Authomated teller machine card that is going on a long journey with its owner must sleep inside the shoe. I carefully slid my ATM card into my NYSC socks, under my left foot, inside my shoe. From Taraba to Akwa is not a short journey, it is not even a long journey, it is an abroad movement. From Taraba in Nigeria to my village also in Nigeria be like real abroad journey, it was like I was not only going overseas, I was going over bush, in short, over forest. Passing through those hilly, long and snaky roads big pass street fight, na battle. While coming, I had envisioned our bus somersaulting over 300 times, arriving at Saudana Local Government also called Mambilla plateau took us three whole days. I thought if I travel to America, I will be very cold but I am telling you, the cold that welcomed us in Mambilla can subdue any other kind of cold, I think it is nowhere else in this whole world. If you are rehearsing how to live abroad, you can go there for a trial. I am assuring you that you must have that abroad feeling. Surviving there in new food, skinny looking people, insecurity and all was the jungle itself. But I made it, my breathe of relief flew up to heaven as I looked up for the last time before entering the bus organised by our fellowship group. Fellowship group was what sustained most of us, do not ever avoid yourself from belonging to a Christian family. Their help is not only free, it is divine. The Christian corpers we met there provided us with coveralls, hoodies, sweaters, gloves, socks, food, immediately we got there. They were already waiting for our arrival in order to help us combat the stone-cold. My NYSC was a wild experience yet I thank God for all the souls won and the lives we touched while spreading the good news of Jesus Christ to the people.
As the bus moved, I imagined the road again and closed my eyes. I sat at the front passenger’s seat beside the driver, I was always in charge of many things so I sat like I was protecting the rest of my fellow ex-corpers that I have already known. All my savings from the one year was in my account that had the ATM inside my socks, a whooping sum of hundred thousand naira, I did not go there to joke, life after NYSC always waved at me. So I thought I was ready. 100k in my account plus God’s grace, I must hammer! We sang and chatted along, shouting Jesus, the blood of Jesus, Father Lord, when necessary. The bus went up and down till we arrived on flat road. But do you know what is wrong with Nigerian flat road? They are always bad, dilapidated, horrible, horrendous and evil. Blood-sucking bad roads of Nigeria. That was how I waved them goodbye at my own stop and began the real journey home. I thanked God for the safe journey and no robbery, even if there was robbery sef, they wouldn’t have seen my money. Igbo man like me, that ATM card slept well inside my shoe. We had passed the night for four hours mid-way so my mouth tasted sour since I did not brush my teeth when we resumed our journey, my stomach had disturbed a little so I ate along. It was while I was in a taxi heading home at about 4pm that I thought about my mouth. What if it is smelling and I need to stop by to drop the things I bought for my pastor and most importantly my,….. I won’t tell now, wait, wait a little. I thought of telling the motorcyclist I boarded to take me finally to my home to stop by the road, let me quickly take out my toothbrush and paste from my school bag and clean but I was tired with a school bag clinging on my shoulder, one bag of goodies on my lap, another bag of goodies in between I and the rider and my big box in front of the man. I had given out many of things to the junior corpers mostly out of goodness not even because of the inconvenience. I bunked the idea of stopping, I was tired, let my mouth have any smell there can be, it wasn’t easy for me anyway. I did not for once come back home during my service so my homecoming was like a new excursion. I looked at my own village and stared at my people well before I waved or screamed their names. I just kept laughing and laughing at the shouts. Before I stopped in front of St. Obi road, my cheeks were already hurting. St. Obi road is divided into two, one, which was shorter, will lead me to my Pastor’s house and the other to my house. The one leading to my pastor’s place was bad that even the rider had to notify me and refused to continue the journey. I stood there thinking if I should just go home and come back tomorrow, I shook my head. God first, I must go my pastor first, hah, me Chukwudili, a choir master and Sunday school teacher, no way, the devil cannot use portor-portor to deceive me.
‘Obinna, you know me na,....... https://egbechopublishers..com/2020/08/local-man-part-1.html


From your celebrities story plug.