’Til the Rivers Come Dwelling – Non Revenue Information

Editors’ notice: This piece is from Nonprofit Quarterly Journal’s fall 2023 problem, “How Do We Create Dwelling within the Future? Reshaping the Means We Stay within the Midst of Local weather Disaster.”

It was within the yr of our Lord             , and the northwest winds carried the mud and brown sands from the Sahara and threw them into the Okitankwo River, the sacred waterway in our hometown of Amankuta Mbieri, in Imo State. It blew throughout the rainforests and the savannah like a goddess of vengeance, carrying sands and hot-blooded reptiles in its wake. We had by no means earlier than witnessed a dry season so vicious—one which made all of the wells like bone and the sand fiercely scorching. That yr, our river didn’t come residence.

The Okitankwo River had at all times been of cultural and non secular significance to our individuals. Grandma instructed us that within the days of her youth, a mom and her new child often stepped outdoors for the primary time after 4 weeks. The new child could be cradled by the standard priest, who would scoop a handful of water from the enamel bowl and sprinkle the droplets on the brow of the newborn, who would cry because the chilly water drenched her. There could be a roar and laughter from the group at her naming ceremony. The kid could be given to her father, who with outstretched arms would elevate her to the moist skies. The kid would cease crying, watching her father as he whispered her names: Mmiriozuzo—the rain has come; Obianuju—born into wealth; Nnenna—our mom has returned. That method, the kid would always remember the place she got here from; she would at all times comply with the river residence.

This was the way it was finished up to now. Later, for these nonetheless in tune with the methods of our ancestors, because the water turned ever-smaller and extra polluted, mom and little one would stand underneath an umbrella and the daddy would take some sand from the earth, combine it with the little spittle his tongue might produce, and smear the moist earth on the pinnacle of the kid—making an indication of the cross like a priest throughout Ash Wednesday. The daddy would pray that the kid’s life could be just like the reminiscences of moist soils that grew greens and had rivers overflowing their banks. He would take the umbilical twine and bury it underneath the leaves of the udala tree, whose roots reached deep into the bottom. It had been a surprise in its youth when the waters ran by its veins; now it appeared twisted and thirsty—the snarling face etched on its bark ridden with woody wrinkles, recalling the agony of its dying.

The warmth was relentless as I sat on the veranda and contemplated the lack of the place I had as soon as referred to as residence. I attempted to cry however my eyes have been dry, as if the new November solar had reached into my eye glands and milked all my tears. I used to be with little one—and when my little one grew, he would by no means know the glowing Okitankwo River that used to run by no less than 5 villages, together with my very own—by no means know the small plantations that bonded us collectively, the candy potatoes and sugarcanes that we grew alongside its edges just a few kilometers away from residence. The river didn’t cower within the face of the fierce solar within the dry season; it got here at the start of the rains and signaled the Ofa season. We’d carry our cans and buckets to the river to get water, and we used the sleek white pebbles that lay on its financial institution to wash our dry toes till they grow to be mushy. The waters have been so clear that we might see fish gliding with the powerful currents—so clear that we might attain out and catch the fish with each arms. Now, the little water left was too heat and poisonous to assist aquatic life. The fish displayed on the desk by the fishermen had been so dried that it might go away cuts in your mouth.

The kids of these days don’t know what contemporary fish from Okitankwo River tasted like. They’re content material with consuming the dried crayfish and tilapia. They see the toughness as regular, however I do know that’s not what contemporary fish tastes like. Contemporary fish was a staple of our nsala soup; we might roll our eba into the thick spicy broth, laden with the standard contemporary catfish, and swallow it “gbim gbim” down our throats. The white sands on the Okitankwo riverbank could be used along with pawpaw leaves to wash the blackened backs of our pots and kettles till they shone like a mirror. Shouts of “Mmiri ayola, mmiri ayola” would rend the air.

However because the seasons got here and adjusted, and the solar grew nearer to the earth, the river ran no extra. We’d rush to the riverbank after we heard the slightest noise, however would find yourself staring on the scorching baked earth and white stones the place the water had as soon as handed by. The sides of the river have been the place we dared nature, forcing the marshland to provide candy sugarcane after we farmed with ability and endurance. We’d put seedlings into the bottom, are likely to them because the greens shot out from the earth, and wait patiently for the candy yellow bananas that held on evergreen bushes. The ladies in our family would carry the bananas in lengthy baskets and ferry them to the following village, the place different girls would hustle for the white sugarcanes in alternate for seasoning and cubes of cleaning soap. We’d sit underneath the complete moon sharing the fruits telling folktales.

However when this little one sits underneath the moon, he’ll hear tales of a present of nature that had as soon as been of cultural significance to his individuals—a supply of a uncommon meals crop and overseas alternate of some kind. With the waters went part of us. He will probably be taken to the Okitankwo River and proven the pathway the waters adopted—the swamp that held our crops now ridden with remnants of water grass and the waters retreated like a tortoise into his shell. Nobody makes use of the sands anymore; tiny inexperienced worms dance on the floor of what’s left of the swamp, and totally different generations of mosquitoes invade our homes at night time—disrupting our sleep with the fixed ringing sound, and pumping malaria into our veins.

My mom mentioned we had offended the gods, so they’d cursed the land and brought again the presents of water and the crops that grew there. At any time when I went to what was left of the river, I noticed eggs wrapped in pink garments and bottles of Fanta—choices to the gods to convey again our Okitankwo River. However it didn’t come again, though nobody touched the few aquatic crops left the place the water as soon as was, in an try to protect what was left. As I grew older and watched how nature modified throughout me, I knew the gods have been to not blame however quite we people, who had ignored the pink flags after we engaged in a poisonous romance with our local weather.

It occurred too quick: the rains not coming in April, the growing warmth, the taint of mud. I remembered the Twitter banters, the Fb posts, and the varied threads of “Local weather change is pretend” and “World warming is a conspiracy principle.” I took a visit down reminiscence lane and concluded that it had not been this dangerous after we have been youthful. Every era had met a degrading state of nature, however, as a substitute of preserving and enhancing on it, had perceived the decaying nature as regular—resulting in a downward spiral.

My little cousin hasn’t put a paper boat on water earlier than and watched it sail seamlessly with the currents. The kids of right this moment will quickly be left with what we as soon as referred to as our residence as a part of their historical past curriculum, and can take journeys to exhibition facilities to see the inexperienced we as soon as had. Our kids may by no means get to see nature in its true type. They’ve already forgotten that stars are a part of the night time sky.

In our forgetfulness of nature, we forgot that nature doesn’t overlook—and any title you name your pet will probably be what it solutions to. The earth was altering quickly round us, and I used to be afraid. They name it eco-anxiety: worry of local weather change. Youngsters don’t know that tigers usually are not simply emojis of their telephones however are wild cats with orange stripes who as soon as dominated the wilds. We’re forgetting the ambient sound of birdsong and the satisfying feeling of crunching leaves underneath our toes on a forest flooring.

***

I didn’t initially got down to safeguard the atmosphere. I used to be pushed into activism by reminiscences of our gone river and bewilderment that folks weren’t noticing the darkness that had enveloped the land due to the decline within the dance of fireflies. However Mama knew I might at all times comply with that path: I by no means outgrew chasing butterflies within the gardens and trapping fireflies in bottles. Now, I had moved from embracing nature to defending it.

I selected my current residence due to the wild inexperienced that grew behind it. I used to be completely satisfied to find that huge patchwork of woods, fields, and umbrella bushes behind my hostel, which had miraculously remained untouched amid the increasing suburban grid of streets and lawns. However one morning, I woke as much as the sound of a roaring chainsaw—the massive ones with depraved edges, used for felling large bushes. I watched the blade drive by the fleshy bark like a knife to bones, and my again twitched. Then the bulldozers uprooted the enormous bushes, leaving gaping holes the place they need to have been.

The choir of birdsong stopped.

The whisper of candy breeze on inexperienced leaves paused. 

Loss, grief.

It felt like part of me fell with the bushes. It felt like I used to be by no means going to see a pricey buddy once more. I felt the identical ache that had include the lack of our sacred waters. It was occurring once more: this violation of nature, this accelerated lack of species and life.

The place would we run to when the floods got here? Whose roots would maintain us firmly to the floor?

Daily, I woke as much as one thing new on the land. Quickly, a basis was dug and a constructing began taking form. I took up my pen and wrote to the Ministry of Water and Land Assets, however nobody got here. I went to the secretariat and sat all day ready for the commissioner, just for his secretary to inform me he had left at 5 pm. I misplaced hope as I watched the constructing rise on land that till now had held Amazonian bushes and a number of species of birds.

Sooner or later, I got here residence and noticed that the constructing had been wired with electrical bulbs. I heard whispers that handshakes and envelopes with lump sums of cash had been exchanged. The Ministry of Water and Land Assets have been giving out parts of our nature like pawns on a chessboard. I took photos and wrote newspaper columns concerning the destruction of wetlands and forests because of urbanization, inhabitants explosion, and weak implementation of legal guidelines. The massive males in Abuja already knew, however there was nothing anybody might do. I used to be applauded for my efforts to attract consideration to the trail of self-destruction we have been on, however nothing extra.

A yr later, I moved to Lagos. I usually refresh my timeline to see information of indignant waters carrying autos and folks away. We had lower down our bushes; what did we anticipate? Now, will we practice the longer term generations to have a better appreciation of nature in order that they don’t make the identical errors we’re making? Will we take them outdoor to expertise what’s left of nature in its unadulterated type? The cooing of pigeons in yard gardens, the fantastic thing about corals, the hermit crabs on seashores. Or will they grow to be housebound, praying that the floods don’t rise to harmful ranges, watching as horrible winds uproot the zinc roofs of homes that sail slowly away, like paper boats.