Tales of a youth Corp member- Chapter 1

JUST BEFORE I LEFT SCHOOL (2009) Episode 1

(Started out a diary, now has gone through a fictitious modification-enjoy)

         

“My name is Titilayo and here is my NYSC story;

“I schooled in a typical Nigerian public Tertiary Institution, whence the quest to earn a degree took out a whole seven years of my life for what was supposed to be an eight semester course. So no apologies for excitedly 'misbehaving' after graduation. I mean, who wouldn’t?”

“A university in the South Western part of Nigeria, whose lecturers duly obey the clarion calls of their national comrades to go on strike rather too incessantly. An action to derisively out pour their grievance often over various issues that ranges from unpaid wages, poor working conditions among other demands, some of which I consider quite selfish.”

“I remembered we once stayed back home for a whole year during one of such national strikes. A lot of us resumed with skills learnt, and trust me for some females, bulgy stomachs that contained growing embryos were one of them. All of these dramas does take a negative toll on the total number of years it takes a student, schooling in a public owned tertiary institution to finally graduate.”

       

“Oh well! though an intelligent student, four carry over courses silently accompanied me to my finals, and with palpable fear, I succeeded in sitting for my last paper, which was a re-sit though. And after the three unit course that lasted for few hours, I dashed out of the examination hall in jubilation.”

“Decked in my uniformed final year jersey with my peers in celebration, we danced round the school campus and its environs, singing all manner of songs you can ever think of, aloud and along with the speaker which was positioned in a bus that housed the DJ. Songs like;”

“four years don waka' by the now defunct Styl plus repeatedly ruled the air. A consolatory song of sort by the way. And then a few of our misdeeds includes mockingly referring to supposedly mean lecturers with proverbial songs. But while the 'efficos' (an appellation for very brilliant students) sang same with so much synergy, maintaining a high pitch, students whose IQ could otherwise be tagged 'average' as well as the dull ones, maintained a sealed lip all through the rendition of such songs. Wondering which of the classes above me belonged? 

Hear no evil.”

“We threw cautions to the wind and many of us finalists drank liquor to stupor. Even the very reserved and purportedly decent ones threw their ‘saintly’ boot to the winds and had mad fun.”

................................................................................................................

 “The day went down, many people traveled back home to savor the joy of being a graduate. Others simply stayed back to either monitor the proceedings of how their examination scripts were marked, probably to get better grades through the back door, or to simply enjoy some more copulation with their date partners. No surprises at youths that were still very sexually active.”

“Days rolled into weeks and then a few months as we endlessly awaited the examination results. Fear gripped a lot of students and yours truly wasn't an exception. Not for lack of cerebrum, but because I was a student activist and departmental journalist, whose call for solidarity alongside other student leaders had either caused a face-off with the school's authority at one time, or for my articles in the School’s Magazine which has made me enemies to more people than fewer. I have actually stepped on the toes of many lecturers with my articles, most especially those with high libido, and the ones that are allergic to awarding good grades, even if well deserving.”

 “By the way, I had recited all the seven psalms of victory that I know of in my KJV Bible. My African/archaic christian background which states that;

           "Thou shall read psalms of victory when in distress"  took a better grip of me and I diligently obeyed. 

           With my heart literally pounding now, as describing same as beating would literally be undermining the movement of that organ. Equally sweating profusely, more or less like a Christmas goat, I ended up by the departmental notice board rummaging through the list for my Matric number 04071105.”

“The result? It went;
     

  60,69,79,54,50,53.............blah!blah!! Blah!!!

“And for my project: LIQUIDITY CONSTRAINTS, AND ACCESS TO RURAL CREDIT AMONG FARMERS IN ALIMOSHO LOCAL GOVERNMENT? 

          I got me a distinction. 

This brought me joy and in the middle of it I called my dad, a man whose carbon copy I’d been from birth to inform him of my grades. I could sense the surge of pride welled up in him at the other end of the phone when he gave me accolades, telling me how much I’d made him proud.”

FEAR OF SERVING IN NORTH NIGERIA

“After the hurdles of final clearance in the University, this included the incessant queuing up in the usually scorching sun to either sign a document on campus, or to get a payment confirmation with the bursar to, having to fight dirty with fellow students who wants to play smart by jumping queues. And in the end, I got my final clearance and notification of result. The population of my course-mates alone was well over six hundred, with about eighty percent of us getting mobilized for youth service, graduates of other courses were not left out in droves, so getting mobilized in my institution is like fighting a war, if only you know what I mean.”.

“Few days after, I was back in Lagos in anticipation of my call up letter to the NYSC batch A set in 2010. After a few months by the way, Tolulope, a friend who seemed to be abreast of school information more than I do called to inform me about the NYSC posting"

 “Where?” I’d asked,

“The good news is that we’ve been posted to the same state”, and then I heaved a sigh. At least I have a pre known companion. But then I wasn't totally pacified.

“Where” I’d inquired again.

            “And don’t you think we're lucky to be posted to the same state?”  She reiterated.

Now that scared me.

“Tolu seemed to be cleverly evading mentioning our Place of Primary Assignment, I had thought. She is probably preparing me psychologically before throwing that in, not when she is ally enough anyway to know how vehemently I hated being posted to some states of the federation. Totally impatient and almost getting angry now, I retorted”

             “babe, wetin be your problem na? South, North, East or West?”

“I’m afraid in the North” she snapped

“so?”. I answered rather too spontaneously

 “where precisely in the North? kaduna or Kano?” Those were the only states I felt civilization existed in the north at that time, not when the farthest place I’d been to was Abuja. But in the middle of my thought she replied;”

            “Friend na Zamfara we dey go o”  and the line went off.

            I had unconsciously ended the call and all the thoughts that began to race through my mind came in form of questionable phrases.

    ‘‘With sharia?

Foggy and harsh weather?

The mad distance from the south west? 

 Bad roads from here down? 

  Language barrier?

riots and killings?

Headquarters of sharia?

“God knows I simply would have gone numb if there was boko haram as at that time”

“Anyway, I summed up the courage to call my dad. I believe so well in his ability to modify the news to my mum in a way that would not 'sting' her ears, and he must have acted his role well. Mum in turn called me almost immediately, her voice laced with worry already, and all she could say was:

 "My God will see you through" 
............................................................................................................................

“Despite all of the emotional travails the thought of going to serve in Zamfara state has brought me, I left for Tsafe Camp which was billed to open her gate on the 9^th of March, in 2010, armed with my baggage and the call up letter among a few other provisions and some cash. 

“Accompanied by dad to Oyingbo Motor Park, I met  others like me with either or both parents too. And the over 70 Seater luxurious bus that was to convey us however justified itself as the modern version of the Intra State mode of Transportation in Lagos, popularly referred to as Molue. Apart from those of us comfortably seated, some passengers paid half of the fare to seat on the bare floor. But then they weren't the intending Corp members though.”

“The bus came alive after a few hours and seemed to be warming up by moving at a slower pace. And even though there were no awards for whoever wins the mum’s crying contest, most mums at the park were already getting so emotional. Unanimously came a yell so high pitched that an average African town crier wouldn’t have been able to contend with it. Now I understood the reason why mine didn’t come along, she confessed to be missing me already, and no doubt my mum would have taken a sonorous lead in the soft sobs of her contemporaries.”

“On a second thought, the scenario appeared like we were soldiers aboard a war zone with the reaction of our mothers. Yet the few dads on the other hand tried hard to fight back getting too emotional. Alarmed but amused at the whole scenario, I looked through for my dad and to my surprise, he was unconsciously walking towards the moving bus like he was going to accompany us on foot. I knew he wasn't conscious of his reflex action of ‘trekking after a moving bus', but I guessed that was his 'manly' way of wailing. 

You know men and their ego.”

“At 8;25pm, the bus left Oyingbo Motor Park and the sojourn to Zm began. We journeyed some more before a pastor rendered a revival-like prayers for journey mercies. This took more time. A staff of the luxurious company thereafter inform us of the travelling rules.”

“No quarrels between passengers and/or with the driver” she started out.

“The bus will stop twice, only at selected points for everyone to pee. So mind what you eat and drink” 

She emphasized.

“ The driver would not stop anyhow except for passengers that wants to shit. And na the one wey jedi dey cause. Na dat one dey always dey difficult to hold”   She concluded with a strong pidgin accent, that I couldn't help but grin. 

      “I must have slept off not too long after the announcement was made at around 10.00pm. I did jerk back to life at some minutes past four in the wee hours of the morning and I marveled at how I had managed to sleep for over five hours in a bus on transit.” 

“No hint about our location despite peeping out of the window, I became deeply pressed. My bladder filled so much that I feared I’ll drip it.”

“I inquired, and the co-passenger seated beside me said it’s been over an hour the bus stopped for all the passengers to ‘ease’ themselves."

            “you mean everyone came out of this bus to pee, and no one deemed it fit to wake me” I fumed as if it was anybody’s responsibility to do that.

“we all came down except for some ‘sound sleepers’ like you who did not deemed it fit to wake up” he answered sarcastically, “despite the huge noise of night hawkers who screamed blue murder into our ears” the man concluded smiling, as if the fact that my bladder was about to rip pee open is for jokes.

           

 “So when is the next stop?” I asked, totally ignoring his sarcasm. 

            “Maybe in another two, three to four hours” he answered.

            “Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!.... I yelled in excruciating pain.

            “What? Are you alright?” the man asked totally puzzled at my outburst.

            “I am deeply pressed and it's a pooh-pooh” I lied since no one would pity if they knew it was a pee.      

     “Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!” I screamed again and I succeeded in shifting a few necks in my direction, not without a few drops of urea in my panties though.

            “Can you manage and hold it some more minutes? It’s not dawn yet, and as you can see, that there are no houses in sight. Here could be one of the danger zones usually warned about”the man suggested but then,  who cares?

            “Whatever” I muttered aloud, “just know I’ll let loose after few minutes”

I unreasonably threatened.
            “Driiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiver” the man alerted almost immediately, and I still think it is laughable, the fact that he believed that I will get so messy as to let loose a 'shit' in public. , “please find a good place to stop, the lady beside me needs to answer the call of nature oooooooooooooooooo” He intentionally emphasized.

            “Shey na piss?” the driver inquired rather nonchalantly “if na piss make she piss am for floor, he go dry, day never break abeg.” he concluded totally unperturbed about the welfare of the extra passengers that occupied the passage of his bus as squatters.

            “ol boy no be piss o” my co passenger replied him, stealing a few glances at me while I feigned a great discomfort. In the end, other co-passengers joined in the plea of my next 'neighbor' and rather grudgingly, the driver brought the bus to a stop.

After passing out urine, the relief I felt was immeasurable. Others equally pressed like me alighted to do same, while some passengers on the other hand curiously threw a few glances at me, like I shouldn’t have been this quick if I was truly passing out excreta. But then who cares as long as my mission remained accomplished?.

We got to Zaria at 8am, and I need not be told that,  I AM IN THE NORTH. That feeling needs to be in caps trust me. I have never experienced a weather that hot my whole existence.

 I alighted with my luggage and like it was pre-planned, more than six bike riders all of whom were obviously very young swarmed around me like bees and asking in quick succession,

            “ Ina Kwana……..Barka de zuwa……An Zo lafiya…………yaya hanya……….Ina ke………….Zo mana”

 I was so confused that I blurted out,

            “Chriiiiiiiiist, I am in Jupiter”

My outburst must have attracted a young guy, who walked up to me saying,

            “Good morning young lady, my name is Charles”   he began,   “a batch B 2009 Youth Corp Member serving in Zaria, I presume you are an intending Corper, batch A precisely, going to camp, right?”  He inquired, totally feeling concerned (normal espirit de corp. of all youth corp members nationwide)

            “yes, I’m actually heading to Zamfara state, so where do I get a bus to my destination? And please is it still very far from here?”, I anxiously inquired.
 This journey has to end already, I had thought. I mean, here's for my swollen legs which now aches like seriously.

            “I’d never been there, but I learnt it is another four to five hours drive from here” 

            “Gosh!”   I exclaimed,

Charles turned to one of the bike riders who were on hand all the while the conversation lasted, conversing in bits by bits Hausa that I could deduce he was also a learner.

“Zamfara park ka san wu ri (please take her to the park where she can take a cab to zamfara)”,

He did a few translations, while I picked the bits.

“ee na sani wu ri” one of the boys replied him

“na wa” (how much)?

“Ka wo naira hamshin”(bring fifty naira)

“Naira hamshin ta yi yawa” (fifty naira is too much)

“wan con wu ri yana da nisa” (the place is too far)

“babu, naira talatin” (no, thirty naira)

“ka o kudi ka” (bring your money)

And then he offered one of them thirty naira while I quickly interjected

            “No, you shouldn’t have bothered to” I quipped, wanting to pay, but he willingly offered instead.

            “It’s no problem at all”  he'd re-assured, and I was like,
            "thank you"

“to shigo” the bike rider said to me like one in a hurry, and just when I made to turn to Charles for the interpretation.

“he said lets go” he'd quickly answered my puzzled self, smiling.

I mounted the bike, my luggage carefully placed on my laps and within the spate of a few seconds, the rider zoomed off on top speed that I instantly feared a crash.

            “A sauka lafia, (go well), hankali” Charles screamed after us.

...............................................................................................................................

The male teenager that rode me on the bike was literary flying on top speed that my heart was in my mouth for the fifteen minutes that the trip lasted. The hot breeze laced with dust equally passing by my ears as he sped off, took the courage I'd have summoned to utter to him to reduce his speed. And even if I’d wanted to, how do I say it to him as it appears he is versed only in his language and no other. Signalling to him would simply distract him, so I kept still. In the middle of my fear anyway, I did not fail to also notice that he seems to have mastered the nitty-gritty of riding with such dexterity, that I was equally amazed at his expertise. Disregarding the fact that he was maneuvering in between cars that were equally on top speed, he got me to the park where I took

the bus that conveyed me to Tsafe Camp. 

            At 2:45pm, I stood in front of the Government Day Secondary School which doubles as the NYSC Orientation Camp that was to play host to about one thousand, eight hundred and ten Corp members.

................................................................................................................................

The stern looks of the Man O war men and the military mien alike at the gate, is a pointer to the seriousness of the task ahead. 

                Every item in our luggage was unwrapped for checks. Sharp objects like blades, fork, knife, scissors and even a seeming arm-less nail-file were removed to the waste bin. 
 My milk tin-cutter didn't make it too. That was when I put a call across to Tolulope to inform her of my arrival.

My identity card and call up letter further identified me as I sauntered into the vast expanse of land, totally fatigued and famished. I gave a loud yawn, mouth ajar and a very strong breeze welcome me, drenching my face with so much dust that I could feel sand even in my throat.

“Welcome to Zamfara state, dear Zamfara Kofa”   Tolulope motioned as she walked towards me with her arms apart for a hug, smiling.



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