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  • NYSC Diary Day 21: On The Last Day Of Camp

    Everyday by 12pm for the next 21 days, I’ll be telling you what life is like at NYSC Camp. I was posted to Borno State, but the camp holds in Katsina state due to Boko Haram insurgency in Borno. You can read all the stories in the series here.

    6:10 AM

    Now, my watch has finally ended. Or maybe it has just begun, because I still have 10 months to go. But I have just read somewhere that it is nice to focus on the now, to dedicate my energies to doing the things that seem short term, and so I can say I am happy, truly happy, but also a little bit sad.

    Regardless of your experience in camp, the last day is usually the one where all the emotions hit, especially when you consider the truth that you will never be together in one place again. Many people are relocating, and people are bringing reports of the new states they have been posted to: Akwa Ibom, Anambra, Enugu, Oyo, Ogun, Lagos, Ekiti, and all other states. Many more are flung to places in Maiduguri. We won’t ever be whole again, you know. We can only meet in twos, in threes, and these meetings are sometimes a thing of luck.

    7:28 AM

    I go to get my khaki ironed and when I return, I sit on my bed and watch everyone pack. There’s that guy who once angled his butt to demonstrate a sexual position. There’s that other guy who said he could sleep with his friend’s wife. The guy we all refer to as Landlord, he’s over there. A guy we refer to as HIV passes a paper around for us to drop our WhatsApp numbers so we can create a group chat. We laugh. We joke. A guy pushes his waist pouch to his chest area, covers it clothes and calls it breasts. We strip the bunks of mattresses and return them. The metal framework glares back at us, bony and bare. 

    8:31 AM

    I dress up, but this time, there is no force. We have all the time in the world. We also have no time. There is the parade, the final parade. Before that is breakfast. After these two things are done, we have to make the trip back to our various destinations and people who are staying back in Maiduguri will get their posting letters.

    I wear slippers and a shirt over my khaki and created vest. I turn my cap backwards, something I have been dying to do for days but am unable to, because it would attract punishment from soldiers who refer to that act as “Dragging Nigeria backwards.”

    9:00 PM

    I spend time with my friends from OBS. We spent only two weeks and some days together, but suddenly it feels as though I have spent four years with them. F. who came second in the Mr. Macho contest takes bad pictures of me. I take bad pictures of him too, and some really good ones. We laugh. E. sets the self timer and we spend time jumping and making poses. I head to the kitchen to get what will  be my last breakfast in camp. They serve bread and tea, and the man in charge takes my card from me, tells me to detach my passport.

    It all comes down to this.

    9:56 AM

    I head to the parade ground with A. He studied pharmacy, and will be staying back in Borno. People in medicine/medical professions are hot cake. In my next life, maybe I will study medicine. Dr. Kunle will be such a nice name.

    “Hurry up, make una dey go. Leave us na,” a soldier tells us as we walk to the parade ground. They too cannot wait to be rid of us. They have families to get back to. Camp for the incoming batch resumes on Thursday, I hear. A little family bonding before that time is necessary.

    “We don fall in love with you,” I say. “We no wan go again. We love you.”

    “No don’t love us. Dey go house. We sef, we wan go do Christmas.”

    Hard man, hard man, but love shed abroad during Christmas melts us all. I laugh as I move on.

    10:30AM

    This is the first time we are on the parade ground and I am not bothered. In all honesty sef, we are not on the parade ground. We take seats in the bush, in houses far from the field. Another world entirely while those marching are doing their thing. Our minds are no longer here. 

    When the parade is over, we burst out like school children released from a boring class. Those heading to Borno state go to receive their posting letters. People are posted to universities, polytechnics, colleges of education, ministry of health, and other places that are enviable. Someone I know gets posted to NAFDAC. 

    But it’s all fine and good, you know. It’s all fine and good. We all will find our places in life. Everyone should bloom where they are planted.

    11:02AM

    K. is heading to Lagos. I should too, but I have unfinished business at the bank, and I cannot leave it and dash to Lagos

    Outside the gate, there are many motorcycles and tricycles and corps members waiting to leave Katsina, eager to leave this place. Was it not just three weeks ago that I received my posting letter and dashed from Ilorin to Lagos to Katsina just to be here? Three weeks gone by, just like that?

    And I realise that it is not the time that matters or the number of days. It is what you make of it. I realise that it is just like life, living. One day you’re young, the next you’re old, dead and people are gathered, talking about the life you lived. Your years won’t matter then, I think. If you’re a hundred and there’s nothing to show for it, then it’s like dying at birth. But even if you’re thirty and you’ve done great things, touched plenty lives, then it’s almost like you’ve spent an eternity living.

    I’m sorry if I am sounding too philosophical or whatever. Goodbyes often have me like this. I guess what I am trying to say is that the next way is forward. I don’t know what will happen there, but I’ll see.

    Kunle Ologunro

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  • NYSC Diary Day 18: You Learn To Value Freedom In Camp

    Everyday by 12pm for the next 21 days, I’ll be telling you what life is like at NYSC Camp. I was posted to Borno State, but the camp holds in Katsina state due to Boko Haram insurgency in Borno. You can read all the stories in the series here.

    7:15 AM

    Today is my last Friday in this camp. Waking up, it is no different from the other Fridays I have spent here. But it feels different, and when the soldiers come banging at the door, my friend F. says that very soon, all this gra-gra will end. I can’t wait for it to be over. I really can’t. At this point, the soldiers do the most. Being forced to come and parade in the evening, forced to social nights, forced out of the rooms. This morning, they have added a new strategy to chasing us out: they pour water in the room. Sometimes I think that this camp feels like prison with a tiny slice of liberty. Each time I think thoughts like this, I understand the importance of freedom, of owning your time and doing with it whatever you want, the importance of dressing up in what you like, eating what you desire, going where you desire.

    NYSC camp is the place where you learn to value your freedom.

    10:15 AM

    Because it is the last Friday, we close the SAED skill acquisition program and do an exhibition of the things we have made in our various classes. The people at plumbing exhibit a shower with running water; those at makeup do a live face beat of a model; event planning/management exhibit a couple’s spot in wedding; agro-allied, a hen and some eggs in a crate. Those in tailoring exhibit a long gown, short gown, a kimono, and a dashiki. In leather works, they exhibit bags and slippers that I consider beautiful. My SAED class, Food Processing, exhibits cookies, cakes, salad cream, punctured and non-punctured doughnuts, glazed doughnuts, cup cakes. We also exhibit some tools of the trade: cookie cutters, measuring spoons, etc. I assist in decorating the cup cakes, putting sprinklers atop them, and fetching water to clean the utensils. After the exhibition, I leave for the OBS studio, exhausted.

    2:30PM

    Lunch is rice and beans. It is delicious, I must admit, but the fish is small and it is fried so deep it has become tasteless. I am about to finish the meal when I hear that they have started paying allowee. That excitement!

    I finish up, clean my plate, keep it and dash to the Accounts Section. A crowd is there already: Nigerians, we too like money! The allawee is N19,800, forget that talk of it being increased to N31,800. To get it, you need to present your NYSC ID card. It is unlike the transport allowance of N1,800 which you need to present your meal ticket for. The Bicycle Allowance is N1,400. In total, you get N23,000 in cash from NYSC at the end of your 3 weeks in camp. I have collected my transport allowance. And it’s not even enough for transport anyway. I spent nothing less than N10,000 from Lagos to Katsina, so N1,800 is like a drop out of an ocean. I am yet to get my N1,400. Each time I go, I am told a new story—”Come back, come back, you keep coming at the wrong time.”

    As soon as I get my allawee, I pocket it and find my way out of there. It’s just like someone said, “Some people go leave this camp with three allawee, you go see.” 

    E no go be my own allawee, biko.

    4:27PM

    The cycle continues: we are forced to the parade ground where we sit on the floor while the soldiers ferrett out those who are hiding from parade and marching. When they are done with their witch hunt, they let us go, but even then we don’t have freedom. We head to the football field or perch by the roadside or sit under the pavilion. We cannot go back to the hostel, we cannot go to Mammy Market, not even to get water. 

    I am tempted to complain, but then I remember that there was one time I prayed to God to help me go to NYSC, help me wear the white white and the khaki. Now that this prayer has been answered, why complain over what I specifically requested for?

    1:20 AM

    Yes o, 1:20 AM in the midnight. This is the time I head back to the hostel to sleep. We just finished with the Miss Camp/NYSC and Mr. Macho competition where my platoon came third for Miss NYSC. Look, I am not siding my platoon or anything now, but the judging was not fair. Not fair at all. Anyway, God in heaven sees us, and I know that we will be vindicated, because I know that you don’t believe me.

    But see ehn, guys do the most. To be fine boy no be by chest alone o. You must get something for upstairs.

    After all the groundnut oil that the Mr. Macho contestants rubbed on their body, to answer questions became a war. One guy was asked to name the president of the United States and mans couldn’t. Another was asked to sing the NYSC anthem, and he took it from 0 to 1,000 in a second. But the one wey pain me pass na this guy. He was asked to list two countries bordering Borno state. Guess what he said?

    China, South Africa.

    This, ladies and gentlemen, was how everything burst.

    Kunle Ologunro

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  • NYSC Diary Day 13: What’s With The Stay-Back-In-Borno Agenda?

    Everyday by 12pm for the next 21 days, I’ll be telling you what life is like at NYSC Camp. I was posted to Borno State, but the camp holds in Katsina state due to Boko Haram insurgency in Borno. You can read all the stories in the series here.

    6:50 AM

    It is only in NYSC camp that Sunday is truly a day of rest. And I mean it o. It is the only day when you get to do nothing until 4 PM when it is time for evening parade.

    It’s such a relief. I take my time doing everything, including waking up. The first day that I don’t have soldiers waking you up with that annoying bugle and I won’t sleep well? God forbid o. God forbid.

    I do my laundry, get bath water and rearrange my clothes. I want to go to church; I didn’t go last week and this week I must go, God punish devil. 

    9:43 AM

    Heading to church now. I have sufficiently missed breakfast, so I stop at the staff canteen to get bread and fried eggs. It ends up being a small punishment because I don’t find water to drink. Someone gives me a sip of tea but that even adds to the wahala. Devil is this your plan? Is this how you want to come? Hahaha, my God has shamed you o.

    The woman at the canteen tells me not to joke with church. She tells me that corps members die every year, and that some people get go camp and forget God. In a way, she makes me miss my mother. That’s the kind of thing Mama Kunle would say. I nod, and I head out as soon as I down what remains of my bread and fried egg.

    12:30PM

    EVERYTHING THEY SAY IN THIS CAMP IS AIMED AT GETTING US TO STAY BACK IN BORNO.

    Seriously. Camp lectures, SAED, and even sermon. The sermon was okay, yeah, but then the pastor veered in the Stay-In-Borno direction, I didn’t even know what to do with myself again. It’s all cloaked in spirituality, of course. Like, discover the will of God for your life. What if God has programmed you to stay in Borno state? Remember Jonah? He redeployed to a state out of God’s will for him and look at what happened. I know a lady who earns 600k per month working with NGOs. I work directly with commissioners. I am from Benin, I have not even met my state commissioner. But look at. See, follow the will of God. There is direct connection to God in the North.

    You people should stop. If I will go to Borno, I will go. Leave me to decide, don’t push any agenda into my decision process. Leave me while I think, abeg.

    12:50 PM

    I stop to see the Camp Director so I can ask him what my chances are if I decide to stay back in Borno. He says I have a good chance: get posted to the capital, receive state allowance, if I want, I can stay in the NCCF lodge and if I don’t, I can stay somewhere else.

    Have I submitted my application for redeployment? Yes.

    Well, I can change it if I want. I just have to write a letter of cancellation and submit it to the people at ICT. If I don’t want to write a letter, I can decide not to go to wherever I decide to relocate to after I have been posted. Just write a letter of cancellation and that’s it. 

    It looks (and sounds) more complicated than I am making it seem. And in a way, I am a bit divided. Don’t ask me why. Even me I don’t know.

    2:49PM

    Lunch is Jollof rice and chicken. I got a chicken drumstick but this one doesn’t look like a drumstick. More like a broomstick. The Jollof rice is concoction, abeg. But e sweet sha. But let’s be honest sef, wetin no dey sweet for hungry man mouth?

    7:00PM

    The rest of the day spirals into a quick end. Evening parade is a drag and only God understands where all our energy has gone. Dinner is yam pottage and fried fish. You people will not believe what happened to me o. I begged them for tail of fish, but when I was served the fish, I was now regretting that I begged for it. The thing looks like it has gonorrhoea. I left that place shedding tears internally.

    11:00PM

    Shebi you know that my hostel people do the most in yarning okoto meow gist? Well, this night is no different. They begin with the talk of “Can you sleep with your best friend’s babe?”

    Answers:

    A: No na, that doesn’t make sense.

    B: That’s rubbish.

    C: What’s there? I can do it na.

    And then:

    A: It means you can kill your guy na.

    B: But what if they do it for you? Like say, make your guy dey gbensh your babe?

    C: Wetin dey there. So far as I no know about am.

    Me: Jesus Christ the son of God, look at the people you died for. Just look at.

    Kunle Ologunro

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  • NYSC Diary Day 12: As Camp Winds Down, We Get Close To Gbas-Gbos Territory

    Everyday by 12pm for the next 21 days, I’ll be telling you what life is like at NYSC Camp. I was posted to Borno State, but the camp holds in Katsina state due to Boko Haram insurgency in Borno. You can read all the stories in the series here.

    6:30 AM

    Today is the day that my luck will shine, but I don’t know it yet. I go through the daily rituals (wahala, actually) of waking up in NYSC camp and head to the parade ground and after everything ends. Shebi you know that we do morning and evening parade? Well, this morning is when we will test what we have learnt. This means that all platoons will march like we are doing the march past on Wednesday, which is the day of the parade proper.

    We get in line. Everyone is tense, because the camp commandant is present and every platoon wants to outshine themselves. Me I am just worried about doing the right thing.

    Anyway, we march. Round and round the parade ground until our jungle boots are coated in dust and we look like something from the Dust Age (is there something like Dust Age sef?) My legs and yansh hurt, all that clenching of butt to stand at attention and locking your knees so your legs can swing as stiff as a log of wood. 

    Breakfast is pap and akara, and I am halfway into it before I realise that they’re repeating food in this camp. I don’t blame them, because to be fair, how many kinds of food do we have in this part of the country? How many, eh?

    11:08 AM

    Shebi you know I said that luck shined on me? Now is the time. On Thursday, the day that SAED people did Digital Skill Acquisition and I got a knapsack, they gave a topic and said that there will be a debate. The topic is The Role of National Youth Policy in the Development of a Nation. Maybe not in that exact order sha, but that’s the general idea. So they said that all platoons will debate on it and winners will be selected. My platoon people nominated me for the debate, but I just didn’t put it in mind. Actually, none of us did. Too much camp stress and you expect us to have debate in mind? Make debate dey debate himself, abeg.

    But these people came today again, and fiam, they said “Oya o, debate people come out, it is time.”

    For a minute, I was this confused crab from Sponge Bob, because where will I start from?

    I Googled stuff, did what I could, and then went up to talk rubbish, very sure that I was even blowing grammar bombs. So imagine my surprise when my platoon was announced as the third position. Like! 

    Funny enough, we tied with Platoon 10 which my friend F. represented. Na so we dey o, two friends, bunk mates and former course mates winning in Katsina. Cash prize for third position was N2,000. Me I did good boy and went to hand it over to platoon leader. In the end, it came back to me, but not until I did Father Christmas of 50% (do the maths) for platoon people.

    Here’s a picture of the envelope, so it won’t look like I didn’t give you something.

    1:15 PM

    I have a rant. Why is it that when they have an emergency, people will tell you to “quickly” borrow them cash, and when it is time to return it, they give you audio money?

    Let me tell you about G., for example. I was doing my own waka jeje in Mammy Market when G. stopped me to ask if I had N50. One spirit was saying I should just tell him sorry and waka pass o, but as per good Samaritan, I searched my waist pouch, told him I had N20. He said he was about buying water and the N50 tore, so he needed N50 or more. Did I have N100 or something? I said yes, as per Our Lord of Tender Mercies that I am. He took the money, and when I asked if it was dash or borrow (so I can know whether to look away or await earnestly), he said, “Anytime you need it, just let me know.”

    My had-I-known face

    Only for me to ask him during evening parade and he said, “Abeg, abeg.” I wasn’t even asking for the whole cash o. I just wanted N50 back so I could also pay the debt I am owing K. I swear that thing pained me. And it’s not the cash or something, but the fact that I asked him if it was dash or borrow. I wanted to rant like that “Angry Woman” in the “Angry Woman and the Cat” thread. But I just cooled myself. Na me fuck up na, abi no be me?

    4:23 PM

    Only God knows what they put in the egusi and eba that they served for lunch today. I ate it and I became weak o. I slept, woke up and then slept again. It felt as if I had lost momentary use of my senses. I was just looking like somebody that they jazzed. I had to buy bread and egg to eat so I could regain myself. Yes, I eat to come alive. Judge me all you want.

    10:50 PM

    Come and hear o, you people. I saw somebody smoking today in the hostel! Our true colours don dey come out o. That was how the guys in my hostel said that the girls are feeling the lack of sexual gbas gbos more than the guys. Another person now added that shebi they are already touching themselves, that they are already becoming lez. Me I just sat down like a mop, absorbing all this messy gist they are spewing.

    The social night was boring, as usual. I’m sorry o, but me I am just like that. Other people find it interesting, I know, but each time I have to dress up for that children’s birthday party they call a social night, my vibe don already die. I just go there to fulfill an obligation. 

    It is on my return from the social night that I saw this guy, right by the toilet side. I smelled weed when I passed, but O. said it was cigarette. 

    The Camp director said this morning that, “As the Camp is winding down, people will begin to steal/show their true colours,” and now it is starting to make sense.

    I just have one question: does this mean that before we leave, they will catch people doing intimate gbas gbos? 

    Ah, drama and I’m ready for it.

    Kunle Ologunro

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  • NYSC Diary Day 11: How Much Pepper Can Camp Show You?

    Everyday by 12pm for the next 21 days, I’ll be telling you what life is like at NYSC Camp. I was posted to Borno State, but the camp holds in Katsina state due to Boko Haram insurgency in Borno. You can read all the stories in the series here.

    6:00 AM

    The longer I spend here, the more I want to go back home. So far, it is fun mixed with hard work set to make us better citizens. But to be honest, is this training having any effect on people yet? Take Bros for instance. You know he was meant to he decamped yesterday? Well, I heard he was pardoned and told to write an undertaking. I don’t know what is in that undertaking, but I am sure that it must be something on being properly behaved till camp ends.

    Now you can imagine my wonder during morning mediation when I see Bros in all his peerless generosity dispensing abortion tips to the ladies. Like, from where to where, Bros? You no suppose dey mellow? But Bros is in his element, talking about how hot peppers can help a pregnancy disappear.

    Today’s morning mediation is commitment. Perhaps it is safe to say that Bros is only being committed to his ways.

    8:14 AM

    Off air. I have just read the news, and if I’m to describe how I feel, I would say I feel a mix of elation and disappointment. Here’s why: I was slated to read the news in pidgin and I had been excited about this. Only to hear that morning news cannot be in pidgin but in English, and that pidgin might be considered later, but English is paramount. So even though I am excited to finally read the news and not just do a newspaper review, I am still a bit flattened about this refusal to allow me speak pidgin. 

    Breakfast is bread, tea and boiled egg. I relax at the OBS studio. Soon, the bugle sounds. It is time for SAED.

    12:03 PM

    Here’s one thing you should know about Fridays in NYSC camp: if you’re a Christian or a Muslim who for some reason best known to you decides not go to Jumat or a traditionalist, Friday is one of the days where you get almost four hours of idle time. Once SAED practicals end by 12PM, you’ll be let off. Muslims prepare for Jumat around this time and don’t return until lunch which is by 2PM. 2PM is about ths time we have lunch, and on their return, lunch is probably being served or about to be. You take lunch, siesta, and when it is almost 4PM, the bugle is blown for evening parade which will most likely begin by 4PM. So, free time!!

    At SAED practicals, we learn how to make fruit salad and vegetable salad. Thanks to the sudden twist of the universe, I become the trainer’s unofficial PA and amplifier who echoes whatever she says to the class. What this means is that I get to stand beside her, help throw things away, take pictures with her phone. You know, those kinds of thing that make people call you a teacher’s pikin. Me, I kuku want to eat extra salad because I did not pay for practicals. I left class earlier yesterday and I didn’t know that they contributed for today’s practicals.

    In the end, I ate extra salad as I planned. My labour did not go in vain.

    8:30 PM

    You already know where I am, don’t you? And if you don’t, it’s the social night. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll miss the military regime that is this camp when I leave. You know, having someone force you to do something that will turn out well for you. I don’t know yet if I’ll miss it. What is known is that this camp is ending, and that when I get home, I’ll spend days in my bed, eating hot things day and night to banish the cold from my body.

    This camp don show me pepper.

    Kunle Ologunro

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  • NYSC Diary Day 10: How Do People Have Time For Cultism With Camp Stress?

    Everyday by 12pm for the next 21 days, I’ll be telling you what life is like at NYSC Camp. I was posted to Borno State, but the camp holds in Katsina state due to Boko Haram insurgency in Borno. You can read all the stories in the series here.

    6:30 AM

    Technically, we are now edging towards the second half of NYSC camp. Today is the 10th day, and in 11 days, I will be back home. The routine is pretty much the same: early rising hours, soldiers banging at doors, the bugle blowing like an annoying thing that it is, morning meditation, parade, etc. 

    Something new happens this morning during meditation: four people are called out, and the camp director announces that the police will help them pack their bags to the gate.

    Ghen ghen. Do you remember Bros? The one who caused trouble in the kitchen on the day our platoon had kitchen duties? He is one of those called out, and this is when everything goes skrrr. We are told to continue with our activities, but who can do that? We listen for our numbers on the roll call, but all the while, our eyes and ears are trained to the place where the people to be sent out of camp are being interrogated. Eventually, I learn that Bros fought with a camp official and when he was told to keep shut, he kept at it, asking, “Do you know who I am?!”

    For minutes, we keep up our banner of pity and make excuses for Bros: Yes, he is lousy, but can they please be merciful? They should pardon them na, as per first time. In a way, I think that this is the reason why Nigeria is slow in attaining change. We hate an attitude, and when such an attitude receives its due, we make excuses for it.

    All of us in this country should please pick one struggle, abeg.

    7:50 AM

    I am on air today again, and it is fun, as always. I join U. in presenting the Current Affairs and Today in History segment. At the end, K. and I get the tag which declares us OBS members. This is the tag that grants us access to get out of parade and other duties, except duties coordinated by devils in guise of soldiers. OBS does not mean you’re not going to do other things, we have been told. But then one can be disobedient once in a while, yeah?

    When I get the tag, I tell K., “Let’s go and paint the town red.”

    Breakfast is pap and beans, and like the first time, I achieve an orgasm as soon as I taste my beans. It might not be your taste, but one man’s vegetable salad is considered goat food by another man. 

    9:50

    SAED lectures again. We learn about digital marketing, which I find very interesting. Interesting enough that I do not sleep a wink, and I attempt to answer a question on browsers and search engines. At the end, I am given a knapsack which is something I have always wanted since.

    10:01 AM

    We begin our work of baking. Today, we’ll ice it. The instructor dishes out the procedures which I won’t share with you, because if you want to know, you sef come to NYSC, Borno camp. Yep, I went there.

    Note this: anytime it comes to free food, people lose consciousness of their humanity. You should have seen some of these fine girls and boys shouting because of a slice of cake. Hard guy, hard guy but ordinary cake and home training goes on flight mode. Tueh.

    2:00 PM

    Lunch is tuwo and okro soup. For me, it’s a 5/10 sha; I would like a bigger meat, please.

    We return to the parade ground to fill out a form called certificate form. More like sign it, actually. A passport at hand, and a scan of our details to see if they are entered correctly. Mine are.

    6:00 PM

    Parade is winding up at this time. It is a mess, but also interesting. At the end of each day, it feels like my arms are about to be torn off from my shoulders, all that marching and swinging of hands.

    An interesting thing has also happened: the camp commandant said our level of indiscipline is appalling, and he too, is up to the task. In his words, “If you say you are a cultist, me too I am a night crawler.”

    Me I was just surprised sha. Like, people actually have the time to do cult inside all this stress? Them no dey tire? Nawa o.

    Anyway, it means even more strictness: no black tights for ladies, no below the knee shorts, no three quarters, now we have to leave early for parade, get up earlier from bed or risk being told to do frog jump.

    9:15 PM

    I’m at the compulsory social night. Me I don’t know when party became by force to attend o. But sha, I am having fun. If not because of the interesting-ness of the drama and dance, but because of the obvious discrepancies in their play. Because how can you have a Yoruba king who has an Edo queen, both of whom have an Igbo son? How do you explain that?

    God safe us.

    Kunle Ologunro

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  • NYSC Diary Day 9: What Are The Chances I’ll Meet The LOML In Borno?

    Everyday by 12pm for the next 21 days, I’ll be telling you what life is like at NYSC Camp. I was posted to Borno State, but the camp holds in Katsina state due to Boko Haram insurgency in Borno. You can read all the stories in the series here.

    5:27 AM

    Back to being a regular platoon person. Back to going to the parade ground which, to be honest, I am now starting to enjoy. I am supposed to be at OBS by 4 AM for broadcast, but a local man cannot can. I wake up by 4:19 AM and I realise that with this OBS thing, some battles have to be left for the Lord to fight, so I return to my bed until people begin to move about, waking me from my sleep. 

    Today’s meditation is handled by Platoon three. They speak on loyalty. Nigeria wakes up. Our platoon leader takes roll call. As soon as he calls my name, I sneak out of the parade ground. 

    It’s my 9th day on this camp. It is the first time I will be on air as a newscaster.

    7:50 AM

    News casting goes well. I was slated for headline review. K. and I reviewed headlines from Punch, The Guardian, The Sun, The Nation. When it’s over, the head of the news department hugs us. She is excited. I go on to grab breakfast.

    Breakfast is yam and stew. The yam is like a pestle, something you can hurl at someone if you intend to kill them with one blow. Just throw it and boom, they’re dead and gone. Mine is soft, sha. But K.’s is hard, and even though we fry eggs to go along with it, she ends up throwing hers in the bin, half eaten. 

    9:03AM

    SAED lectures begin, my sleeping pill that never fails. But this lecture is interesting, and it is because we talk about money. Corps members’ allowance, incentives, etc. Now this is an interesting thing that people posted to Borno state should note: 

    There is the option for automatic redeployment when you are posted to Borno state. But if you choose not to redeploy, you get N10,000 as state allowance; you get posted to the capital, Maiduguri; and you get free accommodation. There’s more, I heard, but it looks like they are unveiling it slowly. Me, I think it’s a ploy to get us to stay back. The incentives are attractive, but I am thinking of the distance, the fact that I’ll probably see my family just once throughout the service year. And maybe all the opportunities I’ll be missing? 

    Anyway, there is the opportunity of thinking things through. And if I don’t like/want where I relocate to, all I have to do is not make any move within 21 days, and I’ll be relocated to Borno state. There’s still so much I need to learn about this, and I am certainly waiting. Who knows if I will meet the love of my life in Maiduguri, Borno? Who knows?

    12:00 PM

    We are deep into our SAED skill. I belong to food processing (catering, abeg leave big grammar and packaging) and we are learning how to bake cupcakes. And they’re a beauty, aren’t they? Love of my life, if you’re reading this, look at the skill I’m adding to my husband material CV.

    1:12PM

    An emergency bugle takes us out of our hostels. We are peeved, to say the least, because this bell is not for lunch, and didn’t they tell us that our practicals end by 2 PM? We leave for the pavilion anyway, and find out that a new guest has just arrived and wants to have a word with us.

    I am too tired, and half her words fly over my head. I know she is advising us, telling us to believe we can do it, to remember that nowhere in Nigeria is safe, anyway. I realise that it is a ploy to keep us in Borno. It might not be, but right now, everything about Borno seems to me like a narrative to keep us from leaving, and this is what makes everything suspicious.

    I mean, I would like to stay if I want to, but choking me with the “positive images” and and other reasons why I should stay looks like there’s something you’re trying to hide. You don’t see Lagos Camp telling corpers why they should stay in Lagos. Yes, I know, Lagos isn’t portrayed the same way Borno is, whenever it comes to security. I doze off, and when they say lunch is ready, I run to queue for the rice and stew.

    9:15 PM

    Every other thing is the same: siesta which makes me a little disoriented when I wake up; the bugle blowing for the parade at four; the parade, at first stressful and then enjoyable; Nigeria going to bed by 6PM; dinner of egusi and eba; OBS meeting.

    In between this, I attend fellowship where they play a video of Borno state and let us that Borno is a lovely place to serve. The video is too video-y: people in a mall, playing ludo in a room, eating from a large pot and looking happy, the governor giving out money. I have questions: What about those who don’t want to live in family house? Certainly, they won’t serve in a church for a whole year; where they get posted to as their primary place of assignments, how much do they earn?

    The social night is fun, until Platoon three presents a dance that is so confusing, so mismatched, so prolonged and annoying that people stand up and leave while they are still on stage. Guess what? They keep dancing! The light is switched off, but they keep dancing. As per show must go on, but this show already ended before it even started.

    Tonight, Platoon 3 will be roasted for dinner. And I’m here for it.

    Kunle Ologunro

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  • NYSC Diary Day 6: How Soon Is Too Early To Want To Leave Camp?

    Everyday by 12pm for the next 21 days, I’ll be telling you what life is like at NYSC Camp. I was posted to Borno State, but the camp holds in Katsina state due to Boko Haram insurgency in Borno. You can read all the stories in the series here.

    5:03 AM

    It’s Sunday. The first Sunday on camp, and as soon as I wake up, I know that I’m going to drown myself in a river of sleep. Activities such as morning parade, devotion and meditation, are not going to take place today. I cannot be more glad. We are free to dress as we like until 12 when we are to return to our whites

    Fellowship hour is 7:30 till about 11 am. I spend those hours doing laundry, cleaning my side of the bunk and rearranging my things. I do not go for breakfast. 

    1:01 PM

    I visit the staff canteen for breakfast which has of course become lunch. I settle for bread, fried eggs and tea. Lunch comes not long after; Jollof (concotion, really) and chicken, can you believe it? I’m partly full when it arrives, so I eat only half of it before I get tired. I spend the hour arguing about what university is the best while telling myself I should get up and do something better with my life.

    3:45 PM

    We are back on the parade ground. This begins my show of shame. We are asked to march, but I keep messing up the commands, keep forgetting how to halt. I swear, it’s the chicken they gave me. I know that I am not entirely useless. I know it deep down within me. So you can imagine my deep hurt when the soldier drags me out and casts me on the rubbish heap with the rejects who cannot march. Later, he says we should go to the field and clap for the footballers. Just imagine.

    My God will judge you, Mr. Soldier. MY GOD WILL JUDGE YOU.

    6:10 PM

    The bugle has just been blown; Nigeria has been laid to rest, no pun intended. I am supposed to join the other rejects in their clapping and cheering duties, but God forbid. A whole me, clapping and prancing like something inside hot oil? Again, God forbid. I spend the rest of my time filling in my redeployment/relocation form.

    A brief information about the relocation form: it is the form that facilitates your relocation to another state. The form was given to us and is to be submitted today, with a handwritten letter requesting relocation to xxx state on security grounds. In the form, you fill in your name, course of study, call up number, state code, reason for relocation, and the state you’re relocating to. I’m relocating to Canada, just in case you want to know.

    7:03 PM

    Did I tell you I signed up for OBS and got in? If I didn’t, then I did. And tonight is our first meeting. I am assigned to the programs department, for current affairs. We are drilled: be punctual, think of how to generate income, drive people’s attention, make them listen to you. We are reminded that we have only two weeks to shake things up, and we better make the most of it. By the time we are done, dinner is over. It’s yam pottage and fried fish. I like pottage, but sadly, I missed it. I end up scooping powder milk into my mouth for dinner. Didn’t they say eat dinner like a beggar?

    10:15

    There is another social night again. And like you must have guessed, it is another show of shame. It’s like a children’s birthday party, a primary school’s end of the year party, only with people twerking and bored people loitering around and trying to make connections. Sunday has been a slow day anyway, why not have the party? But rather than speed  up things, it only drags the day even further. Drags it terribly. It’s a shame that we are forced to attend it.

    In all honesty, this NYSC is starting to tire me. I hope my time at OBS will bring fun. I really do.

    Kunle Ologunro

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  • NYSC Diary Day 5: What Did You Hear About Platoons?

    Everyday by 12pm for the next 21 days, I’ll be telling you what life is like at NYSC Camp. I was posted to Borno State, but the camp holds in Katsina state due to Boko Haram insurgency in Borno. You can read all the stories in the series here.

    5:20 AM

    The sound of people wake me: “Dry clean your clothes, dry clean your clothes.” When I sit up to look, I see that they are men and young boys carrying white plastic bags filled with clothes to be dry cleaned. I fall back into bed and close my eyes. I am tired. I do not want to go to parade. I do not want to do anything. I simply want to leave this place. It will be a hectic day, I can sense it.

    Last night, A. told me to help him get a bag of water. When I returned with the water, he had gone to the clinic for his night shift. A guy came to me for water, but I told him it wasn’t mine, so I couldn’t give him. He left. I also wanted some water, but I couldn’t take A’s water, it wouldn’t be right, since he had not seen it, so I left the water untouched and went out to beg for water elsewhere. Now imagine my anger when I wake up to find out that someone has torn open the bag of water and taken out of it. I rage, but F. tells me to calm myself; not everyone will be like me. I leave for parade still pissed.

    Yesterday, Platoon 1 was in charge of everything: sanitation, kitchen duties, security, etc. At the parade ground, they are told that they performed badly. Today it is Platoon 2’s turn. I am in Platoon 2, and I know that this kind of thing na work.

    7:45 AM

    Work begins. I am assigned as the sanitation head, and told that everyone will be involved in the sanitation. The Platoon Leader deploys some people for security shifts. His assistant does the same for people who will be in the kitchen. Trouble is brewing. While we are taking the roll call, a lady asks me who made you secretary? Did they choose you in public or in secret? 

    “Sweet baby Jesus, fight this battle,” I think to myself. 

    9:16 AM

    It takes working closely with people to discover their true characters. And in the few moments I have spent with the people in sanitation, I am starting to discover that many people are sweet and dedicated while some people, good as they may seem, are quite deficient in that moral nutrient called respect or courtesy.

    10:03 AM

    Breakfast is pap and akara. Honest to God, it is a great meal. I didn’t have dinner last night, so it’s a welcome relief. I mix in milo and some powdered peak milk. It feels like heaven.

    Yesterday, I signed up to join the OBS. But while other camps just absolve interested members, audition them or something, our own OBS here is something else. We are asked to design a program, submit it on or before 10:00 AM, and then the man in charge will decide if we made it in or not. I submit my own assignment, help the assistant platoon leader to submit hers too. We wait to see of we’ll make it.

    OBS is the Orientations Broadcasting Service, the body that handles media in NYSC camp.

    2:00PM

    Lunch is eba and egusi soup. I am in the kitchen, assisting in its preparation. I help to cut the pepper, wash the meat. I attempt to blow dirt out of the egusi.

    While at this duty, I realise again that decorum is a costly thing when it comes to some people. Take this Bros for instance. He is loud and rude and every adjective for people who think they can talk, must be leader of the group they belong to, cannot listen to anyone’s opinion, cannot have anybody rule over them, and always objectify women. Picture such a kind of person. Add that he likes to talk sex and other lewd things in public.

    He spearheads the conversation about ejaculation and kayan mata and girls he’s had sex with and will have sex with and so on. He sings Saheed Osupa (which I like, to be honest, because my Dad played his songs a lot while I was a child). He picks a fight with the assistant platoon head. He talks about her in third person: “Some people always think that…” You know, that kind of thing. We manage to curtail that nastiness. But little do we know that it will soon end in tears.

    8:13 PM

    This is dinner. Rice, stew and fried fish. People come out, get their food. Soon, food finishes. And here’s where the wahala begins, because NCCF people are only just leaving fellowship and coming for food. 

    Now begins the talk: You Platoon 2 people are just worst. 

    Didn’t you cook enough food?

    How many people did you estimate?

    What is the meaning of all this rubbish?

    Platoon 1 was bad, but this one? Very very very very bad.

    In this hot spate of public outrage, a guy throws away his food because he is not given a fish tail.

    Wahala. The Kitchen Supervisor takes a picture. Tells us that definite actions will be taken regarding such terrible behaviour.

    He also warns us: NYSC is a regimented camp. If you are in church at the time you should be getting dinner, then you should not expect that the rules will be changed for you. We will cook more stew, but this is the last time.

    Remember Bros? Our loud, uncouth Bros? Well, when we took the leftovers back in, Bros picked up a fight with Assistant Platoon Leader, and there goes all our points for team loyalty. It is loud and nasty. He talks, Assistant Platoon Leader fires back. Platoon Leader who is usually calm steps in fires even more. Kitchen Supervisor steps in. Talks to Bros. Bros leaves in anger.

    10:59 PM

    We leave for the welcome party. Apparently, it is by force. Soldiers bar people from going into their hostels, chase people away from places where they loiter. We get go the welcome party and it is just like a children’s birthday party. When it finally ends like the show of shame that it is, I am the first to leave for my hostel.

    Kunle Ologunro

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  • NYSC Diary Day 4: Camp, The Place Lectures Come Alive

    Everyday by 12pm for the next 21 days, I’ll be telling you what life is like at NYSC Camp. I was posted to Borno State, but the camp holds in Katsina state due to Boko Haram insurgency in Borno. You can read all the stories in the series here.

    5:40 AM

    It is Friday, and now, all our activities have started to become routine. Wake up, make a dash to the tap for water, go to the bathroom, dress up, head to the parade ground for devotion and morning drills.But now there is more, and it’s because we have been sworn in.

    Now, Nigeria has her own sleeping and waking hours, our dear country whose citizens work tirelessly. We are told that every day, whenever the bugle goes off at 6:00am, we are to stand still. When the same repeats itself at 6:00pm, we are to stop and stand still. I want to ask, “But what if I’m in the middle of dying?”(I will not die in Jesus name *eyeroll*) Orisirisi has started to happen in camp, but I don’t even know it yet.

    8:00 AM

    One of the orisirisi that is happening is the fact that we have now been left to ourselves. Not in a completely independent way though, we have soldiers who act as our platoon leaders. I am in Platoon two, and you won’t believe all the drama my eyes have seen.

    But wait first, let me tell you about one orisirisi: lectures. Yes, being bonafide members means that we will be “killed”with lectures. The first one is something on security and protection of lives and property, how to safeguard yourself from attack, how to help corps members develop adequate sense of security. It is an interesting lecture, if I will be honest, but I really just want to sleep. 

    We head to the parade ground for the drills. Now that we do things according to platoons, it is a little more informal, not the kuku kill me drills that will have you questioning if you’re receiving punishments for sins your ancestors committed.

    Being left alone means that everything is now a competition. Everything. And every eye is on the lookout for the platoon that will emerge as the best. You know Nigerians na, everyone is now attempting to outdo themselves.

    A brief gist about my own platoon: a guy was voted in as the head. A lady wanted it first; she is the one who has been in charge of everything platoon related including creating a WhatsApp group, handing out kits to people, etc. Long and short of it, a lot of us already saw her as platoon head. 

    Only for soldier to say that we’d have to select/vote in our leader. When lady came out, soldier said no, that a lady cannot be the head. Because why? Because she is a lady, and ladies are the ones who faint the most since they cannot handle the pressure and heat of the sun.

    My people, na so kasala burst o. 

    Okay, maybe not exactly sha, but we dragged it for long. Asked soldier if there was a rule stating that a lady cannot be head and must be assistant alone. Soldier said no. Then why can’t we vote her in? No cogent reason. When it was time to vote, our lady had four votes. The guy had over twenty five.

    Only ladies faint, only ladies faint, but today during evening drill, about five guys fainted. A number of these guys faked it, but doesn’t that tell you something?

    Breakfast was bread and tea (as usual) and a boiled egg. I keep my egg for lunch, and pay N50 to have an egg fried. I add Milo and Peak powder milk to my tea, and each time I sip it, I remember that it is only one life I have and that I must chop it properly. Na Borno dem post me to, no be kill I kill person.

    12:45 PM

    Another lecture. This is how we don enter am. We gather at the parade ground, under the pavilion. It is hot, cramped. This lecture is one we are delighted to hear. It is about how to redeploy. Just imagine the joy that erupted from us when the man began to speak. In a way, I feel for those officials. I imagine them thinking, “Look at these ingrates. We feed you, accommodate you, and this is how you repay us? Corpses are scum!” But duh. It will take only God to keep some people from not relocating out of this place.

    He informs us that being posted to a state is called DEPLOYMENT, and changing that state to another is REDEOLOYMENT. There are two major reasons for re-deployment: Health and Marriage. For health reasons, he mentions that some ailments are manageable, meaning that you’ll probably not get redeployed based on those ailments: headache (and let’s be honest sef, who’d claim headache as a reason for redeployment? Is that headache a Chinese one?); asthma (can’t remember if he mentions this as manageable, sha). The ailments they consider are those in the category of HIV/AIDS (he says and I quote, “Some of you have HIV, but you don’t know it yet.”), Tuberculosis, etc etc. And don’t think about faking it, because their own doctors will test you too.

    For marriage, you need to provide a marriage certificate, newspaper publication declaring change of name, handwritten statement (I think), and a photocopy of your husband’s driver’s license or the biodata page of his international passport. Also, he says that men do not get to redeploy on basis of marriage (Eskiss me sah, but what if I am a househusband married to a sugar mummy?)

    And then, to the part we have been waiting for the most: redeployment on basis of insecurity. At this, we hoot again, we ungrateful humans. He warns us though: we should not think of working the posting to Lagos or Abuja, because the people at these places say that they already have enough. Even Port Harcourt. We should not think of paying anybody, because we will be redeployed by a person from Abuja who does not know us at all. And we should not think that we can redeploy to our state of origin or the state we schooled in. No way. Also, redeployment means that we automatically get disqualified from carrying out a personal project for whatever state we are redeployed to.

    Sad, but then do a lot of people care about anything else except leaving this camp?

    Other lectures come in: about the culture of the Borno people, things like marriage, etc. But I zone out some minutes after the speaker says that some people will find love in NYSC camp, that some people will fall in love with officials (which I took to mean soldiers). 

    1:43 PM

    I head back to the hostel. Muslims are preparing for Jumat which means extra sleep hours for me. In my hostel, the boys are in a heated discussion: Tacha was an Instagram olosho before Big Brother Naija. Look at the stretch marks on her body. The fact that she, an “Instagram olosho”made it to Big Brother Naija is why many ladies are also olosho today. 

    Jesus be the shield, abeg. Be the fence, be the covering and the umbrella. Me I cannot handle this type of thing. E big pass me.

    Kunle Ologunro

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  • NYSC Diary Day 3: In Camp, You Meet People From Different Worlds

    Everyday by 12pm for the next 21 days, I’ll be telling you what life is like at NYSC Camp. I was posted to Borno State, but the camp holds in Katsina state due to Boko Haram insurgency in Borno. You can read all the stories in the series here.

    2:41 AM

    Strange things are happening, good things are happening.

    A flurry of movement wakes me. Today is the swearing in. I tap O., but he does not stir. I go alone to fetch my bath water. When I return, I go to bed again, but it’s hard to sleep. I drift in and out until I finally stand up some minutes before 5 am.

    And then it begins.

    A voice in the room says he has something to tell us. He says we should hear him out. Everyone is busy with preparation, but ears are cocked. And the voice gives his message: we should pray. Muslims in the room should please not take offence. 

    He is from NCCF, he says, and I think, “Wait, are NCCF people now in our room?”

    NCCF is Nigerian Christian Corpers Fellow by the way.

    He begins with a song of worship. We sing, cold mouths opening up heavily, slowly. He persists. Tells us to shout Halleluyah. Prayer is important, do we know? Giving thanks to God. We have not had any case of theft, shouldn’t we give thanks? 

    In the middle of this, I head to the bathroom so I can get a spot before it becomes crowded. I am wrong. In the end, I take my bath in a doorless bathroom, so much for keeping myself.

    7:57 AM

    Parade begins about this time. This is after morning devotion where brethren from fellowship bodies remind us of our duties to God, after the morning mediation titled Obedience. Parade today is a little humorous, never mind that today is the swearing in, that monumental event that will transition us from prospective corps members to bonafide corps members. Humorous, in that the new intakes keep messing up the commands, being unused to the actions accompanying them.

    “Stand attention!” and some people still have their hands by their sides rather than the back.

    We are warned: this event will have dignitaries in attendance, we better not misbehave. Our conduct will determine the overall tone of the camp experience, either good or bad.

    We are told how to dress: in our khakis, jungle boots, crested vest, everything, sans the jacket. No water bottles, no sunglasses, no waist pouches. Come the way you are.

    We go over the commands again, march of the flag parade, signing of the oath form, salute of the officials. 

    Hours later, we are dismissed for breakfast, and told to go prepare ahead for the swearing in.

    10:55 AM

    We are back on the parade ground for the official swearing in. We are all clad in khakis. My khaki smells like engine oil, but I am afraid to speak out. Finally I do, and B. confirms it. It’s the printing ink.

    Let’s be honest, some people deserve tiri gbosas. The sun is hot enough, but some ladies are in full make-up and faux eyelashes. I’m pretty sure that by the end of the parade, such an affair will end in tears. All that makeup, all that sun. One thing must give way for another.

    The parade is as you might expect: hot sun cooking us all, dignitaries ably represented by someone else. But there is more: people are fainting. It is expected, but it quickly goes beyond the expected and soon, Red Cross officials begin to dart across the camp to pick up people. It is a believable fainting, yet also so highly staged. At least that one I am sure of. A guy in the queue next to mine is tapping his knee and laughing, laughing, laughing. Two minutes later, Bros is on the ground yelling muscle pull.

    One of the members of the flag party faints on her way to sign the oath form with the Chief Judge. Entertainment is suspended because of the extreme weather. We become rowdy, mimic the Chief Judge’s pronunciations as we recite the oath after him. We are carefree, and there is hardly anything the soldiers can do to us but look on in horror.

    11:46 AM

    I return to bed to get some sleep. I am extremely exhausted. Since I got here, I sometimes catch my dozing on the parade grond. I fall into bed with relief and it welcomes me home.

    2:50 PM

    I slowly return to my default settings after sleep loosens me up. For a few minutes, I stare at people like I’m not sure what I am doing amongst these people. F. keeps asking if I’m alright. 

    Lunch is Jollof rice and boiled beef. The Jollof tastes like premature Jollof: concoction. And I think it still needs a tiny pinch of salt, but it tastes nice. And I devour it with gratitude.

    4:15 PM

    This may or may not be the beginning of good things, but I don’t know it yet.

    We return to the parade ground where we are told that we are to abide strictly to the rules, now that we are bonafide corps members. The camp commandant addresses us. “A lady was caught wearing bum shorts to Mammy Market yesterday night, where do you think you are?! If we get hold of you, you will be dealt with severely. Discipline is needed!”

    In other words, we must always be dressed in whites. Rubber slippers will be confiscated. Phones must be silenced or switched off on the parade ground or it will be seized and returned when the camp ends. Do not smoke elsewhere but the smoking corner at Mammy market. Ladies, do not carry hairstyles that will be too much for you to handle. Do not wear shades unless they are recommended, and you must provide a paper to this end.

    Me attempting not to zone out:

    B. is a fellow platoon member, but so far, we have a connection. I know what you are thinking, but I have not found love yet. B. has a positive energy, one I really like. Since we line up according to platoons, I often find myself before or behind her. And we often talk about random things. But this evening, we roll different. I tell her about the

    “Is Ashimolowo a bad bitch?”tweet I found once on Twitter, and that provokes a bout of laughter. Soon, everyone is a bad bitch. The soldier with his new fancy hat. Me when I decide to talk in defiance of orders. A fellow corps member in sunshades. Bad bitches everywhere.

    https://twitter.com/Unkle_K/status/774256517793153024?s=09

    But the most interesting part comes when a fellow platoon member is being bullied and called Bob (meaning Bobrisky) in a condescending manner. I know how this feels, and this manner of toxicity irks us to no end. We decide to fight for him/talk to him at the end of everything. 

    His name is G., and contrary to what we think, he is actually tough and able to defend himself. From him, I learn (again) that not obviously reacting to whatever people do to you will show them that you’re not bothered. It is different from taking offence which will show them that they are definitely hitting home with you.

    And believe me, G. is full of life, full of light. He is the life of the party. And I like this kind of energy instantly. The field empties and we’re all still talking, happy, getting to know eachother. B, the girl I may or may not have a crush on wants me to meet her friend O. who is also my friend and bunk person. O. introduces us to R., and we introduce him to G. The atmosphere is full of all round love and we’re all kumbaya-ing when I realise that someone, we’re all connected and NYSC is the thing that brings that connection to life.

    I remember that B. finished from Babcock. G., from Kwara State University. Me, from University of Ilorin. And I realise how true it is that NYSC is a place to meet different people from different schools and different worlds.

    Kunle Ologunro

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  • NYSC Diary Day 2: Shame Dies In Camp

    Everyday by 12pm for the next 21 days, I’ll be telling you what life is like at NYSC Camp. I was posted to Borno State, but the camp holds in Katsina state due to Boko Haram insurgency in Borno. You can read all the stories in the series here.

    3:16 AM

    Someone taps me awake. It is A. When I open my eyes, the room is a flurry of activities: young men in various stages of undress rushing to fetch water to bathe, young men already dressing up. I already fetched my water yesterday so I am spared the stress of queuing at the water tank. The cold is heavy, as usual. I pull out my bucket from under my bunk. I wake O. who sleeps in the bunk next to mine.

    NYSC is the place where shame comes to die, so I am not surprised when I walk into naked young men bathing in the open and in the other bathroom without doors. Yesterday afternoon, in broad daylight, I saw a young man bathing in that doorless bathroom, naked, not even bothering that people would look. I swear, I’m not a prude, but it was a shock to me. Me that I’m keeping my body for my future love so that my in-laws will pay the full cost of my husband price. Last night, a guy bathed in front of our hostel. Right at the entrance o. In his defence sha, it was dark. But still.

    After taking my bath, I dress up in new whites and wait.

    5:11 AM

    In other camps, the bugle sounds to indicate that Nigeria is awake, but I hear that things are not normal in this camp. Here, the bugle sounds, but I don’t even know. I expected something different—loud, jarring—but this bugle sounds like a bush baby, an egbere in training.

    Soldiers come. We double up to the parade ground in darkness. 

    I find people from NCCF, singing and clapping. Muslims head to the mosque. The NCCF brother tells us to give thanks to God. God who helped us to be here. Many of our mates are dead, do we know? Many have extra year, are we aware? Even he, he had an extra year, but look at him today.

    After this, he invites us to attend the NCCF. Have time for God. Don’t come to camp and forget the Lord. There are three religious bodies: the association for Muslims, the one for Catholics, and the one for all other church denominations.

    We sing the national anthem, the NYSC anthem; we recite the pledge, and then listen to the morning mediation. More rules follow: Don’t shit in the open; don’t smoke in camp. If you are a smoker, there are places in the market you can smoke. Don’t drink alcohol (makes sense why alcohol is confiscated). Don’t steal. If you cannot do without stealing, you better control yourself (these are his exact words, believe me).

    The drilling/marching session begins again. We re-learn how to remove head dress (face cap), how to give three hearty cheers to the ezeketive govanor of Borno state. We are prepared for the swearing in ceremony tomorrow. I get called onye ara because I am quick in putting on my cap. People are called witches and small witches and we’re told to stop thinking of our boyfriends and girlfriends. Nobody faints—a wonder, but one girl is taken out of camp because a soldier notices her eyes “turning”.

    We are on the parade ground for hours that feel like years. I am about to die. 8:11 am, and the commandant finally asks us to go find Ngozi.

    We disperse in search of her. My prayer is that Ngozi will never be found. 

    10:03 AM

    I am back on the parade ground, forced to give up my breakfast of bread and tea and double up to the camp. What’s bread and tea, anyway? The bread is a small size, and the tea is like a small flood. But it’s hot. And Lipton. And sweet. 

    Sweet tea

    On the parade ground, the sun is already up, hot and bright. It almost feels like it’s afternoon. Drilling begins afresh. Instructions are yelled at us from all sides, and again I feel as though I want to die. The reason for this endless drill is this: tomorrow is our swearing in ceremony, the governor of Borno state and other dignitaries will be in attendance, so we must get all commands right. 

    We learn (again) how to stand at ease, how to bang our feet and stand still when we hear “attention!”A group of girls are handpicked and taken away. Later, I learn that they are being trained to welcome the dignitaries. All through the parade, I see them clapping and prancing. There are a few guys among them too.

    We offend the soldier. He asks us all to sit on the ground. The sun’s intensity increases. The breakfast makes me sleepy, and while standing on the parade ground, I sometimes catch myself dozing, jerking awake when I am about to fall. We begin to grumble, but the soldiers are not having it. Bang your feet!, they yell. Stop saying ‘catch’, just hold your cap!

    At about 12:00PM, we are allowed to go sit under the shade. A relief, one which is cut short when the parade resumes again and goes on and on and on until a soldier dismisses us at 1:15PM to go in search of a certain Salamotu. I’m so relieved I want to weep.

    3:15 PM

    I take my lunch at the kitchen. It’s rice and stew and a bit of meat. Tasty, although some people think otherwise. But it’s free food, so…

    F. has devised a way to evade parade, and it is a technique that works. He changed into mufti and went to Mammy Market. This way, he’ll blend in with the hordes of new arrivals who haven’t completed their registration. Smart idea, but there won’t be new arrivals for long.

    A. too has evaded parade. But his excuse is genuine: he is a pharmacist and this is a service needed in camp. O., my new friend is nowhere to be found. These people have betrayed me.

    6:15 PM

    The parade is finally over. For today, at least. Tomorrow is the swearing-in day, so by now everyone is rushing around to amend their kits to look nice for tomorrow. To amend your khaki costs N1,500 at Mammy Market. At the College Tailoring Unit, it costs N1,000. Ironing costs N200. 

    College tailoring unit

    Mammy Market is not a place to be, if I am going to be honest. Yes, they have all you need, but then it costs too much. It is as though by charging you more, they are teaching you not to be careless in packing necessary items. A bucket costs N500. A cup costs N200. A small cooler costs N650. A metal spoon costs N50. A plastic take away plate costs N100. Every bottled drink is N150. POS withdrawal costs N70 per thousand naira. It looks small, yes, but a pinch here, a bite there, and there’s nothing left. Tell me, if five naira was withdrawn from your one million naira, would you still be called a millionaire? 


    Kunle Ologunro

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  • NYSC Diary: What To Expect When You’re Posted To Borno

    Everyday by 12pm for the next 21 days, I’ll be telling you what life is like at NYSC Camp. I was posted to Borno State, but the camp holds in Katsina state due to Boko Haram insurgency in Borno. You can read all the stories in the series here.

    DAY 1.

    6:35 AM

    I wake up in an NYSC lodge in Katsina on the first day of camp. I’m not supposed to be here, that much I can tell. My memory is a bit foggy, but when it all returns, I remember how I got here. It starts with getting my posting on a Friday and seeing that I had been posted to Borno, which means I would be camping in Katsina since Borno is a no-go area. Then packing my things with a twinge of dread and excitement, blocking out all the varied reactions from friends and family on what to expect. And then making the longest trip ever only to end up in the wrong place. 

    After arriving in Katsina, my friends and I picked up bikes to take us to NYSC camp. The bike men heard “NYSC” alone and brought us to the wrong place — this NYSC lodge where corps members who have their primary place of assignment (PPA)  in Katsina stay. 

    Just as the sun is beginning to light the skies, my friends and I head out of the Lodge to continue our journey. 

    Let me tell you about my friends. There’s F who was a course mate. We left Lagos together. Then there’s A, the third party we met during the course of the trip. He studied Pharmacy at Cyprus, and for me this is quite a wonder. A foreign-trained person going to the same NYSC with me? As we head out of the Lodge, he tells me he is going to camp to make money. 

    Me? I came to chop the life of my head.

    10:20 AM

    It takes us four hours to get to camp from the lodge. We first enter a cab driven by a Hausa man. What’s supposed to be a quiet journey becomes a tour of sorts. An Alhaji in the backseat points things out to us even though we don’t ask: 

    “Katsina is farther than Kano.”

    “If you’re coming through Zaria, don’t trust those parts under the bridge that look dry, they actually contain water.” 

    After the cab drops us, we take motorcycles and arrive at the NYSC camp on them. 

    Katsina is cold. Too cold. Alhaji had warned us about this before we got off. 

    At the gate, NSCDC officials accost us. They ask us to open our bags and provide all our documents. They ask us to upend our bags so they can be sure we’re not carrying sharp objects, metal spoons, or other objects they perceive to be harmful. 

    Beside them are confiscated items: spoons, extension boxes, etc. I wonder if they will confiscate condoms too. After all, sex is not allowed on camp. But take your mind out of the gutter, please, I am not carrying condoms. My grandmother packed my bags.

    When they are satisfied, I am asked to write my name in a book and allowed to go in. I wait for my friends who are still being checked. In the meantime, I decide to take photos for this diary. The soldier takes offence.

    “Go inside!” he barks and I’m gone before he can say another word. 

    Look where friendship got me.

    12:00 AM

    Registration: If you’re posted to Borno state, then it’s very likely that you’ll camp at the Peace and Disaster Management Centre, NSCDC, Barbar-Ruga road, Batsari, Katsina. This, to a large extent, is what will happen:

    After the soldiers allow you in, you’ll meet two guys claiming they own a coverage business. They’ll tell you that they will take pictures of everything you do in camp from day 1 to the end, all for N1,000. If they notice a reluctance, they’ll tell you to pay half of the money; you can pay half later. Ignore them. That’s what I did. Because why pay a coverage business to follow you about, are you Kim Kardashian?

    Here’s a picture of the things you can take to camp. Photocopies are essential, so you don’t enrich the hungry pockets of those people at Mammy Market. 

    When you get to the registration point, a soldier will give you two forms to fill. One is for bio data, the other is the oath form. After filling, you take it in to a man who asks for your certificate, call up letter, green card, NYSC ID card. He’ll stamp your call-up letter and direct you to another table. Here, your details are entered into a computer, and a printout is issued to you.

    With this printout, you’re given an office file with a serial number on it. Assuming you are number 197, then you’ll fall under Platoon 7, according to the last digit of your serial number. There are 10 platoons. Now that you’re in Platoon 7, find the spot of Platoon 7 and submit originals of the documents requested: medical and school certificates, call up letter and green card, print out page, bio data and oath form.

    Here, they’ll give you your kits (which will NEVER size you, my dear, forget that NYSC asked you for your size during registration), a handful of booklets (camp rules, etc) and your meal ticket which will serve you throughout your stay. Lose it, and Mammy Market traders will rejoice. A new customer. Relax though, a plate of white rice and meat is N300. Sharon, the sales girl, assures me it’s big meat, but maybe she does not understand big things, sha.

    Before or after you open your bank account, you’ll need to go to the admin block to get your mattress. It’s not a tug of war, but you’ll have to dig deep to find a good one. Most mattresses there are as flat as pancakes. 

    This is quite a process, and with the Harmattan, dust and sun, be prepared to look like an abandoned child by the end of it all.

    But think about it: only you in Borno, no true love holding your hands, patting your back and saying “It’s gon’ be fine, love.” Are you not abandoned?

    4:00PM

    PARADE! This is shaping up to be my scariest moment on camp. One minute, I am looking peng, selfie-ing, and the next moment a soldier is yelling, “Double up!” and coming to our hostel with a kondo. Mans had to flee to the camp ground.

    6:00 PM

    Lowkey, there’s a little bit of ignoramus in everybody: After the soldiers explain what to do and dish out instructions (raise your left leg! Shout hurray! Don’t touch your cap! Stop saying Catch), many people still do the wrong thing. It becomes so bad, a guy is called out and told to keep shouting “Hurray.” 

    Fainting/falling down/collapsing is a sure way to escape marching: Now this requires tact to pull off, so you don’t jeopardize yourself. In the heat of the instructions, my dear, just give up like you are giving up on Nigeria. Drop. If you can fall on the person next to you, do it. If your wig can fall, do it. 

    Like that like that, you’ll be taken to Red Cross, pampered, like the queen/king that you are. Hold on a sec, in your fainting, don’t invalidate the true fainting of people who are truly weak and can’t cope. A friend who I met during registration fell down twice. A girl in my platoon fell down too. Another one gave up the struggle and went to beg soldiers. I considered fainting too, but before I could finish plotting/planning the logistics, the parade was dismissed.

    Well, there’s always another day.

    Kunle Ologunro

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  • This Clip Of Borno Students Struggling To Buy Jamb Forms Will Make You Quite Mad
    A good number of things don’t add up in Nigeria. Social systems don’t work and maintenance of physical structures is a myth, but we at least thought we had gotten somewhere with the ease of carrying out transactions over the internet. More than 1.85 million students applied to write the UTME (Unified Tertiary Matriculation Exams)  in 2016, but the process remains crude.

    This clip from a concerned Twitter user tells its own story

    The people of Borno are still recovering from the horrors of the Boko Haram sect. Why should they go through any of this?

    It really doesn’t make sense that the Ministry of Education and JAMB(Joint Administration and Matriculation Board) don’t give top priority to students from the conflict-affected states in the North. For one, these kids have been forced to abandon their studies for years, surely the least we can do for them is make the learning process easier for them?

    The process of applying for and getting the JAMB form needs to be a lot easier for students nationwide.

    Is this really how JAMB officers do this thing? Turn form into petrol?

    The crudeness of the whole process is just galling.

    So it’s not only Borno? Exactly how many students are fighting to buy form like this?

    We’ve forgotten who the Minister for Education is (Do we have one?). But the person should kindly wake up from his or her slumber sometime this year.

    Shola

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  • Nigerians React To The ‘Accidental’ Bombing Of An IDP Camp In Borno
    As if the damage caused by Boko Haram to the Internally Displaced People of Borno isn’t enough trauma, the Nigerian Airforce claimed to have ‘accidentally’ bombed an IDP camp in Rann, Borno state on January 17.

    This unfortunate news stirred an understandable amount of rage from Nigerians on Twitter:

    https://twitter.com/deco_duzzit/status/821426376888750080

    Nigerians are demanding an explanation for this terrible mistake.

    After suffering so much, these people still got bombed by their own government.

    Instead of them to mistakenly bring an end to the Boko Haram terrorists…

    …Or kuku mistakenly fix our half-broken economy.

    Na wa for this country o!

    The President ought to personally address those affected by this bombing.

    We just hope Nigeria doesn’t mistakenly kill us sha.

    The Nigerian government must do a lot more than releasing statements and tweets.

    People must also be held accountable for this grievous mistake.

    May the souls of the departed rest in peace.

    https://twitter.com/SomiEkhasomhi/status/821426088681308160

    Maryam

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  • After 2 Years Of Closure, Students Are Back To School In Borno State
    North Eastern Nigeria has faced 2 years of brutal fighting between the Boko Haram sect and the Nigerian Army. Borno has the highest number of IDPs – over a million, and while everyday activities were almost at zero the past few years, life is finally coming back to the state, thanks to the Nigerian Army.

    Public schools were closed during the 2 year conflict, and after the horrific capture of over 200 girls from a school in Chibok town.

    This Twitter user shared pictures of students attending classes in Gubio LGA.

    The Borno Stare Government announced recently that all public schools have been renovated and will now be open for students to continue their education.

    We are really just thrilled that these kids can finally go back to living a normal life, in a safe environment.

    Shola

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  • Nigeria Confirms Two New Cases Of Polio
    Just last September, the World Health Organization removed Nigeria from the list of polio-endemic countries, and what great news that was! But unfortunately, the story has changed. 

    WHO’s declaration was especially great because in 2012 Nigeria accounted for MORE THAN HALF of all polio cases worldwide!

    The government activated an emergency response in 2012 to eradicate polio.

    Imagine our reaction when WHO declared there had been zero cases of the polio virus in Nigeria since July 2014.

    Only 49 cases were reported in 2013 down from 102 in 2012.

    This week, in an unfortunate turn of events, Minister of Health, Isaac Adewole, confirmed two cases of the virus in Borno State.

    Polio has always been prevalent in Northern Nigeria compared to other regions.

    Nigeria is the only African country still harbouring the polio virus. In July, Nigeria celebrated 2 years without a new case.

    UNICEF says the two new cases mean children across the Lake Chad region are now at particular risk.

    Polio mainly affects children under the age of 5.

    The new cases found in Borno could very well be as a result of the Nigerian Army’s efforts to liberate Boko Haram captives.

    The Nigerian Army has relentlessly invaded Boko Haram hideouts and freed captives.

    WHO and other health agencies could not access some parts of Northern Nigeria due to the Boko Haram conflict.

    Babies born into conflict are not likely to be vaccinated, increasing the risk of them  getting the virus.

    There have been accusations against the government’s treatment of IDPs, although it’s not clear if the new cases are from an IDP camp.

    Health facilities are limited and do not serve the millions of IDPs.

    Although the government seems to be springing into action quickly to eradicate polio once and for all.

    We are hopeful Nigeria and Africa will finally be declared polio-free soon!

    A country is declared free if there aren’t new cases for 3 years.

    Shola

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  • When Borno state is mentioned, images of war, blood and towns ravaged by terrorists come to mind as a result of the Boko Haram insurgency.

    However, Fati Abubakar, a photographer from Borno wants to change the war narrative and show the world the real people who have survived the crisis.

    With the ongoing military onslaught against the Boko Haram terrorists, Borno has slowly started coming to life.

    Fati wants to show how the people of Borno are starting over, healing and ultimately building their communities from scratch.

    Some of her shots include children and adults, including these little girls at a mini fashion shoot.

    And little Maryam, who was excited about her new dress and toy.

    Schoolchildren aren’t left out too.

    Acording to her, the people of Borno still find it difficult to get clean running water.

    However, this problem is gradually being solved with the construction of a number of UNICEF boreholes.

    Some of the internally displaced people even produce hand-stitched caps for sale.

    And the Kanuri people just know how to get down.

    Even after losing so much to war, their spirits remain unbroken and they will continue to rebuild their community one piece at a time.

    Maryam

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