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Rain, thunder, and lightning showered our Thanksgiving feast, blessing the coming together of Nigerians and Americans within the Delta.

What it means to come together

Camron Karsten
2006-02-18 20:14:14

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care for it and preserve it for future's use. They understood. It was theirs, built by local hands with the financial support of our US delegation. We were only there to bring the people to their feet and see the beauty when individuals come together to create what their collective hearts desire.

As for my part, I tried working in all areas, getting a feel for the process as a whole. I worked in the room cataloging the many books. And I stripped off my shirt under thick cloudy skies to move Juddy and the books we sifted through with the help of two GCJ delegates: US librarian Christi Bayha and Nigerian librarian Nicholas Dekpenwhite sand in decrepit rusted barrels, dig holes with twisted shovels, their metal bending under large weight, cut grass with archaic machetes, and clear debris with bare hands where angry red ants made their homes. Though together, we worked laboriously side-by-side with the villagers, never complaining as we moved as partners for peace.

I also spent time within the classroom of the Gbaraun Grammar School. My class mute, reticent, silent midst the attempts to engage. But I learned from them, as they learned from me, asking few questions, slowly shooing out the butterflies from within the gut.

At breaks, we soak like sponges in our own sweat. Many of us find shade--any shadow--and chug water. We wipe the perspiration from our eyes and appreciate the space of immobility. Still, we sit like logs in the quagmire of humidity.

But we also play, tossing a disc in the open field of crabgrass, teaching the locals Frisbee. There is the common laugh among all people and our eyes watch our African brothers with thick bodies find the finesse of the game.

And again, bringing our cultural gathering to Nigeria, it rains with fervor during Thanksgiving. God has come to cool It seems that no matter how many hours you put it, the only thing that shows is the heart you put into it. With help of many, the library transformed in a couple of daysthe heat, and God, as Nicky emphasizes, "Has brought us together today."

US delegates are refreshed when a soft breeze sweeps across the night sky before emptying its waters like a filled cistern. The cranberry sauce tickles our taste buds after a week of heavy palm-oil and clumps of eba, while Nigerians cringe at the very thing we miss at home.

"Too sweet. Too sweet," they say. So the cranberries and vegetables are replaced with bowls of enugi and chunks of ram.

Underneath the rain during our meal, we are each given the time to reflect on our experiences. God pounds with hail size droplets, voices drowned in forming pools. In our silence, we remember the children who joined us in the cataloging room, absorbed they were in books yet to be organized. Their eyes searched pages, scouring words and images without the patience to wait until Monday, commissioning day. Older youth sat in open windows and gleamed at our laptops which glowed in the dull afternoon light.

And then the half-naked kids, tatters in their buttocks. Out of nowhere, they ran to sweep up the flayed pages on the grass with open arms. Rains descended quickly,
Persevering with what it means to have little Full Image
The face of the classroom. They wrote a letter for me, each of them, to give to students in the United Statesunexpected and threatening to dampen our books once more. It is their library, and we become certain of this mutual understanding.

Now, the rain continues with rumbles of heavy heat and flashes from God's talons, alighting the darkness of night, one with flares of candles burning on the horizon, reminding locals of the presence of Nigeria's Statue of Liberty. I speak of the gas flares, burning 24 hours a day, lighting the sky as they hiss like giant flaming Chevron and Shell wicks.