My NYSC Journey by Adeoye Deborah Adenike

There are two kinds of frustrating people: those who hear but never heed advice, and those who simply don’t understand. My mother, for the hundredth time, shouted from the kitchen, asking if I had packed everything I needed. I replied affirmatively, though she insisted I should put my stationery in my handbag, despite my plans to fill it with makeup. After all, I aimed to slay at the camp—who knew if my future billionaire husband would be there? I pretended to listen to avoid her nagging.

The long-awaited day arrived after many months. It was unexpected, as my friends and foes had gone to the NYSC orientation camp in April, leaving me feeling betrayed. I had almost given up on Batch A Stream Two until that Saturday. It thrilled me to learn that I was posted to the famous ‘Iṣe Yaa’ state, contiguous with Lagos where I lived. The absence of a language barrier was a relief; I just wanted NYSC to come and go. I detest adjusting to new places, a core component of NYSC.

Finally, the dreaded Thursday came. I packed my box and headed for Sagamu, where the state camp was located. As I approached the gate, fear gripped me, but I had no choice. A civil defence officer searched my box and commented on how parents shower their last-borns with love upon seeing my box full of junk food. Speaking entirely in Yoruba, she asked if I was Yoruba. I said no. She looked satisfied, perhaps thinking I was some Amaka from Imo State.

Immediately after, about five girls rushed to help with my box. The most aggressive one won, smiling and saying, “Aunty, make we go.” She muttered in Yoruba about how much to charge me. I stifled my laughter; if only she knew. After she dropped my bag at the girls’ hostel, she asked for ₦200. I gave it to her without bargaining. For making my first five minutes in camp enjoyable, she deserved it.

Drama began when the hostel mistress asked my age. This was not surprising; who wouldn’t be shocked to see a petite, 4’9” baby-faced girl ready to serve her fatherland? She also commented on my ample bosom. I was bored with the jokes; all I wanted were a shower and sleep. I was pleased to get a lower bunk, avoiding the trouble of climbing due to my height.

I belong to the disobedient group—those who hear but never heed. When I reached registration, I realized I had left my stationery in my box. My mom’s favorite adage flashed through my mind: “Ẹni ti a wí fún, Ọba jé ó gbọ́” (She who is advised, may God help her to listen). All I had in my handbag was my makeup kit. Amid regret, I heard some ladies mocking a girl who had forgotten all her documents at home in Enugu State. I thanked God for my nagging mother.

Camp began, and I ensured to do my makeup daily, even if it meant waking up early or skipping breakfast. My embarrassing moment came sooner than expected. One rainy afternoon, some of us stayed in the hostel instead of going to the auditorium. The soldiers chased us into the rain. I was soaked, and as I arrived late at the auditorium, several male corps members offered me seats. I thought my makeup had an effect, but it was because my thin white top, soaked, revealed my pink-flowered bra. I borrowed a jacket to cover myself and left in shame.

I made a few friends, and Mammy market became our hangout spot. I met a friend during a social night hosted by Platoon 3. One afternoon, he invited me to lunch. Eagerly, I joined him, but he paid only for his meal and left. Shocked, I had no money or pouch. I called my new best friend in camp, who came quickly with my pouch. It was a lesson learned; I was nearly disgraced in the only NYSC camp I would ever attend.

A fortunate part of my camp experience was having an aunt nearby who brought homemade amala every Sunday. It felt like secondary school visiting days again.

The final day in camp brought anxiety, with posting letters determining our fates. I had mixed feelings upon seeing Ewekoro Local Government in my letter. While my friends got Abeokuta, I got a place that sounded uninviting. However, I accepted my fate.

My aunt arranged transportation to my primary place of assignment, but I was told to return the next day. With no one else to rely on, I lodged in a hotel. The following day, after a long wait, the officer in charge smiled while signing my papers. I thought I was hired, but I was rejected. My dreams were crushed, and I was heartbroken.

I settled for a private school offering ₦7,000 monthly. My first day was unsettling due to the poor hygiene of the kids. Over time, I addressed them on personal hygiene. Thursdays, our outreach day, were highlights as we sensitized the host community on various issues. I enjoyed engaging in discussions about female education, domestic violence, and women’s rights.

Despite language barriers, I connected with the community. Their marital stories and advice helped me identify with their pain and happiness. NYSC helped me develop patience, a virtue I had lacked.

NYSC ended when the fun was at its peak, bonding us and creating lifelong friendships. The passing-out parade brought mixed feelings: sadness at leaving new friends, the end of the monthly allowance, and excitement about future opportunities.

Original Story by Adeoye Deborah Adenike is a graduate of the Department of English, University of Lagos. She loves colors, Yoruba traditions, and enjoys sleeping and reading stories. She also writes short stories.

CREDIT: This is an extract from Fortunate Traveller publication, Government Pikin: An Anthology of NYSC Travels Vol I edited by SA Sanusi and Sami Tunji.