Marseille, 24th September
In the summer of 2023, I boarded the Ocean Viking, the SOS Méditerranée rescue ship (which rescues people attempting to cross the Mediterranean to reach Europe, editor’s note), for a six-week mission. It was my first expedition and remains the most memorable.
The ship departed from Civitavecchia, in Italy, with a crew of 34 people. After a week of training at sea, we began patrolling international waters off the coast of Libya. The very next day, there was a boat in trouble.
During training, we prepared for the worst-case scenarios. So, I didn’t know what to expect, what state the migrants would be in, if there would be dead bodies on board, people with wounds caused by the salt water and oil, or pregnant women. The adrenaline began to mount.
There’s also always a degree of fear linked to the Libyan coastguards, who are increasingly violent. They circle around the ship, shout over the radio, and sometimes intimidate us with warning shots.
But in the end, nothing went wrong during that first rescue. It was in broad daylight. There were 30 or 40 men and women on a boat, no one in immediate physical distress, and no medical cases. Everyone came aboard the Ocean Viking quite smoothly. Then we headed for the port assigned to us by the Italian authorities. (Since 1st January, 2023, whenever SOS Méditerranée carries out a rescue, they must notify the Italian authorities, who assign them a “safe port,” to which they must immediately set course in order to disembark the rescued people, editor’s note.)
The following night, a second alert came in about another boat in distress. So at 5.a.m, we were back out on our lifeboat. In the dim dawn light we spotted the vessel. Very occasionally we get boats like this one: with metal parts crudely welded together. They call them “floating coffins.” If the boat tilts even slightly to one side, it capsizes and sinks immediately, dragging everyone down with it.
I could feel the tension among my colleagues. The people on board had no idea the vessel was about to overturn. I was terrified it would go at any second—until I witnessed the expertise of my teammates, who skillfully guided each person one by one, “Stand up,” “Sit here,” and calmly directed everyone off the boat. There was immense relief.
Except that right after that rescue, boats of the same kind kept appearing on the horizon, one after another, for the next 48 hours, without pause. We completely lost track of time. The heat was overwhelming—over 40 degrees Celsius. It was unmanageable. We carried out fifteen rescues in just two days and two nights. In the end, we had 623 people on board—though the limit is 417. We can handle that, but it was truly a crisis situation.
I took part in five more missions after that particularly remarkable one, averaging five rescues each time. But now, I don’t know when I’ll go back. No one has been able to return to the Ocean Viking since the attack on the 24th August 2025.
I was off duty that day, and saw notifications popping up on my phone. My colleague Lucille, aboard the Ocean Viking, sent a message on our group chat saying: “The Libyans are shooting at us!”, then 15 seconds later: “It’s madness!” and “We’re in the citadel.” When you go to the citadel, it means the situation is serious. The citadel is the ship’s strongroom. They were afraid that the Libyan coastguard would board the ship. A little later, we received a message saying “they’re gone”, followed by photos of the bullet holes. They had narrowly escaped death.
All this happened a month ago and since then I have been very angry. There has been very little response from Europe, even though the Libyan coastguard is funded directly by the European Union. The boat they were using was a patrol boat donated by Italy and they had already fired warning shots during a rescue operation once before, in July 2023. Our NGO exists because Europe is not taking responsibility for coordinating rescues at its borders. And when a non-governmental mission is organised and civilians, European citizens, are attacked in international waters, no State reacts.
This indifference revolts me. It revolts me and it scares me. Next time, we don’t know what fate awaits us. We have gone from being humanitarian workers at sea, to humanitarian workers who put their lives at risk on every mission. For the safety of the crew and those rescued, we now have to weigh up the risks and who is now willing to take them.
Our boat was hit by more than a hundred bullets. It won’t be able to return to sea for at least two months. Two months means a lot of people won’t be saved. People will either be caught by the Libyan coastguard, disappear at sea, or manage to reach the shore on their own—but not many make it.
