Shabbat started peacefully.  No cameras and I bit my tongue when I saw beautiful shots of everyone being called up touch the Torah, the divided groups in prayer together, and little girls singing at the top of their voices.

 

Things became slightly less peaceful around noon.  The two Shmuels and I had been discussing for a few days the idea of going down to their communities one day this week, separate from the rabbi.  Both had been disappointed when they found out that my travel plans forced me to leave a few days earlier than the rabbi, and I would miss visiting their communities in the south.  They had both told me of the unique aspects of the Rivers and Delta states, and I too sensed the film would be incomplete without profiling significant communities there.  I offered to do some extra traveling and forfeit some sleep if they were able to logistically make it happen.  I was pleased when transportation was secured, and Howard agreed they were important communities to document and that a day and a half away would not result in missing anything significant.

 

Elder Elam did not seem to agree, and as the chief planner of our visit and a somewhat autocratic leader, it seems he didn’t appreciate either Shmuel or I messing with his schedule.  I eventually won him over and assured him that his community was fully documented, and made provisions for someone to shoot with my second camera while I’d be away.  However an hour later, as I was reading in my room and the rabbi was leading a torah study, I suddenly had a group of 20 men and women at my door demanding why I was abandoning them and why Shmuel was kidnapping me.  I liked to have thought that my hard work the previous two days documenting their community was noticed, and enough.  I had hoped the gifts I had just bestowed on their children would have lead to greater trust.  I could understand that they perhaps had confused information, and were disappointed in my visit being cut short.  What I could not understand is blaming Shmuel.  The disappointment and humiliation in his eyes was enough for me to step in and end this mini drama.  As politely as possible, I told them that my schedule was my own decision, that their behavior was extremely un-Jewish - especially on Shabbat and especially when they should be taking advantage of the rabbi’s Torah study.  In the end, I think that they had been manipulated into causing this confrontation.  The rabbi devoted his Torah study to leadership and democracy.

 

Six of us piled into car as Shabbat was ending, double-checking the rabbi’s blessing.  I was rejuvenated when I looked into the backseat and saw four grown men squished together, happy to be escorting their friend and journalist to their homes and communities.  It was a testament to their conviction to want to travel like that for three hours on dark, bumpy, dirt roads.  We traveled in areas with no lighting, no street signs, no shoulder, and on roads that suddenly come to an end.  We drove on the wrong side of the road at times, and passed cows strapped down in the back of a pickup, and open trucks full of men with machine guns.  I looked over often at Elder Asher, a man in his seventies whose driving was pretty good but still gave me some cause to make sure he was still awake.  Only once did I say my goodbyes as he slammed on the brakes and nearly careened into the stopped car infront of us. I felt bad for grabbing his arm so hard.

 

We arrived in Port Hartcourt to happy, singing faces, hugs and a hot cooked meal.  At dinner that night, I raised a toast.  At long last, I was eating dinner with my Nigerian brothers.  True, it is only with the other guests: Shmuel, Shmuel and Cohen – but progress nonetheless.  It was the right decision to come.