The Call-Up

Hi Dear Reader. This is my first attempt at blogging - I take responsibility for all errors. I uploaded this via my htc sensation and I ended up putting the picture below thanks to the scruffy blogging app I downloaded. I'd do better next time.
I'd be blogging this series every Monday and Friday - stay tuned!
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I cannot exactly recollect how my waking moments were on Friday 1st March 2013. To interpolate this based on the later experiences of the day would amount to half-truths. One thing however that I remember vividly was that late at night I woke up with a thought on my mind – “where will I be sent to?” It nibbled at my mind for a short while before sleep got a better part of me. I had hurriedly, on the advice of a friend, travelled by road from Uyo to Lagos and the stress – thanks to the state of roads in Nigeria – made me feel tired. I woke up on Friday forgetting my fears quickly overtaken by the rush to get to school. Beating the Lagos traffic was a must-win battle. My colleagues living in Lagos had filled forms and done other paperwork necessary for posting, during the week. I had to do same
The yellow bus that picked me from Kadupe bus-stop to Bariga, had to meander through the pothole riddled street at a slow speed. As much as my mind rushed and stayed in school, the road faithfully brought it back – severally – to the results of poor leadership in Nigeria. At long last I arrived at Bariga and quickly connected unilag. I raced to my department to begin the paperwork. I filled the posting form which was to serve as a letter of identification while at the camp and submitted it; hoping against hope that it would be signed quickly by the records department of the university without which I could not collect the posting letter. I would later have to return to school on Monday to get the signed document. This bothered me less. The bigger issue was where I would be posted to. Though the bureaucratic red-tapes helped me forget this; it was a temporary palliative. Intending corps members were told that the call-up list would be posted by 3pm.
On hearing this, and with a couple of free hours on our hands, my friend, LA, and I decided to get some white shorts and shirts at Yaba market and rush back to know our fate. We arrived at Yaba and no sooner had we crossed the expressway leading to the market that the Yaba boys gripped my hand tightly plea-forcing me to purchase whites from their vendors. Obviously, by experience, they knew what we came to purchase. It was the season for intending corps members to come pick up the statutory white and white. I obliged my first handler ignoring the others who wanted to steal me from him and LA followed suit. We finally purchased the goods required but not without haggling and groveling with the Ibo traders.
Back in school, the mounting anxiety was palpable on the faces of my colleagues. I could cut it with a knife if I had one. 3pm was slow in coming. Perhaps the Student Affairs officials had ganged up with the sun to slow its descent. 3 pm came finally and news filtered in that the list was being pasted according to departments and in an alphabetical order. I had to wait further for the turn of Mechanical Engineering. As I turned to wait, my memory sprang. Few months back, the university had requested that students with a certain grade interested in serving in the university put down their names. A couple of colleagues and I had seized this glimmer of opportunity. Now was manifestation time. I checked for one of such colleagues, John (not real name) of Electrical Engineering department. With a sunken face, he told me he had been posted to Kebbi State. My heart somersaulted. My last and only hope for a legitimate preferential posting had been dashed. I became all the more apprehensive for the list. All my theology about trusting God was being stretched to the limit but it did not fail. Gbese, a colleague, and I had each other for company as the countdown to zero approached. Gbese suggested we dashed to Jaja Hall, a hall of residence in my University, and took a drink so that the time could pass quickly and I agreed. It seemed to be a wise choice given the suspense; if we could not eat after knowing the states we had been posted to at least there would be some food in our stomachs. We gulped down the innocent drinks and decided to wait an extra five minutes during which we encouraged each other and remembered God’s promises to His children. Now full of faith we jugged back to the board; on my way someone told me that I was posted to Kwara state. I refused to hear. I checked and saw Kwara. Gbese checked and saw Gombe. While I was indifferent, perhaps due to shock, about the state, my friend despaired for how his parents would receive the news. Gombe is up north in Nigeria. Some colleagues of mine were unfazed by the whole posting affair. Theirs was a Friday like any other – without anxiety or tension. They had ‘applied’ for preferential posting; a euphemism for posting affected by bribery and/or nepotism, and were prophets to themselves. Hence, they had a fore knowledge. Knowing my fate, I could now enjoy the dramatic displays of other colleagues. Some screamed, others cried and some others had confusion signed on the faces. Altogether, after the ‘pastings’, smiles ceased from faces while for others their tense faces gave way to smiles of relief. Mine was a straight face. The drama was palliative to me. We were in it together. I can clearly remember one girl.
"Calabar! It's Calabar!" She shouted as she hugged her friend.
             "Lucky you" Her friend hugged back.
I began to wonder on the true meaning of lucky and the human definition of good. My mind quickly recalled a bible study I had attended in school. The preacher had taught, and rightly so, that good was an attribute of God and that only things from God were good. It therefore meant that irrespective of where one was posted to, Northern Nigeria inclusive, if God sent one there it was good. This truth was hard to chew for me as I kept on telling my friends who were posted to the more developed western states of Lagos, Ogun and Oyo that they were lucky. What a soul I had!
Day fought night away by thoughts
And hearts skipped in benign tension
Many a one rolled from side to side
Be-deviled by suppositions; what if?
Even the strong saw their weakness
And the brave lost their swagger
I, lost in ether, fared no better
As white paper lined dusty board
Tears and smiles caressed faces; one or the other
With strained necks corper sought to know where
Alas it's the call-up list
That nightmare that follows its dreamer to reality
But wist not my soul its salvation
For all things are good for those who love God
Joy and sorrow shared, individuality resumed
It was every man for himself
With a slouched gait and a blank heart I strolled home
Kwara beckoned!