Lost hands on deck: Diving into the depths of seafaring

Lost hands on deck: Diving into the depths of seafaring
Ava Dumaup and Matthew B. Santos March 26, 2026 https://theguidon.com/2026/03/lost-hands-on-deck-diving-into-the-depths-...

As Filipino seafarers face dangerous conditions at sea, the risks of their work extend beyond the voyage, spilling into the lives of the families waiting for them to come home.

THE DEPARTURE of a seafarer is a familiar scene. Families gather, goodbyes are exchanged, and over 550,000 Filipino seafarers set sail—carrying not just cargo, but also their dreams for their families.

Seafaring keeps global trade moving and sustains one of the country’s largest workforces. Yet, when accidents happen, responsibility remains unaddressed across agencies and borders, leaving families to navigate the aftermath on their own.

Drift ashore

Six years have passed, and Nanay Lorna Cardiente Maybuena is still waiting for Jodel, one of her two sons, who never came home after boarding a vessel in 2020.

Even so, she remembers the boy who had always wanted to be a seafarer. From their home in General Santos City, Jodel left for Manila to navigate an uncertain path towards his first seafaring contract. Though every step was a challenge, Nanay Lorna stood tall with him.

“Maluoy na gud ko sa iya sa iyang sakripisyo sa iyang pamilya. [H]antod sa panahon sige ko ingon, ‘Uli na lang ka diri ha. Tutal mabuhi man ta, mangita na lang ta ug [trabaho.]’ (I felt sorry for him and his sacrifice for his family. Until I eventually just said, ‘Just go back home. After all, we’ll survive, let’s just find another job.’)”

In February 2020, Jodel called Nanay Lorna to say his return would be delayed to May instead of August, her birthday month. But Jodel never came, and the promise was the last she had with her son. Not long after, she learned his vessel had been involved in an accident, and of the 14 crew members, only one was found. Jodel was not among them.

Nanay Lorna recalls attempts to seek help from the Overseas Workers Welfare Administration, Jodel’s agency, and government offices, but all efforts led nowhere.

With Jodel’s company shut down, pandemic restrictions, and no financial resources to contest a system that overlooked her son, Nanay Lorna could only pray for any sign of Jodel.

Past the shoreline

While maritime work holds cruel dangers for many, it still breathes life into seafarers’ dreams. For Eli*, a current ship chief officer, visiting his uncle’s ship in 2003 inspired him to pursue the same career. Since then, he has worked in a global trading company to support his family of five.

Contracts dictate his life away from home. While his work arrangement usually spans eight months, Eli reveals that it can get extremely volatile. Manpower in ships today is scarce, creating endless uncertainty and soaring demand for their work.

“Sometimes [mapapaaga] or ma-[de]delay [ang contract] kasi [sa]sabihin na wala pang [u]uwi [kasi] wala pang [kapalit] (Sometimes, the contract will end earlier or will be delayed. It depends on the availability of a substitute for my position),” Eli shares.

This unpredictability makes it hard to seek home or rest. Eli details that the sacrifice of seeing his children grow while he’s at sea breeds cruel pain.

“[M]akikita mo yung anak mo [online], gusto mong [makilaro] sa kanila, hindi [mo makalaro] dahil you are far away. Hanggang video call, hanggang tingin ka na lang, (You will see your child online, you want to play with them, but you can’t because you are far away. You can only see them through video call,)” Eli trembles as he shares.

For him, such emotional distress teaches him to endure pain, because one day might entail unreasonable work requests, and another day is for putting out a burning engine for seven hours.

Apart from his struggles, Eli laments the worsening plight of seafarers. Despite stronger economies abroad, wages and benefits remain meager. He reports receiving as little as P10,000 from the Social Security System, barely enough for maintenance medicine.

While the Magna Carta of Filipino Seafarers defines rights and benefits, seafarers gain less than they give. Issues like abandonment, mental disorders, and disappearances continue to plague the system, making the waves far from calm for Filipino seafarers.

No harbor yet

Today, news of maritime accidents persists, a reminder that seafarers face not only the dangers of the sea but also a system that leaves them stranded. Eli urgently stresses the need for higher benefits, as no worker can stay at sea indefinitely.

These same failures ripple back to families ashore, adrift between uncertainty and hopeful return. Like Nanay Lorna, who remains where she has always been—waiting for Jodel.

“Ako lang giasahan muabot ang panahon muuli lang siya diri sa amo-a. Mao lang gyud na ako-a. Wala na ko lain hiling. Muuli lang gyud siya, (I just hope the time will come when he will come back to us. That’s all for me. I don’t ask for anything else. Just for him to come home,)” she says through tears.

The struggles of those at sea, and the anxiety endured by those on shore, are inseparable parts of the same story. In a nation where people are left to weather storms unaided, resistance is holding on for safer futures at sea, and the return of those who have left. Amid the human cost of seafaring, the deepest trench of love is measured in the refusal to let hope drift away.

*Editor’s Note: The interviewee’s name has been withheld upon their request to protect their identity and privacy.