Posts in Journals

ISOLATED – PART ONE

Journals Life May 30, 2021 3 Comments

Day Zero

Yes. There is a day zero when you are self-isolating. They don’t start counting the 10 days until the day after you disembark from the plane.

A shame if you ask me. A shame and a waste of days to count.

After spending 3 hours standing on the line at the immigration control, Mr Y collects us and drives us home. Home for the next 10 days is my Aunt’s place where I happened to have stayed during my last visit here.

I’m too tired to sleep during the ride home.

I’m neither excited nor melancholic.

It just feels like doing something routine.

I’m grateful to be here, especially on the terms that comes with this visit. I’m happy because this is basically a dream come true. A dream that has been a long time coming, given the interesting events that went on last year.

We head to the grocery store, to pick up all the food we would require for the ten days period. The shopping is good too. It feels like clockwork. Has it really only been 6 months sinsce I last entered Tesco?

Once inside, the smell of fabric freshener is the first thing my senses register, and boy, it feels so familiar. Familiar and refreshing.

Familiar enough to make my eyes sting as my emotions finally catch up to me. I’ve missed this place since the six months that I have been here last.

It’s good to know that I’m here to stay and not just as a tourist.

I will make a home here and even more memories. I take a moment to collect myself before I start collecting all the junk I love to indulge in from the shelves.

Did I really go grocery shopping or am I dreaming it?

I don’t really know for sure.

Anyway, I’m vaguely aware of everything else around me as I toss and turn on my tiny bouncy bed. What is it with the British and small houses and hefty tax?

Day Three.

I’ve read novels and gotten tired.

I’ve scrolled the streets of Instagram and ridden the elevators of my WhatsApp up and down.

I’ve set targets and journaled my goals.

I’ve watched movies and even completed a series on Netflix – a good one by the way.

I’ve slept, and dreamt, and crashed, and died and resurrected.

I’ve eaten, binged, drank and snacked.

I’ve played music, danced and prayed.

I’ve called my friends and then stalked my emails.

And it is only 5 pm.

There’s still 7 hours before day 4 and then, there would be all the days left in this prison sentence until day 10.

This is unfair at this point.

I mean, what on God’s green earth justifies why I have to continue in quarantine when I’ve already had two negative PCR tests? I can understand if they are worried that the test I did at home is not up to their standards. But then, the test I took on day 2 came out negative and it was done by one of their accredited labs. Why do I still have to stay indoors, isolated from the world for another 8 days and still do another test?

What virus am I going to contract after day 2? It’s unfair if you ask me, and yes you have asked me because you are reading my journal. Maybe I should step out and take a breath of fresh air. Just a tiny, weensy, uncontaminated breath of fresh air on the outside. I’m thinking, surely that would not hurt. I lie down and force myself to sleep and only end up tossing and turning and tossing yet again.

Sometimes around 9 pm, I get up, change my skirt into black trousers and prepare to step outside to get fresh air. I go to pick up my phone and earpiece and find my mom in the sitting area watching movies. She asks where I heading to, and I respond, telling her that I need fresh air and would love to take a walk for a bit on the street.

She gives me her signature eye and says, ‘Don’t go. My friends have been calling me to warn me to stay indoors. They say the officials do random spot checks and may have specially installed hidden CCTV on the streets to monitor us”.

Hmm. My inner goddess pouts.

Mummy, hmmm !!!

For reals.

CCTV!.

I roll my eyes internally, instantly regretting that I came up to pick up my phone in the first place. Why does she have to jinx it with all this superstitious talk.

I mean, will Uncle Borris really tell his boys to be spying on me with special CCTV or to come and look for me at 9pm.

I roll my eyes again and collapse downcast into the ottoman by the window. I’m not one to disregard her warning. I feel like I have this luck where once someone says “so so so” before I do something bad, then it would come to pass and be jinxed, even if others get away with it.

This essentially takes all the fun out of whatever the action that “so so so” would have been and my taking this walk falls under that category. Now that she has spoken, a part of me just knows that she has jinxed it.

I change from my sitting posture on the ottoman into a kneeling posture and I look longingly outside. The streets, from my point of view, look so serene and quiet and lonely. Like it’s missing me. Like it’s beckoning to me.

They also look devoid of human life, as though suffering from the prolonged state of lockdown that this city has been in for the major part of the last year. The streets are calling to me and I’m here kneeling and just looking. Unbelievable! Can my simple 5 minutes intended walk really be jinxed by spot checks?

My mom gets up from the living room and heads to the room, possibly to sleep. As she goes, it occurs to me that she is also in this isolation with me and must be feeling the effects of the confinement just as I am, perhaps even more, although she has not complained as much. She must relate to my frustration in some way and if she really does relate, then she won’t want to kill my joy by jinxing my harmless idea. Right?

I return to a sitting position as my knees are hurting and my toes are tingling. I pick up the remote, shuffle pointlessly through Netflix, conclude that everything there is of little interest to me, turn off the Tv altogether and then return to binging on blueberries.

Another cancellation in a cancelled year

Journals December 31, 2020 16 Comments

Dated June 3:2020

All lot is going on on earth right now. For real. Murders and rape and protests etc.

That’s what my friend and I were discussing when my phone pops up with a strange picture.

Strange because it’s on one of the many plab 2 platforms I’m in.

Pictures at this time of the day are not really fun. It’s usually updates.

I check it out and it’s not only strange but depressing.

It contains a message that the examination had been cancelled yet again. For the second time yet again. The cancellation is bad because all my plans for this year are quite tied to this, almost everything about my life is on hold because I need this to get out of the way so I can progress like I want in my career. It was first cancelled in April, which was when I was first supposed to take it, then it was postponed to July and now it has been cancelled for the whole bloody year? Like what am I supposed to do with myself the rest of this year?

By this time, I wasn’t hearing what my friend was saying on the phone as I had zoned out. I interrupt him and break the news to him because we are both supposed to take the exam.

Then we end the call.

Because To each his own grieving system.

As soon as that picture lands, all the other WhatsApp platforms start to buzz. Every one is waking up to the news. And reacting to it.

I don’t know how to react.

My thoughts are on a loop.

So many plans have been tied to this exam.

I’m a planner.

I dare say a good one.

But this is 2020.

It’s not the year for planners. It seems to be more like a year of wake up and just exist.

My hands start to shake.

My heart swells and makes a point of doggedly pumping blood to all the strands of hair on my head.

My neck feels constricted. And my ears are just so so so…. arggh

It feels like a stroke.

I can hear my heart beat everywhere.

I touch my face and try to smile to see if my muscles would move because despite all the feelings, I was also suddenly numb.

In a moment, my nieces come to where I’m lying down and all but climb over me asking “Aunt Biola are you freezing for us”

It is then that I realize that I’m staring blankly and have been unresponsive to their multiple calls.

I smile at them and somehow end up lost in my dazed maze of blank thoughts.

There are almost no words for this.

I get up and check my blood pressure. It’s high. I recheck 3 times before I finally quit.

My systolic went up by 28 millimeters of mercury. My normal Bp leans towards the low side, usually around 108/60 but today I’m nearing 140.

Even my pulse is every where. My heart is suddenly beating 90 times in 60 seconds!

My normal bradycardia heart.

I sit on the floor and just breathe in and out. I’m still hearing my pulse everywhere.

My head feels heavy and soon I go back to lie down. Because no one is supposed to carry the weight of 7 galaxies on their head.

My exams have been cancelled. For the rest of the year!

For the rest of this Rollercoaster year!

And there’s no new date in sight.

How!!!!!!

How do I return to work and justify my prolonged absence?

How do I start the meticulous documentation that visa procurement requires.

How do I start hoarding money that I don’t have and won’t be able to spend in order to prove I’m visa worthy.

How do I start applying for jobs against October when most hospitals are downsizing their staff and salary in light of the pandemic?

And how do I apply for another leave that I’m not qualified for early next year in an hypothetical new Job that I have hypothetically not worked for the minimum 6 months required to qualify for leave in the first place.

How do I even get through now and make it to October of this year.

How do I sit and watch my IELTS validity just waste away.

And then my flight tickets that I had booked? Or is it my academy courses that are now a waste or the mocks that are indefinitely unavailable.

I am not okay:

I don’t feel okay:

This event is not okay:

The world is not okay:

I text precisely 4 of my friends and tell them just that – I am not okay.

I get up. Change my clothing and walk out of the house. I don’t know where I am headed other than that I just want to walk.

Walk to anywhere my legs would take me.

It takes me to a restaurant and I buy more food than I can normally finish in 2 seatings. Not like any one is watching. I buy 2 bottles of wine too and I just keep walking.

I keep walking until I realized that I have stopped walking right in the middle of a street somewhere and a man is staring at me weirdly in the distance!

Apparently I’ve frozen again.

I remind my feet to take me home and when I get there I crash on my bed and stare endlessly at what I purchased.

It takes some time before I remember I’m supposed to stuff myself full with the food. I stare at it long enough to realize I actually don’t have the appetite for it. But eat I do. Eat and drink.

It makes me feel somewhat better.

So comfort food is actually a thing.

Phew.

Then my friends start to call and I narrate everything to them. They all end up speechless. Which is a relief.

Because it makes me know I’m not over reacting or overthinking.

One of my conservative friends even said the “F” word. Something that’s not part of his vocabulary in the one decade since I’ve known him. 2 of my brothers are also speechless so we agree not to inform my mom.

Some year this 2020 is. Some bloody year. Some bloody disconcerting disorganized traumatizing rollercoaster of a year.

A year that got me endlessly chanting “it is well”.

Hearing my close ones respond with the same confusion I feel makes me feel better and I actually start to laugh again. Although I don’t know what’s funny.

Like every other thing, I’d get through this one.

RF : It’s today. The last day of this year. The time when every where is flooded by pictures and news of achievements that highlighted the year for various people which probably cause others to feel like they may have underachieved. I realize the reverse is the case for me as I’m inclined to talk about the lows. It’s the cancellations that made this year memorable. Because they were the backdrop through which the things I’m most grateful for shine.
PS: the exam is one of the many exams doctors have to take to stay relevant and progressive career wise and it was later rescheduled and I passed it. We’ll probably talk about that in the coming weeks. Until then, know I wish you a memorable new year in advance.

NYSC Orientation Camp Day 19 : A Monday To Look Forward To

Journals October 18, 2020 6 Comments

Monday

There will be no drills this morning. Good.

There will be no more sleeping on bunk beds after my waking moments today. Better.

There will be no queuing to bath in a water logged bathroom while females gawk at my naked body. Even better.

There will be less comments and weird glances from people. Very good.

There will be a return of my autonomy as regards the use of my time. Excellent.

There will be no more missing services in my home church. Ecstatic.

There will be private quiet moments where I can resume my daily meditation. Great.

There will be less junk music being blasted into my subconscious intrusively. Amazing.

There will be me carrying my luggage down three flights of stairs and through the parade ground to the gate. Not particularly exciting.

There will be distribution of posting letters and me trying hard not to get anxiety disorder. Sigh.

There will be traffic as we all try to get Ubers and Bolts out of this venue. Bland.

There will be those who will try to unlawfully part with others peoples stuff. Not good.

There will be me, making it through this day triumphantly. Voila

And there will be a small but big part of me who would miss journaling about this as that is what actually made this memorable! Nostalgia

And there will be you, wishing this piece never came to an end because you’ve grown to like the turn of events. Presto.

Also, there will be more writings like this, although their release date is something I’m not yet aware of.

Till next time.

Ciao

PS: I find it cool that this post literally comes out the week of my Passing Out Ceremony.

So allow me to share with you for the first time publicly pictures from that day ?

DONE and WELL DUSTED.

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.

FullSizeRender

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.