Journal Archives - Blog on a Limb

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 ???

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.

Posts tagged Journal

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