Memoirs Of A Former 'Otondo'

So NYSC camps nationwide open in 1 day to the 2015 batch A. Just hearing about that takes me on a trip down memory lane.

Lets start at the point when I went off to school, excitedly looking forward to where I would get posted to. I had told myself anywhere would be just fine, but somewhere at the back of my mind, I was expecting to get posted to some state in the South West. Imagine my shock when I saw the letters 'EN' against my name! I'm almost certain my heart stopped for a split second. I tried to rationalize it, took a pen and traced my name again, oh boy, it was still EN o! Enugu!!! I so hadn't seen that coming!

In case you wonder why I took it so badly at first. I'll help you understand. I am a Yoruba girl, fully Yoruba. My parents are from Ogbomoso, Oyo state (I've only been there a couple of times though). I was born in Lagos, My primary and secondary school education were both in Lagos, in fact, my secondary school was just about a 10 minute drive from home (and that was only due to earth roads). I attended Obafemi Awolowo University, in Osun State, and the farthest I had ever gone from Lagos was Edo state during a school field trip!

To think I would have to go all the way to the East for an entire year! That was just too much for a lady to take in all at once (lol), especially as I had grown up among Yoruba people who always said Igbo people were bad, sly, dangerous, etc (by the way, it turned out Igbo people were really cool after all). Even though I had a lot of Igbo friends, this was different, I would have to be in their own territory now, I would no longer have the advantage of relating to them on my own turf. How would I survive?, I kept asking myself. 

Anyway, since NYSC makes sure there is such little time between when you get your posting letter and when you have to report to camp, I drew myself together and started making preparations to go on the journey my dear country had sent me. That trip was one I will not forget in a hurry. It felt like the longest trip of my entire life!

I had never been on a journey that took so long. We had been on the road since 6:30 am, it was already 3 pm and it didn't seem like we were anywhere closer to our destination. I was beginning to wonder if it was still just Eastern Nigeria we were headed for, or the driver had decided to take us to the end of the World instead. Finally, we reached Enugu State. I cannot simply describe the horror I felt when I and the other 'otondos' in the bus were told we had yet to arrive at the NYSC Awgu orientation camp and still had about an hour to travel.

That was it! I dug into my bag and retrieved two tablets of paracetamol and a bottle of water and downed it in one gulp, heaved a huge sigh and settled back for the rest of the ride. I wanted to sleep, but decided to keep my eyes peeled. Finally, I saw the sign telling us we had reached the camp. The bus rolled to a stop and I and my bus companions joined the few other new corpers trudging up the hill with our bags towards uniformed men (Awgu camp na real hill oh, in case you've been posted there).

A few people met us with handbills, inviting us to their respective corper fellowships, I remember hoping that one of them would help me with my box. I was exhausted already, that trip 'no be beans o'. Next thing I knew, I heard a loud voice directed at me and my new friend 'put your box on your head and stoop down there now'

Nothing could beat the incredulous look on my face, after close to 12 hours on the road, these soldiers must either be crazy or think I am crazy, I thought. And I said aloud, 'Na joke?' One of the ladies giving out handbills told me she was sorry, but they were not joking at all. Chai! e don be oh! Fine girl like me! I looked up to see one of them approaching menacingly and shouting, I didn't need to be told again,I quickly lifted my box to my head. 

But I guess my statement about if they were joking had vexed the soldiers, because the order changed from simply 'stoop down with your box on your head' to 'frog jump up the hill with your box on your head'. I laughed mirthlessly, at least thank God I had just one box, my new friend had three bags! It was a funny sight to see her struggling with all three (but there was no time to laugh then sef). It sure was some serious baptism into the paramilitary life that I was condemned to, so to speak, for the next three weeks.

The next couple of days took some getting used to; being awoken by the call of the bugle, hurriedly getting dressed before the soldiers stormed the hostels, jogging down to the morning devotion ground to loud shouts of 'double up' booming behind me. The reveille by 6 am and 6 pm daily, the punishments for various minor offenses, the 'VIP' pit latrines (as the camp commandant called them), I'm sure that before then, I had only seen pit latrines in the colored pictures of 'Ali and Simbi go to school' books.

Then came all the trappings of NYSC camp - the long queues for every thing, the food portions that were never satisfying, and oh, those parades - every morning and every evening, man o war drills, we even did Taekwondo training! (that bit was fun though). That was the life I had to get used to, a life I could only have pictured myself living in my wildest dreams. But as is the survival nature and instinct of man, I soon adapted and even almost became well suited to the lifestyle. Just when I started to enjoy it, so soon after it started, it ended.

It was time to go out as full fledged corp members, no longer otondos. On passing out parade day, I tried not to think of the local government I would be sent to, or whether or not it would be a school (I kept hoping it would be Enugu town, and some nice office,lol). I stood on the parade ground amidst fellow corp members, I admired the dress uniforms of the soldiers, their shoes, so shiny, I could almost see my reflection in them.

Under the blazing sun we stood, waiting to be told what our fate would be for the next 11 months of our lives. My platoon friend got his letter first, he had been sent to Enugu North. That was one of the local governments in town, I was happy for him, and optimistic for myself. I heard my number called, my posting letter was thrust into my hand, I opened it, and read the address - 'The Principal, St Cyprian Special Science School, Nsukka'. Shocker number two in one month. It was not Enugu town and it was a school! A 'special' school for that matter, what was that supposed to mean anyway? Was it a school for the blind or deaf or what?!

I slowly said my goodbyes to the few friends I had made in three weeks, went to find my bags, and then began the search for the vehicle marked Nsukka. My mind was blank.