Posts by Abiola Adebayo

NYSC Orientation Camp Day Eighteen : 36 Hours To Go

Journals October 11, 2020

Sunday

I wake up 6 am, I don’t even care that OBS have cut my sleep short with their incessant music blasting. In less than 36 hours they won’t get that privilege, so they can as well blast away.

At mammy market, I branch the picture stand and find that over 200 pictures of me exist. I laboriously go through each of them and delete as many as possible until I’m left with 58. Just fifty-eight.

Since I don’t have a picture in my khakis I decide to dress up and shoot myself. It’s fun. Three minutes of fun to be precise. I quit on account of the heat. The rest of the day is a blur like the others until four pm when the state coordinator comes to debrief us. They call out all the camp officials and he has the good sense to save the best for last. Platoon 1 guys are agitating for him to call their guy as soon as possible. Not only platoon 1 but also the rest of us. Only one official really made impact on us. They finally call him. He is the RSM. Regimental segment major. AKA camp hype man.

This man is one hundred times my energy. He is there gingering us every morning during the drills. He makes them fun. And when it’s his turn to sing and chant, he selects fun songs. Just the ray of sunshine we need. As soon as he is called, the DJ starts to blast music which is something they did not do for the other officials. A lot of people run out to the stage where he was called to and they hug him.

In no time, they have him hoisted up and they are dancing to party-after party. It’s an emotional scene. The man wasn’t expecting it. He gives an emotional speech afterwards. He states that never has he been publicly celebrated and then thanks us. We cheer and holler back at him. Suddenly I’m nostalgic.

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At the clinic, we group ourselves and play cards, I clown all through it telling them I’d be giving them some home training with my legendary skill.

I lose my first round, and calmly tell them I’m still warming up as they try to tease me on my failed magic.

I proceed to win the subsequent rounds because all I do is win.

At ten pm, a host of drunk people come to the hostel and just start to shout. The excitement and disinhibition is palpable. Even the soldiers are disinhibited.

NYSC Orientation Camp Day Seventeen : Carnival

Journals October 4, 2020 4 Comments

Although there are no drills today, the ladies unanimously decide not to sleep in. ?‍♀️ This is because there’s this ten-point agenda to smother their faces with ten layers of makeup, Some which blend and others which will disintegrate.

As you already know, I’m not the ordinary lady, so I sleep in. I silence the light-sleeper in me and force my dreams to continue despite all the noise they are making. As you can tell, that didn’t go well, because all the noise and heat persisted. So I just change my mind and opt to watching other people fussing over their faces.

Watching other ladies make up is interesting. Really. It’s a rich sight to behold. There are some who just effortlessly layer up and look so glam, it makes me wonder what magic they are made of. And there are some who probably are just color blind. They keep painting and painting and nothing ever really blends; it makes me wonder what their perception of the image reflected back to them in the mirror is.

Then there’s another category of interesting people to watch, it’s those who go around admiring and giving ginger to those with poor makeup. Those who for the sake of being nice compliment what isn’t really all that. ??

See, don’t get me wrong. Compliments are good. And I like them. But, there’s no need to call black white just to make someone feel better about themselves.

Eventually, I get tired of looking and get up take my bath and prepare to get dressed. In no time, I’m also smothering my face with makeup and I even have the nerve to attempt eye-shadow on myself.

???

The bloody nerve.

PS: I’ve not worn any form of makeup since getting to camp, not even lipgloss. ?? So maybe that accounts for my willingness to go all out today.

I dress up and head to the Camp clinic to retrieve my customized Tee-shirt. I will also be wearing a silver mask. The mask was gifted to me last minute by my dear Tolu

(Babes, I’m already losing count of all the things you’ve done that I’m thankful for ?)

And then without further ado, I proceed to taking pictures. This post will likely be more of a pictures post because I’m not sure I have all the words to capture today’s events.

In the pictures, I’m spinning and I’m jumping and I’m generally feeling light. It’s a good feeling to be honest.

We are asked to line up and enter into the carnival ground as a platoon. Each platoon has something like a parade to do. Some representatives wear a costume to depict one of the many tribes in Nigeria and the rest of the platoon dances in behind them as they make this entry. I’m not sure if this is a competitive thing. But it feels fun. The atmosphere is genuinely light.

My platoon is dressed to represent the Yoruba tribe but some platoons go all out, some representing the Igbos and others representing the Hausas. Infact one platoon entered the parade ground on a horse, talk about seriousness yeah?

Anyway, the atmosphere is light enough and I start to clown away. I’m dancing to all the beats being played. Not really dancing per se, more like exercising my waist and I am getting hailed for it.

Between you and I, I’m not making any serious money-moves with the dance, but whatever little effort I am making is probably being magnified by the glory of God behind me ?.

After staying a while on the parade ground, we are officially excused to return to the clinic to go attend to patients but what we do instead is as follows:… ??

NYSC Orientation Camp Day Fourteen : TUSHPEARL

Journals September 27, 2020 4 Comments

Wednesday

Almost a decade ago when my brother opened my email address, he was genius enough to name it tushpearl. ? Partly because my given names are so common and all the variations of it were already taken on the yahoo domain and also because he considered me boogie. ?

Every of my siblings concurred to that suggestion and I’ve remained tush since that day.

Until today. ??

Today I drop my tush everything in the camp hostel.
I drop it along with my empty waist purse.

And I pick up some street style instead.

Today is the day of the Marching contest.

I’m strategically seated by the bend in the canopy. This is a place where all marchers will invariably have to pass while making the signature bend in their routine.

It’s a good vantage point and I can see almost everything being done.

A lot of what I see is a really beautiful harmony of uniforms, feet moving left instead of right, ? certain people rolling instead of marching, ? arms swinging above heads, ?elbows flexing in arm swing, eyes facing down instead of straight ahead….

As I notice these things, my commentaries start to flow, and my voice is rather loud. I keep predicting who will lose and who will win.

I make boast about my platoon, telling all who care to listen that they should bring out their jotters and watch to learn how the Pros do it.

One would think I was the one marching with all the bragging I was doing.

I’m yelling. I’m pointing at those marching out of line. I’m tapping strangers to let them know their platoons are surely going to lose. I’m seating at the edge of my seat. And suddenly I am standing up on my feet. And yet again I’m climbing unto my chair to make sure I can see clearly to continue my detailed verbalized commentary, that nobody is paying me to run.

I’m also subconsciously noting that my vocal cords are getting stressed and my voice will soon run out.

When did I become like this?

Or rather what is bringing this out of me?

What kind of weed am I on?

Or better still, does this mean I am secretly enjoying this camping!

No, I can’t be. Or…. am I?

RESULTS.

After the marching parade, five platoons are asked to march back to the stage. The qualifying five.

One particular platoon which I will refrain from mentioning here has chosen to wear gloves.

White, Lacy, Semi-seamed Hand gloves.

You know the type that men wore in the 90’s for their weddings. And I’m wondering who gave them that genius idea ?

I’m also wondering how they feel wearing that in the sun and having to march in it for hours. ?‍♀️

They mention the second runner up and it’s not my platoon. ? Because there’s no chance in hell that we would be third position. The only thing we can be is first. I continue to repeat this to my audience, who at this point should be tired of my commentaries.

Some guys have the nerve to argue with me. I shake my head and let them know I’m really not one to argue with. They offer a bet and I agree, even though I have no plans of parting with any cash or whatsoever.

We are winning this. No additions or subtractions needed.

Then they mention the first runner up. Still not my platoon. What in the world were you expecting.?‍♀️ I already told y’all that we came here to win this trophy☺️

They finally mention the winner and it’s platoon three.

I am platoon three.

Platoon three is my platoon.

My platoon has indeed won!!

I spoke this into existence and the universe agreed with me ???

Iyalaya nobody.
(PS: I genuinely don’t know where I picked that phrase from or why it crossed my mind at this instant)

Y’all ain’t gonna rest! Neither will you be hearing the last of it.

My joy is palpable.

I run out along with a host of others to the parade ground to celebrate them. We end up hoisting our platoon commandant on our shoulders! When I say we, I mean some guys in the platoon. But as you know, at this point we are all one.

Nostalgia hits me as we carry her round and round singing the victory anthem and I realize winning is sweet when you have people to support you and cheer you on.

I drag Tolu with me as we felicitate and we proceed to crash some pictures. We also try to hold the cup as the photos are being snapped because who doesn’t want to associate with success?

Ps: Tolu, I kept this screenshot all this while ?.

We have taken almost 40 pictures before Tolu tells me that we are in the wrong picture. The trophy we are famzing is silver!

We are legitimately the gold winning platoon. We hurry up and locate our platoon mates and we crash more pictures withy zero regard for socially acceptable inhibitions.

Victory indeed is sweet.

NYSC Orientation Camp Day Thirteen : Squats – Ten Plans In Ten Minutes

Journals September 19, 2020 4 Comments

Tuesday

Today is the day I give my lecture on antibiotic misuse and resistance. It’s one of the things I love doing: Public speaking. ?

I don’t even prepare for it. As soon as the topic is suggested to me, my brain goes to work and calls to mind everything I know. And when I say everything, I mean everything. Dr J will be proud of me. ??

When I get to the parade ground, I stand behind the officials as opposed to the queue where the rest of my platoon is standing. I deliver my lecture and the applause follows. ??????

I’ve made my ancestors proud yet again. I have the option of staying on stage with the officials or going to join my platoon. I pick the latter, unknown to me that I would be regretting it soon enough. ??

The camp official comes up for his speech as he does everyday and much to my surprise he asks us to squat.
It feels like a joke at first.

We all look at him wondering if we heard right and then he repeats himself loud and clear.

We comply. ??

And we drop on our feet. Some try to sit down but the RSM deny them that since they are walking all around us making sure everybody complies. I’m not sure I comprehend what’s going on.??

I look to the stage that I just left and see that the other Corp members there are standing. ??

I’m sad.

I should have stayed on stage with them. What’s all this squatting for? For reals, can someone explain this?

INSUBORDINATION ?

The state coordinator mentions that we are being punished for insubordination. ??Apparently the preceding day, a very ”important guest” was brought to the camp to address the public just before the SAED session and there was a lack of decorum, an abundance of noise and unwillingness of some people to stand up when the anthems were sung. He states this gross misconduct was an embarrassment for him.

MISERY LOVES COMPANY

By the time he finishes explaining our offense, we have been squatting for five minutes and probably twenty six seconds.

My first thought is can’t we doctors be exempted? Because we were mostly attending to patients, there’s no way we can be guilty of this insubordination.
By we, I’m really thinking about myself because the rest of my colleagues are in the clinic saving the world as heroes that they are.

I mean I was not even planning to come for the drill. It was just my lecture that made me show up. Gosh, this life no balance o. Of all days!!!

He looks behind himself and makes sure that the others on stage join in the squat and I’m happy. ???? Misery loves company.??

MY SECOND THOUGHTS

It occurs to me that my platoon was on duty yesterday and could not have been part of this misconduct so I calmly ask one of the officials if we can be exempted as a whole platoon from the squats.
No, we can’t. ?‍♀️?‍♀️??

At least I tried?‍♀️

THE REST OF MY SCHEMES

When we are seven minutes into the squats, my calf starts to protest. My popliteal vessels feel trapped and there’s this pins and needles sensation in my feet. I mean I have some pretty serious endurance but some pretty serious limits too. ?

I start to shuffle on my feet, rolling my feet from side to side trying to redistribute my weight. Something about “rocker-bottom feet” comes to my mind and I know that under better circumstances, I might have found that thought funny but… these are not better circumstances so I don’t find it funny. ?‍♀️

I roll forwards and backwards and I don’t feel better. Some places start to sweat while others start to freeze.
I “bounce on it” RSM style and still no relief. ??

I’m rethinking all the times that I thought the army (or whatever these forces are) was a beautiful group.

Ten minutes go by and I already have ten different plans on how to feign a faint so I can be carried out of this place.

Is this the part I insert that while editing this, some cheesy lyrics about 7 positions in 70 minutes comes to mind even though I haven’t ever listened fully to the song??

I kid, I kid. ? My brains are a pretty much a mess right now ??.

BACK TO THE MATTER.

I’m looking around surveying those closest to me and they are all slim, probably fifty kilograms at best. ?‍♀️It’s obvious they can’t carry me. ? ?

I bow my head and try to think of a more feasible plan to escape this torment.

I’m getting dizzy and I think (because I’m not so sure of anything anymore) I’m rolling forward losing my balance.

I stretch out my palms and brace myself against the floor.

I’m begging my head to stay alert so I can think of a genius escape plan.

My head is in a haze, so when I hear a familiar voice say you can get up, I’m not quite sure I’m hearing right.

Maybe I’m hallucinating now.

It’s until I see people attempting to stand up that I believe what I’ve heard.

“Do you promise not to do that again “ boomed the voice into the microphone.

A very weak “yes” was the response. Probably the best we could muster. The question is asked again along with threats to return us to the stooped position.
And we all manage to echo a better sounding yes.

After this, I find my way to the camp clinic and just topple into the bed. In no time I’m sleeping.

I check my phone and realize that we spent a total of eleven minutes squatting.

Damn!

Eleven minutes never felt so long !

NYSC Orientation Camp Day Twelve: Mondays Are For Ditching Chores.

Journals September 13, 2020 12 Comments

Monday.

I wake up late as per Monday morning inertia and already know I would be crawling out of the hostel as punishment.?? I wake at 4:15am and my body is very oily and sticky. It was a hot sweaty night. I can’t delay bathing until 7 am so I drag myself to the bathroom and queue to bath. It’s bad enough that I’m late, it’s worse that I’d have to share the bathroom with someone, which is something I’ve avoided doing since the time I got molested there, it’s then especially worse that the lady I’m to bath after whose body surface area is half mine, decides to bath 3 times. ??

I bloody counted. Why so selfish mate!!! ?‍♀️?‍♀️?‍♀️

One.?‍♀️

Two.?‍♀️?‍♀️

Three times.?‍♀️?‍♀️?‍♀️

My thoughts are as expected because I’m wondering what the hell she is washing. ?

Even Jesus washed our sins away just once so what the Heck.

I thought I was the only one counting until someone shouts that she should hurry up and get out of there.?

I feel glad, because she took the words right out of my mind.

The girl further demonstrates her selfishness by fetching a full bucket of water after completing the last bath. In my opinion, it’s not necessary because there’s always water running at the bathrooms here. ?‍♀️ She also makes a show of slowly walking out of the bathroom naked. ?

Please ??

Is there something obvious I am missing here?

After donkey years, she comes out and I get in and do my business. When I get back to my room I can hear the instructor downstairs telling the hostel supervisors to lock the gate. ?‍♀️ Obviously once that happens, we’ll end up crawling. I dress up at my own pace because, I’m not interested in rushing to that fate and also, I don’t want to risk sweating on a freshly bathed body and starting the struggle from scratch.

When I get downstairs, I get set to flash my on duty card but it’s not necessary as the instructor is still shouting lock the door, lock the door, to no one in particular. I walk out triumphantly because I know God loves me ??? and head to the clinic. My platoon is on duty today and given the group chat drama from last night, I have decided to ditch the early morning parade since it’s obvious I’d be required to do sanitation just like the last time. It’s not that I have trouble mopping floors. ?

What I have trouble with is the fact that I’m not ready to sweep, or wash toilets, or scrub gutters because those are the options I’d likely get since people will hustle up the choic chores!

At the clinic, I catch up on my beauty sleep for an hour, there’s AC in the wards so it’s bliss and then I wake up and finish the novel I started reading yesterday.

The sad part of being a fast reader is that the story ends and the fun is over really quick. So I’m bored again. I decide to socialize…..?? with my fellow doctors this time around because I don’t want no beating up ??.

Okay, Okay. I’m being savage I know. ?It’s just what it is. ?‍♀️

That socializing is basically Aminat and I teaming up to tease the CMD endlessly. ??

There’s a lot to tease him for given that the pronunciation of his surname is highly suspicious. It’s not a name you can rightly pronounce without getting ideas. What those ideas are will entirely be up to you as I’ll say no more on the matter. ???

In the clinic, the camp officials that harassed me pass by and make great effort of heartily greeting me. ??With all the big smiles and familiarity, you’d think we were lifelong friends and that they were reasonable people.

NYSC Orientation Camp Day Eleven : John And All My Emotions ?

Journals September 6, 2020 2 Comments

Sunday
I’m particularly excited about this day.
It’s truly a day of rest.
There will be no activities from the break of dawn until 4pm.
Infact, the activity slated for 4pm isn’t strenuous. All I’ll be required to do is sit and watch the zealous ones match away.
Please, that should be easy peasy.
Everything is smooth in my sleep until 4am, which is when this publicity people start to play music. Playing music is understating the situation.
They are blasting it. They are ambushing us with it and they are literally forcing it into our eardrums. I literally woke up with my tympanic membrane aching.

My first emotion is surprise, because when I check the time, I see 4am instead of pm. Is my phone wrong?
Why am I awake 12 hours ahead of schedule????

The second emotion is sadness, I mourn the good sleep I dreamt of but wouldn’t experience. I’m a light sleeper and with this amount of music, my chances of a prolonged nap are zero to none.

Then after being sad for long enough I start to feel angry.
I’m piqued. Genuinely piqued. What is all this nonsense. Is it compulsory to serve God? ?

Is this the way to get people to like Jesus? By blasting their ear drums away?
It was never by force.
And I’m upset at everything. Starting from everything to everything.

The selection of songs is even poor. If you will wake me up rudely at 4am, do it nicely. And if you can’t be nice compensate me with good music.
I toss and turn in misery.

I pick up a novel and start to read. Things get better after that as my mind finds a way to drown out the noise.

It’s bearable until the rest of the world starts to wake up. Once they wake, they start to generate their own noise and heat. In no time I’m sweaty, sleep deprived and sorely pissed.
What’s it with noise?. Why do people feel the need to generate it?

I plug my ears and once again Jon Bellion comes to my rescue. It’s a song titled “Hand of God”. I’ve had it in my playlist since forever and I’m only just listening to it now. It’s not a song I consciously select. My playlist is in shuffle mode and since I’m too engrossed in my novel, I can’t bring myself to change it. I find that I like it and I end up playing it on repeat. This goes on till 7 o’clock. My stomach is rumbling and my bladder is full. I realize that my second phone is in the market still charging, because I forgot to pick it up last night. I definitely have to dress up and get out of this bed. I do it grudgingly. As I retrieve my phone I turn it on out of guilt. It’s been off since yesterday and I’m curious to see what messages have piled up for me. Almost immediately after it boots I get a distressing call from my patient. One of my many special patients. It’s not good news. ?And in the history of bad news, it’s ranked as nasty. ?I feel powerless because I’m not there to assess things for myself and comfort them. I do what I can over the phone and decide to say a long prayer for them. The prayer ends up being short because I’m interrupted by another call which is also from a patient. Another patient this time although the reason for the call is much less disturbing. I decide that I’ve had enough for one day and turn off the phone again. Sunday’s should be a day of rest after all.

The rest of the day is a blur because I am tossed between New York and Brazil, catching flights and retrieving luggages because I’m at the mercy of everything John Grisham is spinning in this novel.
What is it with me and all the Jo(h)n’s in my life that I have never met, but whose minds and voices I’m intriguingly familiar with. Maybe I’ll name my first son John!!

I lay in bed all day. Until 2 pm, which is when I get up and pick up my lunch. It’s jollof rice and chicken, the only thing they serve in this kitchen that I can tolerate. Who am I kidding? ? I don’t tolerate it, I actually like it.?

By 4pm, I get out with the others to observe the march parade and take selfies with Tolu. Tolu ? is my make up artist/ roommate/ friend/ platoon mate/ everything else.

I’ve always known the body has the capacity to heal itself, but to observe it in my own self is amazing. My face is clearing up. I’m looking less like a man and more like a woman now. I’m motivated and impressed so I celebrate by taking 59 selfies that I’ll never post. I also collect my one thousand four hundred naira that the government allocates to me. It’s either for transport allowance or something else. My doctor colleagues come to join Tolu and I where we sat and the selfies grow from 59 to just 100. No biggie. Nigeria’s economy will not be affected by our choice.

Tolu is kind enough to get me dinner so I just go up to my room, do my laundry and go to bed. Before I can sleep, I call a friend of mine. A friend I met under interesting circumstances and we talk about faith, the lack of it, the crudeness of it, the alterations of it and mostly the nasty confusion associated with it because we don’t always separate religion from faith . It’s a conversation beyond the scope of this journal but one I’ll gladly share as soon as the platform is right.

The platoon inspector posts that an urgent meeting has been called for those who worked in the kitchen last time the platoon was on duty and that the attendance would be recorded. It turns out they were needed to pick beans in preparation for tomorrow’s meals. So it means we are stuck in the duty’s we carried out last time. I realize I’m in no mood to sanitate or sanitize or anything close to that, so ditching will be my way tomorrow…
Selah… ?‍♀️

NYSC Orientation Camp Day Ten : All I Do Is Win

Journals August 30, 2020 24 Comments

Saturday

Historically, saturdays are for sleeping in.

That applies everywhere else save NYSC camp and hospitals. So as usual our ears are split open with the constant noise of the whistle and bugle, signaling time for drills.

Today is the day I would be representing my platoon. I’m no longer excited about it but the others seem to be, so I smile and make jokes about it. I take selfies too and realize that my once rough face is beginning to heal itself. As the days progress, I find less and less things to write about simply because everything here has become a routine. And I dislike boring routines.

During the drills, a new song is introduced to our morning workout. It’s a count down song and it reminds me that I have just ten days left here. The excitement with which I jog and dance to this particular song surprises even me. It’s good nobody is taking a video of me right now, or not.

In preparation for the contest, we rent two gowns. One is a dinner dress which is pink while the other is a red edo attire. My shoes are also pink. I try to practice my catwalk in it and find that it feels different from doing it on bare foot.

After placing the order for the gowns, we go to the market to style Tesse’s wig. I must at this point say that Tesse is an amazing fellow. ? You know, one of those people who have pure supportive vibes. She volunteers to lend me her wig for the contest. I’m more of a wig person but I came here wearing Ghana-braids because of the low maintenance and styling ease it comes with. These benefits make me unwilling to loosen it for a 2-hour contest.

BRAIDS OVER WIGS

It’s braided weaving which means there’s ample surface area for fresh air to access my scalp and cool my brains down in this blistering heat. ?‍♀️

Wigs come with their own bliss too, but if you have to walk around under the sun compulsorily, accumulating sweat on your scalp, which will eventually get itchy, is not going to be a funny experience. Besides I have a bad habit of yanking my wig off in hot weathers and walking about with underground cornrows in broad daylight, ??something tells me that will not be socially appropriate in this environment.

Also, I’ve already made up my mind to go completely make up free for camp because my skin has been breaking out. I’m not going to add to my struggle by adding rough and poorly kept hair to it.

You are probably brilliantly wondering why I don’t just loosen the hair and make new braids? Firstly, my scalp is sensitive, it still hurts from it’s last encounter with relaxer three weeks ago and also my hair is about fourteen inches long now, most people don’t know how to handle it and I’m scared they will cut it anyhow. It’s taken me five years to grow out my tresses so I’m not up for experimenting different hands.

So back to my point, we style the wig, and they say we should pay a ridiculous sum for it. You already know your home girl. I worked my magic and we end up paying half the price.

RISKY WARDROBES

I try my gown on, it’s tight and the zip can’t be completely done. It’s too late to get an alternative so I’ll be wearing it like that. As long as it doesn’t fall of me because it’s a sleeveless boob-tube dress and I won’t be wearing any underwear in it from my waist up. So hell no, this dress will not be falling off me on stage. ?‍♀️

2 hours to the program, my platoon inspector calls me and gives me a lecture. The summary is I must not lose this. If you know him, you’ll understand what I mean when I say that this mounts the weight of Everest on my shoulders.

I mean I’m competitive. I do things to win. Plus how can I lose with all these curves, yeah?

I start to revise all manner of questions: names of commandants and inspectors and director generals etc. It almost feels like I’m getting another MBBS degree ?

Tolu volunteers to do my makeup and she does a good job with it. My skin has been through a lot in the last few weeks and I’ve stopped bothering to make it up. So to have someone do something mild and get glam is nice. I like what I see in the mirror and my confidence increases.

While she is doing the makeup, a girl in red hair comes and starts to condemn it. She says the eyebrows are not good enough, and she proceeds to get a foundation brush to adjust my contour. It’s getting on the nerves of Tolu, I can watch her struggle to contain her self. It occurs to me that I’m hungry and I look this red haired girl in the eye and politely ask her to help me get food from mammy market.

She asks what I would like and I say noodles and fried egg. Honestly, rice would have done the job, I wouldn’t get the chance to eat until after the contest, and nobody likes cold noodles, but if she gets it for me, it would require her to wait with the cooks while they are preparing it. And she wouldn’t be back until My makeup is close to done, that would give Tolu some breathing space. She decides to go and get it and I’m really grateful. Two birds killed with one stone.

Tolu breathes out and continues to work her magic on my face. When the girl returns, my makeup is all done and she actually complements it. I’m glad she did, because I’m hoping she learnt patience and to just trust that the end of a thing is better than the beginning there of. She had jumped too soon into a poor conclusion and criticized unconstructively. Don’t get me wrong I’m very glad that she bought me dinner. But still fair is fair.

BACKSTAGE NERVES

I’m nervous by now, as I head to the back stage. There are guys, more like boys, ?hovering around our changing area aimlessly. Probably hoping to catch glimpses of bare skin here and there as we change. Changing is really stressful. I cover myself with a wrapper and struggle into my first attire of the night. I’m sweating already. One of the platoon soldiers come around and just condemns everything I’m doing. From the makeup to the costumes to my usually impeccable smile. ? And she has the guts to start adding new instructions to my already well rehearsed routine. It disorganizes me honestly but I listen to her anyway. After all I’m here to win this.?‍♀️

When I enter for the first contest, I’m completely confused and not sure what to do. I go there and shake my body, because we are supposed to be exercising.

Who came up with this idea?

I feel so ridiculous ?

After I leave the stage I hurriedly change into my next costume which is an Edo attire. That soldier woman comes again and criticizes it: she has problems with the fact that it’s a gown and not a wrapper. ? it makes me wonder where she was with all her expertise when we were struggling to rent an outfit for my body type.

I’ve selected a danceable song but somehow the DJ screws it up and I have to dance and smile to some beats that has no rhythm.

After I leave the stage, I hear the audience screaming loudly. It turns out the person on stage is having a gross wardrobe malfunction. Despite the lining of her cord lace, all her briefs are flashing very brightly to the audience. It’s not funny. She comes off the stage weeping profusely. The MC has the mind to make crude jokes about it. It makes me think about my custume seriously. It’s tight enough that it can’t fully zip and although it’s not transparent, I’m still scared because there’s nothing underneath.

While on stage, I am asked the capital city of Zamfara and although I’ve completely forgotten it, I boldly proclaim it to be ABAKALIKI ????

The moment I realized my village people followed me with that question ?

Wait y’all, this is not a brains contest. It’s a BOLD, big and beautiful contest yeah.

I answered boldly is what should matter, innit? ?

How in God’s green earth am I supposed to remember Gusau? I don’t even know any notable thing about that area that can help me remember it. Plus if I chose to sing that state and capital song, Zamfara is the very last, everybody will figure out that I’ve forgotten it. I can’t be that obvious please. I can confuse people with my boldness instead, besides how many of the audience even remembers ??

Abakaliki it is jor… take it or leave it.

Whatever you do in this life, do it with your chest?

WAITING ON RESULTS

When they line us out on stage to announce the winner, I keep a huge smile on my face.

I honestly have no idea what will happen. But I take real care climbing the steps as I don’t want to go tumbling humpty-dumpy like someone just did.

ALL I DO IS WIN

They announce the winner and for some reason it’s not me. ?

How can it not be me? ?

Me that I’m here smiling my teeth off?

The 1st and second position fellows are crying. One is crying because she is stunned, the other is crying because she is still embarrassed by the fact that her wardrobe malfunctioned. I guess the emotion success draws from each of us is relative.

Backstage, my friends and platoon mates come and congratulate me.

They tell me I did well and they are proud of me.

We take pictures, we joke and we banter and for some reason, I feel like the winner.

I am the winner actually.

I’m big

I’m bold

I am beautiful

And I am a lot more wonderful things!

It doesn’t matter what the judges think.

(Dj play me the champion song)

When I get back to the hostel, a very vigorous round of teasing and clowning starts. This is good!

In no time my voice is gone from the shouts and I eventually go to bathe. I’m about to sleep when I realize I haven’t eaten my noodles. ?

Out of guilt I eat it, because I don’t want to waste the sacrifice of the person who got it for me.

All in all, it was a good day!

My phone rings, and guess who it is?

My platoon commandant.

The one who gave me the daunting lecture.

He tells me I did well and he is proud of me even though I didn’t win.

Wait, who is cutting all these onions beside me? ??

PS: in retrospect, the criteria for winning was really to be plus sized (sizes 18 and above). My very modest size 14 was deemed the smallest amongst the competitors.

NYSC Orientation Camp Day 9 : It’s A Man’s World

Journals August 23, 2020 14 Comments

I’m upset and ashamed as I write this.

A man almost beat me up today.

I hustle to sit in a choice area under the tent. The tent is hot as a rite of passage but there is this spot where a standing fan is placed. Also, my colleagues are seated beside me so gisting is fun. This camp thing is boring enough that if you get a chance to seat with familiar minds just take it. I’m seated behind Aminat and that’s a double bonus because I can rest my head on her seat and get some sleep, which is something I take advantage of.

This loud guy decides to shout at me ordering me to move my chair so he can seat. I look at him and explain that he can bring his chair to come sit beside me as I’d like to take advantage of the fan and also my friends around. My response falls on deaf unreasonable ears because all his friends start to bug me about moving my seat and accommodating the guy. ? Gang-ups? really? So a bunch of boys think they can with shouting bully me? When you can simply get polite and reasonable. Hell no!

Firstly, I’m not interested in moving, then I don’t appreciate their insults and lastly I’ve gone a stretch by offering a perfectly acceptable compromise for him. So he’d better take that and stop bugging my sleepy ass.

The next thing I know is this guy comes in front of me, drags my waist purse and flings it, throws my chair in the air and starts to hassle me.? This happens so fast and I’m surprised. Is someone about to go all violent on me?

He starts to shout and I push him away from me because he is all up in my face, with his chest nearly touching mine. Some camp official steps in before I can talk or do anything and we are marched into the camp commandants office.

It’s not a scene I want to recant because I feel so violated. How does a man stand up in his clear senses to harrass a lady.

And even if not in his right senses, why pick on me? Of all ladies he could pick on? ?‍♀️ And worse still how does a man display violence to a woman he has barely met or known? Like what happened to self comportment.

There’s ample other spaces vacant that he could have sat in, what’s so special about mine? It’s well within my rights to refuse to give up my seat.

When we get to the camp office, I’m too shocked to come to my own defense, I watch as the guy mounts all manner of accusations on me and I’m just thoroughly ashamed. I’m older than this guy by five comfortable years at least and I’m a Doctor. I’ve got both a BSc and an Mbbs. That means my path shouldn’t cross with such an crass individual. Even if it was ordained to cross, it should have been under better terms. This dude is someone who hitherto would not have had any form of access to me if not for this NYSC camp.

Once again I feel grossly violated.

The ladies in the office descend on me and call me names for fighting a man. ?‍♀️ It’s at this point I snap out of my confused speechless haze and start to speak. I reiterate that I never lifted a finger on the dude and that I was in my own sit when the guy came to meet me. I’m guessing their brains have been replaced by bananas because they respond by saying I should not have answered the guy.

For Christ’s sakes, a guy comes to my seat and descends on me, flinging my property and I still have to deal with this bull shit. Do not excuse my language because I’m not sorry for this.

An offense book is brought out and we are asked to read our offenses and the punishment out loud. Apparently, our penalty is to have our camp year extended by three months with half pay. ??

Mind you the glamorous pay they are halfing is nineteen thousand eight hundred naira and absolutely zero kobo. This is barely worth fifty US dollars.

Can it get any worse?

Are this people really thinking their money is a big deal? I mean, I quit my transplant job to do this necessary evil that is youth service, so what in the world are the up and on about?

The guy that assaulted me is humphing and braying away, trying to prove a point that doesn’t exist. He assaulted me!!!

That’s the only thing I know. I just keep shaking my head. My mind can’t be wrapped around this. All I can do is wish endlessly that I went to clinic and attended to patients instead.

I’m only here because I’ve been advised to try and bond with people outside of the medical world. To expand my social circle.

Because I’m well able to keep to myself for the duration of this camp, I’m well able of writing myself an impeccable medical report that would make them exempt me from camp. I wouldn’t do it, but I very well can!

If this is what’s obtainable outside the medical world, then maybe I’m no longer interested in mingling.

Just leave me on my own.

I honestly can’t wait to go home to sanity.

Some woman who had been observing the whole show quietly from a corner catches my eye and whispers that we should apologize.

?‍♀️?‍♀️?‍♀️

Bile suddenly tastes so sweet.

???

I’m assaulted whiles in my own lane and well within my rights and I should apologize for it. I feel just as bad as Busola Dakolo must have felt hearing the verdict of the high court in her rape allegation case.

I go on my knees and I beg anyway, because what choice do I have?

The guy looks at me and has the sense to shut up and join me. I offer my best apology albeit insincere, seething profusely inside myself and promise not to let such happen again. ???

The boy hugs me sideways, to put on some show that we are friends and have settled our hassle. ?

All my instinct is to recoil and probably slap him for daring to lay a filthy hand on me in a show of false embrace.

And not just a finger, a whole sweaty, heavy right hand.

I breath in and out, count to 20 and calm down.

Once again bile tastes sweet in my mouth and I decide that following my instincts will not help my case.

The commandant calms down and then tells us to write an undertaken instead.

An undertaken promising good conduct. ?‍♀️?‍♀️?‍♀️

We get up and I head to the clinic I was ditching to get a paper on which to write mine. The guy tags along with me expecting that I’d get him a paper too. ??‍♀️

Such sense of entitlement. Like why !!! Why are there “some” guys on this earth with this infantile behavior.

I write my letter and hand it in. The women start to tease me on my anatomy and say it’s probably what attracted the guy to come make trouble with me. They expect me to find it funny but I don’t. I will never find that funny by the way. They keep teasing anyway. Saying I’d probably become best of friends with the guy and marry him. You can join me in rolling your eyes at this point. ??

They give another round of unnecessary lecture about controlling ones temper and mostly direct it at me.

Hehehe ?

Emi!

Emi omo baba Adebayo.

My father would turn so uncomfortably in his grave to hear I am being spoken to this way.

What in the world!!!

Am I the one who flung a chair in the air in a show of whatever this poorly brought up boy must have been trying to show?

Or am I the one that rough handled someone’s waist purse.

What am I missing here?

As their lecture ends, the guy starts to say something that I’m not quite listening to and before I know it, he wraps me in a full body hug. ???

A full body hug!

For emphasis sake, A FULL SWEATY UNWELCOME BODY HUG.

I am guessing he is trying to convince them that we are now cool.

Only we are not.

We just can’t be.

His offenses keep increasing.

I keep my face blank, detach myself from the hug and leave the place.

The guy tags along me again and comes to apologize.

He states that he has a temper problem and that he was really sorry for his approach.

Oh really….. you wanna play the temper card on me? After all the lies he told against me in the office.

I don’t answer and he askes for my number begging for a chance to call me later and make it up to me. I stay unmoved and just walk towards the clinic. He follows me and I eventually give the number to him. (My block button works all too well)

Instead of apologizing what he should have done is to tame that temper and leave me well alone.

I’ve memorized his state code and his full names. I will probably spend the next one hour plotting a sweet revenge on him until I calm down.

I can’t believe this happened to me.

I’m done writing my sad ordeal in my journal and I choose to raise up my head to take in my surrounding. On doing this, I see the face of one of the women in the office who spoke to me inappropriately seated with the nurse checking her blood pressure. She has a complaint and I’m likely to be the doctor she’d be assigned.

I’m not ready for this.

I’m not ready to pretend that I’m fine and put on a pleasant face while I listen to her complaints.

My God help me.

Please.

I just can’t.

I don’t have it in me right now.

By some stroke of luck, Opemipo’s patient gets up and leaves and she goes to fill the vacant space there. She notices me and with a shocked face she politely asks if I am a doctor.

I say yes and she keeps quiet. She doesn’t look into my eyes after that.

It’s sad that even women contribute to making the world more of a man’s domain.

NYSC Orientation Camp Day Eight : Who Am I? ?‍♀️

Journals August 16, 2020 12 Comments

Day 8 : Thursday

Motivation is not a problem for me. I can generate 80% of the enthusiasm I need for life within myself. I don’t know how ?‍♀️ but it’s true. ?

It’s true but now it’s becoming false.? NYSC is changing me, better still this camp life is changing me drastically. This early morning waking up is seriously screwing with me.

It’s like I don’t know who I am anymore.

This deep-sleeping, easily-triggered, perpetually-hungry, unmotivated-individual is not the woman my mom birthed after several grueling hours of labor. It just can’t be?

I need to find myself. Sounds cliche but I seriously need to.

I had a pretty good dream tonight which makes me feel all gooey, but when I wake, the goo vanishes and I sit for 20 minutes looking for a clothing item that was really sitting in front of me. My walking is slow and snail paced as I drag myself to the parade ground.

I need to motivate myself but even my inner voice at this point is a lull.

Chinenye approaches me on the parade ground to ask if I have sorted out my modeling clothes ; I have not. Infact there is nothing to sort out. ?‍♀️ I may as well just quit this competition because I can’t go home to pick a proper dinner wear, once I get home, my big bed will abduct me and that’s where I’ll be until end of camp. These people should just take the stress off me and provide it, I mean I already supplied the curves, what else do they want from me? ?

ESCAPE ?

I decide to rebel today, I plug my ear piece after tunneling it underneath my blouse to obscure it and I play my all time favorites. “You gotta live your life, while your blood is boiling….. these doors won’t open…. while you stand and watch them”

That’s not a motivational speech, it’s lyrics to the very first song I play. In no time, the world becomes colorful again, the birds start to chirp, the monkeys are swaying the trees with more pomp and my heart; oh my good heart, is really beating faster, I’m in another world and it is such a better one.
Music; my all time means of escape.

We go to mamy-market for breakfast. By we, I mean Aminat, Umar and I. Aminat convinces us to eat bread and egg and she even selects the freshest bread available for me. ? We sit and shortly after mine is served she changes her mind and orders noodles instead. I give her the side eye ? because nobody is allowed to switch up on me like that. I kid, I kid. ✌️

WHAT I LOVE TO DO

I’m back to the clinic and CMD tells me he needs me to help with a medical outreach for the kitchen staff. I tell him it’s an ethical conflict for me. Simply because on my first night here, the head kitchen staff refused to give me my dinner and proceeded to eat it herself. That was the night of my exam and my long dreadful journey. She made the already tedious night worse as I had to sleep on empty stomach as a result of her actions. ? The CMD hears that and gives me a charming smile, he says go ahead and have your revenge. (Solid guy)

I decide I’d give her IM Aqua because that’s the meanest thing I can think of. If that’s the meanest thing I can think of, then I’m really just a nice person. ?

The outreach is fun and even though I have to give an impromptu speech in Yoruba, I love every moment of it.

I get to consult for the woman who denied me dinner and I find that I like her. She’s cool in her own way. I tease her about starving me and she apologizes and then she proceeds to tease me on my anatomy. ?All is good and well. As we leave the place, they hand us a carton full of bread, butter and bottled water. It’s their gift to us for our generous service. It’s a well appreciated gift.

We finish the outreach at a time too late for me to join my drone training SAED class so I just head to the clinic to see patients. There are none there. So the next agenda is sleep. I wake up and I’m bored again. I’m thinking about my life, What will this one year hold for me?

How will NYSC change my life ?

Will it be a memorable time?

Where will I be posted to?

Will it be busy or not?

Do I want a busy place so that time will just fly by?

Or do I want free time?

Can I handle free time?

I’ve been busy enough this last three months that I know I don’t want to be that busy any time soon because my body needs to rest.

I have also been busy long enough to not know how to enjoy a non-busy time.

So what do I actually want?

Sweet Jesus, what does you girl want?

MUSINGS

Medicine has a way of disconnecting you from the real world. It’s an isolant. Of course that’s not likely to be a proper English word, but I already have a self bestowed poetic license and I’m sure you get what I’m trying to say.??‍♀️??‍♀️??‍♀️

I decide to pray about this and try not to worry or at least not to worry too much. ? God always did know how to sort me out. I’m the one who hasn’t perfected my trust in him. Ha, adulting. This scam that is adulting ! This scam that is adulting that adults before us rushed us into entering !!

It has a way of bringing out the melancholy in all of us right!

PUN’s ie WORDPLAY ?

I secure a charging space in the clinic and I choose to sit there to safeguard my property. A physiotherapist comes to join me. Her name is Tomisin. We’ve been seeing each other in clinic every once in a while. When I say “seeing”, please keep your mind clean as I’m very straight. Okay, I’m not actually straight, I’m very curved ???. Anyway, what I mean by “seeing” is we walk by each other and occasionally acknowledge each other with a greeting or two. She joins me on this bed. Again, I must emphasize it’s a harmless joining. We get talking ; Talking about insecurities of the coming NYSC year and it’s a reminder for me that everybody has something legitimate to worry about. We all have problems even when we don’t talk to others about it and we are all fraught to feel alone and isolated in our troubles. It needs not be so. Especially if we find the right person to talk to.

Some girl comes in and bounces another persons charger off the extension box. I start to complain about it because life is supposed to be fair and Tomisin tells me that I should chill as the girl may be dealing with something hard too. Much like the rest of us. I keep quiet and conclude that she is wise. It feels good to have exchanged my fears with another human. I should do this more often. My self-independent side should do this more often.

There’s this announcement on the group chat that we should all go to the tent to open our NYSC accounts and as we get there we discover the process is coordinated by our code numbers. They currently have capacity for 1270 but my number is over 2500. So I guess I’ll have to wait until menopause before it’s my turn to open the account. I have no issues with that ???

NYSC Orientation Camp Day Seven ; The Odds In My Favor

Journals August 9, 2020 8 Comments

I can’t believe I made it this far. One week!! ?One whole week!
I’ve felt like quitting everyday since I got here. And now I’ve spent a week! Sweet Jesus ! The odds must be in my favor. There’s a truck load of wriggling creatures eating my gastric mucosa from the inside out. What’s worse is that they choose to attack me at 2 am because I wake up feeling dreadful and all but run to the toilet. I feel like my gut is tightly twisted like the rope we used for the Tug-Of-War.

I empty the truck load and instantly I’m like 70 kilograms lighter. ?‍♀️ The walk back to my room is fraught with malaise as I feel like I mistakenly emptied all the glucose in my body along with the other things I left behind. I go to my bed and just collapse into it. I know I have loperamide in my bag but I can’t bring myself to retrieve it. I say a short prayer and go back to sleep.

MY WAKING CONFESSIONS

I wake up at 4 am determined to have a good day.

I will not be lazy today.

I will not get upset no matter what.

I will not quit today.

Infact the clinic heads will not trigger me. Amen. ?

I head to the parade ground, fully dressed. Dressed with my determination to live out my confession only to have it crumble as my stomach starts to rumble again. This time, I get the feeling that it’s about to rain scorpions. ??‍♀️I extract myself from the parade ground and head to the clinic toilet. Somehow my self control holds things in until I get to the door. It’s at this point that I feel this urge intensify a million times. ? I’m truly scared that I’ll soil myself. I try to open the padlock but my hands are fumbling. ??‍♀️ Out of habit I check my surroundings and realize I have to fetch a bucketful of water before I can get about to doing my business. My posterior crevice just keeps growling at me. I have the mind to lecture my anatomy on how patience is such a virtue but decide that now is not the time for that.

After fetching my water, history runs its course. But this one is good history, because for some strange reason, I feel energized afterwards. I walk into the clinic to return the key and the CMD is there to greet me with a warm smile. I don’t return his hug until I sanitize my hands. Please be like me. ? Soap and water is not enough. Get an alcohol rub… ?? You know, Just in case ?‍♀️

I return with vigor to the field where I participate in all the early morning drills. The power of determination is really amazing.

S A E D !!!

Today is Wednesday. This translates to SAED training. SAED is an acronym for skills acquisition and entrepreneurship development or something very close to that. There are many factions to choose from namely smoothie making, fashion designing, wig making, beads making, language lessons, sandals making and a host of others. The attendance is compulsory. The faction I choose is drone assembly and flying. ? I feel divergent for choosing this. I choose this because I love to be different, I want something new and I’ve already mastered everything in the food, beads and tailoring section while at secondary school.

The class starts boring and I almost regret going. The instructor starts by fraternizing with the two people in the class who happen to have their personal drones and he gets carried away discussing different drone models with them. ? This leaves the rest of the class looking lost like the novices that we are. It’s kind of like conversing about the difference between a sedan and a CRV in front of a 6 day old neonate. ?

I’m not too lost though because I’ve done some miniature research on the subject of drones before now, but still, I’m grossly uninterested in their bants as I want the real meat; Like teach me how to assemble it or dismantle the component parts.

I don’t get the real meat, however. What I get instead is popcorn but the instructor apologizes for that and promises to bring a proper drone tomorrow. One we can actually fiddle with. My fingers are crossed, I guess we will see.