The sailors of Hormuz, forgotten in the war between Iran and the United States

Quickly, he and the twenty-two other sailors pile into the main passageway, far from the portholes. Some squat, others begin to pray. Despite the warnings, the ship continues its journey and engages in a game of cat and mouse. To escape surveillance, the ship’s lights go out. Only the captain and his mate remain on the bridge, directly exposed. They cut the GPS signal and the tanker disappears from the radar screens.

Then begins a 160 km crossing in the darkness. To guide themselves, sailors can only rely on American satellite data. Ten hours later, they finally arrived, safe and sound, in the Persian Gulf, and thought they were out of the woods. They are wrong. Because once the strait has been crossed, you still have to leave again. Which they managed to do only a month later, in mid-August.

Routine against boredom

Nearly 6,000 sailors remain stuck in the Persian Gulf at the start of September 2026. And their horizon has just darkened again. After several weeks of calm, the United States resumed its strikes against Iran on August 31. Tehran retaliated and threatens to further tighten its grip on the strait.

Six months after the outbreak of war, on February 28, Hormuz remains the nerve center of the conflict. According to the International Maritime Organization (IMO), as of August 28, nearly 400 ships and their crews were still stranded in the region. Before the war, about a fifth of the world’s oil passed through this passage. About a hundred ships crossed the strait every day. Today, there are only a handful who can do so.

Ratnadeep Paithankar, an Indian mechanical engineer, works on one of them, a tanker. It is currently anchored in Emirati waters, a few nautical miles from where Sunny was.

Although he was supposed to stay only seven days in the Gulf at the start of the summer, he is still there two months later, the Iranian authorities not responding to his captain’s requests. Since the start of the conflict, Ratnadeep has already spent five months in the sector, and this is not his first crossing of the strait.

Ratnadeep Paithankar, an Indian mechanical engineer, works on one of them, a tanker. It is currently anchored in Emirati waters, a few nautical miles from where Sunny was.

Even if the ship remains stuck, Ratnadeep Paithankar continues his routine. Between 7 and 8 a.m., breakfast. Then first quarter. Its mission: to check the condition of the machines and repair them when necessary. Lunch at noon, return to shift, then dinner between 6 and 7 p.m. Then only a few hours of “freedom”.

Depending on the day, the thirty-year-old goes to the weight room or sits in his cabin watching an Indian action film or a Marvel series, downloaded onto his computer before boarding. The only way to escape in this spartan 13 m room² where no poster, no photo, adorns the white walls. On his bedside table, no more personal touch. Aside from some chargers and a water bottle lying around, the sailor has only set up a small altar dedicated to the Hindu god Shiva.

An austerity far removed from the atmosphere of his room in India, where he hung family portraits and displayed animal figurines and statuettes unearthed abroad during his travels. “We often go into each other’s cabins, but we don’t really talk about our private lives on the boat. It’s not professional. So I don’t want them to see that. And then this room is only temporary,” he explains.

When he is stressed or misses his family, he goes up on the deck to watch the sunset. “There is only the landscape and me. » On the phone with his loved ones, he mainly talks about rain and good weather and does not communicate his precise location to them.

For them, Ratnadeep is close to the conflict, but in Omani waters, well away from danger. He doesn’t want to worry them more. On land and at sea, everyone acts as if everything is fine.

But the radio brings him back to reality: “Mayday, Mayday!” » Every day, Ratnadeep hears distress calls from other sailors. Some are crying. They no longer have food or water. Sometimes they park just a few nautical miles away. But his crew, like all the others, is not allowed to travel to help them.

His boat was provisioned in a port just before dropping anchor: he has provisions for three months. Not everyone is so lucky. Ratnadeep thinks of those who lack everything. “I imagined myself in their situation. It’s horrible not being able to do anything. »

Abandonment and fear

Some sailors may simply be abandoned to their fate. Since the start of the war, at least nine ships, with a total of 93 crew members, have been left by their owners in the Strait of Hormuz. Without the possibility of repatriation, sometimes without receiving the salaries owed to them.

On board, some lack food, water, fuel, medical care or electricity. Deprived of means of communicating with their loved ones, they remain confined on their ship, sometimes for weeks. Prolonged isolation which poses a serious risk to their physical and mental health.

And then there are the missiles. Ratnadeep already experienced this during his first visit to the Gulf in the spring. One morning in March, while he was on watch in the engine room, a strong shock shook the ship. Before even trying to understand, he must check that the hull is not pierced.

RAS, nothing to report. He then rushes onto the bridge. A metal fragment of a missile lies there. Ratnadeep returns to the engine room. He checks that the electricity is still working. Without it, the building could drift, collide with another building and sink.

He took this fear with him when he finally left the Strait of Hormuz in April, after a short lull between Tehran and Washington. His boat is then the third authorized to cross the passage. “It was very scary to go back through the strait, we were the only ones,” he remembers. Water, as far as the eye can see.

On the bridge, the sailors scan the coast with binoculars, on the lookout for another attack. When he arrives in India, Ratnadeep is still traumatized. The cries of distress heard on the radio haunt him. He underwent therapy and took antidepressants for several weeks. His parents and friends support him.

But the sailor does not see himself staying on land. “Aren’t you going to leave again? » worry those close to him. “I can’t stay at home, away from a boat. I feel free there,” he tries to explain. For him, the sea is a promise.

For an extra month’s salary

But in Hormuz, attacks on commercial ships are increasing – nearly 70 recorded at the end of August**. And sometimes sailors disappear without a trace. Like Dheyaa Abdilkhaleq, whose wife, Zainab, has not heard from her for four months. “I was not at ease about him going back to sea, because of the war. But he had to make money. Since then, our life has stopped,” she says.

This Iraqi father embarked on 1^er May on board the Bridge 1, under the Bolivian flag, in Iranian waters. Nine days later, no more news. The last signal from the cargo ship was on May 9 at 4:50 p.m., five nautical miles from Kish Island. At this time, the ship, like the crew, has still not been found.

Dheyaa is one of the invisibles in this war. Worldwide, 2.57 million sailors support a fleet of more than 85,000 merchant ships. Filipinos, Indians, Sri Lankans… They work for months away from sight and away from their families.

80% of world trade still passes on container ships, tankers and/or bulk carriers which crisscross the oceans. More experienced sailors may decide not to set sail for Hormuz. For others, the risk premium represents several months of salary.

So, despite the danger, they often board. A few days before entering the strait, the captain had gathered Sunny and the other crew members on deck. He asked them if they agreed to pass despite Tehran’s ban. Everyone answered yes. “We will be paid twice as much. »

Aditya Sharma was 23 years old. In June, he was somewhere in the Gulf of Oman, 2,000 km as the crow flies from his parents. He had embarked in November, aboard the Settebelloan oil tanker flying the flag of Palau (country in Oceania, east of the Philippines, editor’s note)often used by shipowners as a flag of convenience, to circumvent the social and fiscal rules of maritime law.

The young Indian wrote to them morning, noon and evening, especially since he had approached the Strait of Hormuz. June 10, the afternoon passes. Aditya’s parents have no news. They ignore all the threats that hovered above him. Little do they know that at 7:14 a.m., while Aditya was having breakfast, an American missile destroyed the engine room.

The American army claims to have repeatedly ordered the command of the Settebello to turn around, accusing him of transporting Iranian oil. “These are civilians working on commercial ships. They could have sent a commando by helicopter to stop the boat. It’s a war crime,” said his father, Rajesh. Seriously injured in the head, the young man succumbed to his injuries a few hours later.

Since the start of the conflict, 19 sailors have lost their lives. Aditya was still just a cadet. Paid 200 dollars per month to validate his training hours, he will not even have had time to obtain his diploma. “He dreamed of becoming a captain,” says his father, without trying to wipe away his tears.

When he signed his contract in November 2025, war had not yet broken out. Its destination was not even mentioned on the document consulted by The Pilgrim. He was due to return at the end of July, after a nine-month mission on board. When Rajesh buried his son, the Settebello had already left for a new crossing.

* Our witnesses agreed to comply with one condition: not to mention the name of their company or that of their ship. For fear of reprisals, of not receiving their salary or of being abandoned by their shipowner without any means of subsistence.

** Source: International Maritime Organization.