The night of the fireflies

At about eight in the evening, when dinner is done and the lanterns on the jetty are turned down, Effiong unties the big canoe. He does not use a torch. He says you will not need one.

For the first ten minutes he is right in the most ordinary way. The moon is enough, the water is flat, and the only sound is the paddle and the tick of crabs in the roots.

Then the trees begin to blink

One light, then three, then a whole mangrove lit from inside, flashing together like a slow heartbeat. In November, the males of one firefly species gather in particular trees along the creek and flash in time. Nobody quite knows why they choose the trees they do.

Effiong lets the canoe drift and says nothing at all, which is the best guiding there is.

Guests go quiet. Children whisper. Effiong lets the canoe drift and says nothing at all, which is the best guiding there is.

Keeping it dark

Fireflies need darkness. It is one reason the lodge has no floodlights, no generator and no music after ten. Our path lights are low and amber, and point down.

We take one canoe at a time, never more than six guests, and only to two of the five firefly trees we know. The others we leave alone.

On the way back the lodge appears as a few warm dots across the water. Most guests say the same thing as they step onto the jetty: that they had no idea this was here, three hours from Abuja.