MY NYSC EXPERIENCE: PART 1.
I hate alarms. They’re so intrusive. The way they creep into your subconscious, slowly dragging you out to life like you’re in a heated tug of war. One that you purposely proposed but one that you are almost never prepared for. On most days, I win the war, completely ignoring it or simply turning it off the second it rings. This time sadly, I have to concede. I have an early bus to catch. One that I earnestly prayed I wouldn’t have to be on but unfortunately here I was, dragging myself out of bed before dawn, trying to hit the road before the city fully wakes.
This is the third time I’ll be embarking on this type of journey this year. Long distance journeys. I hate them. Sitting still for hours on end, staring at vast empty lands covered in either dust or trees while passing time by listening to different songs, pretending you’re the main cast in a television show or movie. The first two journeys were bad for different reasons and I already had a feeling this one wouldn’t be any different.
Just as I predicted, after several hours on the road — enduring two incredibly frustrating kids who wouldn’t let me sleep or just be in peace — I was stuck in Anambra at 8pm, surrounded by strange tongues and faces, facing the possibility of passing the night on the road. I didn’t understand most of what was being said around me, I didn’t even know the language that was being spoken. All I could make out was that there was a curfew in Anambra that prevented cars from passing a certain route after 8pm and we couldn’t reach our destination till the following day. Enter a random guy on the road, ‘Oga there’s another road you fi pass blah blah blah’. Just as the driver was discussing with this random man, contemplating whether to pass this unknown route, an argument ensued in the bus. Some people wanted us to stay put, fearing for their safety and understandably so. This was a town no one was really familiar with and a road no one knew about prior to this conversation. Also, it was late. Others argued that we should give it a try, they had things to do and places to be. And then the languages switched again. I was once again lost.
About an hour later, we were back on the high way doing about 120km per hour trying to reach our destination before we get caught by another curfew. The people that had things to do won. We followed the unknown path even though we had to pay through our teeth while also pleading with men who looked up to absolutely no good.
After what looked like an endless journey, I reached Owerri by 10pm. I had never been here before so at the very least I was going to need daylight to navigate the city. I needed a place to pass the night. The bus park didn’t seem like a good option for a number of reasons. It looked unsafe and I knew nothing of the mosquitoes in Owerri. Are they gentle? aggressive? blood sucking demons? I was not willing to find out. I decided to ask the bus driver if he knew any nearby hotel. He quickly pointed me to one short, scrawny looking man who could take me to one. The eagerness to direct me made me very suspicious. ‘Oga follow me’. We hadn’t walked for more than 5 minutes when we turned into an empty street, surrounded by thick darkness. How would I survive a 14 hour journey only to get robbed or worse, kidnapped in the same day. Next thing an empty bus parked beside us asking for our destination. The man leading me to the hotel said ‘Oga we have to enter bus’ almost like he was in cohort with the bus driver. My initial thoughts were: ‘Which bus? To where? Abeg abeg’. The man gingerly stepped into the bus while I just stood awkwardly deciding if I should get in or not. I did eventually, against my better judgement. Thankfully, we got to an hotel in minutes and the man made sure I got an accommodation. He didn’t even ask me for money. He just nodded and left after he realized I could now handle the situation. Lesson learnt. Don’t judge a dark, short, unscrupulous looking man by his appearance. Or maybe you should. I don’t know.
The bed was covered in dust. I could feel it on my skin. The fan in the room was begging to be put out of its misery. It sounded tired. Really tired. And so was I. This was better than an unknown car park. It’ll have to do.
I’m standing next to a lady at an MTN stand who has been constantly calling a phone contact that says ‘Zaddy❤️’ to no avail. She’s probably just as frustrated as I am. I’ve been here now for about 5 days and I’ve not had good network reception on my phone. I would find out about the poor reception here in an unpleasant manner. A couple of hours into my first day here, I was beyond exasperated. Government institutions are synonymous with horrid organization. There’s a common lack of coordination present in most if not all of them. The registration process was so frantic and tedious. I was on long queues that kept changing form and shape for hours. It was survival of the fittest and frankly, I wasn’t interested in fighting my way through a sea of bodies just to submit a piece of paper. After some time, hustling and bustling, I needed to talk to someone, just to rant about how tiring this place had been. I knew no one here so I decided to call my mum but unfortunately, it didn’t go through. I tried again and again, walking around the camp site for good reception. I was relieved when the call finally went through on the parade ground. I was mid-rant when I heard someone shouting furiously at me. It was a soldier. I had no idea what I had done wrong. He just kept shouting. After a few seconds, he started charging at me and I froze. One of my worst nightmares was coming to pass.
