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The crowds continued to thicken on the day of our arrival in Oporoza. We felt welcomed, and may I add slightly overwhelmed. The festivals were abundant and the attention we were receiving was immense. We were Kings and Queens, white stones among a shore of black. More simply, we were a group of American and Nigerian delegates come to a small riverine village within the Niger Delta of Nigeria to help build a library and understand the issues they, and the whole region, face. <br />

Losing Colors

Camron Karsten
2006-02-18 20:16:13

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faster. Excitement, faces burning, my legs melted with his in the tropics of the Creeks, yet we kept stepping, spinning round one another, moving with freedom and chasing for survival. I left behind my current past and moved with depth into the heart of Africa, into Nigeria, into the village of Oporoza and the Ijaw of its culture. There was no silence, only the roar A wall of color we had to break. I think I can say we all did within the circle. Thank you Oporozaof the beats within and beyond the center.

Back and forth, we imitated one another, testing our endurance in the heat. We drew off on our own tangents, and then reemerged like blind men, each with our own patterns, though each connected to the same source of origin. Mine—slower, wider. His—swift, taller and higher. Our wraps skirted with insane curtsy.

Though in the end we met at last, acknowledging the dual with the friendly hugs of rounding laughter. They arose all around us, including the shouts and cries, the screams and claps. No space to fill. No silence to absolve. Africa's beats prevailed.

Exotic, rare and primal in the survival among a jungle of instinct. The brief encounter with that Africa, where mind, body, and soul surrendered to its original nature, was enlivening. Together, breathing the air, with all the dancers and the whole of the village present, I shared the openness of this vast land, the raw meat of the kill. It was exotic; it was energetically erotic. Passion fueled with sweat, the strain of an intense output, reaching the limits of man.

In the late evening, I took the stage once more. It was short, exhaustive. My energy waned amongst the stamina Juddy of the Nigerian delegation showed us, and all we could do was hope.of Africa and her expanse.

Following the close of the event, showered in my own perspired exertion, a friend came up to me. He was a young boy, given the Christian name Gift, and to me he presented the gift of reality. Although I felt one with Africa, immersed within the rhythm of the atmosphere, Gift stretched long his hand. I took it appreciatively, and he smiled and spoke, "Cam? Cam? At least you tried, Cam. You tried."

It was white as white, his message simple and plain.