5-Gallon Bucket

The next morning I was able to travel to a different state in Nigeria with Bumper and Papa. The place had been described as a living hell: we were told that, in order to sleep, we would need to soak ourselves (or maybe only our shirts) in water, because of the heat. No running water. Electricity . . . not the first night. I expected our visit to Makurdi to bring out the emotion in me, because I knew it would be exclusive to the smaller group of three and we would be able to build relationships much easier.



The drive South from Jos to Makurdi was four or five hours. Our van did not have air conditioning. The landscape, as always in Africa, was riveting. It captured my attention to the point of no iPod, which, for me, is saying something because I have a deep relationship with the Counting Crows.



We arrived at the Gidan Bege of Makurdi and met David and Deborah, the caretakers of the place. David explained to us that he had 24 boys living at the orphanage, and also several widows. The compound was divided into two sections: one for David and his wife and the other for the boys and widows. A wall divided the two sections so that one had to exit the compound in order to get to the other side and, as I mentioned earlier, there was no running water, only a well. The well was on the side of David and Deborah. Consequently, the orphan boys had to walk (with their 5-gallon bucket) around and out of the compound, then back in to get the water. Then, after the bucket (5-gallon bucket) was filled with water, they walked back. To get water. When I want water I put my face under the sink. Less than 15 steps from my bed. In the air-conditioned room. With the electricity. Oh, and I don't have to boil my water to make it safe for my body either. Rick, the guy who told us to pour water on our shirts, said there was a portion of the dividing wall that could be knocked down easily to help the boys with their arduous hike for......drinking.......................water. For drinking water. Their h i k e, for dddddddrinking water. So they don't die of dehydration. We knocked down the wall.

The boy with the broom is Danny, the best sweeper in Nigeria. And the opening with the plant and bricks on the ground is the would-be wall we destroyed. The boys appreciated our help and we felt glad that we could do something simple to help a lot.

After we tore down the wall we visited a soccer scrimmage. After the practice each of us, myself, Bumper, and Papa, said a few words to the team. Every time I was asked to say a few words for a group I tried to relay the same message: even though people in America have a bunch of stuff, they aren't happy. People in Nigeria smile much easier than Americans, and that is a fact. So, my Nigerian brethren, I applaud you for joy in the midst of pain, and I pray that my fellow Americans will learn to learn. After our messages to the team Bumper and I pulled out our cameras and passed them back and forth pretending to be movie stars (they thought we were). It was humbling.

The literal journey of the day seemed simple and good: we had helped orphan boys and spoken to amazing soccer players. But the trip hadn't amounted to my expectations, and I was beginning to be bothered by this fact. Why wasn't I feeling? Why wasn't my heart broken? I remember writing, later on in the journey, in the margins of Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises: "Why isn't my heart breaking? Why isn't my heart breaking? Why isn't my heart breaking?"

Like the WWI generation of The Sun Also Rises I felt lost. I had no direction or hints from God pointing me to the answers I sought. I still wasn't feeling the pain and I didn't feel any closer to God after helping the boys. Why wasn't my heart breaking? Where am I supposed to be? Where is my direction? Where does destiny have me? What am I supposed to be?

Hemingway's character Robert Cohn feels the same way: "Don't you ever get the feeling that all your life is going by and you're not taking advantage of it?"