<< Previous Entry | Next Entry >> | Latest Entry >>

We departed midmorning for a day with the Itsekiri community, led by GCJ alum Godwin Edah. We were joined on the journey by some members of the Uborodo community. Filming was challenging as it rained quite hard on and off throughout the day. We stopped briefly in Madangho, then walked through to the other side of the village, where Shell is building housing and other facilities for employees of their oil installation about two kilometers away. The construction site was being guarded by military security, who didn’t let us take their photos, but did allow us to wait out the rain under their covered patio. The Chevron platform could be seen just across the water, with the gas flare we see from the Oporoza jetty much closer.

Back in our boats, we got an up close and personal look at the Chevron platform, the gas flare looming huge above us. We stopped at a village that borders the “back fence” of the platform. It was surreal to think about the villagers going about their everyday lives in the same poverty we’ve been seeing throughout the area, constantly looking through the fence at a facility chock full of infrastructure, heavy machinery, helicopters and airplanes.

Ugborodo is located directly across the water from the Chevron platform. The contrast is stark. We learned that 85% of the community’s land has eroded into the sea, the result of the earth actually sinking as oil is pumped out. In addition, shoreline vegetation has been killed off by oil pollution, creating sandy areas vulnerable to erosion.

On arrival, we split into two groups, one for a tour of the village, one for an interview with “Mama,” a village elder, at her house. Mama and several other women welcomed us with singing and dancing. We lined the walls to watch her be interviewed by Ibiba, filmed by Cliff. Mama, who is in her 80s, has been a women’s leader in this community for many years. She was one of the organizers of the Itsekiri women’s takeover of an oil platform in 2002 (staged around the same time as the Ijaw women’s platform takeover, which Fanty and Chief Josephine participated in). When asked why the women organized the demonstration, she said, “Hunger.” She talked about the devastation suffered by the community as a result of oil production and said the women believe in non-violent solutions. On the way to our boats, we took in a few minutes of a local football game.

Back in Oporoza, the film crew tipped us off to a store where we found the coldest beer in the village. Cramming onto the benches on the porch, we downed a few Stars and were soon joined by some of our favorite kids. We bought them Fantas, the young store proprietors cranked up the music and a great time ensued.

We’ve all become so close to the village kids, it’s very hard to think about leaving them. We decided to host a little party for our last night, and rather than exclude them by going to the bar, we laid in some sodas and sent the word out that they should join us. They jammed the living room, chattering and laughing. We had brought a bunch of pens and pencils to give as gifts. Leslye braved a sea of clamoring hands to give them out. When the grabbiness became overwhelming, Helen jumped in to give a firm directive in Ijaw, which did the trick. After the casual suggestion that they sing a song for us, one of the most magical times of our entire stay began. They warmed up with a song, which quickly evolved into singing and dancing. Then some of the boys dug into our huge pile of empty plastic water bottles and began drumming with them. The room came alive with rhythm, gorgeous voices and the pure, electric spirits of these amazing children. They sang about peace and about their “aunties” leaving them (then they added some verses for Cliff and Ryan). We couldn’t have asked for a better send-off. We went to bed with bittersweet thoughts, not only of parting tomorrow, but also of leaving these innocent souls in the midst of the seething complexities of the Niger Delta.