Oops! Catch the previous episode right here!
And yes, shalla to you guys for waiting this long… Y’all are the real MVP’S of my Nysc story..
Let’s dive in…
As if it wasn’t annoying enough to be woken up from sleep at 4am with the beagle, we had to go do the morning routine; this involved subh prayer for muslims, morning devotion for christians which happened on the parade ground and finally the part I hate; the morning parade. Oh Nysc!
Of course waking up for subh prayer wasn’t a big deal for me as it was something I did every morning anyways. It was already a part of me.
However, what made me angry was the thought of running around the parade ground that was as huge as my fathers village and it had me really thinking if being a graduate was really worth it.
All Nigerian graduates are advised to take on the NYSC exercise as it’s a prerequisite to get a government related job and you never can tell what your fate is.
In my flowing abayah, I headed for the mosque to say my subh prayer and the first thing to be done was to perform ablution. I rushed through my ablution as I foresee that I might freeze with how cold the water was.
The first thing that unsettled me about jigawa was the weather. I can remember clearly that it was January and back in Lagos where I came from, the weather was just fine. Not too hot or cold but this wasn’t the case for jigawa.
Apart from Abuja, it was also my first time in the core north and I couldn’t help but think to myself how people here still have glowy skin with the extreme weather.
The dust that greeted me in jigawa was a special one. The tip of my abayah dress turned from black to grey and I didn’t even want to look at it because it’d be a bad image seeing what other people could see which obviously isn’t me.
Mu cardigan yen dani; my mothers voice echoed in my ear as she instructed that I take along one of my sister’s old cardigan because of the weather. I had said it wasn’t necessary since my sister needed hers when she was in the UK and I’m just here in Nigeria, it can’t be that bad mommy.
I’m almost at a place where I tell you that my mother is always right about everything and I always go against her and end up regretting it; I should have learnt.
We headed for the parade ground and bless the lord; there was no running around that morning since it was our first day yet, didn’t have the necessary NYSC kit and barely done with registration.
To put a hat of relief on the day, we were camped in a hall instead and as the usual routine; join a queue and pick numbers to complete registration. I felt much better moving to different chairs as the queue reduced.
After so much here and there, going about the whole fanisau camp, shunting a few queues and pissing some people off, I was finally done with registration, got my kit and had the luxury to go relax in the hostel.
When you’re a size 8, there’s all kinds of embarrassment coming your way; trust me. The NYSC kit I was given was big enough for two people of my size to fit in, let’s just say the white shirts I got would pass for a boxer that I could only wear in the comfort of my room and the white tees had me feeling like I stole a boyfriend’s shirt.
Past stories are really useful because that helped the right there. My elder sis had fed me more than enough gists about nysc and their inadequacies and so I was there totally prepared. The only thing I needed from the kit was the khaki which I had to slim fit with five freaking hundred naira. Imagine that!
I advise that you don’t take chances with your basic needs when going to nysc camp. Most of the items you’ll be provided with will have a problem or 10( just exaggerating).
But seriously, NYSC needs to do better. The whole process of asking for a corps members size and measurement when filling the registration form seems to be useless because no one hardly gets their perfect fit.
What exactly do they use these information for and what procedures do they have in place to make sure corps members get what they deserve; I’ll tell you; ZERO! We call it formality jatijati.
I had to exchange my jungle boots with some guy and still didn’t get my fit. Who really has time going about the whole camp searching for who to exchange boots with.
Now, imagine having to search for about five different people to either swap boots, white short, shirts, khaki or your white converse with? The whole camp would be upside down.
As i retired to my hostel that afternoon and changed into the designated camp outfit, I could feel chills going through my body, passing a message that screamed ” bloody otondo, double”
Aiye leee, ibosi ooo.
Catch you next week.
Soaked In Love