside and, standing side by side, we gaped at the incredible hustle and bustle all along the dock. The unfamiliar sounds and sights were so unique that it took some time before our senses were capable of taking them all in. But that was not the case with the sickening stench that hit both of us fast and hard. And though we did not know it at the time, it appears that we had just been exposed to a strong “essence” of drying fish (drying acts as a preservative and keeps the fish edible for several weeks) mixed, for good measure, with decaying sea-creatures and rotting vegetation. This was a combination of overpowering smells, and it assaulted our nostrils with the foulest odor we had ever encountered.
Still, my dismay over the pervasive foul odor dissipated quickly enough, and I was able to re-focus my attention on the colorful tableau that stretched all over the dock at our feet. And I immediately became conscious of the fact that I was gawking right there at more black people than I had ever seen before in my whole life. Most of the men wore ordinary shorts with an occasional shirt or undershirt. But the women’s outfits were anything but ordinary. They wore vividly colored wrap-around pieces of cloth (called “pagnes” in French), and whenever they moved out of a shaded area into a fiery shaft of bright sunlight, they seemed to burst into a flood of multi-colored lights (a boyish mind is full of imagination). Amazingly, it appeared that each pagne was dyed in its own combination of bright colors, because none of them looked alike to me.
The next thing I noticed was that both the men and the women carried almost everything on their heads. And while some used their hands to keep the various items from falling off, others kept their loads safe by merely holding their heads level and their backs ramrod straight (isn’t that what fashion models practice in order to develop a perfect posture?). Several of the women carried babies on their backs, held comfortably in place by pieces of cloth wrapped tightly around their bodies.
Various groups of white people were making their way to the ship, and I instantly noticed the sun helmets on their heads. That was when I remembered, with somewhat of a thrill, that we had bought our own helmets in Antwerp, and that I shall be wearing one myself when we disembarked later that day. The expats that were coming on board must have completed their tour of duty in the tropics, and were taking the ship back to Europe for a well-deserved leave.
Tropical sun helmets are made from a strong cork compound. They are lightweight and, for added protection, have brims
