When night falls on the Niger Delta, hundreds of people set sail on hand-made wooden boats toward the oil pumps jutting out along the swampy creeks. Clouds of smoke float in the night air. Makeshift fuel refineries — with the same machines once used to distill palm oil into gin — begin churning crude oil into diesel fuel.

The intricate process is illegal and comes with extreme risks. Workers — mostly men — spend hours in intense heat, inhaling toxic fumes from the simmering crude oil. They work quietly and move steadily throughout the night. As dawn approaches, the refined oil is poured into oil drums and shipped downriver to be sold on the Nigerian black market. The machines go silent before daylight. The smoke slowly clears.

For the last 50 years, the Niger Delta’s multibillion-dollar oil trade has been the cause of intense conflict, legal debates and deep mistrust between the big oil companies and local residents who feel betrayed by the Nigerian government for not profiting from the lucrative industry. Almost 90 percent of those living along the delta survive on less than $1 a day. Many find the clandestine oil trade, even with the risk of prison or death, is the only way to support their family.

The long battle between residents of the delta and the major oil companies piqued the interest of Samuel James, a photographer who had documented youth gangs in the slums of Lagos, Nigeria, in 2008. He was awarded a grant through VII Photo Agency to continue his photo series “Area Boys,” which allowed him to develop close relationships with the youths. In time, he gained access to an underground scene that very few see of Nigerian gang life, street culture and the illegal oil trade. In a terrain where economic stakes are high and conflict can quickly erupt, Mr. James credits his ability to navigate between different social and economic cultures in Nigeria to one thing: respect.

“You move with respect or you don’t move at all. That’s how Nigeria works,” Mr. James, 26, said. “You have to move with respect, and you have to be trusting.”

Mr. James is originally from Cincinnati, and his first trip to Nigeria was in 2007, when he was awarded a grant by Tufts University’s Institute for Global Leadership program to spend two weeks documenting the booming population of Nigeria and its effects on the development of megacities.

When he returned to Lagos in 2010, he was 24 and gained the trust of local gang members — almost all his own age — who were informal gatekeepers for the city. Spending almost all of his days with the area boys, Mr. James slept under bridges and inside abandoned buildings. He learned to speak pidgin, a form of English shared by the more than 250 ethnic groups across Nigeria.

He always kept his camera close by.

Through his connections with the area boys, Mr. James was on assignment for Harper’s Magazine in 2012 when he took the five-hour bus ride from Lagos to the Niger Delta. He spent two months traveling throughout the swampy creeks to document the illegal oil refinery process and the residents of the wetlands who are directly affected by the trade.

During that time in the delta, Mr. James traveled using a boat and paddle and visited more than 12 oil refinery camps carefully hidden along the gulf. He had many guides and stayed in the homes of residents in town who would welcome him with little hesitation. Mr. James attended church services, religious ceremonies and a few funerals. Sometimes he would stay at a camp for a few days, sometimes a few weeks. But he always visited a camp more than once.

“My work isn’t about showing up some place, spending a day or two and then splitting,” he said. “I keep close relationships with the people in those photographs.”

Mr. James now splits his time between Nigeria and New York and considers his work in Nigeria a continuing project that he plans to keep exploring. He does not like to consider himself a photographer, but more of a storyteller in which the camera is one means of communication. One of the of key aspects of developing a good story, he said, is about building relationships based on trust.

“It’s a matter of time,” he said. “That’s how people get to know each other.”

Samuel James teaches nonfiction storytelling at The Program for Narrative and Documentary Practice at Tufts University, and images from his project “The Water of My Land” are on view at The Half King in New York City through April 7.



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