The first warning arrived not from a radar screen but from a mobile phone.
“Missile Emergency Alert.”
Within seconds, engineers abandoned the engine room, officers left their stations and crew members ran for a designated safe room deep inside Bangladesh Shipping Corporation vessel MV Banglar Joyjatra. Outside, missiles crossed the Gulf sky while air-defence systems exploded overhead.
For Chief Engineer Rashedul Hasan and 30 fellow Bangladeshi sailors, it became a routine that would define the next four and a half months.
Caught in the Iran-Israel conflict, the crew found themselves effectively trapped in the Gulf as security concerns paralysed commercial shipping through the Strait of Hormuz, one of the world’s most strategically important maritime corridors. Every day brought fresh alerts, rumours of escalation and uncertainty over whether the vessel would ever be allowed to sail home.
After months of delays and several failed attempts, MV Banglar Joyjatra finally crossed the Strait of Hormuz this week and reached Fujairah Port in the United Arab Emirates before resuming its voyage to Durban, South Africa.
Speaking to Times of Bangladesh via WhatsApp while the vessel was refuelling in Fujairah, Rashedul described a voyage dominated by fear, confinement and survival.
Living with the alarm
As the conflict intensified, missile warnings became part of daily life.
“For the first two months, our mobile phones received missile emergency alerts two or three times a day,” Rashedul said.
“Whenever the alarm sounded, everyone immediately stopped working and rushed to the safe room. Initially, we thought the situation would improve within a few days. Eventually, we realised this was our new reality.”
The alerts came so frequently that they began shaping the crew’s routine. Work stopped. Conversations ended. Sailors dropped what they were doing and headed for shelter.
Even now, after reaching safety, the sound lingers.
“I still hear that alarm in my mind,” he said. “Sometimes it feels as though it has started ringing again.”
The missile that nearly hit
The closest brush with disaster came while the vessel was anchored at Jebel Ali Port in the United Arab Emirates.
A missile struck an industrial facility about 500 metres from the ship, triggering a massive fire that took emergency crews nearly a day and a half to control.
“If the missile had hit the nearby fuel storage tanks instead of the operational facility, the consequences could have been catastrophic,” Rashedul said.
“The panic was overwhelming. Even rescue teams struggled to respond quickly because of the continuing attacks. We could do nothing except watch from a distance and pray.”
For months, the crew worked under skies dominated by war. Missiles regularly crossed overhead. Fighter jets roared through Gulf airspace. Military helicopters patrolled nearby waters. Explosions often illuminated the night.
Yet operations continued.
“We were terrified, but stopping was never an option,” he said. “If something happened to the ship, it would not only endanger our lives but also put a valuable national asset and its cargo at risk.”
Crossing Hormuz
The defining moment came when the ship finally received clearance to cross the Strait of Hormuz.
Three previous attempts had been abandoned because of deteriorating security conditions.
For the crew, each failed effort brought another round of waiting and uncertainty.
Eventually, following diplomatic efforts involving the Bangladesh government, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Bangladesh’s overseas missions, permission was secured for the vessel to proceed.
The transit itself lasted only three and a half hours.
For those onboard, it felt far longer.
“After we had covered nearly 60 per cent of the passage, an emergency military broadcast suddenly came over the radio,” Rashedul recalled.
“I broke into a sweat because I thought we were about to be stopped again.”
Throughout the crossing, Bangladesh Shipping Corporation officials remained in contact with the vessel.
“Only after we had completely crossed Hormuz did I truly believe we were finally going to make it home.”
A floating prison
The security situation effectively confined the crew to the vessel after it departed India.
For more than four months, the ship became both workplace and home.
“It felt like living in a floating prison,” Rashedul said.
“We were surrounded by uncertainty. None of us knew when we would be allowed to leave—or whether we would leave at all.”
Their ordeal reflected a wider disruption across the region. According to Rashedul, nearly 2,500 commercial vessels and more than 20,000 seafarers were affected as the conflict disrupted movement through Gulf shipping routes.
For crews aboard those vessels, the waiting became almost as difficult as the danger itself.
Duty above fear
Rashedul has spent 13 years at sea and survived more than one major maritime disaster.
In 2024, he was serving as chief engineer aboard MV Banglar Sourav when the vessel suffered a devastating explosion near the outer anchorage of Chattogram Port.
Less than a year later, he found himself confronting another life-threatening crisis.
“Our duty is far greater than simply doing a job,” he said.
“We are responsible for protecting a national asset, safeguarding the cargo and ensuring the safety of everyone onboard. As long as the ship remains safe, we remain safe.”
Originally from Narsingdi, Rashedul said his parents, who now live in the United States, no longer want him to return to sea after seeing him survive two major incidents in consecutive years.
“Every voyage makes them fear I may never come back,” he said.
Despite opportunities to earn significantly higher salaries with foreign shipping companies, he chose to remain with Bangladesh Shipping Corporation.
“I want my work to serve my country,” he said. “That is why I chose a national shipping company over a better-paid job abroad.”
Now carrying more than 37,000 metric tonnes of fertiliser, MV Banglar Joyjatra is sailing towards Durban, bringing to an end one of the most dangerous voyages undertaken by a Bangladeshi merchant vessel in recent years.
For the crew, the cargo is moving again. The missile alerts have stopped.
But the memories of 135 days spent waiting for the next warning may take much longer to fade.
