The are across from the Esquimalt Navy Base near Victoria August 11, 2010 that is benign set up for the expected arrival of a second cargo ship ferrying Sri Lankan Tamils to Canada.John Lehmann/Globe and Mail
Comfort, for now, comes from a bed in his own room, on solid ground instead of the wood floor in the ship's lower hold.
It was there, on three rows of single mattresses spaced a foot apart, that the men passed time, slept when seas were calm, and tried to catch each other when they weren't.
"I thought we were going to die, or that the ship was going to sink," the man said through a Tamil interpreter.
To him and the other 75 Tamil men on the lurching cargo ship, Ocean Lady, that arrived on Canada's West Coast last October, life was alternately terrifying and tedious. Their diet consisted of noodles, rice and cookies, day after day during the 45-day trek.
As another boatload of Tamil refugees closed in on Canada's western shores Wednesday, the man sat down in a Toronto conference room with The Globe and Mail to talk about his own harrowing journey.
It won't be over until Canada's refugee system runs its course, and until his wife and little girl are at his side.
Months after the Ocean Lady arrived, the ordeal is still with him.
"Even right now I can almost feel and see myself there," he said, describing a storm several hours long, some time between Oct. 10 and 13, during which men were flung onto those on the other side of the compartment, and vice-versa.
"We would put our arms out" to catch them, he said. "There were people who hit their head and got hurt."
It's been almost a year since he left his wife and daughter in Sri Lanka, cast his lot with the smugglers and prayed to the sun on the days he got to see it.
"Even when the sea was calm, I would look towards the sun and pray," the young father said. "I would pray for many things."
The man can't say much about why he fled, after the Sri Lankan government crushed the separatist Tamil Tigers following 26 years of civil war. An order issued at his refugee proceeding prevents publication of his name, and he fears certain details of his life, if known, could expose his family to harm.
As cruising conditions go, things could certainly have been worse on the Ocean Lady. There was food and large bottles of water, which they replenished when it rained. There was a toilet with a lockable door, and a hose on deck for seawater showers and clothes-washing. The hold was also spotless and the man said the passengers made sure to keep it that way to prevent any spread of illness.
Then again, "when I walked in, it was evident it was nothing like a passenger ship," said the man, whose only exposure to sailing had been movies such as Titanic.
The passengers brought aboard clothes but little else, he said. They passed the first few days in silence, but eventually began sharing their stories of life, and death, back home.
"One by one, everyone opened up and let their guard down, and started crying at times," he said. "At times like that, people would comfort me."
On better days, the men caught fresh air on deck, but otherwise remained in the hold, where no daylight reached. There were lights, and after they were turned out each night, a small glow from a utility room, and the constant thrum of engines.
The compartment was stifling for the first half of the journey and frigid for the second, he said, guessing there were seven or eight serious bouts of rough seas.
Then, after 43 days had passed, a hopeful sign: a plane overhead, with green letters that spelled Canada. Someone above deck saw it and called down to the others.
"As soon as we saw that plane we all ran up to the top, and we were waving our hands in the air, calling for help," he said. "After seven or eight storms, knowing that at any second anything could happen, if anyone offered us help at that time, we would have all gone."
The plane descended for another pass and flew off. Hours later, a ship flying the Canadian flag appeared behind them, and the next morning, the men awoke to the sight of Canadians in blue uniforms, most of them armed, aboard ship.
"We all sat on our mattresses," he said. "We would tell them when we would go to the bathroom, and we would talk to them when we wanted [food]"
The man barely took notice of the B.C. landscape as he disembarked, weak and minus about 20 kilograms, to a waiting ambulance.
And now he waits, praying at the home of his Toronto surety, where he must live while his case is processed. He takes English lessons each morning and night and gets by on welfare.
"That's something that bothers me," he said, adding it's the first time in his life he's had to put his hand out.
"I want to do so much for this country," he said, "but I don't ever want to be a burden on this country."