NYSC CAMP EXPERIENCES (Episode 1)

Oocho bay
Eeh!

Oocho bay
Eeh!

Moh ral
High!

Moh ral
High!

This was not the cry of some sweaty soldiers in the barracks folks.
This was not some weed inspired song being sung in a dimly lit studio by a artiste.
This was not a war cry raised by camouflage masked militants on their mission to blow up a pipeline in furtherance of their cause.

Nooo.

This was a song being sung by a group of young and vibrant university graduates.

Though all are not young and vibrant sha o.
For apparently some men chose to carry over the NYSC camp experience due to the monies paid at the end of the twenty one days.

Poor fellas who had unsuccessfully tried to get jobs after the service year and had decided to come back.
At least camp food was free and the 19800 collected at its end, was the same minimum wage for workers outside.

This is a trip down the NYSC camp lane.
One I invite you to go down with me.

___________

That day was a Saturday.

One which I would never forget for the rest of my transient life on earth.
For it was filled countless twist and turns.

It all began with the journey from Onitsha to Akwa-ibom.

"Corper corper come to my bus na. Shebi na orientation camp you dey go?"
So said the bus driver standing close to a rickety looking car
.
Looking at the sides of the car, you would know that it had undergone many accidents and recovery surgeries.
For its sides were bent in a thousand ways and the rough paint job revealed the mastery of a quack.

"Yes sir. I am going to Nsit.. Nsi..."
I said.
Forgetting the name of the camp due to the euphoria of going to NYSC.

As in.
I was going to be a corper.

Going to put on my white shirt on green khaki with a jungle boot and a green cap to match.

Going to go into villages and the village head would roll out the red carpet in welcome ceremony.
(At least that was what some nollywood films had taught me)

I was going to pass soldiers, policemen and other force men and shout 'Espiri d corps'
For I was now a federal government 'pikin' who could not be touched anyhow like other bloody civilians.

As in!
That NYSC, where local village girls would flock around me and I would make my choice.

At least, that was what Leke had told me.
That yoruba agbada wearing demon who had gotten almost half of the village girls pregnant and ran away.

That NYSC camp that I would join others in wild bonfire celebrations and festivals.
Staying with soldiers and living a regimented life for twenty-one full days.

These thoughts filled my mind at that moment.
Evoking exciting feelings that caused me to temporarily forget the name of the camp I was traveling to.


"Nsit-Atai" he quickly chipped.
Smiling while collecting the load from my hands and placing it in a boot that was already filled up.

While I took my place inside the car, a hand reached forward and tapped me.

Instinctively, my hands raced towards my shorts.

Omo boy had to check if his 'kini' was still intact.

Ah!
We live in that country abeg.

That country where a touch could make a man's manhood disappear without a trace and reappear when the culprit has been well fed with slaps and threats of fuel and tyre.

That country where the people were hungry to the bone and would use any part of their neighbors body for money rituals.
Choosing the quickest route to making wealth without considering the doom that was to come later.

Upon recognizing that my 'kini' was safe, I turned towards the one that interrupted my thoughts.

My interrupter was a 'She' and she was a Hawwt Baby Oku Diva.

One who the local peoples would call 'mammy water'.
For she was a fair goddess and had neither spot nor pimple.

Seeing her, I double checked to confirm that my 'kini' was there again.

God knows I had heard a who lot of mammy water stories to warrant a follow up check on my body parts and destiny.

Aunty Shola had once told me to avoid them like a plague.
For they were always agents sent from the marine kingdom to collect body parts and 'aisiki (glory)' from human beings especially the males.

"Hello. I just heard you mention that you are going to NYSC camp." The diva said.
Flashing a set of perfect teeth yet unleashing a monster in the form of a repulsive mouth odor.

Kaii.
'Ise ti baje sha' (work/parole don spoil)
So my mind said as the nausea of her mouth odor hit me.
For I had planned to collect her number; advance the cause of the 'guy-men'; and pass the test of 'being a man' which the society had placed on me.

Oga Leke had also told me that the fun always started at the camp.
And I had planned to catch this 'mammy water' with the hook and bait of 'I am a corper' line.

"Yes. I have been called upon to serve my nation and my camp location is in Akwa-ibom"

To be continued in later episodes.
#BASHORUN

Okontas.com

Keep it coming!

NYSC CAMP EXPERIENCES (EPISODE 2)

"Really! I received my call up letter too and I am going to serve in Imo state" she said.
Ecstatic with the knowledge that her journey would not be boring since a kindred spirit was in the same bus with her.

A gala seller interrupted our conversation that moment.

Offering us Nigerians unofficial fuel of gala and casera for the price of 160 naira.

Telling me to get one for myself and this 'fine nwanyi oma' who I was talking to.

"No thank you" I replied her.
Choosing to face the road ahead and continue my fantasy about camp life.

The journey towards the camp was very uncomfortable.

One which the roads were filled with potholes and orchestrated a very bumpy ride.

The chief culprit of these potholes was Abia state.
God's own state which bore semblance to a state very close to hell.

The only state where billboards with the slogan 'Ochedo is working' were much more than the physical evidence of development itself.
For the roads were in a state of 'dismal-bismal' and 'incomprehedably-terrible' as the good Honorable Patrick Obayiagbon would put it.

The road to the camp was very uncomfortable my friends.
For my newly met 'mammy water' friend kept on releasing missiles in the bus.
Choosing to fart every five minutes as if she wanted us to appreciate and applaud the pugnant (terrible smell) of the last one.

Apparently she had visted mama Onyinye stall before the commencement of the journey.
'Fine and Behind' slay queen who had ordered for 300 naira beans, 50 naira plantain and two eggs.

Apparently she had chosen not to put on the Jean she intially planned to wear on the journey.
Choosing instead to put on a mini skirt which could easily 'wound' any guy and guarantee a free ride to her orientation camp.

A bad decision it turned out, because there was no thick clothes to restrict and reduce the strong smell coming from her beans and egg induced farts.

The road to the camp was very uncomfortable my friends.

For a heavy rain forced the occupants of the car to come down and push the car out of the muddy place it had stopped in.
A heavy downpour that brought down a tree in the middle of the highway and warranted the car to divert into the jungle.

A detour that elicited 'die by fire' prayers from all the occupants of the car.

For we are in Nigeria my friends.

A country where a detour into the jungle most times means a visit and imprisonment in a herbalist shrine.

One which the escapees always gave loud sounding 'Praiseee da lord' testimonies in church the next Sunday.

We all prayed that day.

Calling on the God of Elijah to send down fire and burn every kidnapper on the road.
Calling on the God of the Israelites to first kill and then dismantle the carcasses of every blood sucking demon which was waiting for us on our paths.

________

At long last, we reached our destination and I came down and boarded a smooth ride to Nsit-Atai itself.

The okada man dropped me at the gate of the camp.

Insisting to be paid the sum of 600 naira for a short journey of 5 minutes.

"Moku. Mogbe. Modaran"
I shouted upon hearing his fee.

I had left home with about 15 thousand naira.
The trip down from Onitsha had cost me 3 thousand naira and a carload of 'die by fire' hoarse prayers.
Now this man wanted to collect 600 naira more.

What would be my fate for the twenty days which was remaining?

With which money would I use to do 'baba for the girls' with at the popular mami market which I had so much heard about.

Those corper girls who, I heard, never ate the kitchen meals and close to cling to boys who could be coaxed with alluring smiles and rewarded with thirty-second hugs.

Those corper girls who were so Behind that 'mama Dasola's' kitchen delights would never suite their taste.

With which money would I sustain myself during camp?

For Leke had told me that I would need a lot of money to slim fit the baggy green khaki which the authorities would give.
A slim fitting that would increase your 'cuteness' and drastically reduce the content of your wallet.

"Walahi dem go cut your head for dia" had been Leke's final assessment of the mami market babes and slim fitting tailors.

Having no other choice, I paid the already agitated bike man and began to drag my luggage towards the gate.

Ayaya Akwa ibom had welcomed me with closed hands and a face that was not smiling.

As a dragged my little belongings to the gate, the police officer's voice rang out in a scolding tone.

"Bloody Otondo. You nor go run come clear abi you want make soja come ginger your swagger small for dia?"

I did not understand a word he said.

How was a soldier going to ginger my swagger?

Would he help me carry my bags in the spirt of 'Espiri d corp'?
Or would he buy me a round of beer over which we would laugh and share banter like fellow men in khaki.

Then it hit me.
Leke's warnings resounded in my consciousness and elicited a mad dash towards the gate.

To ginger my swagger meant I would be told to frog jump.
Being forced to carry my belongings on my head and serve some corporal punishment which my frail body could not take.

While running towards the police officers who were to check me in, the hour hand clocked six and a trumpet sound rang throughout the length of the whole camp.

Jesuuu!!

The last day trumpet, which my Sunday school children teacher told me about, had sounded.

Jesus had come at last to take His own and put to shame the critics of two thousand years.

Tears almost dropped from my eyes then.
Because I knew I would not make it to heaven.

Not with the kind of wicked thoughts which was firmly implanted in my head at the moment.
For I had planned to 'do and undo' within the space of this twenty one days in no man's land.

For my backpack contained two packs of condoms which I had planned to protect myself from some slay queens who, Leke told me, had come to camp and service to get a husband.

"Them wan carry pikin and certificate go house as evidence of service" had been Leke's assessment of those set of slay queens.

I did not know then.

That condoms could stop sexually transmitted diseases and NOT sexually transmitted demons.

While still walking and mopping at the thought that rapture had taken place and left me behind, I noticed the police officer's stand up straight.

All activities seemed to cease as the trumpet continued to blow and I wondered if the bible had added a new twist to the rapture description.

"You bloody baga, stand for dia right now"
So ordered a big burly man who wore white shirt on camouflage trousers.

An order I respected immediately because I immediately recognized the uniform.

To be continued in later episodes.
#BASHORUN

Okontas.com