Posts tagged NYSC orientation camp

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 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 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 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.

NYSC Orientation Camp Day Six ; Where Is My Fun, Huh?

Journals August 2, 2020 17 Comments

Tuesday

I wake up and I feel the same as I felt yesterday; tired and in need of more sleep. I am also late today, so I just wipe my face and clean my mouth. I dress up in my usual white-on-white, save my waist purse. The purse is torn so it will be more of a burden than anything else and I head out. Halfway through to the parade ground, I decide I’m too tired for the early morning drills and do a round-about turn, heading to the clinic instead. Don’t get me wrong, the early morning parade is fun but even fun has it’s limits. ?‍♀️

I check my phone and realize the dance competition held the previous night and I missed it. That must have been the reason my phone was ringing continuously. Not only did I miss it, I realized that the money I contributed for my costume was a waste and my team still didn’t qualify. Well, there’ll be more competitions to win!

INERTIA

I get to the clinic and attend to about 15 patients before I quit again. What’s with all the inertia? I go to the wards and just crash into a bed. It takes a while for me to sleep but eventually I do. Before I can sleep up to one second, I feel someone tapping me to wake. Like hell, can the universe just align in my favor already??? The sensory stimulus is there and quite persistent, they are asking me to get up. It seems some really important personnel is coming to inspect the clinic and must not catch me sleeping. I try to send the motor signals to my feet, so I can get up. Trust me, I really do try, but there’s a thought block somewhere along my synapses and I just sink into a much deeper sleep. In my dream, I hear voices of Fro, and some other people. (Fro is the name we call the second clinic head, she is the partner in crime to Madam Rosacea. Fro is short for Afro which is the hairstyle she has on for the first 5 days of this program. In truth, she has changed it to some form of twists but it’s didn’t alter her face much so, Fro will stick.)

I hear them discuss “we”; the sleeping crew with whoever this important personnel is. The first person sleeping has plasmodiasis and is receiving IV fluids, the second person has ecchymoses secondary to some trauma she sustained during the drills. When they get to me, my diagnosis is severe exhaustion from seeing multiple patients and excess drills. ?That’s close enough to the truth. Innit?

SNORES OR NOT

When I wake up, the CMD tells me the Governor of Lagos and the Clinic Heads came for inspection and that I was difficult to arouse from my state of sleepiness. He looks serious as he delivers this speech and I believe him, as I’m not fully awake. He also says our photos were taken, along with a video the state intends to use for a televised documentary.
Great ?, bloody great. Not only did the governor catch me sleeping, now the whole of Lagos may get to watch me sleep.
I reply the CMD saying “Babajide Sanwo-Olu just got the privilege of watching me sleep” that’s the only thing I can tell myself to prevent that bad feeling that comes with having being caught sleeping on duty.

Everybody that enters the room continues to tease me about it. It’s fun until the CMD comes in and says I was snoring in my sleep. ?
Voila. ?
There you have it.
Proof that they are lying: The chances that I’d snore is half as high as my chances of bed-wetting or falling off a bunk, so I know, this is all a tease. I tell him exactly that and he admits that the governor part was false, although the Platoon Commandant really did come to inspect.

TAILORING BANTS

I sleep some more and almost die of sleep.
How can one human being be this exhausted? ?‍♀️ When I eventually wake, I exercise myself by heading to Mamy-market to repair my torn waist belt. The lady asks me to empty all the contents so she can get to work and I comply.
She threads the needle to her machine and just as she is about to start sewing it up, she tells me I’d have to pay 250 for her services. ?
Ahan!!!
Why now?
My face changes.
I’m slightly triggered.
I’m also too weak to price it.
Repair work of that sort is 50 naira.
I’ve seen other people come to repair at that cost, so this is plain extortion in broad daylight.

I start to pack my stuff back into the purse because I don’t have it in me to negotiate. I’m that tired and mentally uninterested. All the tailors there look at me and beg me to please price. I just lift up a finger to signify that I won’t. Just as I’m about to leave the place, the tailor who referred me to the repair lady pays 100 naira of her money and asks her to repair the purse. ?

I pause halfway and look up at her face.
First, I have this look of “am I a joke to you?” ? This is because I have to empty out the purse again. Second, I feel confused ? because I’m not sure what is really going on. Am I supposed to be grateful that she paid for it or should I feel mocked? ?‍♀️
I decide I don’t care and I just focus on emptying the purse again, hoping to God that she won’t withdraw her sponsorship.

The purse is repaired and all through the process, the women are talking amongst themselves saying how they suspect I’m the kind of woman that would be difficult to mess with. Apparently, they were expecting me to drag the price back and forth and all that drama. For real, will I be dragging 50 naira with them? Surprisingly the woman repairing my property apologizes for calling the outrageous price. My face stays straight ? all through this banter because who gets apologized to for unfair pricing at a market known for extorting corpers. Also, I’m wondering, just how mean does my serious face look? It’s nearly the fifth time I’ve watched that facial expression snap people back into order and I know I’m honestly not a mean fellow.

DAMN ID’s

Someone glances at me from head to toe and while taking the phenotypic survey reads my ID card which says “Doctor on duty”. She announces to the other tailors that I’m a doctor and another round of banter starts.

Oops ?.I’m so not ready for this.
I should have taken off the damn tag. I guess everything that has its good also has its bad. They quibble about how doctors are honorable and supposedly “endlessly patient”. I roll my eyes. ? (Gbogbo talk yii o neccestrii, because the manipulation will not work on me) Someone also chips in that doctors are rich and don’t need to price market items to get by. ?? If my bank account hears this, there’s a huge chance it would protest and feel mocked.
I keep my face straight because how do I convince them this is not the case?

When she is done, I hand her 200 naira and say a very polite thank you ma. I do this because my mom raised me well, because I appreciate her apology, because I’m proud enough to not want to be indebted to the fellow who paid 100 naira on my behalf even though I also appreciate it and lastly because they have such high regard for doctors, I won’t be the one to reduce it.

I go back to the clinic and just focus on reading a novel. I’m too bored to do anything else and I’m definitely not going back to sleep.

A lot of doctors are reclining in the room and my novel reading is punctuated with the occasional gist that comes up.

Around 6, I’m called to consult patients in the clinic as the people there are exhausted and need a break. I happily go, excited to be needed but also in no mood to be unnecessarily triggered.

It’s the typical blur ! People tend to have the same complaints. I’m not really interested. Documenting is feeling tedious. My handwriting is complaining and it keeps getting progressively unintelligible to me. Someone compliments it anyway because he can read my words up-side-down from across the table. I guess my case is not that bad.

FALSIFIED RECORDS

This girl comes in. Her medical report states that she is Hepatitis C surface antigen positive with a sputum M/C/S that is negative for Tuberculosis after a long 48 hours of incubation (this is the point where you roll your eyes).
She had earlier presented the report to Nengi who had told her the report was a falsified document and that we would not be endorsing it. She flies into a rage and starts to shout obscenities at everyone in sight and I just look at her. ? I end the conversation/rant by announcing very loudly that I have seized that report and if I hear one more negative word from the bearer, I’d be tearing the report in pieces. Immediately the room becomes peaceful and calm. The girl walks out and continues to rant outside. Nengi asks me not to tear it, so we can have her falsified document in our evidence vault. In about 4 minutes, I’m told that the girl is seated outside the clinic crying. This is the second falsified medical report she is presenting for certification.

All in all, this has been a boring day. I realize I’ve missed my job?. My stressful job. I can’t believe I’m admitting to missing stress ?. It’s more in line with my future aspirations. I miss dealing with the wonder that is the human kidney. ? Kidneys kept me working round the clock. And as I make this realization, I tell myself this dull mundane cycle of clinic activities is not for me. I want to do the fun stuff or nothing at all.

I say a prayer to God to work things out for me as I’m still undecided about where I’d like my PPA to be. A lot of commutation and permutations go into that particular decision making.
Que sera-sera.

NYSC Orientation Camp Day Five ; Man-O-War

Adventure Journals July 26, 2020 16 Comments

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.

NYSC Orientation Camp Day 5 ; Patchworks and Pre-Drills

Journals July 19, 2020 16 Comments

I enter a room and see a doctor I worked with during housejob sitting pretty with her friend. I get a very odd feeling from this person in particular. I open my mouth to speak and my words are not clear. It comes out garbled so I switch to tongues even though I don’t know why. The girl eventually attempts to attack me. I brace up for the impact but it never comes. After that, everything gets dark and I sink into peaceful oblivion. I realize I must have been dreaming because when I open my eyes, I’m back on this NYSC bunk and someone is saying it’s 4 am. That means we’re supposed to be bathing. My body feels rested but my mind is exhausted from the dream – or nightmare, which at this point I don’t even remember.

I’m supposed to get up, undress and bathe, I’m also supposed to dress up and go to the parade ground. Instead my eyes close and I sink into a much restful sleep. It feels like this one lasted for 8 hours because I’m much more refreshed when I wake up. It’s 4:18 am in reality. I sit up and contemplate my life. It’s almost time for parade and I’m not ready to lift a finger. Is it compulsory to even bathe? Dream or no dream, this is the most refreshing sleep I’ve had, albeit short. I start to dress up and tell myself I’d bathe by 7 am after the early morning parade. Some part of my head judges me and I retaliate by saying my last bath was 5 hours ago so what the hell. I get baby wipes and clean my face and rinse my mouth with Listerine. I’m good to go, good to go, good to go!!!

Lost and found

When I get downstairs, we are held up, apparently someone’s phone was stolen and they decide to search all the females. This is where it gets interesting ?. We are asked to line up, about 5 lines, which as you know eventually morphed into bodies pressed together like sardines. So when you are searched, they’d tell you to go back to join the queue again instead of marching out to the parade ground, such wisdom.

I realize I’m in no mood to speak English or Yoruba so I switch to my pidgin side.
I say to no one in particular, “If you late me with your serenre so, I no go follow corper-wee crawl o”. This is because it’s a custom for the soldiers here to make Corp members crawl out as punishment for being late. Everybody around me laughs and some tension disperses. I realize in the world of Bsc holders I might actually be considered funny.

Flashback.

Still on this crawling matter, I particularly remember 2 days ago when I was late and the soldiers set a stick in my way as barricade and asked me to crawl under it as my punishment. I must have laughed in Spanish that day – inside myself of course. I straightened my back, chest out and stood firm telling the soldier that I was headed to the clinic to see patients, which was true. The barricade was removed and I was allowed to go free. I was proud to be a doctor in that moment, feeling on top of the world. Like a Demi-god. Which I actually am. I kid, I kid.

Back to reality.

At the camp ground, I continue to clown away and I actually have fun, especially during the exercise. I learn some leg work which is a somewhat herculean task for me. I should probably join a dance class once this camp is over. I’ll add that to my imaginary to-do list.

The instructor announces that we should be security conscious, and also emphasizes that we should particularly stay out of dark areas. It’s not because he cares for our welfare. It’s simply because he is obligated to make comments about the recent phone theft. His words are a dreary lull to my ears until I hear him say they caught a young lad jogging into the Mamy-market at around 2 am. My ears prick up because for some reason, I know when gist is about to get sweet. He proceeds to say they accosted the boy who claimed he was only jogging to keep fit. That may sound mundane to you but what follows shortly is how you know my radar is alert.

The instructor adds that by 2:30 am, they saw a female corper also heading to the Mamy-market. Her own story is that her platoon instructor asked her to meet him there for rehearsals.
Only her.
Only her in the whole platoon.
She must be really good at whatever they are rehearsing, for him not to need any one else. In my head, my first comment is still pidgin. I say “oshey, korrect mekwe king“.

PS; If you are not Nigerian and you don’t speak pidgin, I recommend that you visit Twitter and search for what “mekwe” means. ?Thank me later.

After this, we proceed to do other activities. There’s the option of marching, dancing or volleyball. I don’t want to stain my white much so I shy away from volley ball even though I’m good at it. Also, I don’t have the consistence it takes to March since I still have duties as a doctor in the clinic so I choose to dance instead. We get there and I see all sorts. I take some videos because that’s the only way you’ll believe what I saw. This particular guy knows how to whine his waist more than me, so I ask him to teach me and in no time I get good at it. I mean good. You guys are in trouble. I can now whine waist small ?

Clinic duties.

I proceed to the clinic, and they bring this girl in. She is really vomiting. The military nurse looks at her from afar and shouts “vomit everything before you come here, nobody will clean anything for you”. It’s mean I know but we all end up laughing anyway, because this is Nigeria. We draw humor from our constant suffer-head.

Steamy Ears.

This guy comes in and demands for a male doctor to come attend to him: he makes his order with his nose upturned to the sky and my stomach recoils in response. My face stays straight outwardly but my head pieces things together and comes up with a likely diagnosis. There’s a narrow list when it comes to diseases that make an “apparently healthy” man ask for a male doctor and given the things I come up with in my head, I’m quite happy that he makes his request. This is because even though it’s just 7:30 am in the morning, I’d rather conserve my energy and avoid looking at anything unsightly. So, I direct him to this Edo guy seated beside me and in no time I can see the steam coming out of my colleagues ears, whatever the patient is saying or showing is definitely not going down well with him. I say a prayer of thanks to the gods for allowing me escape that.

Emem comes in and sits beside me, she tells me she is just realizing she doesn’t have my phone number. I’m too lazy to call it out or type it out for her on her phone which she hands to me. So I just go to Whatsapp and scroll to our doctors group chat and save the number straight up from there. This proves to be more work when I consider it in retrospect. Emem is this “oyibo-paw-paw” doctor who is happy-go-lucky. She likes touching me even though she knows I’m not a huge fan of physical touch. Sometimes I like it, other times I’m simply germophobic but her company is pleasant so we are all good. She is also very observant. It takes her approximately 6 minutes of interacting with me to figure out that I hate germs just by watching my very subtle response to her suggesting that I share my drinking water with a patient who I don’t know from Adam.

I go to the camp wards afterwards to pick up my kit from the CMD. He is the one Opemipo gave them to for safeguarding. Somehow he admits to me that he snooped through Nengi’s phone while she was reading an excerpt of something I wrote and that in as much as he didn’t finish reading it, he considered it brilliant. This same something I wrote is what you are currently reading. I’m sure you share his brilliant sentiment. ? He then proceeds to say that he is a web developer and that I can blog my words so the whole world can benefit. I jokingly say no one reads blogs these days, but deep down I know I’m considering it strongly. It’s been on my mind for some time now. The fact that you are reading this is proof that I was wrong. People actually read blogs.

After retrieving my kit, I attempt to try it on which is a fatal disaster. Nothing fits, as in nothing… Except you count the Crested white T-Shirt. We have Man-O-War Drills today and I need to be appropriately kitted. So, it seems I’ll have to visit the tailors ASAP to proffer a genius solution.

Boring lectures. ?

We are herded to a lecture and I kid you not, the depth of boredom dissipated there is a phenomenon I quite lack a simile for. I sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep again. When I wake up for fourth time, my head is aching and I just can’t deal. My fellow corp members are booing someone off stage and she is promising that it’s her last point. I stand up to my feet, glad to discover that they still work, and I head over to the infamous mamy-market-turned-mekwe-zone.

On-Duty Privileges.

A female dressed in navy uniform, who I suspect to be a nurse, gets all bossy with me, ordering me to “fall back” in to the lecture. Like falling back is an easy thing to do. I decide her tone is too rude for me to bother responding to so I just flash her my ID card which boldly states “Doctor on duty”. Whatever protests she had in her died that minute as I watched her swallow her pride and let me go. I walked the rest of the steps to my destination swaggering with the heady feeling my privileges just afforded me. I order a smoothie and request for grapes, dates, tigernuts, banana, pineapple and strawberry to be blended together.

The guy blending decides to try my ancestors by forgetting to wash his hands before picking up one of the fruit. I’m prompt to remind him that I would not be paying if his hygiene standard falls short of what I’m comfortable with. He takes one look at me and behaves himself from that moment on. After getting my smoothie, I visit a tailor who agrees to add something short of one yard to my grossly undersized khaki pants. I’d be paying 1000 naira for this. I bother not with pricing as the fear of God is strongly at work in me. I just hope what she is able to do stands the rigor that is sure to come with all the activities that comprise the Drills.