NYSC Camp Diary: What To Expect When You’re Posted To Borno

Everyday by 12pm for the next 21 days, I’ll be telling you what life is like at NYSC Camp. I was posted to Borno State, but the camp holds in Katsina state due to Boko Haram insurgency in Borno.

DAY 1



6:35 AM
I wake up in an NYSC lodge in Katsina on the first day of camp. I’m not supposed to be here, that much I can tell. My memory is a bit foggy, but when it all returns, I remember how I got here. It starts with getting my posting on a Friday and seeing that I had been posted to Borno, which means I would be camping in Katsina since Borno is a no-go area. Then packing my things with a twinge of dread and excitement, blocking out all the varied reactions from friends, family and woes on what to expect. And then making the longest trip ever only to end up in the wrong place.

After arriving in Katsina, my friends and I picked up bikes to take us to NYSC camp. The bike men heard “NYSC” alone and brought us to the wrong place — this NYSC lodge where corps members who have their primary place of assignment (PPA) in Katsina stay.

Just as the sun is beginning to light the skies, my friends and I head out of the Lodge to continue our journey.

Let me tell you about my friends. There’s F who was a course mate. We left Lagos together. Then there’s A, the third party we met during the course of the trip. He studied Pharmacy at Cyprus, and for me this is quite a wonder. A foreign-trained person going to the same NYSC with me? As we head out of the Lodge, A tells me he is going to camp to make money.

Me? I came to chop the life of my head, plis.

10:20 AM
It takes us four hours to eventually get to camp from the lodge. We first enter a cab driven by a Hausa man. What’s supposed to be a quiet journey becomes a tour of sorts. An Alhaji in the backseat points things out to us even though we don’t ask:

“Kano is the capital city.”

“Katsina is farther than Kano.”

“If you’re coming through Zaria, don’t trust those parts under the bridge that look dry, they actually contain water.”

After the cab drops us, we take motorcycles and arrive at the NYSC camp on them.

Katsina is cold. Too cold. Alhaji had warned us about this before we got off.



At the gate, NSCDC officials accost us. They ask us to open our bags, provide medical certificate, certificate and call up letter. They ask us to upend our bags so they can be sure we’re not carrying sharp objects, metal spoons, or other objects they perceive to be harmful.

Beside them are confiscated items: spoons, extension boxes, etc. I wonder if they will confiscate condoms too. After all, sex is not allowed on camp. But take your mind out of the gutter, please, I am not carrying condoms. My grandmother packed my bags.

When they are satisfied, I am asked to write my name in a book and allowed to go in. I wait for my friends who are still being checked. In the meantime, I decided to take photos of this diary. The soldier takes offense.

“Go inside!” he barks and I’m gone before he can say another word.

Look where friendship has gotten me.

12:00 AM
Registration: If you’re posted to Borno state, then it’s very likely that you’ll camp at the Peace and Disaster Management Centre, NSCDC, Barbar-Ruga road, Batsari, Katsina. This, to a large extent, is what will happen:

After the soldiers allow you in, you’ll meet two guys claiming they own a coverage business. They’ll tell you that they will take your pictures and videos of everything you do in camp from day 1 to the end, all for N1,000. If they notice a reluctance, they’ll tell you to pay half of the money; you can pay half later. They will ask for your number. Ignore them. That’s what I did. Because why pay a coverage business to follow you about, are you Kim Kardashian?

Here’s a picture of the things you can take to camp. Photocopies are essential, so you don’t enrich the hungry pockets of those people at Mammy Market.



When you get to the registration point, a soldier will give you two forms to fill. One is for bio data, the other is the oath form. After filling, you take it in to a man who asks for your certificate, call up letter, green card, NYSC ID card. He’ll stamp your call-up letter and direct you to another table. Here, your details are entered into a computer, and a printout is issued to you.

With this printout, you’re given an office file with a serial number on it. Assuming you are number 197, then you’ll fall under Platoon 7, according to the last digit of your serial number. There are 10 platoons. Now that you’re in Platoon 7, find the spot of Platoon 7 and submit originals of the documents requested: medical and school certificates, call up letter and green card, print out page, bio data and oath form.

Here, they’ll give you your kits (which will NEVER size you, my dear, forget that NYSC asked you for your size during registration), a handful of booklets (camp rules, etc) and your meal ticket which will serve you throughout your stay. Lose it, and Mammy Market traders will rejoice. A new customer. Relax though, a plate of white rice and meat is N300. Sharon, the sales girl, assures me it’s big meat, but maybe she does not understand big things, sha.

Before or after you open your bank account, you’ll need to go to the admin block to get your mattress. It’s not a tug of war, but you’ll have to dig deep to find a good one. Most mattresses there are as flat as pancakes.



This is quite a process, and with the Harmattan, dust and sun, be prepared to look like an abandoned child by the end of it all.

But think about it: only you in Borno, no true love holding your hands, patting your back and saying “It’s gon’ be fine, love.” Are you not abandoned?

4:00PM
PARADE! This is shaping up to be my scariest moment on camp. One minute, I am looking peng, selfie-ing, and the next moment a soldier is yelling, “Double up!” and coming to our hostel with a kondo. Mans had to flee to the camp ground.



6:00 PM
Lowkey, there’s a little bit of ignoramus in everybody: After the soldiers explain what to do and dish out instructions (raise your left leg! Shout hurray! Don’t touch your cap! Stop saying Catch), many people still do the wrong thing. It becomes so bad, a guy is called out and told to keep shouting “Hurray.”

Fainting/falling down/collapsing is a sure way to escape marching: Now this requires tact to pull off, so you don’t jeopardize yourself. In the heat of the instructions, my dear, just give up like you are giving up on Nigeria. Drop. If you can fall on the person next to you, do it. If your wig can fall, do it.

Like that like that, you’ll be taken to Red Cross, pampered, like the queen/king that you are. Hold on a sec, in your fainting, don’t invalidate the true fainting of people who are truly weak and can’t cope. A friend who I met during registration fell down twice. A girl in my platoon fell down too. Another one gave up the struggle and went to beg soldiers. I considered fainting too, but before I could finish plotting/planning the logistics, the parade was dismissed.

Well, there’s always another day.

NYSC Diary Day 2: Shame Dies In Camp

3:16 AM
Someone taps me awake. It is A. When I open my eyes, the room is a flurry of activities: young men in various stages of UnCloth rushing to fetch water to bathe, young men already dressing up. I already fetched my water yesterday so I am spared the stress of queuing at the water tank. The cold is heavy, as usual. I pull out my bucket from under my bunk. I wake O. who sleeps in the bunk next to mine.

NYSC is the place where shame comes to die, so I am not surprised when I walk into naked young men bathing in the open and in the other bathroom without doors. Yesterday afternoon, in broad daylight, I saw a young man bathing in that doorless bathroom, naked, not even bothering that people would look. I swear, I’m not a prude, but it was a shock to me. Me that I’m keeping my body for my future love so that my in-laws will pay the full cost of my husband price. Last night, a guy bathed in front of our hostel. Right at the entrance o. In his defence sha, it was dark. But still.

After taking my bath, I dress up in new whites and wait.


5:11 AM
In other camps, the bugle sounds to indicate that Nigeria is awake, but I hear that things are not normal in this camp. Here, the bugle sounds, but I don’t even know. I expected something different—loud, jarring—but this bugle sounds like a bush baby, an egbere in training.

Soldiers come. We double up to the parade ground in darkness.

I find people from NCCF, singing and clapping. Muslims head to the mosque. The NCCF brother tells us to give thanks to God. God who helped us to be here. Many of our mates are dead, do we know? Many have extra year, are we aware? Even he, he had an extra year, but look at him today.

After this, he invites us to attend the NCCF. Have time for God. Don’t come to camp and forget the Lord. There are three religious bodies: the association for Muslims, the one for Catholics, and the one for all other church denominations.



We sing the national anthem, the NYSC anthem; we recite the pledge, and then listen to the morning mediation. More rules follow: Don’t shit in the open; don’t smoke in camp. If you are a smoker, there are places in the market you can smoke. Don’t drink alcohol (makes sense why alcohol is confiscated). Don’t steal. If you cannot do without stealing, you better control yourself (these are his exact words, believe me).

The drilling/marching session begins again. We re-learn how to remove head dress (face cap), how to give three hearty cheers to the ezeketive govanor of Borno state. We are prepared for the swearing in ceremony tomorrow. I get called onye ara because I am quick in putting on my cap. People are called witches and small witches and we’re told to stop thinking of our boyfriends and girlfriends. Nobody faints—a wonder, but one girl is taken out of camp because a soldier notices her eyes “turning”.

We are on the parade ground for hours that feel like years. I am about to die. 8:11 am, and the commandant finally asks us to go find Ngozi.

We disperse in search of her. My prayer is that Ngozi will never be found.

10:03 AM
I am back on the parade ground, forced to give up my breakfast of bread and tea and double up to the camp. What’s bread and tea, anyway? The bread is a small size, and the tea is like a small flood. But it’s hot. And Lipton. And sweet.



On the parade ground, the sun is already up, hot and bright. It almost feels like it’s afternoon. Drilling begins afresh. Instructions are yelled at us from all sides, and again I feel as though I want to die. The reason for this endless drill is this: tomorrow is our swearing in ceremony, the governor of Borno state and other dignitaries will be in attendance, so we must get all commands right.

We learn (again) how to stand at ease, how to bang our feet and stand still when we hear “attention!”A group of girls are handpicked and taken away. Later, I learn that they are being trained to welcome the dignitaries. All through the parade, I see them clapping and prancing. There are a few guys among them too.

We offend the soldier. He asks us all to sit on the ground. The sun’s intensity increases. The breakfast makes me sleepy, and while standing on the parade ground, I sometimes catch myself dozing, jerking awake when I am about to fall. We begin to grumble, but the soldiers are not having it. Bang your feet!, they yell. Stop saying ‘catch’, just hold your cap!

At about 12:00PM, we are allowed to go sit under the shade. A relief, one which is cut short when the parade resumes again and goes on and on and on until a soldier dismisses us at 1:15PM to go in search of a certain Salamotu. I’m so relieved I want to weep.

3:15 PM
I take my lunch at the kitchen. It’s rice and stew and a bit of meat. Tasty, although some people think otherwise. But it’s free food, so…

F. has devised a way to evade parade, and it is a technique that works. He changed into mufti and went to Mammy Market. This way, he’ll blend in with the hordes of new arrivals who haven’t completed their registration. Smart idea, but there won’t be new arrivals for long.

A. too has evaded parade. But his excuse is genuine: he is a pharmacist and this is a service needed in camp. O., my new friend is nowhere to be found. These people have betrayed me.

6:15 PM
The parade is finally over. For today, at least. Tomorrow is the swearing-in day, so by now everyone is rushing around to amend their kits to look nice for tomorrow. To amend your khaki costs N1,500 at Mammy Market. At the College Tailoring Unit, it costs N1,000. Ironing costs N200.



Mammy Market is not a place to be, if I am going to be honest. Yes, they have all you need, but then it costs too much. It is as though by charging you more, they are teaching you not to be careless in packing necessary items. A bucket costs N500. A cup costs N200. A small cooler costs N650. A metal spoon costs N50. A plastic take away plate costs N100. Every bottled drink is N150. POS withdrawal costs N70 per thousand naira. It looks small, yes, but a pinch here, a bite there, and there’s nothing left. Tell me, if five naira was withdrawn from your one million naira, would you still be called a millionaire?

NYSC Diary Day 3: In Camp, You Meet People From Different Worlds

2:41 AM
Strange things are happening, good things are happening.

A flurry of movement wakes me. Today is the swearing in. I tap O., but he does not stir. I go alone to fetch my bath water. When I return, I go to bed again, but it’s hard to sleep. I drift in and out until I finally stand up some minutes before 5 am.


And then it begins.

A voice in the room says he has something to tell us. He says we should hear him out. Everyone is busy with preparation, but ears are cocked. And the voice gives his message: we should pray. Muslims in the room should please not take offence.

He is from NCCF, he says, and I think, “Wait, are NCCF people now in our room?”

NCCF is Nigerian Christian Corpers Fellow by the way.

He begins with a song of worship. We sing, cold mouths opening up heavily, slowly. He persists. Tells us to shout Halleluyah. Prayer is important, do we know? Giving thanks to God. We have not had any case of theft, shouldn’t we give thanks?

In the middle of this, I head to the bathroom so I can get a spot before it becomes crowded. I am wrong. In the end, I take my bath in a doorless bathroom, so much for keeping myself.

7:57 AM
Parade begins about this time. This is after morning devotion where brethren from fellowship bodies remind us of our duties to God, after the morning mediation titled Obedience. Parade today is a little humorous, never mind that today is the swearing in, that monumental event that will transition us from prospective corps members to bonafide corps members. Humorous, in that the new intakes keep messing up the commands, being unused to the actions accompanying them.



“Stand attention!” and some people still have their hands by their sides rather than the back.

We are warned: this event will have dignitaries in attendance, we better not misbehave. Our conduct will determine the overall tone of the camp experience, either good or bad.

We are told how to dress: in our khakis, jungle boots, crested vest, everything, sans the jacket. No water bottles, no sunglasses, no waist pouches. Come the way you are.

We go over the commands again, march of the flag parade, signing of the oath form, salute of the officials.

Hours later, we are dismissed for breakfast, and told to go prepare ahead for the swearing in.


10:55 AM
We are back on the parade ground for the official swearing in. We are all clad in khakis. My khaki smells like engine oil, but I am afraid to speak out. Finally I do, and B. confirms it. It’s the printing ink.

Let’s be honest, some people deserve tiri gbosas. The sun is hot enough, but some ladies are in full make-up and faux eyelashes. I’m pretty sure that by the end of the parade, such an affair will end in tears. All that makeup, all that sun. One thing must give way for another.



The parade is as you might expect: hot sun cooking us all, dignitaries ably represented by someone else. But there is more: people are fainting. It is expected, but it quickly goes beyond the expected and soon, Red Cross officials begin to dart across the camp to pick up people. It is a believable fainting, yet also so highly staged. At least that one I am sure of. A guy in the queue next to mine is tapping his knee and laughing, laughing, laughing. Two minutes later, Bros is on the ground yelling muscle pull.

One of the members of the flag party faints on her way to sign the oath form with the Chief Judge. Entertainment is suspended because of the extreme weather. We become rowdy, mimic the Chief Judge’s pronunciations as we recite the oath after him. We are carefree, and there is hardly anything the soldiers can do to us but look on in horror.

11:46 AM
I return to bed to get some sleep. I am extremely exhausted. Since I got here, I sometimes catch my dozing on the parade grond. I fall into bed with relief and it welcomes me home.


2:50 PM
I slowly return to my default settings after sleep loosens me up. For a few minutes, I stare at people like I’m not sure what I am doing amongst these people. F. keeps asking if I’m alright.

Lunch is Jollof rice and boiled beef. The Jollof tastes like premature Jollof: concoction. And I think it still needs a tiny pinch of salt, but it tastes nice. And I devour it with gratitude.


4:15 PM
This may or may not be the beginning of good things, but I don’t know it yet.

We return to the parade ground where we are told that we are to abide strictly to the rules, now that we are bonafide corps members. The camp commandant addresses us. “A lady was caught wearing bum shorts to Mammy Market yesterday night, where do you think you are?! If we get hold of you, you will be dealt with severely. Discipline is needed!”

In other words, we must always be dressed in whites. Rubber slippers will be confiscated. Phones must be silenced or switched off on the parade ground or it will be seized and returned when the camp ends. Do not smoke elsewhere but the smoking corner at Mammy market. Ladies, do not carry hairstyles that will be too much for you to handle. Do not wear shades unless they are recommended, and you must provide a paper to this end.

B. is a fellow platoon member, but so far, we have a connection. I know what you are thinking, but I have not found love yet. B. has a positive energy, one I really like. Since we line up according to platoons, I often find myself before or behind her. And we often talk about random things. But this evening, we roll different. I tell her about the

“Is Ashimolowo a bad bitch?”tweet I found once on Twitter, and that provokes a bout of laughter. Soon, everyone is a bad bitch. The soldier with his new fancy hat. Me when I decide to talk in defiance of orders. A fellow corps member in sunshades. Bad bitches everywhere.

But the most interesting part comes when a fellow platoon member is being bullied and called Bob (meaning Bobrisky) in a condescending manner. I know how this feels, and this manner of toxicity irks us to no end. We decide to fight for him/talk to him at the end of everything.

His name is G., and contrary to what we think, he is actually tough and able to defend himself. From him, I learn (again) that not obviously reacting to whatever people do to you will show them that you’re not bothered. It is different from taking offence which will show them that they are definitely hitting home with you.


And believe me, G. is full of life, full of light. He is the life of the party. And I like this kind of energy instantly. The field empties and we’re all still talking, happy, getting to know eachother. B, the girl I may or may not have a crush on wants me to meet her friend O. who is also my friend and bunk person. O. introduces us to R., and we introduce him to G. The atmosphere is full of all round love and we’re all kumbaya-ing when I realise that someone, we’re all connected and NYSC is the thing that brings that connection to life.

I remember that B. finished from Babcock. G., from Kwara State University. Me, from University of Ilorin. And I realise how true it is that NYSC is a place to meet different people from different schools and different worlds.

Ok

Anybody to summarize this long write up?

NYSC should be scrapped.... nonesense and ingredients

The summary of this long epistle is that Borno is the headquarters of the Jihadist Boko Haram and being there is the same as being in Aleppo in Syria or Culiacan in Mexico right now.

NYSC my foot!

Nothing to expect. Na automatic redeployment.


If at all Borno still dey list.

WELCOME TO SUFFERING A. K. A NYSC

This is what to expect :

[img]https://i./SHKS.gif[/img]

A

Lol. I do hope you have written your will if not what you need right now is the services of a lawyer.

But what happened there are some Borno corpers at Immigration School, Airport road Kano

Camp was fun sha but anything after that nah wash.

Borno state?
God no go gree.

Nothing to expect. Na automatic redeployment

A lecturer walked into a class room and told all the students that there will be an emergency test. She went straight to the chalk board and wrote the instructions as follows:
1. Time is 15mins
2. No copying
3. No cancellation of answers
4. Once it's time walk away from your desk.
She told the students to get ready and that it will be a simple two
question test.
Question 1. List four of your favorite foods and immediately students started writing.
The Boys were writing Eba, pounded yam,rice, beans, fufu etc...
While the girls were busy writing
Chicken, Chasseur, lasagna, sushi, pizza, shawarma, burger, red velvet Cake, Vanilla ice cream etc.
All the ladies were very happy until they saw the final question which is question 2.
Question 2 says: Explain how to prepare four of your favourite meals as listed in question 1.
See girls and cancellation. See wahala, the girls began to cancel all their first answer and started
changing it to: Yam, beans, white rice,, egg, tea, akamu, indomie, dodo, soaking garri, oil rice etc,.
One of the girls even wrote hot water as her favorite food.
You see yourself?
Let's laugh a little it's a great day.

Chie, been there done that, was poste to Borno camped @ kastina,

The orientation camp was in a deplorable state.
Their food there na kasted, they don't even consider ppl from diff ends of the country, there is always tuwo on the menu for each day, I stated having d feeling that it was don on purpose becos, corpers won't collect and dey have enof to go round for themselves (norther staffs), and more customers for mami traders.
Toilet is so bad, na shortput we dey throw.


Will be keeping u guys updated.

I admire the humor in your piece. Keep it up. More watery tea to your bread Otondo.

i served in borno state in 2014 but we camped in gombe state. good experience i must confess.

I was in this particular camp during my time. Memories.

For ur direct posting and redeployment services check signature

;DAnd also expect to see the festival of fire from both side...BH and NA

My ten kobo advise for every PCM:


Avoid private schools at all cost. They have no benefit to your life. Their 5k has negligible impact on your finance. But they'll want to use you to the fullest. Once you accept it, no going back. That 5k is a scam. And worse is that there's almost no useful experience that you'll gain from private schools.

If you need money, go to companies.

If you can't find a company that's willing to pay handsomely then find a (mini) company that will offer you experience (even if they won't pay you a dime), it's worth it.

The last option is to find a government secondary school where you'll teach for only few periods per week. This will give you time to build/improve your business and skills.

One year in a man's life no be beans. Use it wisely and don't let 5k make you waste one year of your life on building another man's empire.

Shame of a country. Doing something over and over again without positive result.
What we need now is an industrial Nysc or manufacturing nysc

Space for sale? Book with 3k Meanwhile I have nothing else to say.
Op how do you guard against theft?