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Drills

It’s 3 pm and time for Man-O-War activities. I dress up with vigor in my patched up khakis and all the while I’m hoping to God that I make it through the drill without falling or slicing the trousers in two. Before we can start the drills, we gather at the field for a Tug-of-War between the platoons. I represent my platoon and we win. After this, we are marched off to start the real action of the day

They start the drill making us sing some ridiculous songs. The songs are more like chants, the call and response type. The lyrics have them insulting us and we are insulting them back in our responses. It’s what makes the songs fun. We don’t consider it offensive as we’ve grown to realize it’s the military attempt at careless banter. It promotes a sense of comradeship in their already hard routine and surely we can’t begrudge them that. After the songs, a boring lecture proceeds. Given the fact that this morning’s lecture was also boring, I find this one relatively amusing.

TWELVE FEET OF FAME

We are grouped into four lines, since there are four stations. The first station my line is directed to requires us to climb a wall that is twelve feet high. I’m not sure this is what my mom sent me here to do, so I start to plot how to honorably discharge myself from this section. A guy approaches the wall first and scales it with the help of the officials supervising us and I can boldly say his rise to a twelve feet high fame was historic to behold. From the point of hoisting him up to helping him scale, his actions were fraught with challenges I could only laugh at. We all literally watch as his khakis slice open, revealing that which public eyes don’t need to see. It makes me rethink climbing, because the material patching my trouser is different in tensile strength than what was there ab-initio. See, in truth, this fear is probably unfounded (like many other fears that plagues the mind) and it’s precisely what made me choose to wear a pair of publicly presentable shorts underneath the khakis.

what the nysc man-o-war drills are really like — As Tolu and I beheld someone’s historic twelve foot rise

Some two other guys go and I watch their every move like a hawk. I’m sure I must have observed every macroscopic motion and muscle twitch and I’m sure I can do it without any unsightly incidence. I’m fifth in line because I always find my way to the front and to the top. This means only one person stands ahead of me. I watch how the men hoist her up, grabbing respectfully onto her thighs and I relax. It seems I won’t be violated in anyway. They hoist me up all too easily and I could almost complain. I mean, given the fact that I weigh a ton, why should lifting a whole me be that easy?

STRAIGHT WALK LOG

Well, I get by that segment easily and nothing tears. From there we go to the straight-walk log. We start by walking straight on a narrow metallic rod, something that tries our ability to stay balanced. From there we proceed to some four horizontal rods which we have to scale with one leg at a time without letting our feet touch the ground. I breeze through that and then gather the momentum I need to run up a slopy plank unto a massive tank which I have to slide down through. This one is fun.

CHANDELIERS

Then we get to the jungle monkey section. Ideally, what’s supposed to happen is the athlete launches off a metallic rod, unto a really thick rope and swing to land their feet precisely on another narrow rod, after which they hop immediately unto an overhead log where they then swing from one to the other. This section gives new meaning to “easier said than done” because watching SIA swing from her infamous Chandelier looks easy enough until it’s you that has to do the swinging.

I don’t know what my swinging from rope to overhead logs look like, but I know it’s not quite right. In as much as I get it done, I just know within my heart-of-hearts that the execution of that task wasn’t fluid. I manage to get by unscathed, vaguely aware that an instructor is holding onto me to support me. (Thanks Man!) The only thing I enjoy is the swinging on the rope. It makes me feel like a child, like a bird set free, you know.

When I get to the end of all the swings, I crawl through a tyre and proceed to a lowly placed metallic net. It looks easy but my hair gets caught in the net twice as I crawl through and I have to retreat and untangle it before moving on. I hear the soldiers hailing me and the others saying “Double up nursing mother”. Obviously, I’m not a mother (yet) and I’m surely not nursing anything, especially not a grudge. It’s their standard banter here. I try to smile because I find it funny but I realize my mouth has other ideas which involves breathing large volumes of air in and out. Who knew crawling could leave me breathless?

MY UNRULY LEGS

The next spot is a very thick log, probably made from Iroko or Opepe, which we have to scale. I hop unto it really swiftly but I just can’t lift my leg to continue the scaling process. I hoist myself even higher until I rest my stomach on the log trying to maneuver but still no progress. I call for help and someone lifts the unruly leg up. Once again, the integrity of my khaki trousers amaze me. When I land, I run ahead a few paces and have to scale a six foot wall and unlike the first station, there’s no one here to help. I jump and jump until my hands grab the head of the wall and I start the climb as usual but once again find it difficult to carry these legs. I’m beginning to question the tenacity of my pelvic girdle. Could it be that carrying an approximately 50 inches wide hip for the last 10 years have made them forget their real primary assignment? I certainly hope not.

Oh wait, I almost forgot, every obstacle we scale greets us with ever ready photographers clicking away on their shutters, and at the point where I was crawling out, I am unable to smile so I’m particularly curious to see that one since I must have had a mix of a grimace and a half formed grin.

HANGING IN THE AIR

There’s this overhead rope section. In fact, two actually. One where you hold the ropes side by side and walk forwards and the other where the ropes are grasped with two hands behind the head and you drag your foot from side to side. Both are scary but the latter is worse than the former. I do both just because I can and because I truly want to.

The first one is actually easy. The instructors are continuously giving useful tips on how to place one foot in front of the other, what to hold unto and there are some who act as cheerleaders giving verbal feedback that I’m doing the right thing. I continuously remind myself however not to look down. It’s almost like a mantra I’m internally chanting to myself. Was this perhaps how Lot must have felt as he fled Sodom? Was he repeatedly telling himself “Don’t look back?”

The second overhead rope is much harder. There are just two ropes in it; one to hold on to with both hands and another to step on. To make the experience more thrilling, you can’t walk forwards on it, you have to shuffle from side to side, you can’t look forwards and you have to feel your way through the ropes. Infact, I would not call that walking, it’s more like dragging the legs through the rope because you don’t want to carry one step and find yourself unable to locate where to place it next. The process of even moving on this rope rocks the balance of it such that you end up swaying back and forth, which is scary because it feels like you can fall off at any moment.

MORE MANTRAS

So now my Mantra is expanded from “Don’t Look Down” to include “Don’t Look Sideways and Forwards.” When I’m done walking the rope, I start to climb down from it. Climbing down is more like a task of faith since there are little or no steps to descend through and also because I can’t see clearly where to place my feet, I have to rely on the verbal guidance of the instructors who are watching me. I remember placing my foot on one of the planks that formed the steps and hearing a loud “KREN”? ? .

I don’t know where the sound comes from but my instincts direct me to hold on tightly to the pole and freeze. This happens to be good instinct because the feedback I’m getting is that the plank has come undone ??. Someone actually photographed this moment!!! ?

Well, someway, somehow, I find my way down the pole, happy to be alive and in one piece.

There’s this net section, where you jump onto it, climb to the top and then somersault to the other side. Or maybe backflip is the word. This one is fun and I find myself good at it. My legs cooperate during this task, which is more than I can say for the other individuals who I watched attempting it.

FINAL DRILL.

The final drill is one where there are three stumps of wood, each of different heights and arranged one in front of the other in decreasing order. The objective is to stand on one stump and from there descend to the next one which is shorter. As usual I queue up for that too because who doesn’t like an adventure? When it’s my turn, I climb onto the first stump, balance myself and take deep breaths, I look towards where I’m to descend to and start to calculate how far I would need to extend my leg to make the jump. My calculation doesn’t add up, so I take deep breaths and recalculate. Still no show. I close my eyes, spread out my hand and concentrate really hard, all too aware that a lot of eyes are on me. Tolu is also behind me shouting very encouraging words and I know I’m being rooted for. Then I remember that 2 of the hooks of my trouser have come off and that its only sheer luck that is keeping the trousers on my waist.

I breathe in and out again and ask myself what the worst would be? Falling? Surely that fear wouldn’t hold me back, not at this point, or would it? Could it be tearing my trousers? Surely not that because what’s underneath them are publicly presentable. Then what exactly is holding me back as I ponder over and over in my head the reason for my calculations not adding up.

“Abiola, what really is holding you back from taking this leap? ?You’ve scaled everything there is to scale on this ground, what’s one nasty looking wooden stump? Give it a go, You can do this”?. Still no movement. I give myself all the internal pep talk that usually works but my brain and legs choose not to respond.? I stay frozen. Then, my legs start to shake and I wonder will they cooperate with me this last time? Especially since they have been quite unruly today? If I miss my step, will I hit myself? Will people laugh at me or come to my aid? ?On and on and on and on again. I take the last deep breath and I finally move my legs. I move them to the floor, not to the next stump. I gracefully descend to level ground as I’m not one to take a move I’m not fully sure of. This is the one drill I willingly forgo. I just don’t think I can get it done. Sigh!

After the drills, my platoon calls for the dancers to come rehearse. I oblige them and make payments for the costume. They keep us waiting for an hour and eventually they start to serve dinner. Since I have had only smoothies all day, I’m particularly hungry, especially after all the drills so I get my dinner and afterwards proceed to the third floor where my room is situated. After eating, I take my bath and go to bed seriously fatigued. I’m only vaguely aware of my phone ringing beside me. My words are not coherent so I don’t bother to pick up. Whatever/whoever it is would have to wait until tomorrow.

“Lone Ranger” is the word. It’s a word I tease myself with alot . I guess it’s because it describes how I made significant decisions during important seasons of my life and executed my plans all alone.

I’m that lady that wants something, makes plans on how to get it and executes the plans immediately, well without dilly-dallying or consulting anyone and with an unflinching laser focus.

Fortunately, that has worked for me 90% of the time. I get things done faster and on my terms, without having to be slowed down by the collective momentum that comes with moving in groups.

I started long distance walking as a form of exercise during the lock down. I’ve always found walking therapeutic because it opens my mind up. I daydream while walking, I make plans about my future and also process my thoughts. You can guess my preferred style of walking – ALONE. Another thing is that being alone allows me pace myself as I want. That way, I’m not distracted by small talks as I would, if I had company. I also get to enjoy the strong-willed side of me.

I don’t particularly have a route I stick to while walking (trying to avoid being predictable and stalkable ?), so I tend to switch things up a lot. Well, that’s another perk of doing it alone; the fact that I can switch things up on a whim, without having to consult with anyone.

I was lost, deep in the songs on my playlist when I suddenly sensed I was being followed. Followed by three little humans. Two girls and a boy, with the oldest assumably 11yrs. I “sense” this following by their body heat, which is a sharp contrast to the normally cool evening atmosphere that I enjoy. I noticed them walking by my side and consistently stealing glances at me, whispering things to each other.

Initially, I ignored them and continued walking at a brisk pace since they seem harmless but I soon realized they had been ‘walk-running’ all along. Meaning they were walking at a fast pace in an attempt to match my own strides.

“Biola, slow down, you should slow down”, those were the thoughts running in my head. I was supposed to slow down so as to accommodate the pace that their little feet could bear with. Because it is what a decent adult should do. But I didn’t. I had timed myself and set my goal for the day.

“Are you following me?” I ask (Not because I don’t know, but because Yoruba people are supposed to ask only obvious questions ?). They replied “yes, we’ve noticed you usually walk here and we would like to join you tonight”.

This response, communicated in Yoruba, made me smile. I mean, how long have they been watching me? Am I perhaps inspiring someone? Or some people? Some potential leaders of tomorrow? Maybe, maybe not !

“Okay, so if you want to join me, you have to be tough. Do you think you can try that?.”

“Beeni ma” they replied.

“So what we will do is, we will walk to that bend and afterwards jog on the main road” I said.

Jogging is usually not in my routine but I know children are energetic and will fare better jogging than this awkward “walk-running” they are doing beside me.

So we started jogging.

While doing so, I kept giving them instructions. Mainly reminding them to stay off the course of oncoming vehicles and pausing occasionally for the youngest to empty his bladder.

On our way, we passed by a group of young guys who were walking leisurely. I recalled their faces because I see them everyday, at this time and on this route, also working out. From their gait, it is evident that they are tired but for some reason, as we jogged past them, they joined in. They raised chants of encouraging words, aimed at us. We continue jogging together, and we pass two other people – adults- who also joined us.

It didn’t take long before people started to look and point at us. My merry band of eight had drawn attention to ourselves.

Truth be told, I was already tired at this point but I had to keep going because I didn’t want to be the one to dampen the excitement in the children and I also didn’t want it to seem like the chants of the others were falling on deaf ears.

After circling through half of the semi-vast estate, I slowed our pace down to a walk and led us in the direction of the parents of the children. Their parents had been waiting for them. I kinda didn’t want them to leave for I was already enjoying their company.

As I headed back home, I thought about the night and realized many things.

The first being that, without intending to, I not only accommodated three others in my private exercise – where I was reluctant to even have one person with me, but I also, momentarily altered my plans to suit their capacities and actually relished the experience!

Surprisingly , I admit to myself that I want to do this again and I’m hoping that tomorrow they would join me just like today. I found myself making a mental note to ply the same route the next time I’m out.

I realized they were willing to walk with me just as I was willing to be with them. They were willing to make adjustments so as not to slow me down just as I eventually did for them.

I realized I wouldn’t mind some company after all, as long as both parties are willing to make it work, as long as one side is not slowing down the other, as long as both sides serve as mutual motivators.

I got home, checked my pedometer and realized I had covered about 2,000 steps above my target.

Having these children around definitely didn’t slow me down!! I smiled, trying to recall their names… Alas, I didn’t know it because it didn’t occur to me to ask for it ?. Sigh. I went on my walks on different occasions afterwards, hoping to bump into them, but like the stories always say…. I never met the children again. I’m grateful however, for that one night we got to share.

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