TALES OF A YOUTH CORP MEMBER 3 (Settling to Camp)

At dusk a Camp Official fixed me up in a room that had sixteen other girls. An iron makeshift served as Hostels, while a flaccid ‘two and half’ inches mattress laid me down to sleep almost immediately like an Iroko. Someone must have helped me with my luggage carefully to my bedside;I do not remember doing that, no thanks to the fact that I was exhausted.

            The Sound of whistles meant for the morning drills radiated into dawn,sound so sonorous that it could naturally wake the dead. I am not an early bed though, so no surprises that I wasn’t really in my best form that particular morning.

I managed to grab a bucket by the way, trekked to the manpower tap to join the queue, queued again to take my bath at the bathroom built with zinc, before getting into my white shirts and shorts in preparation for the parade. 
The Population of the Camp on the other hand is so explosive in relation to the available resources, such that for every task on Camp, you have to queue.

In my moment of sluggishness however, the military men had to literarily chase everyone to the parade ground, and in company of Tommy we approached as the shouts of;

“Platoon four, this way”! “Platoon six, this way”. ..”Platoon one”....platoon three”     rented the air.

    “you see Titi”,  Tommy started out, “the last digit of your state code represents the platoon that you would belong to. Mine is 981, hence a platoon one member. What is yours?”

 “ 1784” I replied

 “Move towards the group chanting platoon 4, I’ll see you later dear friend” she concluded and vanished towards the direction of her platoon almost immediately. 

The Platoon leader and his Assistant who were equally Corp Members, led us in praise and worship for about fifteen minutes until the baritone voice of a Soldier brought the Songs from various Platoons to a halt.

“Paraaaaaaaaade” he ordered and everyone stood still, chests out, hands straightened and legs closely knitted.

 “Oh my good God, this is serious” I murmured silently and he ordered again,

“Preeeeeeeeeetion” and a loud bang of foot almost in unison followed thereafter. Of course there were some late foot bangers like myself.

“The Nigerian Nationaaaaal antheeeem at the count of two...1......2....” he instructed, intentionally stressing each words.

“Arise O' compatrioooots, Nigeria’s call obeyyyyy, to serve our fatherlannnnnd, with love and strength and faith, the laaaaaaaaabour of.............”  Then he ordered again in a voice so loud and stern that I feared the vessels of his vocal cords might bleed, 

“The NYSC antheeeeeeem at the count of 2,……………..1................2”  Trust  me, I did not sing along that day, I only learnt it only afterwards, but here:

 “Youths obeeeey the claaaarion's call,

 Let us lift our nation high,

Under the sun or iiiiiiiin the rain,

With dedication and seeeeeeelflessness,

Nigeria's ours,

Nigeeeeeeria we serve”,

I  took a closer look at the man whose voice, the over One thousand eight hundred Corp Members heard so clearly. He is rotund with the regular Hausa tribal marks clearly inscribed on his puf puf cheek. He introduced the Camp Commandant, Major Ibrahim Yusuf, and the latter in turn gave his address;

“ This is to welcome all otondos to the Camf”

“What is otondo?” I asked someone beside me in hush tones.

“The newcomers and JJCs like you” he replied with a smile, a ploy I knew he devised so as not to get me offended.

“This is going out to all the Otondos”  Major Yusuf continued   “that you must abide by all the rules and regulations of the camf (Our Northern brothers switch the pronunciation of  letter 'P' as 'F' and vice versa, so get used to the joke)

 “Immediately apter this morning farade, all  otondos must go to the registration unit so as to be kitted, because we are tired op seeing strange outpit all around the flace, is that clear?”

  “Yes sir” was the quick and loud response we chorused in unison. I need to know the meaning of being kitted. Always a new word to learn.

 “now pall out to your various flatoons”   He concluded.

         

   I moved towards platoon four members, but not wanting to be left out of the knowledge of any supposed Terminology on Camp, I walked up to another friendly faced mate in my platoon.

       

     “sorry, what is the meaning of being fully kitted?” I inquired

“It means you would be given your seven over seven” he replied.

“Haba! you cruel o, that’s like answering a puzzle with another puzzle, what is seven over seven again?” I alerted and he simply smiled and answered

“you'll be given the following; one ,a crested vest, that is the vest that has NYSC boldly inscribed on it”  he further lectured to save himself another puzzled look from me “ secondly is a khakhi jacket, then a khaki trouser, a belt, that orange jungle boot, a pair of NYSC inscribed socks. The seventh item is the NYSC cap. Hence 7/7”

“You must be a teacher” I teased him for his detailed explanation and we both laughed.

       

     Later on, the Platoon Commandant (a soldier whose name it hurts I did not know, we simply called him sir') gave a welcome speech to those of us the latest addition. Here is a light complexioned Hausa man, one who seemed too shy to be a Soldier of the Federal Republic. On the contrary however, he is usually accompanied by two rather stern looking colleagues. The parade proceedings went thus;

“Paraaaaaaaade”

“Preeeeeeeeeeeetion”

“At eeeeeeease”

           “preeeeetion”

“nooooooooooow we maaaaaaarch paaaaaaaass in quick order, byyyyyy the center ,slooooooow march up, left ,right ,left ,right ,left ,right……..”

  

For over an hour, it was parades all across the field, only for the bugle to come up. Time for breakfast.

           “laaaazy coooooooorpers, your food is ready”  Corpers sang along.

Brandishing varying colors and sizes of food flasks, many made for the mammy market and others like me to the Camp’s kitchen, meal tickets in hand too.