NYSC CAMP EXPERIENCES (EPISODE 6)

NYSC CAMP EXPERIENCES (Episode 6)

Flashback (Naija style).
Kosi received his call up letter from Unistress; travels down to Akwa-ibom; escapes being punished by a angry soldier and is now standing in the queue to register)

"Bros, how far? Na my place you dey stay o"
A stout young man, who was obviously a fighter in his previous life, said to me.

Why had I inferred that?

The answers were very obvious.
He had given me that menancing look I knew too well, being a citizen of Ekosodin village for two years.

That look that gathers the clouds and unleashes its rain in form of slaps.

That look that is paraded in the dark corners of Edo street, and visible enough to force any wise student to break into a race when he hears those two words 'guy show'.

That look that is always permanently plastered on the faces of them, who prayerfully await the falling of a prey into their trap.

A fall that would make them really joyous.
For that prey would empty all his pockets in the process of buying all the Heineken available in Ekosodin.

I knew that look very well.
For the former wearer of that kind of makeup had signed his signature on my face with his palms.
An ordeal I never wished to encounter again so I shifted backwards to accomodate the new intruder.

The seconds ran very fast like little boys going to collect their tickets after being offered a ride at the car section in the amusement park

The minutes slacked a bit in pace like a man who has just been given the boot (sacked) at the office, and is moving towards his car while contemplating suicide or getting drunk first before going home to tell his madame.

The hour dragged its feet slowly like a group of grannies who meet grocery store and are walking through the recipe section.
Lord knows any child following them at that point would definitely leave the store with a fit and a heart that would have murdered the elderly ones ten times over.

The bright afternoon sun slowly retreated into its abode and gently whistled to the sunflies to come and continue their mission.
And the slowly approaching night brought with it a major fracas in the camp.

It all started when a so-called senator's child was given special preciledges by the camp officials.

The lad had arrived the camp in a yellow sports car.

A sight that caused other corpers to wonder since no other person was allowed to drive into the camp apart from the camp officials.

With his luggage being dragged by the sweating driver whose shirt and tie was still impeccable, the lad followed behind with sunshades to protect the eyes against a non existent sun ray; and a gait of an inspector surveying a site that would definitely earn him huge millions after paying other fees.

As custom with the Nigerian elite whose riches have blurred their sense of ethics, the little runt walked directly to the front and sweetly demanded to be shown special rights since "I am just flying in from the Abuja senate chambers"

From behind, disgruntled voices rang out quick.

"Ehhh. Make una nor give that boy shance o. Una dey hear? All of una wey dey front so."
So shouted a guy, already rocking the white rubber tennis shoes and a red cap on a white shirt and blue jean.

He was a graduate of Obafemi Awolowo University.
A fresh graduate that had been forged in the corridors of Moremi hall which dubbed as the forge where real and resilient men were made.

A resilience that sometimes meant that they could not endure any sight of oppression.

"Who be dat one wey wan come form bruce Lee for here? Abi him feel say we come sell corn for this place. Ogbeni enter line joor."
This came from a girl who was putting on a red colored skirt and a black hijab resting on a grey sweater.

'Alhaja' as she was popularly called by people around, was a graduate from the Federal Polytechnic Offa,

A school famed for producing students who have seen cultists engage in fights every blessed Friday and were sometimes accostumed to seeing severed human heads on the untarred 'Abuja road'.

Sights that had built fearlessness in their minds, and helped to prepare them in resisting any form of oppression.

"Bia, nwoke a nor niru (come, you young man in front). Don't give that man any chance hia. O dika gi na cho ka m ma chi gi nti (it seems you wish me to slap you)"
This came from a young man, dressed in a handmade sewn black coat that overlapped on a blue trouser and an enormous shoe which had defied the touch of an expert shoemaker, for some gaping holes were still visible.

'Ifesinachi' as he had been called by his friends, was an 'Umudike clique':
A graduate of Michael Okpara University of Agriculture which was situated in nearby Abia.

The same went for more than 30% of otondos in the camp.

Products of a nearby school which forced other corpers into thinking that maybe, just maybe, the vice-chancellor of the school had a not too public 'handshake' with the Director General of the NYSC program.

Ifesinachi had suffered a little bit that day.
Being made to shoulder the brunt of jokes from most cliques that were already forming within the camp.

The Tobliq crew had 'entered' him.

That clique of boys whose trousers had made a secret pact never to kiss the ground around their palm slippers or shoes.

That clique of boys whose beards had made a secret pact never to kiss any shaving stick and were as long as those of middle eastern clerics who invoke fire and brimstone upon Americans and any Western activity.

That clique whose discussions focused on football, the best armies in the world and latest gadgets in the world, without ever seeming to touch on the subject of girls or sex.

Two subjects which were considered as 'haram' and not worthy to be bantered on.

This was the clique that both oga Tolu Mcrhymes and Rasak loved to hang out with.

The 'Rich-gang' clique had already 'entered' the poor Ifesinachi too.

That crew whose members seemed to love everything about Birdman and were all using 'Tap out' as their ring tones.

That group of guys who all seemed to have the unspoken consensus that only iPhone users were to be granted admission into the clique.

For they had subtly ignored a guy, a Tecno P5 user, who had tried to butt into their gisting; and they had politely told another guy, a Samsung prime user, to mind his business as they never invited him to comment on their discussions.

These were the 'rich gang' crew.

That clique whose discussions focused on the models and prices of the latest cars, the instagram handles of the baddest girls in the country, and the calibre of nite clubs which were in Uyo, the state capital.
For they had already began to devise schemes of painting the city red immediately after leaving camp.

Their discussing never seemed to touch on the state of the country nor the prices of things.

Two subjects which were considered as 'haram' and not worthy to be bantered on.

The football clique had entered the poor Ifesinachi too.

That clique of boys who had packed football jerseys and boots in their luggages.

That clique of boys who intended to play all the football matches that would be organized in the camp,
As their senior colleagues had told them of the platoon games and had urged them to sign up for only the football matches and the Mr Macho while forgoing the rest.
For in the words of their senior colleagues, "games like that marching na for woman and sissies"

The discussions of this clique centered on football matches played on two pitches;
The football matches played on wide pitches like the Old Trafford, Camp Nou in the public,
And the football matches played by adults on square-like beds found in hotel rooms or residential homes within closed doors.

Aye

Such was the nature of the talk of this clique.

One minute you could be passing through their midst and you will hear them shouting, "o boy Guardiola Bleep up for that match as him remove Messi come put Pedro o"

The next minute you would hear the same person saying, "o boy na so that girl come my side that night and I play correct reggae and blues for am"
A comment that would always elicit laughs and handshakes from his comrades who would also be quick to share their experiences too.

GoldenVic was a member of this clique.
My good friend who was a defender and could stop any striker on the first pitch, while also acting as a seasoned striker who could score unique goals on the other pitch.

The 'omo ina' clique were the last set of people to 'enter' Ifesinachi.

That clique whose lingua franca was Igbo, and whose name was given to them by the yoruba boys.

They were that clique of boys who were very profit minded;
Having packed needles and thread in their suitcases incase any of their prospective roommate would need to fix their clothes;
Having packed some tablets of tramadol to sell, just in case any of their prospective roommates would need to be 'gingered' for very hard jobs;
And having packed some bottles of cough syrup to sell, just in case any of their prospective roommates would need to use codeine to get high and relax themselves.

The discussions of this clique were centered on the market prices of materials in Aba, the latest ban of the federal government on certain imported goods, and the location of the best 'nkwobi' centers in Owerri and Aba.

The tri-subjects of latest cars, women and international issues were 'haram' to this group.

As the major word and sentences that kept on repeating itself through the course of their discussions was 'ego' 'o ji m ugwo' (he owed me money) and 'nwanyi a e ji m e gwu egwu (this woman is playing with me)

This clique were wonderful lads.
For their hands never seemed to refrain from giving during the course of the camp.

To be continued in later episodes.
#Bashorun

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