nysc

Creative Essays, Diaspora Diary., Essays, Writers

Diaspora Diary: Three Words To Sum Up Life.

/

  We are in a strange time. A period when a tiny microbe is changing our way of life. We are now left with books, tv, music, the internet and memories. I have a memorable story to share. You know that type of incident that sticks with you for a lifetime. My dream to relocate abroad looked to have come true when I met a young man from my town named Chuks. We met at a friend’s wedding reception during the Christmas celebration. He was visiting from London and I could tell by his dress and accent. We had a couple of dates and attended some other social functions together. We had a lot in common and started seeing each other more and more. We shared jokes, fun times and stories from our life experiences and we both had ambitions to become academics abroad. While he was already doing his master’s while I had plans with my mum to apply once I finish my national youth service. When he wanted to return to his base he asked me to accompany him to Lagos. That was when he surprised me and proposed the night before he boarded a flight back to London. I was already in love or so I believed and accepted on the condition that I will join him in London. Initially, he started giving excuses that the visa process will take a long time. But I shocked him by revealing that I had dual citizenship and needed no visa to migrate to the UK, all I needed to do was renew my passport. I first became suspicious when he started acting funny after I asked for some money to make up my flight ticket. He promised to give me some money but came up with one excuse after the other. I finally told him to forget about the money when my mum made up the balance. I told him I will be coming over during the summer after passing out from NYSC. He was happy— or so I believed —  and promised to refund the money when I come. When I arrived in London that summer I discovered that he was living with a friend instead of in his own flat as he said. Again I shook off my suspicion that something was not adding up. He lied that his flat was undergoing renovation and even arranged a visit to a property his friend was renovating. I was appeased and I became hopeful that we will move back in after some weeks. Weeks turned to months and he came up with a story about an expected insurance payment that was delayed. After some time he asked me to get a loan from my mum which will be repaid once the insurance firm pays in 3 months. I hesitated but I later agreed. After all, it is ‘our house’ and my mum will happily lend it to his future son-in-law. After discussing it with my mum, she raised about four thousand pounds for him. After several months during which he sometimes travelled for ‘school excursion’ and stayed out for days, I summoned the courage to ask him about ‘our flat’. It turned out to be another fairy tale about the complications of the insurance process and all that. By this time I was already pregnant. I informed him about it and he pretended to be excited only to leave the next day without returning for three nights. I couldn’t reach him, I was horrified and confused. To make matters worse on the second day after he left I woke up to discover that his flatmate was also gone. Was this a bad dream? This can’t be happening. It gradually started dawning on me that I could have been used. Pieces of events and stories started flashing back at my mind. Is it over? Could my dream have crumbled so in just a few weeks? Luckily I already had a care job through an old friend in a church rectory. So I was busy and was earning a little but that wasn’t the plan. All subsequent attempts to reach Chuks yielded nothing. Even his friends who I know had no idea of his whereabouts. I was almost devastated. Almost but not completely. Determined to have the baby, I told my mum the whole story. She prayed for me. One of the longest prayers in my life. She then advised me to go into self-isolation for the duration of the pregnancy so that I can focus on safe delivery. I did. I deleted all my social media profiles and maintained contact with only my family and a few close friends. I wasn’t much of a religious person but I started praying more and more. God knows I needed it then. The parish priest was wonderful. He asked me to move into the guest room at the rectory at no cost. His wife always brought hot food during the winter and sometimes she stayed back to help me with cleaning. I had Chioma in June. She weighed almost 4kg but I delivered her like a Hebrew woman. I didn’t even bother to search for her father because that will spoil the joy she brought. When I got a better job with a telecoms company I moved outside London. Today, I am married to a pastor and we are now a family of five. I am also an evangelist with two books to my name. When my mum visited last month we discussed my journey.  She asked if I ever heard from my dubious suitor and I told her that I have never bothered. When she asked why, my reply was, “I have forgiven and forgotten”. She then asked how I was able to move past all the trauma. I looked at her for a long while and then slowly replied. “Mummy, it was my daughter. She brought back life into my being with her cries and smiles. Through two years while living alone

Blog, Essays, Writers

A Trip To Forever

/

  Today is our third wedding anniversary. I looked at Pam, my adorable husband, and I couldn’t help but chuckle when I recounted how we met; how Pam and his five friends made the three-week orientation camp before the mandatory one-year National Youth Service (NYSC) scheme a blissful experience for me. A moment laden with love, trust, understanding, and care passed as he smiled at me. I relaxed as a collage of scenes from the bus trip that happened 5 years earlier reeled through my mind. The 10-seater jalopy bus came to a halt abruptly and I just couldn’t wait to jump out of the bus. It was obvious that I was not the only person eager to see the exhausting trip come to an end. The door was barely opened before we all scampered to leave the stuffy bus—no thanks to the infamous Katsina heat. Our haste was partly because the trip was not a pleasant one, we were all fagged out, and it was our first time stepping our tired feet in Katsina State. I took in sight of the place where I would be spending the next three weeks, and probably eleven months if I did not seek to be relocated out of the state. The next three weeks would greatly influence that decision. I had no idea what was waiting for me, but I know fun should top the list based on stories I have heard from my friend that had attended the three-week orientation camp. “So you are a corps member, too?” The chubby one who looked overfed and kept chattering in the bus as if he was a talking machine asked with eyes as wide as a saucer. He was visibly shocked to discover that I was a prospective corps member like him and his friends and schoolmates who had made life miserable for me during the supposed 6-hours trip which turned out to be 9 hours for several unpleasant reasons. “Of course, I am” I replied with a smile plastered on my tired face. “See how you just kept quiet during the trip and we all thought you had not even gone to school, and now we know that you are a graduate too” The one with the clean-shaven pate shot at me. “What would you have done differently?” I shot back, clearly enjoying the moment. “We would have regarded you as one and not treat you like an unschooled person like we did back in the bus?” He chided looking remorseful. “Okay, our apologies for the fight,” the light-complexioned one whose face was way lighter than his knuckles chipped in. “Well, the trip is over now and we can now face what is before us,” I told them. “I told you to leave her alone, but you guys won’t listen to me,” the strikingly handsome one who stood on 6-feet plus with a very nice haircut and sideburns said with a heart-melting smile spread on his face. Of course, he had tried several times to defend me during the trip. It was a journey filled with adventures right from the park of Plateau Riders where we—young men and women eager to serve the nation— all boarded the vehicle to Katsina State. Expectedly, eight out of the ten passengers were prospective corps members. Except for the two other passengers who sat in front, oblivious of the drama that happened in the bus or they didn’t just care. We were all expected to book for the trip a day before to allow the management to plan based on the number of those that had booked. I had booked too, but was late to the park, and so, I missed the first bus which got filled up before the usual time because NYSC camps across the country were opened that day. There was an unusual flurry at the park that morning. The park was not used to having two buses for long-distant trips; there was no other bus available when the first one was filled up. The management had to source for a miserable-looking jalopy to embark on the second trip. I knew we were in trouble as soon as I set my eyes on the bus, but I consoled myself with the Nigerian parlance, “Don’t mind the body, but mind the engine”. The engine turned out to be worse than the body when we set out for the 6-hour trip. It ended up being a 9-hour trip because of the incessant stop-and-fix-the car we had on the way. The stopping started barely 30 minutes into the journey and it continued until we reached our destination. The first incidence was when we were told to step out of the bus for few minutes so that some of our luggage would be placed under the seats since we all came with lots of bags, ready for the three-week stay. I was the first in the bus and chose a place close to the window since I usually have motion sickness on long trips and needed the breeze from the window to help in alleviating my fear. I docilely stepped out and came back to sit down when we were told to do so but found the dark-knuckled guy on my seat. “Please, this is my seat,” I said as calmly as I could. He ignored me as if I was invisible. I repeated my plea trying hard to keep a tight rein on my temper that was already threatening to explode. He looked at me slowly from my feet to my head and back again and in a condescending voice said, “You better go and get another seat because I am not leaving this seat, and nobody will make me to.” Just then, my younger brother who had come to the park with me came by the window and told the guy to leave the seat or else have him to deal with. His five friends waded in and tried to intimidate my brother and

Blog, Creative Essays

The Faint by Roselyn Sho-Olajide.

/

My bag was so heavy that I kept on dragging it. I didn’t have the strength to carry it because I was famished and didn’t taste even a morsel before leaving home as early as 8 am to catch up with the bus at Plateau Riders.  I didn’t make the first bus and ended up with an old jalopy that stopped several times on the road and turned the five-hour journey into 9 hours. The beautiful and structurally sound building in the Katsina state camp did not lighten my mood. I used the last ounce of strength in me to pull the big bag that contained all I thought I would need for the three weeks I would spend in camp. The annoying thing was that the four guys we met at the car park and traveled together with only had bag packs, which they strapped to their backs, and nothing else. The guys contributed to my fatigue with their boisterous chatter from Jos to Katsina. They did not know that I was a corps member too, since I didn’t utter a word apart from the phone calls I made in the car. They were lost for words when NCCF came for corps members and they discovered I was one of them. They would later be my friends at the camp. They made camp real fun for me. Just then, I sighted a woman dressed in army khaki. To say I was relieved would be an understatement. I rushed to her and said, “good evening ma, I am here for the NYSC orientation camp.” She squinted and looked at me as though horns just sprouted on my head “Oh I see,” then cackled and continued, “You think you are the first graduate to serve abi? Well done madam youth corper. Will you get out of my sight!” Her words cut, and I winced a little. I was demoralized and felt like going back towards the gate and out of the camp, back to Jos. As if on cue, my course mate whom we were to travel together came into the scene. My heart found its regular beat again. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw her. She walked up to me and took me to her room after the usual banter. Rachael and I were course mates in school, but we weren’t friends while in school since my only friends back then were my twin sister and my books. We had agreed to travel together when we discovered the two of us were posted to Katsina state to serve. She was at the car park earlier than me, and was fortunate to get the first bus and had a smooth ride. She was in camp earlier and had rested before I got there. The trip was longer than planned and since I had to keep updating my family about the trip, my phone battery had gone off and that accounted for why I couldn’t call her in the first place. Rachael took me to her room, and we were lucky there was one-bed space left on the top bunk of a Lagos girl. I happily took the space just to be close to Rachael if not, I would be alone with no familiar face around. I kept my heavy bag, and we bolted for the hall so that I can be registered. When we got there, I was thirsty and famished. I decided to get a bottle of Fayrouz so that I can have enough strength to follow the long queue. I rushed to the makeshift stalls (mami market) to buy my chilled Fayrouz. The taste was heavenly with the heat, hunger, and thirst. The Fayrouz tasted better than Christmas rice and chicken. One man came in, saw how I was savoring the Fayrouz and he was like, “Sister, you must be exhausted, this one that you are drinking the thing like that.” I said, “Yes sir (I almost said baba), I traveled all the way from Jos and the trip was not a funny one.” “Me, I am from Kogi and our place is farther than yours, but thank God one is here to start the camp,” he said. Did I hear ‘start camp?’ I looked at him, and then did a double-take. The man had gray hairs popping out his nostril and he was there not as a staff as I initially thought,  but as a corps member. It amazed me that “baba” who was not up to 30 years  looked quite old. I went back, finished my registration, and went to the hostel. I was too tired to eat and so, I went to bed with just the  Fayrouz as dinner. I lay down to sleep and that was when reality dawned on me. It’s real that I would spend the next three weeks without my twin sister. That was the first time we were ever separated. We attended the same primary, secondary, and polytechnic together.  We were course mates and did everything together. The sad truth was I depended on her for everything; I was like a parasite while she was the host. Even decisions that I should make, I depended on her to make for me. We were told we won’t make the Batch A mobilization list, it was painful, but we moved on with our lives and completely relegated the issue of NYSC to the background. Only for me to receive a call on a Thursday that our names were on the list and to make matter worse, I was posted to Katsina, while my twin sister was posted to Taraba. The person who did the posting deliberately decided to separate us. I almost had a panic attack. We were awoken the next day at 5:30 am. For some of us who came in late the previous day and we were yet to get our khaki and crested vest, we were allowed to do so before joining the morning activities. I

Join our essay competition.

This will close in 13 seconds

Solverwp- WordPress Theme and Plugin

Scroll to Top