Happy weekend sir/ma,I am glad that the weekend is finally here. Anyway, I decided to do something different for some days. I would be posting different stories about NYSC orientation camps; some would be mine but others would be hearsay or plain lies. Lol. I hope you enjoy it and can relate. I hope to read of your experiences too. Kindly subscribe and be sweet(errrrrm,oya subscribe so that you can be get notified of new posts.lol)
When I got my call-up letter, the first thing I did was burst into tears. The second thing I did was call and scream, “Mummy!!! I was posted to Taraba state! I don’t want to go”. I was just fooling myself. My father almost slapped me when I said the same thing to him. I spent two extra years in the university and my father has still not forgiven me for wasting his money. He was even glad that the NYSC was nice enough to include my name since I was already over thirty years old. That man and his wahala. It was annoying because I knew that he could change it with just one phone call. I don’t even know why I was surprised after all, he didn’t even agree to work my posting to Abuja like I wanted. I made up my mind to make the best of the three weeks that I was going to be in camp. I also knew that my redeployment was going to happen. My two military ex’s are not for decoration! They must do something.
My suffering started from the minute I entered the orientation camp. I had to carry my kaya on my head because dragging it was impossible and apparently, we had to queue up to register. I actually thought I would see malo kids that would carry my stuff while I hustle to register. If I had known I would have reduced the things I carried. What was I thinking of when I carried seven pairs of white shoes and twenty one white tees? At the end of the registration exercise I had blisters all over my legs; somebody should have told me not to wear my Loub‘s to camp! Do you know that one girl wore her complete NYSC kit to camp? The soldiers and camp officials almost ate her raw. lol. You think I am lying, oya see.
When I was finally shown my ‘room’, I almost cried. There were no louvres, no light, a few bunk beds and there were no toilets, talk less of bathrooms. The foams were threadbare and I was glad that I had brought seven bed sheets and two duvets. I almost swore for my father but I knew he was trying to teach me a lesson so I made up my mind to learn. There were other people here, after all. The woman who was my sidey decided to bring her child to camp, i knew that I was in trouble.
I went for the early morning parade the next morning with all the anger I could muster at such short notice. Who wakes someone up at 4am in the name of parade? With a bucket of cold water, too! I would have slapped the soldier if not that her face looked like it would break my hand if they connected. At the end of the parade, I knew that I had to find a solution to my dilemma and soon too. I managed to find a spot in camp that had enough network for my internet to work. After tweeting and asking for solutions, I was asked to join the orientation broadcasting service (obs). God bless the person that gave me that advice. I joined and my life became easier; no more parades for me.
My one source of joy was the mammy market. The music and booze were all I spent my money on. The food that we were served was nothing to write home about, not that I ever tasted it.
I haven’t written about the parade ground; the almighty parade ground. I found out in my second week that the bushes around the parade ground had multiple uses. Apart from the fact that it was the toilet and bathroom for the halls around it, it was the general kpanshing area. All you had to do was bring something to lay on the floor and enjoy yourself. You would think the smell would deter them but it seemed to spur them on. My friends and I used to be naughty, we would carry a bright light and turn it on in the middle of the bush. That is after we had listened to all the moans and groans that were going on. It was on one of such occasions that I saw Hadiza whining her waist on top of our platoon commandant.
Hadiza is a young, married, Moslem woman. As a matter of fact, she was the only one I respected in my room because she was quiet and she kept to herself a lot unlike the other busy bodies. I made sure that she knew that I saw her and I went back to the room. When I accosted her and asked why she was cheating on her husband she said it was because she wanted to redeploy. I reminded her that as a married woman, redeployment was easy. That was when she opened up to me and told me that she didn’t want to redeploy to Kebbi state where her husband resides but to any southern state. Apparently, she wanted to be far from her husband whom she wasn’t in love with. It was an arranged marriage and that was the first time she had been with another man and according to her, it felt great and she didn’t regret it. I didn’t judge her.
It was announced in camp that only people with extreme health issues and married women would be redeployed. This could only be done with proof, of course. When I slept with my camp commandant, it was because I wanted to prove to my dad that I could handle my business without his interference. When I showed the camp commandant my father’s picture, it was to make sure that he would actually make my name come out on the redeployment list. When I saw my name on the list, my happiness was unrivalled. I had worked for it and I deserved to be happy. Today is my last day in this useless camp. I am glad it is over and it is on to the next one.
This is my 100th post!!!!!! I fee hapi and I fee fuufeed. Lol. Thank you very much guys for your encouragement, support, comments, views, likes, RTs, shares, MB used etc…..I wouldn’t be here without you all. 100 doesn’t seem like a lot but it is a biggie to me. Special shallah to my regular commenters; Anita, Elsie, Femi, Dr Nwax, Deserter and Shai. Thanks darlings for being a special part of shughar’s realm.
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