Mugwop
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It was late in the afternoon of November 29 when I took the call from Gwadar, a small fishing port on the Makran coast, some 250 miles west of Karachi. Abdul Rahman, our anti-fraud investigator, was on the other end of the scratchy line.
He shouted that he had just spoken to a Marine who had fallen off his ship and been rescued and brought into port by local fishermen. Rahman was sure the man was a Marine because of his haircut. I turned to Staff Sergeant John Elliott, Karachi’s security guard detachment commander, and asked if he knew of any missing Marines. He said he hadn’t heard of any but ran to another telephone to contact the military commands. I kept the line from Gwadar open.
Rahman told a remarkable story he had heard earlier that day from the villagers. A local fisherman, Captain Abdul Aziz, and his crew had set out from nearby Pishukan in their 36-foot wooden boat for a week of deep sea fishing. Two days out, the captain had seen what he thought was debris floating in the distance. Moving closer to investigate, he saw a raised human hand. The crew pulled a young man from the sea who was sunburned and weak but alive. Unable to communicate with the young man, and fearing for his condition, the captain and his crew abandoned their fishing trip and returned to port at full throttle.
Rumor in the town had it that the man, who was recovering at a government rest house, might be an American. Rahman dashed to the rest house, wheedled his way past the police guard, and spoke to him. The young man said that he was Lance Corporal Zachary R. Mayo, and that he had fallen off his ship, the aircraft carrier U.S.S. America somewhere in the Gulf of Oman. He’d kept his head above water by fashioning a flotation device from his trousers. Small fish nipped at his arms and legs but he managed to avoid any sharks. He survived 36 hours in the open sea before Captain Aziz’s boat rescued him and brought him back to land.
On the face of it, the story seemed a bit improbable. Our doubts were raised further when someone commented that “Zach Mayo” was the name of Richard Gere’s character in “An Officer and a Gentleman.” Just as we began to believe that we’d been the victims of a pretty clever prank, the Defense Attache Office confirmed that a Marine was indeed missing from the U.S.S. American-and all of the particulars matched Mayo’s description.
“Just as we began to believe we’d been the victims of a pretty clever prank, the Defense Attache Office confirmed that a Marine was indeed missing.”
Once we realized that Mayo was indeed who he claimed to be, we began our efforts to get him out of Gwadar and back to his ship,which proved easier said than done. To say that Gwadar is remote is an understatement. Access by road is difficult and often impossible. There is daily air service, but the schedule is erratic, the planes are small, and the seats are nearly always fully booked. And Mayo was now the “guest” of the deputy commissioner of Gwadar, who wasn’t about to release his most unusual guest, who, after all, had no passport or visa for Pakistan, without the approval of his superiors.
The consular section got to work trying to find a seat on a flight, while I tried to secure official permission for Mayo to leave Gwadar. Innumerable after-hours telephone calls to officials there, Quetta (the provincial capital), and Islamabad yielded little. The deputy commissioner required instructions from the home secretary; the home secretary, traveling in remote regions, would be unavailable for three days. And the additional home secretary needed instructions from the ministry of foreign affairs. And so on.
Meanwhile, back in Gwadar, Rahman had arranged for Mayo to get to a telephone so he could call his parents. It was the middle of the night in Osburn, Idaho, when the call went through. The senior Mayos had been told that their son was missing at sea, and they didn’t understand why they were getting a telephone call from Pakistan. Rahman passed the phone to Zachary, and the tearful reunion lasted about 20 minutes.
The consular section got to work trying to find a seat on a flight, while I tried to secure official permission for Mayo to leave Gwadar. Innumerable after-hours telephone calls to officials there, Quetta (the provincial capital), and Islamabad yielded little. The deputy commissioner required instructions from the home secretary; the home secretary, traveling in remote regions, would be unavailable for three days. And the additional home secretary needed instructions from the ministry of foreign affairs. And so on.
Meanwhile, back in Gwadar, Rahman had arranged for Mayo to get to a telephone so he could call his parents. It was the middle of the night in Osburn, Idaho, when the call went through. The senior Mayos had been told that their son was missing at sea, and they didn’t understand why they were getting a telephone call from Pakistan. Rahman passed the phone to Zachary, and the tearful reunion lasted about 20 minutes.
Meanwhile, back in Gwadar, Rahman had arranged for Mayo to get to a telephone so he could call his parents. It was the middle of the night in Osburn, Idaho, when the call went through. The senior Mayos had been told that their son was missing at sea, and they didn’t understand why they were getting a telephone call from Pakistan. Rahman passed the phone to Zachary, and the tearful reunion lasted about 20 minutes.
Later in the evening, Rahman got permission to take Mayo out for dinner. The deputy commissioner had been providing Mayo with food, bottled water, and Pepsi, but this was his first meal out. After a hearty seafood dinner, Mayo returned to the rest house for the night.
The next morning, the calls to officials continued, as did the efforts to secure a plane seat. Finally, with the intercession of the embassy in Islamabad, the necessary instructions were obtained, appropriate faxes were sent, and Mayo got permission to leave Gwadar. That afternoon, with much of Gwadar turning out at the airport to send them off, Mayo and Rahman boarded a flight for Karachi.
Mayo arrived at the consulate dressed in the traditional shalwar khameez (pantaloons and long shirt) and plastic sandals, which the people of Gwadar had given him. Although tired, he appeared remarkably fit for a man who had spent a day-and-a-half adrift at sea.
After changing his clothes and calling his superiors, Mayo agreed to hold a short press conference. When asked what he thought about while he was in the water, he said, “I thought about all the things I’d never done before, and the fact that I’d never be able to say goodbye to my parents or see my friends again. And I prayed what seemed like every minute I was in the water. I think that’s what kept me going.”
The next morning, Mayo left Karachi for Bahrain to be reunited with his shipmates. His week-long adventure was over. But that was not the end of the story for me. On May 22, I went to Gwadar, along with Doug Norris, Herb Stoddard, and Martin Wojtysiak, from the Defense Attache Office in Islamabad, Bart Bolger, representing U.S. Naval Forces Central Command, John Fouche, of the Marine Corps, and Rahman, to meet Captain Aziz and the others who had aided in Mayo’s rescue.
I found Gwadar starkly beautiful. It sits on a spit of land in the Arabian Sea, with a few fishing boats in the harbor, a handful of government buildings, some mud-and-stick houses, and not much else besides the pristine beaches, which run for miles along the coast.
A large crowd of local notables turned out for the short ceremony arranged by the deputy commissioner to honor the rescuers. Mayo and his family sent silver coins, specially minted in Idaho for the occasion, for Captain Aziz and his crew. The Navy and 5th Fleet sent letters of appreciation, commemorative plaques, and other gifts. There was also an anonymous cash gift of $50 from someone in Idaho who’d been touched by the story of the rescue. The captain’s father, Haji Shahdad, resplendent in his flowing robe and turban, shared in the glory.
Captain Aziz, in his translated remarks, said that it was truly a miracle that he saw Mayo floating in the sea and that it was his humanitarian duty to bring him back to shore. He was proud to have taken part in the rescue, and he appreciated the recognition. And, if at all possible, perhaps the U.S. Government could see fit to provide a new marine engine--170 horsepower--for his boat!
1995 was not a good year in Karachi. Political violence left over 2,000 people dead. The consulate general was not spared: in March, two of our colleagues were killed and a third injured in a terrorist attack on a consulate shuttle; in August, an FSN was shot and killed and his son injured while waiting for a ride to work. But this small miracle--a reaffirmation of the human spirit and the kindness of strangers--seemed a strangely appropriate way to end the year. It was nice, for a change, to work on a story with a happy ending.
Captain John Fouche, right, presents a plaque from the Navy to Abdul Aziz, captain of the ship which rescued the sailor lost at sea.
He shouted that he had just spoken to a Marine who had fallen off his ship and been rescued and brought into port by local fishermen. Rahman was sure the man was a Marine because of his haircut. I turned to Staff Sergeant John Elliott, Karachi’s security guard detachment commander, and asked if he knew of any missing Marines. He said he hadn’t heard of any but ran to another telephone to contact the military commands. I kept the line from Gwadar open.
Rahman told a remarkable story he had heard earlier that day from the villagers. A local fisherman, Captain Abdul Aziz, and his crew had set out from nearby Pishukan in their 36-foot wooden boat for a week of deep sea fishing. Two days out, the captain had seen what he thought was debris floating in the distance. Moving closer to investigate, he saw a raised human hand. The crew pulled a young man from the sea who was sunburned and weak but alive. Unable to communicate with the young man, and fearing for his condition, the captain and his crew abandoned their fishing trip and returned to port at full throttle.
Rumor in the town had it that the man, who was recovering at a government rest house, might be an American. Rahman dashed to the rest house, wheedled his way past the police guard, and spoke to him. The young man said that he was Lance Corporal Zachary R. Mayo, and that he had fallen off his ship, the aircraft carrier U.S.S. America somewhere in the Gulf of Oman. He’d kept his head above water by fashioning a flotation device from his trousers. Small fish nipped at his arms and legs but he managed to avoid any sharks. He survived 36 hours in the open sea before Captain Aziz’s boat rescued him and brought him back to land.
On the face of it, the story seemed a bit improbable. Our doubts were raised further when someone commented that “Zach Mayo” was the name of Richard Gere’s character in “An Officer and a Gentleman.” Just as we began to believe that we’d been the victims of a pretty clever prank, the Defense Attache Office confirmed that a Marine was indeed missing from the U.S.S. American-and all of the particulars matched Mayo’s description.
“Just as we began to believe we’d been the victims of a pretty clever prank, the Defense Attache Office confirmed that a Marine was indeed missing.”
Once we realized that Mayo was indeed who he claimed to be, we began our efforts to get him out of Gwadar and back to his ship,which proved easier said than done. To say that Gwadar is remote is an understatement. Access by road is difficult and often impossible. There is daily air service, but the schedule is erratic, the planes are small, and the seats are nearly always fully booked. And Mayo was now the “guest” of the deputy commissioner of Gwadar, who wasn’t about to release his most unusual guest, who, after all, had no passport or visa for Pakistan, without the approval of his superiors.
The consular section got to work trying to find a seat on a flight, while I tried to secure official permission for Mayo to leave Gwadar. Innumerable after-hours telephone calls to officials there, Quetta (the provincial capital), and Islamabad yielded little. The deputy commissioner required instructions from the home secretary; the home secretary, traveling in remote regions, would be unavailable for three days. And the additional home secretary needed instructions from the ministry of foreign affairs. And so on.
Meanwhile, back in Gwadar, Rahman had arranged for Mayo to get to a telephone so he could call his parents. It was the middle of the night in Osburn, Idaho, when the call went through. The senior Mayos had been told that their son was missing at sea, and they didn’t understand why they were getting a telephone call from Pakistan. Rahman passed the phone to Zachary, and the tearful reunion lasted about 20 minutes.
The consular section got to work trying to find a seat on a flight, while I tried to secure official permission for Mayo to leave Gwadar. Innumerable after-hours telephone calls to officials there, Quetta (the provincial capital), and Islamabad yielded little. The deputy commissioner required instructions from the home secretary; the home secretary, traveling in remote regions, would be unavailable for three days. And the additional home secretary needed instructions from the ministry of foreign affairs. And so on.
Meanwhile, back in Gwadar, Rahman had arranged for Mayo to get to a telephone so he could call his parents. It was the middle of the night in Osburn, Idaho, when the call went through. The senior Mayos had been told that their son was missing at sea, and they didn’t understand why they were getting a telephone call from Pakistan. Rahman passed the phone to Zachary, and the tearful reunion lasted about 20 minutes.
Meanwhile, back in Gwadar, Rahman had arranged for Mayo to get to a telephone so he could call his parents. It was the middle of the night in Osburn, Idaho, when the call went through. The senior Mayos had been told that their son was missing at sea, and they didn’t understand why they were getting a telephone call from Pakistan. Rahman passed the phone to Zachary, and the tearful reunion lasted about 20 minutes.
Later in the evening, Rahman got permission to take Mayo out for dinner. The deputy commissioner had been providing Mayo with food, bottled water, and Pepsi, but this was his first meal out. After a hearty seafood dinner, Mayo returned to the rest house for the night.
The next morning, the calls to officials continued, as did the efforts to secure a plane seat. Finally, with the intercession of the embassy in Islamabad, the necessary instructions were obtained, appropriate faxes were sent, and Mayo got permission to leave Gwadar. That afternoon, with much of Gwadar turning out at the airport to send them off, Mayo and Rahman boarded a flight for Karachi.
Mayo arrived at the consulate dressed in the traditional shalwar khameez (pantaloons and long shirt) and plastic sandals, which the people of Gwadar had given him. Although tired, he appeared remarkably fit for a man who had spent a day-and-a-half adrift at sea.
After changing his clothes and calling his superiors, Mayo agreed to hold a short press conference. When asked what he thought about while he was in the water, he said, “I thought about all the things I’d never done before, and the fact that I’d never be able to say goodbye to my parents or see my friends again. And I prayed what seemed like every minute I was in the water. I think that’s what kept me going.”
The next morning, Mayo left Karachi for Bahrain to be reunited with his shipmates. His week-long adventure was over. But that was not the end of the story for me. On May 22, I went to Gwadar, along with Doug Norris, Herb Stoddard, and Martin Wojtysiak, from the Defense Attache Office in Islamabad, Bart Bolger, representing U.S. Naval Forces Central Command, John Fouche, of the Marine Corps, and Rahman, to meet Captain Aziz and the others who had aided in Mayo’s rescue.
I found Gwadar starkly beautiful. It sits on a spit of land in the Arabian Sea, with a few fishing boats in the harbor, a handful of government buildings, some mud-and-stick houses, and not much else besides the pristine beaches, which run for miles along the coast.
A large crowd of local notables turned out for the short ceremony arranged by the deputy commissioner to honor the rescuers. Mayo and his family sent silver coins, specially minted in Idaho for the occasion, for Captain Aziz and his crew. The Navy and 5th Fleet sent letters of appreciation, commemorative plaques, and other gifts. There was also an anonymous cash gift of $50 from someone in Idaho who’d been touched by the story of the rescue. The captain’s father, Haji Shahdad, resplendent in his flowing robe and turban, shared in the glory.
Captain Aziz, in his translated remarks, said that it was truly a miracle that he saw Mayo floating in the sea and that it was his humanitarian duty to bring him back to shore. He was proud to have taken part in the rescue, and he appreciated the recognition. And, if at all possible, perhaps the U.S. Government could see fit to provide a new marine engine--170 horsepower--for his boat!
1995 was not a good year in Karachi. Political violence left over 2,000 people dead. The consulate general was not spared: in March, two of our colleagues were killed and a third injured in a terrorist attack on a consulate shuttle; in August, an FSN was shot and killed and his son injured while waiting for a ride to work. But this small miracle--a reaffirmation of the human spirit and the kindness of strangers--seemed a strangely appropriate way to end the year. It was nice, for a change, to work on a story with a happy ending.
Captain John Fouche, right, presents a plaque from the Navy to Abdul Aziz, captain of the ship which rescued the sailor lost at sea.
