MAMMY MARKET

"Madam, na Fifty Naira own I Want."
"Please ma I'm still waiting - my friend and I"
"Give me five now! I don dey - "
"Mummy look my face - abeg - time is going"

Everyone was scrambling and talking above the other - and on and on it went. A little crowd had gathered into a small circle and I couldn't see who was enclosed therein - receiving the shouts. Curiosity got the better part of me and I drew closer; it was an Akara seller. She sat, sweating, on a low stool with a long spoon in her left hand. With her right hand, she scooped the bean pudding from a large bucket and dropped it into the hot oil. I wondered for a while and walked off to my drycleaner's stall - with Patrick.

Still folding my dirty whites. "Oga! Have you packed your own - for the drycleaner?" I asked Patrick.
"Yes. Just put your own into the blue bag on my bed."
"Okay!"
"Be fast - time is going! He said standing at the door of our room.
Putting my clothes in the bag. "Just a minute."

We headed for the mammy market. It was on our way that I saw the Akara seller. The drycleaner's canopy was located in the clothing section of the mammy market. To the left was another dry-cleaning stand and surrounding us on all sides were tailors. The drycleaner received our clothes and labelled them then we left for the parade ground. This was luxury. For just one thousand naira, our clothes were washed daily throughout camp.

"Mr Otondo! Otondo!" Alhaja called out.
Patrick crossed the road to the photography section of the Mammy Market to meet her. She was our "customer" so all our personal pictures on camp were taken by her.

Waving my hands. "Welldone Madam!"
"Corper! Well done!"

Every platoon on camp had a designated photographer. Perhaps it was to prevent competition and share the enormous profit equitably amongst all photographers. Corps members snapped and snapped; greatly encouraged by the "once-in-a-life-timeness" of the NYSC Orientation Camp experience. Many sank into debt because of photographs. My flatmates, Henry and Taiwo (Not real names), fell into this quagmire. During the Man O' War Drills, they fell into the "Photographer's trap". The photographers kept on taking them pictures and they didn't have the good sense to stop them. Afterwards, they were being chased to collect their many pictures and they had to keep running from their platoon's photographer till camp was over. For those yet to serve, it is highly advisable that you budget photographs into your camp expenditure and stick to it - else, you may have to play hide and seek - which is not good. 
Patrick was soon over with Alhaja and we strode towards the Parade ground. It was time for the SAED lectures.

"What did you and Alhaja discuss?" I asked Patrick.
"She told me my pix was ready"
"Where is it?"
"It's still with her - I didn't carry money"
"The money with me is for Success; my phone is charging there."

We soon arrived at the stall where Patrick was charging his phone. He bent, dipped his hand into his socks and pulled out a semi-wet, obviously soaked with sweat, fifty Naira note and paid for and collected his phone. We usually stored our monies in our stockings since the NYSC white and white outfit didn't have any pockets. Success was the name of a Phone charging service provider (PCSP) on camp - a very popular one. PCSP's are essentially shops having power generators and very plenty of power outlets. They also occupied a section of the Mammy market. Every phone dropped was given a tag, for security and charged until the battery was full - for a price.

"Uk lets go - wait - let me get water."
"Okay."

While Patrick went to an adjacent shop, I observed some corps members, guys, drinking alcoholic beverages about three canopies away. I remember a story a flat mate told me about some guys who got drunk at the mammy market. Those guys kept drinking and got drunk and forgot the time - it was now past lights out (there is a lights out rule on camp). Soldiers had to come and chase them to their rooms and I heard that they used the opportunity to run off without paying the drink vendors. Wine mocked them and mocked its merchants too - wine betrays and destroys! Poor old Noah, the once blameless man, for a little drink, ended up naked and bequeathed a curse to his younger son. Some scholars say that that son is the Patriarch of the African race.

"Hi Bukky!" I called out.
Smiling back. "Uk! What's up?"
"How has It been?"
"It's been stressful sha - what of Patrick?"
"He went to get pure water." I pointed.

Patrick joined us and the three of us continued to the parade ground. Although we came to camp together, I didn't see Bukky so often on camp. Platoon arrangements and activities provided a white gulf between us.

"This market ehn- it's so expensive." She said
"Of course." I added
"Them wan use una head make money." Patrick joked.
"Am strictly on kitchen food now!" I said.
"Let's hurry and get good seats." Patrick said.

We endured the lectures, had lunch and siesta and evening came rapidly. Different songs, blaring from the speakers of the Mammy marketers filled my ears and the smoky suya fragrance wafted through the air. The Mammy market at night was the centre of attraction to most people. Some fellows even turned it into a dance floor and danced freely without restraint. For others, dinner as well as other essential commodities, was the agenda - I fell into this category. As I searched for my pure water customer, a scene occurred:

"You! Come here." A soldier shouted at a female corps member.
Wearing a puzzled look. "Yes Sir!" She replied.
"Is this proper camp gear?" He asked pointing to the slippers she was wearing.
"It evening sir. I just ch-"
"So what! Remove am. Drop it there."

So she pulled her slippers and dropped it by the table were some officers were seated - walking away bare feet. I hadn't even know that they were there - they had blended neatly with the evening darkness. Thank God I wore my white tennis shoes. I admired the level of discipline and commitment these officers demonstrated - even at night.
The bugle sounded lights out and I ran to my room - pure water in hand.

THE GREAT MARKET (UKEMEOBONG OWOH)
You're in a market place
A cryptic market square
The king of Tyre sells
His deeply darkened wares
But they appear as light
And fascinate our minds
And so we buy and sell
And sell away our life
We have a credit card
Supplied from God above
So whatever we buy
We'd surely have to pay
Don't waste your credit card
Don't wipe your credit dry
Don't buy from king of Tyre
But buy from Prince of Peace
Come buy His honey free
And get immortal gift

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NEXT EPISODE:
Date: Friday, 7th June 2013

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