In her new book Flotilla: A Journey of Conscience, Zukiswa Wanner recounts the harrowing final hours of a civilian flotilla intercepted while attempting to break the blockade of Gaza
On 31 August 2025, author Zukiswa Wanner left Johannesburg for Tunis to join civilians from 43 countries aboard a flotilla attempting to break the 18-year blockade of Gaza. The blockade, enforced by Israel, has for years restricted the movement of people and the delivery of humanitarian aid, including food and medication, to Palestinians, even as civilian deaths continue to mount.
Her book, Flotilla: A Journey of Conscience, is a first-person account of that journey: the uneasy preparations, the rhythms and tensions of life at sea and the slow, hopeful approach towards Gaza that many aboard believed would end on its shores. Written in an intimate, diaristic register, the book captures both the political stakes of the mission and the small human rituals that sustained it such as shared meals, jokes, faith, frustration and resolve.
In the excerpt below, lightly edited for length, Wanner recounts one of the flotilla’s most harrowing moments: the final night aboard the Mendi Reincarnated as it nears Gaza, is taunted and intercepted by the Israeli Occupation Forces and ultimately disabled at sea. It’s a scene shaped as much by exhaustion and dark humour as by fear, where chocolates meant for Gaza’s children remain uneaten, dates are carefully saved and the stubborn, fragile and collective belief of the crew carries them further than the boat itself ever could.
Wednesday the 1st of October
Oui, the BOLD (Band of Loving Degenerates)
We have two new members on the boat due to problems on other boats that could not continue with the flotilla. We finally have a real doctor on board and we are all keen to make her comfortable because Captain has been having problems with his back and Eurozone with her tooth and here is someone who will help. Namesake of the Prophet and my compatriot R even wash the dishes when she is on washing up duties and Captain makes bread and between The Researcher and Captain, her breakfast duties are mostly taken over. Kids, go to school. It will serve you well later in life, possibly even on a boat hoping to create a humanitarian corridor. The other member is Awda, so-named by me because she shares a name with a Gazan hospital. I don’t know whether it’s testament to how easygoing everyone on Mendi Reincarnated is or the affability of the two new members but they immediately fit in. And most of us find ourselves on the bow of the boat on Wednesday the 1st of October.
Although the lines have long been blurred between the crew and the participants, the IT guy on Mendi Reincarnated – I secretly call him Siddhartha because he is constantly seeking spiritually – has us singing a song while he records where each of us sings lyrics to some song he heard somewhere and we end with the line “sailing for humanity”. The family has been tight-knit and we are harmonious about a lot of things but the von Trapp family singers, we shall never be. There are a lot of giggles as we ask him on whether we are going up on humanity or going down and if going up, how up is up? Siddhartha gives up and just records what he gets. The sunset is that bit more glorious as we know tonight is our last night before we get to Gaza.
Around 7 in the evening, the apartheid Israeli navy splashed some water on our boat and came near enough to us that we handed the Coordinator guy our phones and he handed them, a little less gently than we had given them to him, to the Mediterranean. We rushed it. They were just teasing us. They left us alone and continued intercepting others. This was when we found out that Siddhartha had neither sent to Cloud nor posted on IG our badly sung but sure to have been award-winning video of “Sailing for Humanity”. How is this our IT guy? I sent photos to this publication to have them saved before I threw my phone away. Eish. As we had to keep our lights off so as not to call attention to ourselves but still be alert enough, none of us dared to go down to sleep so we slept with our eyes open, as it were, and dined on dates, mixed nuts and water.
The bilge pump for Mendi Reincarnated started having a fault just at this time when none of the other boats could come and assist us. Seeing this, R the Compatriot, Namesake of the Prophet and The Coordinator went to work getting water out with a bucket as soon as they saw that the Apartheid Forces were out of sight. A commendable job as we continued pushing. We had already passed the 50 nautical miles line and were going further in.
“How far are we, Captain?
➞ 30 nautical miles.”
Loud cheers. We were doing well.
Awda walked in after Fajr and said matter-of-factly, “they are here.”
We all checked that everyone was around.
“How far are we, brother?” incorrigible me asked the First Mate who was at the helm.
“28 nautical miles.”
There was a collective sigh.
He tried to continue but we all suggested that we might get shot.
He switched off the engine and we all observed the interception protocol – switch on lights, put on your life jacket, sit with your hands open to show that you have no weapons and have your passport in front of you.
“Who’s the captain here?”
We were all mute.
“Keep your eyes closed and hands up.”
We closed our eyes. We refused to put our hands up as a mark of surrender but kept them open at chest level as though in prayer to show that we meant no harm. One of the Israeli Occupation Forces went on helm. Three of them stood with guns commanding us, one by one, to go to the front of the boat. The scene of much laughter and camaraderie the night before. We were disappointed not to have made it to Gaza but the camaraderie was still there.
If there was one thing this entire team believed, heart and soul, it was that we were going to reach the shores of Khan Younis. Spurred on by our belief and the beautiful videos of hope to see us coming from Gaza, this felt like a massive letdown to Gaza and its people. It felt like a personal failure to each and every one of us on that boat. The doctor had two large chocolates (coconut flavour and pecan) that she was going to give to the first children of Gaza she encountered and I had barred people from eating some beautifully arranged and wrapped dates that I had bought in Tunis because I was going to give them to the first Gazan woman I came into contact with. I had some novels for the young man that I heard moves with his library whenever there is bombing. I may not see him but I was sure someone somewhere would be able to see him if I mentioned it on social media and, wouldn’t it be beautiful if one of those novels was a novel set in Gaza by a South African author that had been part of the reading on the flotilla? We were all very much different personalities but united in our love for humanity and our hatred for oppression.
We did not tell the IOF about the unworking bilge pump and the fact that the engine was being flooded as they took control of our boat, “It’s their problem now.” We shrugged as we sat. We all smirked as, two hours later, the engine died.
“It will take three to five hours before it fully sinks”, our former Captain said. The IOF had noted the death of the engine. Seven of them were on our boat, two above us, two guarding us on both sides of the boat and three inside. They would have to save us to save themselves and we know which military has the greatest cowards of all.
They started shooting firelights into the air at around 10 in the morning. But it was daylight and it took a while before they were seen. We, relieved of our normal daylight duties of cooking and cleaning, were now keeping them busy. First, a genuine request from the doctor to get an injection for the former Captain. Thereafter, constant requests for the toilet where we would return with our own water, some nuts and no, we still did not touch the chocolates or the dates. Mendi was sinking. IOF finally arrived to rescue us and their colleagues shortly after lunch time.
“Who’s your captain?”
There was still no answer.
“We wanted to rescue you but since you won’t tell us who your Captain is, you will have to go on dinghies.”
There were two of them that could sit 15.
We went on the dinghy and I saw that our former captain had a garmin which he was charging on the powerbank. His excuse for the powerbank being that he needed to charge his electronic cigarette. “If they leave us, I have us sorted.”
We hoped they would leave us so badly.
They did not.
Flotilla: A Journey of Conscience will be launched on Friday 6 February at PSA offices, Atrium Building, 95 7th Avenue, Melville