Night Studies

Deersip devis doesn’t mean anything to me. But there it is, in Effiong’s science notes under the heading, “Uses of Oxygen.” I search my brain without finding a category called “Uses of Oxygen.” Effiong and Asuquo have asked me to explain the mystery words. They are seated with three other thirteen-year-old boys around a kerosene lantern in the unfinished classroom block we use for Night Studies here at Udong Community School. About 40 similar groups of children are bent over their books around other little islands of light.

Udong Community School floats in a dark sea of rainforest under the starry African sky. Footpaths are our only connection to neighboring villages and beyond them, to the rest of Nigeria. There is no electricity in these villages although the town of Oron, a half-day’s journey distant, has electricity sometimes.

In the mud-walled houses where these children live, one lantern is shared by the entire household and is usually the center of meetings, conversations and evening chores. It is difficult to study under such conditions, so the school has instituted Night Studies and provides lanterns and a quiet place where students can do their homework. The school cannot afford textbooks so the children study from hand-me-down notes, copied and re-copied, from teachers and elder brothers and sisters. This is how we end up with phrases like deersip devis. Often I can deduce the original English from the context, but deersip devis is an enigma.

Effiong and Asuquo are inseparable friends. They were born within a few days of each other in the compound their families share. Their fathers are brothers. The compound where they live consists of seven small houses and one larger one, all encircled within walls woven of raffia palm. All the houses are built so their entrances open into a large common space for cooking, chores and socializing. Asuquo’s family and the grandparents occupy the biggest house. The population is about thirty people, most of them children. Effiong’s mother has told me that even when the boys were babies they were happiest when they were together so she and Asuquo’s mother used to take turns nursing both of them. The third member of their triumvirate, little Etim, is missing tonight. He is Effiong’s eleven-year-old half brother. They have the same father but Etim’s mother is their father’s second wife, who also lives in this compound. I inquire from the boys about Etim’s absence and am told that he has fever. I have learned that the word ‘fever’ is used here to refer to any illness from a mild cold to a potentially fatal attack of malaria or cholera. I decide to walk down to the village with them when Night Studies are over, to see how he is and take him some medicine.

Unable to solve deersip devis, I circulate from group to group, exchanging greetings and answering questions. Every notebook I check has the same cryptic phrase and all the children are dutifully memorizing it. Towards the end of the evening I have a revelation and rush back to Effiong and Asuquo’s group.

“Deep sea divers!” I exclaim. “That’s what deersip devis is supposed to be. Deep sea divers!”

From their expressions, I can tell that ‘deep sea divers’ means as little to them as deersip devis. I describe how a person can walk on the bottom of the ocean when wearing a special suit that is connected by a tube to the surface, where other people pump oxygen down so the diver can breathe. This is a novel idea to them and they are excited by it. It is fully half an hour after the end of Night Studies before I have satisfied their many questions.

“And how much does one cost?” asks Effiong. He is fascinated with the possibility of being under the water with the fish swimming past his face. When I look at him to answer, I see his eyes are glazed - he is walking around underwater already.

Effiong continues to ply me with questions as we walk to their compound. He wants to understand every detail of deep sea diving. But when we are a hundred meters away from the entrance I become aware of a lot of shouting.

“It’s my father,” says Asuquo in explanation, “and Effiong’s mother.”

Effiong is still underwater. “If you stand very still the fish will come close and you can just grab them.” He catches fish out of the air until we enter the compound.

Effiong’s mother, a big, strong, broad-backed woman, is in mid-tirade. She stands over her cooking pots and points at Asuquo’s father, words shooting out of her like machine gun bullets. He is sitting in front of his house, looking disdainfully in another direction. I decide to greet them later. The boys take me into the house where Etim lives with his mother.

Etim lies unconscious on his sleeping mat. He looks very ill and when I feel his chest I pull my hand away quickly because he is burning with fever. His face and upper body have been painted with ndo, a white, chalk-like substance thought to ease fever and chase away bad juju. Malaria is the most common cause of fever here. If untreated, an attack usually lasts several weeks and may result in death. Outside, Asuquo’s father shouts down Effiong’s mother, then continues with a fusillade of his own. I ask Effiong if I can see Etim’s mother. She comes in and I give her the medicine I have brought - Fansidar - the best anti-malarial I have. It will usually cure the patient within two or three days. I make sure she understands that as soon as Etim wakes she is to give him the pills with plenty of water and they will make him well. She nods distractedly and tucks the paper packet of tablets into her bosom.

In the compound, more voices are raised now. When I step out of the house I see that although other family members have become involved in this shouting match, Effiong’s mother still dominates the group, one big hand on her hip and the other pointing at whomever is receiving her tongue-lashing. Watching her is like standing on the rim of a volcano.

“Let’s go,” says Effiong. “We will walk with you to your compound.”

On the way, Effiong tells me they have been fighting all day. The dispute is about why Etim is sick. Effiong’s mother says it is because of the new galvanized iron roof that Asuquo’s father is putting on his house. Asuquo’s father has lately taken to smuggling in addition to fishing for his livelihood. The extra income from several successful trips across to Cameroon, on the other side of the nearby Cross River, has been invested in a large stack of roofing sheets. His will be the first village house to have its thatch replaced by modern roofing. I’ve been watching the progress of this roof from my front step, where I can see it gleaming and growing larger every morning when I leave my house.

Asuquo adds, “She says people are jealousing my father’s new roof. She says that he is getting too big-head and someone has put juju on Etim to kill him and knock our family down.”

“And what does your father say?”

“He says that she is a nonsense woman and she should put her head in a cooking pot and make herself deaf with her big stupid monkey noise.” Both boys giggle a little at this. I ask them what they think.

“Oh, we don’t know anything,” says Effiong. “This is for big people.”

“They will decide the right thing to do,” says Asuquo confidently.

As I drift off to sleep I can still hear the occasional shout from their compound down in the village.

In the morning I get up early and hurry through breakfast because I want to visit little Etim before school, to see if he is better. But when I am about to leave the house, a familiar head pops through the curtain covering the door. It is little Etim calling me to go to the stream for a bath.

I pull him into the room and look at him. He returns my look with his usual merry expression. He’s much thinner but he seems just fine and has no fever whatsoever. Fansidar generally acts fast but this is the speediest recovery I’ve ever seen. I happily agree to join them and greet the other boys outside the house. Effiong is carrying an old bucket with a long bamboo tube attached to it. It is his diving helmet. I notice that Asuquo is absent and ask Effiong where he is.

“He’s sleeping,” he says and looks towards the distant roofs of their compound. I follow his gaze and see only thatch. The shiny new roof has disappeared. “They had to work all night,” he says, grinning. He hands me a small packet. “Here. Etim’s mother said to give this to you.” It is the Fansidar. “She said to tell you she is sorry that she didn’t give it to Etim, but he is OK now.”

“You know, Effiong,” I finally say, “your mother is an amazing woman.”

He looks at me, then looks fondly at Etim and says proudly, “Sometimes, my mother is like a wild elephant.”