VISA TO THE HINTHERLAND

Finally the last day of camp had arrived. All my thoughts reduced to where I’d be further sent to – afterall coming to Kwara State, in the first place, was being sent. Had I known where I would be posted too, I’d have slept a little longer and enjoyed some more rest and comfort while I had the chance to. Most corps members began that fateful Tuesday by 3am in the morning. My roommates and I were no different. We had our baths defying the cold, packed our mattresses to a designated mattress collection point and soon dragged our luggage to the NCCF chapel  for safe keeping. Straightaway, Patrick, Segun and I headed for the parade grounds. As we drew closer, corps members, outfitted in the ceremonial green khakis, dotted the landscape – although, by now, it was just about 5:30 am. Some were in and around the mammy market transacting others discussing. It was, afterall, the last day of business and the mammy marketers wanted to milk their cows dry for the umpteenth-plus-oneth time. We passed on to the parade grounds and found seats for ourselves. Around us, corps members sat in groups while others slept. I remember a guy – sitting on a white plastic chair with legs stretched out in front of him and head hanging precariously over his chair, he slept with his cap covering his face. His luggage, beside him, ‘watched’ over him patiently.

“What a suffering.” I thought.

[I have often wondered about the rationale behind NYSC. When the heat gets high, I sometimes wish the scheme wasn’t in place. “Afterall” I think “NYSC was meant to integrate Nigeria after the civil war. Hasn’t it achieved its purpose?”  But then, if you think same, remember that “without NYSC you won’t be reading this piece and neither would I have written it.”]

We discussed at length about many issues one of which was a bible character called Melchizedek. He is a character whose origin so little is written about and it occurred to me that our posting was just as mysterious.

Many small events occurred of which my memory has failed to remember but by 10 am the “Passing out of camp” parade began with a representative of the governor in attendance. The parade was so excellent that I almost forgot what was nibbling at my mind – “Where would I do my Primary Assignment – a village or a city?”. Those on parade marched so well that severally I saw my hands clapping for them before I willed them to do so. We had heard, days before, that those on parade would be posted to Ilorin – the Kwara State Capital – for primary assignment. Of course, to me, joining the parade was a worthy price to pay for such preferential treatment. Those guys worked. They had forbore the sun while we “Otondos” – a military term for those who cannot march – lazied about.

The parade ended as quickly as it started, dignitaries dispersed, and after a speech or two, the moment of truth arrived.

“Those with state code numbers 0001 to 0100 should come to the pavilion” came the announcement from the P.A system.

Some corps members, obviously those whose numbers fell within that range, ran in that direction.

“Those with state code numbers 0101 to 0200 should move to the left of the parade ground”

“0201 to 0300 move to the right of the parade ground!”

“0301 to 0400 move to the centre of the parade ground- …!”

“0601 to 0700 move to the rear of the parade ground!” Immediately Patrick and I ran behind the NYSC official who bore the posting letters for those of us in that number range.

As we ran, I looked around me.  I saw some ladies jumping and screaming for joy:

“It’s Ilorin – Ilorin!” One of them kept shouting. Some others looked sombre and I was sure of the cause – posting to a rural area.

Something interesting had happened moments before. After the parade, the podium upon which the Governor stood had to be returned to the office and nobody wanted to do that dirty and hard job. Most were interested in simply collecting their posting letters to see where fate would throw them to. I volunteered – alongside 5 other guys - and indeed it was heavy. While we lifted the podium, one of us said “as we dey carry this thing make e be se na Ilorin dem go carry us go o” to which some others replied “abi o.”

[I have come to discover that at moments of truth, we tend to hang on to any ray of hope available; much like a drowning man who desperately clutches twigs thinking that they can save.]

“0604!” Came the voice from the centre of the small crowd and Patrick stretched out his hand collecting his posting letter. I stood behind him looking for his posting details.

“0605!”

“Sir! Am here!” I replied as I collected my posting letter reading it immediately.

KANTURU SECONDARY COMMERCIAL SCHOOL (not real name)

KANTURU-JAMA COMMUNITY

IREPODUN LOCAL GOVERNMENT AREA

KWARA STATE

I felt cold then hot.

Although I didn’t even know where KANTURU community was, I felt sure it wasn’t in the city. Things couldn’t be worse – Could they?

“Patrick how far?” I remembered to ask Patrick.

“It’s Ilorin O!” He said quietly.

We walked to the NCCF chapel to get our luggage for onward movement to our location. As we walked, mostly in silence, I observed many buses from the various LGA’s waiting for their booty of corps members. And, seriously, I remember that the remote and underdeveloped local governments had larger and more buses waiting.

“So these village places are expecting more people abi?” I said to no one in particular.

I met a friend and roommate who was a part of those who were on parade moments ago – Llyod.

“Llyod where dem post you go?” I asked.

“Oboy! Na Ifelodun O!”

“What! Even you on parade?”

And so it was that those who had joined the parade with a hope of getting a preferential posting were summarily disappointed. Suffering in vain you’d say.

I got my luggage and found a bus marked with the local government to which I was posted to. To be sure, I handed my posting letter to a senior corps member inside the bus.

Placing his hands on his head and mouth opened. “Kanturu? It’s remote O!”

My hart skipped several beats.

THE STORY CONTINUES AND GETS MORE INTERESTING – WATCH OUT!!

 **********************

HOPE  (A POEM)

That the creation

Would be set free from decay

Into the glorious freedom

Prepared before the world’s foundation

In this lies my hope

**********************

Dear Reader,

If you liked what you read, do others a favour by sharing it too – there’s a share button beneath this page. Also, your comments and questions are welcome. Besides, if you are a corps member and you have a fascinating true life experience to share about your service year, email me ukmantle@gmail.com.  Have a smashing week!

CLICK ME

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NEXT EPISODE

FRIDAY, 28^TH JUNE 2013

ONE HEAD TWO FACES

******

Dear diary,

It’s about two days to go before camp is closed for this batch and I’m missing it already. I’ll miss the parade drills, my platoon mates, my roommates and even the harsh sunlight. But I can’t believe I’m missing the very things I wished away just two weeks back. Maybe my memory is playing tricks on me. No. Yes. My memory is indeed playing some trick here.

******

Anyways, why two faces on one head?

We were all in the room absorbing heat and emitting sweat. It was around 1pm. Patrick sat on the top rung of my bunk swinging his legs – I lay below. “My Ladies” – the nickname of a flatmate named Kola – stood at the door. Llyod sat up on his bed and Segun lay half aware of himself – distracted by his blackberry.

“But I’ll miss camp O!” Patrick said

“Really? You? I’m surprised.” Segun added looking away from his phone towards Patrick.

Laughing. “Shey I told you people. Everyone eventually misses camp.” Llyod added.

“Not me. Missing camp ke? Can’t wait to leave here.” Segun replied.

“Hey hey hey my Ladiesssss”. Kola said starting with his regular refrain.

Sighs. “You’ve started again. Young man go to your room!” Llyod said.

“Ok – like seriously - I’ll miss camp too. Llyod! I’ll miss even you.” Kola said.

“Good people! Camp has been fun you know.” Smart added.

 “Na posting be the next thing.” Llyod said.

“Abi O! Who knows, camp might be better than your PPA.” I added.

“By this time next tomorrow we’ll all know where we’ll be going too.” Patrick said.

We ranted on and on. Two things were clear: we would miss the camp and we waited for our postings in anticipation.

I think most human beings have two faces on one head – facing opposite directions. One face always looks into the past – “memory face” – and the other into the future – “speculative face”. The memory face looks like all the experiences a person has had combined together. For some, their memory face looks all fresh and smooth for many others, their memory face if full of freckles and wrinkles. While the “memory face” tells about all the experiences people have undergone, the “speculative face” looks like the dreams and aspirations of its owner. The speculative face is ever smooth – because every living being has some good hope. Some say, “When there is life, there is hope”. So – I believe – the often rugged “memory face” tries to compete with the “speculative face” by hiding its bad memories in a bid to look as good. Herein lies the problem. (I know you understand what I’m saying because you are very smart).

-I remember reading an article in which an old white man recalled an almond tree in the backyard of his country home when he was just a teenager. He longed deeply for them commenting that “they were the best tasting almonds ever”. The editor’s reply was insightful: “dear old sir, I’d advice for you to enjoy those almonds in your memory for the real almonds would never taste as good”. I think memory makes our past experiences feel better than they really were.  What is your view?-

Most Corps members fell for memory’s trick.

Later in the evening, I went to buy some items at the mammy market and I looked around as usual.

“Ehen! Babe give me your number – before them post you go Baruten.” A guy said said to a lady.

“God forbid! Baruten of all places – I’ll be posted Ilorin?” She said as she took his phone. (Baruten is a very remote local government in Kwara state.)

I overtook the love birds and strode on.

“Hello! Please help …” A lady said to me as she handed me her phone.

She and three other friends posed near a tree for a photo shot.

“Smile a little – Okay – better – Ok.”

Click.

I handed them the phone and moved on. See O! Even that dry tree is now a celebrity because everyone is missing camp.

 

But I pitied some people more. Those who had formed emotional relationships with members of the opposite sex. “What if these people are posted to different places – how would they cope?” I wondered. (By the way, am on a research topic which says; “How I Met My Corper Hubby” – watch out). I was amazed that in the short space of three weeks people could get so close. No wonder Solomon said, “there be three things which are too wonderful for me, yea, four which I know not: the way of an eagle in the air; the way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea and the way of a man with a maid”. If Solomon didn’t understand it who am I to?

POEM

Memory, thou deceitful bangle

Adorning my legs

Preventing me from looking forward

Hear the voice that says:

Remember not the former things …

For I will do a new thing

CLICK ME

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DEAR Reader,

Friday and Monday’s episodes were not available because my village’s transformer packed up and so my electronic gizmos couldn’t work. (Unreserved apologies). Let’s keep praying for our dear nation. Be an agent of change wherever you are; no change is too small –ask a student who scored 69% if you doubt me! Feel free to make comments and share too – both buttons are beneath the page!

Next Episode:

Monday: 24^th June 2013.

NYSC 101: GUIDE FOR PROSPECTIVE CORPS MEMBERS

DEAR Prospective Corps Member,
This write-up will explain to you the basic info you need as you set out for camp. Congratulations for being called up to serve your fatherland. The NYSC year starts with a 3 weeks orientation course which is compulsory.

1.0 DOCUMENTATION
You should travel to camp with the following documents:
1] Original Call-up letter
2] Letter of Identification/I.D Card from tertiary Institution
3] Original Statement of Result/Certificate
4] 5 – Photocopies of the above (1) – (3)
5] 10 – 15 Passport Photographs

2.0 TRAVEL
Useful travel tips include, but are not limited to, the understated:
1] Pack as light as possible – to ease your mobility.
2] Set out for camp as early as possible – in most cases, the earlier you arrive, the better the accommodation (indeed most services) you receive.
3] Travel in company of other corps members – for security and collective bargaining power.
4] Check the vehicle you enter for mechanical safety (tires, brakes, etc) - be bold to ask the driver. Arrive alive!
5] Travel with sufficient cash on you – an ATM may be hard to find on the way.

3.0 DOMESTIC ESSENTIALS
The underlisted items are recommended for camp. However, personal discretion is advised.
[1] Flashlight [2] Rubber Slippers [3] Malaria drugs/Pain killers [4] Mosquito Net [5] Food flask
[6] Bucket [7] 1-2 Padlocks [8] Beverages [9] Soaps and Detergents [10] 1-4 Pairs of white shirts, socks and white tennis shoes [11] Bedsheet/blanket

4.0 RIGHTS AND OBLIGATIONS
1] Follow all camp rules.
2] Be punctual for all camp events.
3] Wear appropriate camp gear at all times.
-------------------------------------------------
1] No staff has a right to mete out corporal punishment to you.
2] Firmly but politely voice out on activities you cannot undertake – your health is important
3] If you have any medical condition that is Life threatening, obtain a doctor’s report, from a government hospital, and present it at the camp.

5.0 RELIGIONS ACTIVITIES
The Nigeria Christian Corpers Fellowship(NCCF), Muslim Corpers Association of Nigeria (MCAN) and the Nigeria Association of Catholic Corpers (NACC) are three religious bodies approved on most camps. While on camp, feel free to join any of them as you please.

If you're interested in reading about the camp experiences of other corps members visit: www.acorpersdiary.blogspot.com

Post any questions you have in the comment section beneath this page.Watch out For NYSC 102...

OTHER LINKS
www.4stepstogod.com
www.powertochange.com
www.everystudent.com

Camp Fire Night Blows

As I stepped out of my flat, the sight of the great fire burning brightly in the far distance caught my view. My eyes stayed open and I didn’t blink for many seconds – neither did I move.

“What! A fire?” I thought.

Soon enough however, I figured out what it was and sighed. Manoeuvring my way towards the parade ground in the darkness, I could smell dust everywhere. People ran past me in many directions – some holding spoons and food warmers.

“Sandra! Sandra! Keep a seat for me.” A lady shouted behind me, probably to a friend who was running already. I felt my leg grow tight and, next I knew, I was jogging too. I arrived at the parade ground and swept my gaze quickly round about looking for a free chair.
My eyes stopped at one and I walked briskly towards it. As I made to sit, I heard:

“There’s someone there.”

I straightened myself and spotted another plastic chair not too far away from where I was. Just as I took my first step towards it, the MC said:

“The National Anthem after the count of two. One, two, go.”

With soldiers round about, I was forced to stand at attention as everyone else – but me – sang the national anthem. Just as the last word was sung, a lady tiptoed and stood in front of the chair.
Opportunity wasted.

I rubbed my lower back muscles with my right fist and pulled my toes in cracking them inside my canvas.

“Every platoon, starting from platoon one, will dance round the fire”, came the voice from the PA system.
“This is my chance.” I thought.

I watched briefly as corps members began dancing round the fire, in wild ecstasy, to the Man O’ War songs:

“Dem go give us stone O!”   [Why yo yo!]
“Dem go call am bread O!” [Why yo yo!]
“Dem go give us water!”      [Why yo yo!]
“Dem go call am tea O!”      [Why yo yo!]
“Why O! Why O! Why O!     [Why yo yo!]
“Why O! Why O! Why O!     [Why yo yo!]

I didn’t notice the flight of time and soon I remembered I was looking for a free chair. As I scanned some more, I noticed large food warmers in front of my platoon. Instinctively, I walked back to my platoon to meet a greater need – hunger. After volunteering my services cooking for my platoon earlier in the day, I was famished. I forgot about the chair and hoped food would be served soon so that I could get my share and run away from the noise – to my room.

“All platoons should keep their delicacies in front as the state co-ordinator will be going round tasting them.” The MC announced.

The cooking competition was next on the agenda and the state co-ordinator – with a small group of inspectors – gracefully went round every platoon taking time to taste the meals. People were still dancing and walking everywhere. If I had quietly gone back to my room at this time I would have been spared from what was to follow.
The tastings were soon over and it was time to share food to every member of my platoon. I had paid the voluntary fee of 500 Naira so I was well entitled to the platoon’s three course dinner of Pepper soup, Jollof rice and fruit juice. Besides, I knew the food servers personally; since we worked together in the kitchen. I also knew there was enough food to go round. At least forty five thousand naira worth of donations had been realized asides the contribution funds. My platoon was indeed the envy of all eyes. I heard my stomach churn and my mouth felt wet.

“Those with food flasks should come out for food.” A lady shouted from the front of our platoon.
“Didn’t they say there was going to be take away packs for everyone?” I thought.
“Shey person bin don donate food pack for us – which one be dis?” A guy beside me said.

Most ladies stepped out and collected food. I wondered if it was planned. How it was that only ladies brought food flasks I never can tell.
“Someone is bringing the take away packs – it’s with the platoon leader.” The same lady, shouting, said.

While I waited, I saw a free seat – but as I sat on it, I heard it crack and I stood up just in time to avoid a fall. My body tightened up and I decided that I’d stand for the rest of the night and kill time by watching those still going round the fire.
“And the second position in the cooking competition goes to platoon five.” The MC announced.
Cheers.
Everyone in my platoon cheered, we had a better reason to expect the food.
Suddenly, I saw food packs flying in the air in all directions and guys rushed forward scrambling for them. Some jumped up to catch them while others combed the ground for the fallen ones. Some ladies screamed while I heard the sound of pushing and shoving. In the twinkle of an eye, the food packs finished and those who were fortunate enough to get them were immediately served food. This was just the beginning.
Fifteen minutes after, a friend of mine handed me a food pack and I quickly joined the serving queue. When I was about 5 persons away from the serving point I heard:

“Meat has finished O! Only rice is left.”
“Meat? Finished? As big as our cow was? What?” I kept thinking – aloud sometimes.
“Uk, anything would do” I told myself still standing on the queue.
As  I stood there, some guys came from behind and started shouting. The louder they shouted, the angrier they got. Before I could say “Jack Robinson” they shoved the servers aside and took the whole cooler of rice. As they made to leave with the food, some ladies were just bringing the pepper soup from the kitchen. The same guys hijacked the entire pepper soup and took it with them in Gestapo style.

“Guys make una wait.” The platoon leader ordered.
Boom Ba Boom.

I thought blows landed on the platoon leader – later on, I confirmed they actually did because he spent some time in the camp clinic.
A friend, the one who gave me a food pack, told me that the ladies already shared the food amongst themselves in the kitchen and that some sharp guys had joined them too. He confessed that he had eaten and that in fact he was full – he merely came to watch.
“What they are sharing here is just the remainder.”
“Really?” I asked him.
“Yea! In fact some guys brought meat and plenty pepper soup to my room. We locked our room and and ate and ate. Oboi food don tire me sef.”
I clutched my white rubber spoon and the food pack more tightly – exercising faith.

I think corruption has finally spread to the youth of this nation. Substitute food for money – in my story – and you can safely say that if most youths get into political office they’d consume our monies with impunity. Besides, what is it with ladies and food in parties and celebrations? I am of the opinion that from now henceforth, when it comes to cooking for a group, only guys should do the cooking – you better take my advice. Also, our oyinbo engineers should quickly manufacture a food detector so that ladies’ hand bags and stomachs can be searched for food embezzlement – what do you think? 

GLUTTONY (UKEMEOBONG OWOH)
They once ate an elephant whole
And forgot their fingers in their stomachs
With what –then – will they handle the bolus?

Click me:
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CAMP-FIRE NIGHT 1

Had I known that this day would be like this, I would have treaded a little differently.

I had entered my room tired and I sank into my bed at once. The old bunk kept shaking peke peke as I turned from side to side. With my right hand, I searched under my bed sheet for my scruffy phone – I hid it there earlier. I had been pinged while I was away:

14:07 Mercy

Hi der!                                                                                                                                                 

15:32 Me

Hello, was away

15:34 Mercy

nd u left ur fone

15:36 Mercy

U der?

15:37 Me

Am here. Sorry

15:37 Me

Had to leave my fone.

Was in the kitchen.

Platoon things

15:39 Mercy

On camp? What exactly is happening  there?

15: 40 Me

Well today’s what they call camp- fire night

nd so, each platoon’s gotta cook

15:41 Mercy

And u cook too? Lol

Mr Cook

15:42 Me

If I catch you ehn.

Well I volunteered. Am so tired REALLY

15:50 Mercy

Sorry. Stepped out. Big bros is back. Ttyl

15:52 Me

Run along. Gotta catch some rest too.

 More stress awaits….

15:52 Mercy

kk

I dropped the phone and lay still looking upwards. The patterns on Patrick’s mattress caught my attention. What a day!

We had gathered at the parade ground by 5am for morning devotion. We sang some slow songs and just when we began clapping to faster songs, the bugle sounded. Everything fell silent and we all stood at attention; hands by our side. The bugle is a trumpet-like musical instrument used for the reveille or to summon people to attention on a camp or barrack. Devotion ended abruptly for the umpteenth time. The Nigerian flag was hoisted up slowly as the bugle’s tune sounded. It waved proudly in the morning breeze.

“Nigeria don wake sha!” A guy said behind me as the bugle stopped sounding.

“Abi O!” I responded.

“In go soon sleep again.” By this, he was referring to the lowering of the Nigerian flag at the sound of the bugle every 6pm. It was a patriotic ritual – the daily hoisting and lowering of the flag.

The camp director’s speech came next. Tired of standing, I squatted with three fingers on the dusty earth to support myself. I could see his black trousers clearly as he stood in the quadrangle formed by the platoon arrangements holding a megaphone.

“Good morning gentlemen corps members.”

“Good morning Sir!” We replied.

“For those of you who still have the camp schedule, you know that today is the much anticipated camp-fire night.”

“Yaaay! Yaaay!” We cheered rapturously.

“Listen. Listen!”

Silence.

“Before you shout – listen. There will be no food from the kitchen this afternoon and evening. Every platoon is expected to prepare its food. I believe you all have been preparing for today and have been cooperating with your various platoon leaders.”

“No Sir.” Someone shouted.

“Who is that?” The director shouted.

Soldiers immediately percolated through the platoon from which the shout came – searching for the offender. Such misdemeanours were common and were visited with punishment by soldiers.

“Some of you are manner less and yet you walk around claiming to be graduates. Now listen. The camp-fire night will start by 6pm sharp and you all must be here by then …”

 The morning speeches ended with the usual announcements and we were dismissed. Our platoon leader called us for a brief meeting and the financial secretary had this to say:

“Corpers we o!”

“Wa o!”

“I called this meeting to intimate you on the latest happenings in our platoon as far as the camp-fire night is concerned. In addition to the donation of thirty thousand naira that was given by a member of this platoon two days ago, someone else has donated ten thousand naira.”

Cheers and Applause.

Fin sec raising his hands. “Wait. Wait. And someone else has just donated take away packs for our food this evening. So you don’t need to come out with food warmers.”

More cheers and applause.

“But we still need money. We want to get a big cow. Those of you who have not paid the voluntary 500 naira contribution should please see me now and pay up.”

After a little more talk, the meeting was over. The platoon head asked for those who’d volunteer to help cook the platoon’s food and I joined.

We volunteers met by 10am at the location of the cooking and we began work immediately. I remember holding a sieve as boiled and pounded palm kernel nuts were poured into it. The splashing oil stained my white socks and canvas with small orange dots. The oil was being extracted for preparing Banga soup. Other delicacies were being prepared simultaneously – the make-shift kitchen was a beehive of activity.

Other platoons were equally busy and some cows had arrived. Some platoons purchased live cows for cooking. I remember how the cow of platoon 1 looked. I overheard some corps members describing it:

“That platoon 1 cow look funny o!” One said.

“E be like se dem buy big goat carry cow head put on top.” Another said.

“Na child abuse.” Another added jesting.

The cow looked unfazed by their comments; perhaps grateful for the attention it was receiving. If only it understood English language!

My platoon’s cow arrived soon and we hired a Fulani nomad to kill it and prepare it into smaller chunks for cooking. I worked and worked transferring pieces of meat in large bowls from the slaughter area to the cooking area. By quarter to two O’ Clock, I was tired and hungry so I left the kitchen and headed for my room. Strolling down, I saw members of other platoons battling with cooking pots and spoons for supremacy. By my left and at the centre of the parade ground was what looked like a square hut made out of firewood. It was the wood preparation for the bon-fire. Large logs of wood had been arranged by the Man O’ War officials. If I remember right, the height of the woodwork was about 15 feet. I could see three or four tyres in between the wooden frame. This frame would later serve as a fuel for the fire once the event began. The camp was going to be painted red.

The sun strolled faithfully along its axis by the second and evening came quickly. By now, all foods had been ready and corps members were trooping in groups towards the parade ground.

The event was about to begin and the Man O’ War officials were about lighting the camp-fire. The events that followed happened fast and shocked me silly.

WATCH OUT FOR PART 2!

QUOTES BY ACHEBE

“People create stories create people; or rather stories create people create stories.”

“I tell my students, it’s not difficult to identify with somebody like yourself, somebody next door who looks like you. What’s more difficult is to identify with someone you don’t see, who’s very far away, who’s a different colour, who eats a different kind of food. When you begin to do that then literature is really performing its wonders.”

…..In his honour

-------------------------------------------------

Dear reader,

 I hope we're still together! The second part of this story will be published in the next edition. Stay tuned. Beneath this page is a share button – please hit it before leaving. Also, if you have a story or a poem and would love to share it here just send me an email (ukmantle@gmail.com) - you’d be adequately referenced. Have a smashing weekend.

NEXT EPISODE:

Date: Monday, 10th June 2013

OTHER LINKS

www.everystudent.com

www.4stepstogod.com

www.powertochange.com

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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