It all started when I received my posting letter from the Imo state NYSC secretariat. The lady smiled as she passed me the file containing my Corp member particulars. The file contained several other particulars so I had to gradually sort them out to find the posting letter. I went through the file without finding anything with close resemblance to what I was looking for. Maybe, I was letting anxiety was getting to me. I had seen plotted this scene in my head several times: opening my posting letter to find out I had been posted to the very depths of hell. Not that I was being unnecessarily pessimistic but getting a posting of one's dreams in Imo state was like wishing for a UK visa. It almost never happened, and when it did, you can be sure that the 'lucky corper' either knew someone in camp that helped him manipulate the posting or paid in kind or cash to someone at the top. Well, for me I was never willing to part with cash nor did I know anyone that could help me. I had no alternative but to prepare for the worst while praying for the best.

I finally found the posting letter where it mischievous tucked it self in between other adjoining documents. I held it up as gently as I could like some freshly unearthed manuscript from the middle ages. I quickly perused through the paper to find the address of my place of primary assignment. What I found was as unfamiliar as it was disappointing. 'Divine Achievers secondary school, Ohouba'. Well, I was disappointed it wasn't around owerri, and at the same time wondering where the hell Ohoba was. The name sounded so unfamiliar that I would have mistakened it for some alien planet on any other day. Well, for now I had to find out if the name was remotely familiar to anyone of my numerous colleagues here.

As I had feared, the name sounded as unfamiliar as Leonardo Da vinci's experiments to them. One of them even remarked that perhaps the devil requested for corpers to help him prepare torture devices for his eternal audience so NYSC sent him just what he needed; graduate mechanical engineer. Lol. Next stop was the men seated at the entrance who I guessed would have at least heard the name once or twice since having lived in Imo state a long time. My guess was good as theirs; the name was unheard of. Infact one of them suggested it was indeed a typo since the name didn't even sound like Igbo. Maybe I pronounced it wrongly to them, but even if I did, anyone familiar with the name would still have an idea.
I thought of calling my mum if she had any idea where Ohoba was. I dismissed the idea as quickly as it came. There was no need bothering the poor woman with my cross. It was just then, a stupid but interesting idea criss-crossed my medulla- Google maps. You can curse the Internet and technology for all the evils its advent has help proliferate but you just can't help but admit how useful technology is to us in moments such as this. It wasn't the first time Google maps had come in handy to me in situations like this -i remember when I lost my way to a friends wedding and I was I didn't want to appear like little Johnny so I dissed the idea of asking for directions and directed my questions to my fancy smart phone.
Finally, I found the town ( so I thought) somewhere 7km from where I stood according to the map directions. At least it wasn't far. I breathed a huge sign of relief. Today would be interesting I promised myself. There was no use spoiling the fun with a bad disposition. I proceeded to the park along Douglas road where asked for directions to to the bus park. There I bought a ticket, took a seat at rear and slept off admidst the incessant chatter of the other passengers.

I work up with a jerk! The driver had just bumped into a pot hole inviting all manner of abuse from infuriated passengers most whom were women. I checked my watch. I must have slept not longer than 30 minutes. From my conjecture, we just drove of the park not long ago. The confusion in the bus rocketed into mad proportions with more and more of the passengers hurling vulgar insults at the driver and his conductor. As much as I feared the scene would get uglier I didn't have a choice but to hope it won't affect my getting to my destination.

We finally drive of the highway and took a single lane route to the right. As we drove on the houses became fewer and less impressive. I told myself, 'this can't be anywhere like where I was going. This must be some of the village settlements along the route I saw on the map'. It seemed my prayers got answered for a while; we soon drove into what looked like a small town settlement with electricity and quite a few nice houses. I smiled and turned to the next passenger, 'ebele owu Ohoba? '. "No", he replied with surprise written all over his sun dried face. 'corper, you understand igbo? My face turned green with the sudden realisation that I had betrayed my what I promised would be my secret throughout my stay here- that I spoke and understood Igbo fairly well despite my riverine origin. 'yea, a little', I replied quickly and turned my face away to avoid an interrogation. The poor man must have caught the message and faced his own business wondering why Amadioha allowed him come across this unhappy soul today.
We soon came across another small town like the first and this time I didn't get my hopes high to avoid another disappointment, and just as I feared our journey continued even further.
We soon took a left turn and sped into what looked like an new road with thick forest vegetation on both sides dotted with a few block houses that seemed so old you could have sworn the British colonials built them. Soon the vegetation faded into cassava farms and bordered by oil palms. 'At least I was posted to an oil producing local government area quite literally'. After what looked like eternity the farms finally disappeared giving way to a few old buildings, mostly dilapidated and small mud huts. What ever this villagers here were, it wasn't far from a band of primitive farmers lost in the civilisation, completely oblivious of the concept modern architecture in its entirety. On the good side anyone staying here wouldn't have to buy garri or palm oil judging from the luscious farms we just passed. Gradually, more houses came into view, but their style was all the same: colonial, backward and unattractive. The bus finally came to a stop at what looked like the end of the road. 'No way!', I screamed in my mind. "This can't be the Ohoba " maybe I entered the wrong bus, or maybe the driver was going to turn around after dropping passengers meant for this medieval village.
The passenger with whom I had the ill conversation with earlier on turned to me, 'this is Ohoba.
Do you have the address of your employer?. I can get you a bike to take you there'. He seemed to be doing all he could to help a bemused stranger find his destination, but in my ungrateful eyes I saw him as the devil, smiling at my despair, claiming to be helpful whilst with every word he meant to say, ' I gotcha! Welcome to the deepest reaches of hell, I'll be your guide through this Dante's Inferno. I'm sure you'll enjoy your stay'. I managed a pretentious smile as I passed the address to him. I wondered if he could read. Well, if he couldn't I wouldn't surprised in the least. As part of my one year of service to my country, I have been commissioned to liberate the youths of this village, including him, from the cold grips of illiteracy and jungle ignorance. I would stop at nothing until they become liberated from the evil fangs of medieval illiteracy. He soon found a bike for me and gave instructions to the bike man to drop me at the school on the note I scribed to him. However pleased I was with my unfortunate posting, I had no reason to blame this man. He was Afterall helping me! The least I could do was say thanks for without his help maybe I would have carried my loads on my head like some village house boy; no doubt an impression that would stick firmly in the mind of the locals.
The bike took a path through what looked like an abandoned compound and into a small open yard where a few children where playing in the sand; no doubt their afternoon routine after school everyday. We passed a few homes then corned into a a forest path away from the main village. My heart sunk into my stomach! 'Gosh! Was I getting kidnapped? Or was my employer running a school for spirit children in this forest?
'Oga, No vex', I tapped the bike man. 'the school dey inside bush?'
'we don almost reach already. E no far', he snorted.
My face reddened with anger. What did I do to deserve this wickedness? Why would NYSC send people to places like this? Why would NYSC send me to a place like this? Or was there a grand plot by someone at the top against me? Why would all this shit keep happening to me? He finally made a right cut into a path with thick bush on either side like a sort of wall ending in front of rusty, rickety gate which looked like it was made out of condemned kitchen scrap.
'we don almost reach already. E no far', he snorted.
My face reddened with anger. What did I do to deserve this wickedness? Why would NYSC send people to places like this? Why would NYSC send me to a place like this? Or was there a grand plot by someone at the top against me? Why would all this shit keep happening to me? He finally made a right cut into a path with thick bush on either side like a sort of wall ending in front of rusty, rickety gate which looked like it was made out of condemned kitchen scrap.
'na the school be this', he said with a triumphant smile. I could see the sneer on his face (so my confused mind made think) no doubt satisfied with bringing yet another victim to whoever it was that set him on this morbid commission.
Sure enough I looked at the rusty signboard and to confirm my fears. It was it. My place of primary assignment. This was as bad you could ever get. Well, my only recourse was to play crazy and wish the employer would find my disposition annoying. I had to get that rejection letter whether he liked it or not.

'where the employer house dey', I asked the bike man.
'we just pass am as we dey come',
Can you take me there '
Ok'
I climbed the bike and we turned around made for 100 yards and stopped in front of an old, ugly excuse of a house. There was a bike parked outside. 'I was going to be employed by an okada rider', my stupid mind thought.
I tapped softly at the door. I feared if I tapped with more power the door would give way. It was an old, rottening ( or made of rottening wood) held to the weak remains of the door frame by a single hinge. Maybe no one lived here. I tapped again and turned to leave when I heard baritone voice from the inside. I didn't hear the voice clearly but I assumed it said 'who is it' so I replied I was a new corper posted to his school and just arrived. I heard the voice again from inside followed by heavy footsteps that sounded like they made pot holes in the floor with each thud. A shadow appeared in the doorway; a black huge man with a tummy that made you wonder what he ate for food. My guess was he is cannibal who swallows his meal whole. Well, I wasn't going to be his next meal. I took a few steps away from the door. To safety.
Introduced myself briefly, handed him my letter of posting and waited. He read through the letter slowly, with his fingers tracing each word, like a blind man reading blind people literature. After what seemed like a while he looked up.
'but I've got too many corpers already, why do NYSC keep sending me more? ' My heart leapt for joy. This neanderthal might be a human eater but at least we agree on thing.
'do you mind if I see your result'
was he going to conduct an interview or what? I thought he and I were on the same page moments ago?
I fumbled through my file for the result and handed it over to him. He went through it with the usual odd habit.
I think I'll take you'
Was he dreaming? I didn't want to be taken. I thought my countenance made that clear. I had to figure a way to handle this before he got his hopes unnecessarily high.
'I know you're disappointed from your look. This village is a nice place and in sure you'll enjoy it. We have a few problems with power but besides the he have many strong points. We're a very quiet, peaceful community, with no history of corper harassment. And they are many corpers here already. Five in my school and three in a primary school not far from here.

I felt a sudden rush of excitement in my belly. If they were corpers here already it might not be a bad idea afterall. I kicked out the idea immediately. I don't care if an entire platoon was posted here. It didn't change the fact that here was an village left behind by civilisation, ravaged by dilapidation, and plagued by ignorance, at least that was I how I perceived it.
He handed over a small slip of paper to me. A quick glance at it confirm my deepest fear- an acceptance. Well, what could I do but accept my unfortunate plight.
I thanked him and left in a hurry wondering if this was a dream- a night mare I wished would never come back again.
But even then, there was no denying the obvious - I was stuck in the middle of Dante's Inferno and for the next 8 months I had to endure my most unfortunate dilemma.

Ok

You just probably put your story in chapters. It helps break it down for the reader!

Good job, nice read, following

Still reading...Nice write up... U must be a writer... Finish the story abeg...

*following

Nice piece@Op.

Why won't you come and continue this?

Hello more story. What happened and how it ended..

UfuomaUN:
We finally drive of the highway and took a single lane route to the right. As we drove on the houses became fewer and less impressive. I told myself, 'this can't be anywhere like where I was going. This must be some of the village settlements along the route I saw on the map'. It seemed my prayers got answered for a while; we soon drove into what looked like a small town settlement with electricity and quite a few nice houses. I smiled and turned to the next passenger, 'ebele owu Ohoba? '. "No", he replied with surprise written all over his sun dried face. 'corper, you understand igbo? My face turned green with the sudden realisation that I had betrayed my what I promised would be my secret throughout my stay here- that I spoke and understood Igbo fairly well despite my riverine origin. 'yea, a little', I replied quickly and turned my face away to avoid an interrogation. The poor man must have caught the message and faced his own business wondering why Amadioha allowed him come across this unhappy soul today.
We soon came across another small town like the first and this time I didn't get my hopes high to avoid another disappointment, and just as I feared our journey continued even further.
We soon took a left turn and sped into what looked like an new road with thick forest vegetation on both sides dotted with a few block houses that seemed so old you could have sworn the British colonials built them. Soon the vegetation faded into cassava farms and bordered by oil palms. 'At least I was posted to an oil producing local government area quite literally'. After what looked like eternity the farms finally disappeared giving way to a few old buildings, mostly dilapidated and small mud huts. What ever this villagers here were, it wasn't far from a band of primitive farmers lost in the civilisation, completely oblivious of the concept modern architecture in its entirety. On the good side anyone staying here wouldn't have to buy garri or palm oil judging from the luscious farms we just passed. Gradually, more houses came into view, but their style was all the same: colonial, backward and unattractive. The bus finally came to a stop at what looked like the end of the road. 'No way!', I screamed in my mind. "This can't be the Ohoba " maybe I entered the wrong bus, or maybe the driver was going to turn around after dropping passengers meant for this medieval village.
The passenger with whom I had the ill conversation with earlier on turned to me, 'this is Ohoba.
Do you have the address of your employer?. I can get you a bike to take you there'. He seemed to be doing all he could to help a bemused stranger find his destination, but in my ungrateful eyes I saw him as the devil, smiling at my despair, claiming to be helpful whilst with every word he meant to say, ' I gotcha! Welcome to the deepest reaches of hell, I'll be your guide through this Dante's Inferno. I'm sure you'll enjoy your stay'. I managed a pretentious smile as I passed the address to him. I wondered if he could read. Well, if he couldn't I wouldn't surprised in the least. As part of my one year of service to my country, I have been commissioned to liberate the youths of this village, including him, from the cold grips of illiteracy and jungle ignorance. I would stop at nothing until they become liberated from the evil fangs of medieval illiteracy. He soon found a bike for me and gave instructions to the bike man to drop me at the school on the note I scribed to him. However pleased I was with my unfortunate posting, I had no reason to blame this man. He was Afterall helping me! The least I could do was say thanks for without his help maybe I would have carried my loads on my head like some village house boy; no doubt an impression that would stick firmly in the mind of the locals.
The bike took a path through what looked like an abandoned compound and into a small open yard where a few children where playing in the sand; no doubt their afternoon routine after school everyday. We passed a few homes then corned into a a forest path away from the main village. My heart sunk into my stomach! 'Gosh! Was I getting kidnapped? Or was my employer running a school for spirit children in this forest?
'Oga, No vex', I tapped the bike man. 'the school dey inside bush?'
'we don almost reach already. E no far', he snorted.
My face reddened with anger. What did I do to deserve this wickedness? Why would NYSC send people to places like this? Why would NYSC send me to a place like this? Or was there a grand plot by someone at the top against me? Why would all this shit keep happening to me? He finally made a right cut into a path with thick bush on either side like a sort of wall ending in front of rusty, rickety gate which looked like it was made out of condemned kitchen scrap.
'we don almost reach already. E no far', he snorted.
My face reddened with anger. What did I do to deserve this wickedness? Why would NYSC send people to places like this? Why would NYSC send me to a place like this? Or was there a grand plot by someone at the top against me? Why would all this shit keep happening to me? He finally made a right cut into a path with thick bush on either side like a sort of wall ending in front of rusty, rickety gate which looked like it was made out of condemned kitchen scrap.
'na the school be this', he said with a triumphant smile. I could see the sneer on his face (so my confused mind made think) no doubt satisfied with bringing yet another victim to whoever it was that set him on this morbid commission.
Sure enough I looked at the rusty signboard and to confirm my fears. It was it. My place of primary assignment. This was as bad you could ever get. Well, my only recourse was to play crazy and wish the employer would find my disposition annoying. I had to get that rejection letter whether he liked it or not.

'where the employer house dey', I asked the bike man.
'we just pass am as we dey come',
Can you take me there '
Ok'
I climbed the bike and we turned around made for 100 yards and stopped in front of an old, ugly excuse of a house. There was a bike parked outside. 'I was going to be employed by an okada rider', my stupid mind thought.
I tapped softly at the door. I feared if I tapped with more power the door would give way. It was an old, rottening ( or made of rottening wood) held to the weak remains of the door frame by a single hinge. Maybe no one lived here. I tapped again and turned to leave when I heard baritone voice from the inside. I didn't hear the voice clearly but I assumed it said 'who is it' so I replied I was a new corper posted to his school and just arrived. I heard the voice again from inside followed by heavy footsteps that sounded like they made pot holes in the floor with each thud. A shadow appeared in the doorway; a black huge man with a tummy that made you wonder what he ate for food. My guess was he is cannibal who swallows his meal whole. Well, I wasn't going to be his next meal. I took a few steps away from the door. To safety.
Introduced myself briefly, handed him my letter of posting and waited. He read through the letter slowly, with his fingers tracing each word, like a blind man reading blind people literature. After what seemed like a while he looked up.
'but I've got too many corpers already, why do NYSC keep sending me more? ' My heart leapt for joy. This neanderthal might be a human eater but at least we agree on thing.
'do you mind if I see your result'
was he going to conduct an interview or what? I thought he and I were on the same page moments ago?
I fumbled through my file for the result and handed it over to him. He went through it with the usual odd habit.
I think I'll take you'
Was he dreaming? I didn't want to be taken. I thought my countenance made that clear. I had to figure a way to handle this before he got his hopes unnecessarily high.
'I know you're disappointed from your look. This village is a nice place and in sure you'll enjoy it. We have a few problems with power but besides the he have many strong points. We're a very quiet, peaceful community, with no history of corper harassment. And they are many corpers here already. Five in my school and three in a primary school not far from here.

I felt a sudden rush of excitement in my belly. If they were corpers here already it might not be a bad idea afterall. I kicked out the idea immediately. I don't care if an entire platoon was posted here. It didn't change the fact that here was an village left behind by civilisation, ravaged by dilapidation, and plagued by ignorance, at least that was I how I perceived it.
He handed over a small slip of paper to me. A quick glance at it confirm my deepest fear- an acceptance. Well, what could I do but accept my unfortunate plight.
I thanked him and left in a hurry wondering if this was a dream- a night mare I wished would never come back again.
But even then, there was no denying the obvious - I was stuck in the middle of Dante's Inferno and for the next 8 months I had to endure my most unfortunate dilemma.