21 days of Youth Service: A Bitter-Sweet Tale
I don go camp come back o
The ladder of progress for an average Nigerian student is simple; finish primary, secondary and graduate gallantly from the university, go for the compulsory 1-year service, get a good job, further your education if you must, get married, have kids and remain consistent until you die or retire, depending on how life deals with you.
This never concerned me until I became a graduate and not just any graduate; a 2020-pandemic-lockdown-coronavirus graduate. Expectations were less straight forward than planned.
I graduated at home, whilst the period my sanity was was playing gong gong. So, even if I hated the idea of service and the suffer-head that came along with it, I was going to go. Staying one more month at home was going to drive me insane.
And so it begins…
Registration began, Batch A, Stream 1. I reluctantly registered.
I had no precise place in mind, I could survive anywhere. Although, Holy Spirit had been telling me Oyo, Ibadan. Shruggly I said “Let’s see how it goes”
Lo and behold, Oyo state was my call-up state. Things were starting to look interesting. My hopes were getting high.
I rushed to get my hair done, bought my Tees and other essentials and in 2 days, I was well on my way to the promised land (that was all the spirit was telling me).
The journey was everything that qualifies stress (wait, let me check my dictionary)
Exhausting, Burnout, Fatigue…
That was me upon arrival. The only thing that lighted my mood was seeing my school mates (no be only me go suffer here)
I still kept my hope intact, cause it was the only thing moving my feet.
All PCMs (Prospective Corp Members) were directed to the pavilion. We waited there for someone to sensitize us on what next.
It was then I realized I forgot my passport at home (wahala). I quickly rushed down to the camp market (which later became the infamous Mammi Market).
The Photographer told me 8 copies was 1000 naria. I was dumbfounded. Why?
I had no other option, I paid the money. I was so furious, the expression was visible in my passport photograph (I can refrain from speaking, but my facial expression can’t be tamed).
What I didn’t know was, the picture was only the beginning of many expliotation by vendors in Mammi Market.
After a brief sensitization by the camp director, the Covid-19 test began. I was number 6.
The first 3 people came back crying. I was scared already. I couldn’t remember the last time I cried.
It was my turn, the nurse told me it wasn’t painful (like that was going to make me feel better). He stuck a long tin stick into my nose, I could have sworn it got to my brain.
In case you’re wondering, I didn’t cry.
I’m a very strong girl.
When all was about to be over, the rain started. It was heavy and windy. It flogged everyone in the pavilion.
I had to ask God “Promise land, uhn?”
The rain fell hours upon hours. I knew then I had to move if I wanted to sleep well that night. Under the rain, I and a young lady took our bags and hassle to find bed space.
Normally, going under the rain was a death sentence for me (medically speaking). At that point, I wasn’t thinking negative, I was thinking survival.
My 21 days in camp was SURVIVAL
To rap day 1, it was horrible and very stressful. My hope per cent was barely hanging on 1.
But still, we move- Day 2.
It was past 4 am when the hostel warden rushed in to wake us up. Apparently, in about an hour from then, the bugle (my worst nightmare) was going to sound.
We all rushed to the bathroom (that was no bathroom) with our torchlights because it was really dark.
At exactly 5 am, the bugle sounded and that was how consistent it remained for the remaining days in camp.
Can I use this opportunity to applaud the trumpet man. His resilience is unmatched. He never one day missed blowing the bugle. Thank you for creating in me the fear of trumpet.
There is a chapel beside my house, every time they start blowing the trumpet, everything inside my body wakes up. It was that bad for 4 days.
The second day…registration was ongoing and I was nowhere near being done. The soldiers were already chanting “double-up”, punishing and pointing their sticks at the PCMs who had gotten to camp before us.
Soldiers and sticks- 5 & 6
I pictured myself going through the same thing for 3 weeks (I could almost cry just watching)
It wasn’t until 9 pm I finished my registration- I hadn’t eaten much that. I was angry and infuriated. I had bathed and prayed things got better or else I was going to leave camp.
Over the next week, I was placed into a platoon- Platoon 10 (na we get am). That’s where I met the most amazing set of people- different tribes, institutions, course of study- remarkable.
I also had joined in on the parade which should have been the least stressful part of camp since I was twice a commander in my senior school- parade came naturally to me.
But Noooo!!! It was one of the most tedious experiences of my life. The soldiers will punish us even for just getting tired.
In a bid to gather me after a stressful parade drill, my friend and I escaped to get water at the camp market, only for us to be caught by the soldiers who asked us to do frog jump from the market back to the parade ground (that’s quite a distance)
It was painful, but I found it very funny. I kept drinking my water. All I knew then was “It is not me, you people will kill”.
If you think that was the last of punishment for me, you kid yourself. I was punished for almost everything on camp- leaving the hostel late, getting to the hostel late, refusing to double up…etc.
At a point, I started dodging the soldiers, a big shout out to Tessy (my roommate). We always ran through other en routes anytime we saw soldiers punishing people in groups.
Everything was competitive, everything. My platoon was the loudest and most active platoon on camp (ask anyone who camped at Oyo State, Iseyin). We had a competitive team spirit.
The competitions were Big and Bold which we came 2nd place, Mr Macho which we came 1st place, Debate competition which we came 4th place (I represent my platoon here), Betty Butter which we enlisted among Top 5, Beard gang which we came 3rd place, Football competition which we came 2nd place, Dance which we came 2nd place, Top 5 for miss Ankara, Parade competition which we came 1st place.
The most interesting competition of them all was the kitchen competition which I voluntarily went for. Anything to escape early morning drills, boring lectures and parade drills. I had never been so excited to be in the kitchen.
We came 5th in this.
Early morning drills/Boring Lectures
After the sound of the bugle, everyone is expected to be on the parade ground for the morning devotion. 5 times was I punished for coming late (nothing beyond squat or seat on the floor), 4 times did I dodge and sneak to the parade ground (I suddenly became an expert and leader).
Early morning drills were not so funny cause of the cold and the itching sleep in my eye. Once I slept off and if not for God I would have scattered my Platoon’s formation.
Not to mention the persistent lecture on Covid-19. I’m sure I can write a textbook on everything said about covid-19. The NYSC lecture was the worst, everyone they bought sunken me deeper to sleep. For 3 good weeks, I suffered from sleep deprivation.
Thanks for the arrangement by IB, Victor, Dami, Tessy, Subomi, Anike who arranged seats for the sole purpose of sleeping. I mostly wore 2 sunshades and put on my cap just to get some sleep. We had other people who engaged in eating, gisting and watching movies.
All I wanted to do was sleep. Did I get the sleep?
No, the soldiers were always moving around like monitoring Spirits.
NCCF
My most fun was actually in God’s house. Many will say typical, but honestly speaking, NCCF was the family I never planned on making in camp. I loved going to the house of God, even if it was to escape the noise.
God’s presence was surreal there. The family members there were so welcoming and friendly.
Shoutout to Brother Osahon (he loves to dance too much), Brother Raymond a.k.a(our prayer warrior), Brother Samson(he calls me ‘May Lord’), Brother Samuel (he has such a lovely voice), and Big daddy Emmanuel (I promised not to call him daddy o), he is the president NCCF, Oyo and my dear friend.
Shoutout to the brothers and sisters I met in fellowship too, Manasseh, Smart, Kemi; my baby, Collins, Lolu, Damilola, Mercy, Micheal my son, Daniel; always offering to assist me, Cole, and others I really can’t remember their names.
NCCF will forever remain a part of my large family.
Socials
Socials were one of my best times in camp, although twice have I tried to catch some break from it (i can’t last long in a loud environment), although I learnt to adapt, cause I was a chaperon for the ladies representing us.
Did I mention I did drama and dance, the most exciting and hilarious experience? Because I’m a terrible dancer.
Platoon 10
Big shoutout to Dami (our platoon leader and daddy wa), IB (my camp companion), Lolu (My sister), Chi-chi (My Ibo friend), David, Paul, Rasheed, Dami (our platoon mummy), Chris (my husband), Ahmed (my baby), Cally, My doctor friend, Tessy (My roomie), Victor, Covid-19 (2), Subomi, Damilola (my shy friend) and those whose name I hold in my heart.
Overall, the camp was a wonderful experience that I’m so grateful I didn’t miss. I learnt a lot of things and made a lot of friends.
I hope this inspires you to have an open mind where you find yourself because if I start with the PPA, I won’t finish talking.
Thank you for reading.
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