I was recounting to my colleague one of my childhood memories of traveling with my mother, and why it was so pleasant.

I am from the riverine area of Nigeria, a proud Ijaw woman. I can’t really speak my language, but that has never killed the flame of pride that kindles when I hear it spoken, when I see my culture expressed, when I breathe the air of my land after being away for a long time, and when I feel its waters. This memory is about the waters.

As a child, traveling between Bonny Island and Port Harcourt was one of my favorite things to do with my mum. Aside from the snacks that came as a bonus package, the way the boat danced on the waves, the stories that abounded, the fishing ports flanking the sea, the body warmth from being packed together in a small boat (four to five people per bench, and about five benches per boat), and the excitement of traveling when it rained all added to the beauty of the experience. But this memory is about when it rains while traveling at sea.

The commercial boats were open-topped, so when it rained during the journey, a large canopy would be spread over the passengers. Those sitting at the edges were burdened with the responsibility of holding it down, keeping those in the middle safe from the wind and the heavy raindrops. As a child, I would make beats in my head, following the rhythm of the raindrops hitting the canopy. But this memory is about the driver, who sails even when the passengers are covered up.

While everyone stays hidden under the canopy, shielded from the harsh weather, the driver stays put, navigating the wind, the waves, and the rain. He literally weathers the storm for the sake of his passengers—and for his stomach’s sake, as that is how his income flows. His passengers have to trust that they are in good hands; whatever happens out in the open is up to the driver to navigate until the rain stops. But this write-up isn’t really about my memories, however beautiful I perceive them to be.

This is about the rain and my ark. Like the passengers on that boat, I can’t control the vessel, nor can I control the weather, but I can control where I place my trust. So, I trust He who stirs my ark, because if I know nothing else, I know I am His priority. He will do everything to keep me afloat and on the right path, no matter how much rain pours, how loudly the thunder claps, or how hard the hail beats. While that happens, maybe I will make a song from those sounds and dance with the boat—because that, too, is all part of the experience.

Ere
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