Frankly, there was never a time as hilarious as this in my three weeks in camp. You could see the trepidation with which people walked to the pavilion to collect their posting letters. The air wreaked of dread and anxiety.

As soon as the platoon officer started calling out numbers and giving posting letters, a girl and her friend burst into prayers almost immediately, more than half my platoon members joined - they either had their eyes closed, their heads bowed or their mouths mumbling words. I wondered if the last minute fire brigade incantations will change a letter that was already printe.

I didn't know when I laughed out loud, a rolling eyes from my platoon officer gave me the come-back-to-your-senses pull.

I finally heard my number. I collected and opened the letter, it was everything I didn't want plus more. I was going to teach in a village I couldn't as much as pronounce, the more to it was, I would be teaching a primary school! For f***'s sake! A primary school!

Lost in thought, I heard an outburst of wailings. A lady nearby, she had been posted to a village after buying wine for an official to work her posting to the city, assuming it's just wine she gave.

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