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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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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.

But for our arrival, it was purely entertainment. Dancing, singing, receptions, more culture, more displays, the masquerades and the handshakes. And don’t forget the introductions and the photographs requested. Evening emerged as the highlight, when to our surprise, it became our turn. It was our turn for the Africa within us to awaken.

Personally, I pulled and extracted the Blackman from within me. The women of our delegation did the same, but I was found to be the sole male representative. Juddy Ogunniran, a Nigerian delegate of Lagos, couldn't believe I was actually white. A "reverse Oreo" she called me, an expression heard in the boy's room of my youth.

"An oyibo that can dance," she cried. "You ain't
Vero Smooth and I smiling, moving, learningwhite honey! You're all African in there."

In a way, I could agree, but only briefly. When we gathered in a circle, with the drums and their beat, I called on myself to join the all female movement. Instantly, the rhythm, the energy, the Africa of the experience—deep in the Delta within the accompaniment of the Ijaws and other tribes—knocked me clean of past distinctions. I was no longer white but black, African black from the Creeks of Nigeria. Captivated, I was swept away by her step and her primitive pulse.

I followed the natural movement of the women; my eyes on their bodies, their hips. In whole, we were led by Vero Smooth, the local ace. She kept her waist bent, ...