Jola Ayeye writes , Jola who was supposed to be serving the nation, boycotted but she’s managed to help her friends manage their diaries. The NYSC Diary Series is edited and compiled by Ediale Kingsley.
TMT’s Camp Diaries — Day 1
So I was supposed to start NYSC this week. I didn’t go because I’m a political dissident looking to fight the power and change the social fabric of our great nation, one silent protest at a time.
I lie.
You see, I wasted loads of time registering for NYSC, and by the time I actually got round to it my options were so dire, I decided it was a resounding NO from me. You see I ain’t no punk but this daughter of Oduduwa was most definitely NOT going to test her power by traipsing off to one state that won’t appreciate me in all my glory! I actually have a “to go to camp or nah” test; If the state does not have Shoprite I’m not going. Finish. Don’t ask me why, but as far as I’m concerned, the presence of Shoprite in a state lets me know the state is about that moving forward life.
Anyway I digress. Loads of my friends have actually gone off to serve their nation and so I begged one of them, Temitayo to keep a camp diary. He actually agreed and then asked me to publish it (look at God). Without any more rambling, here it is!
TMT’s camp diary- Day one.
3:30pm: The day before camp starts. Everyone has a bucket. I don’t have a bucket. No, what I have a strong desire to not understand Yoruba. There’s a lot of conversation happening around me. A lot of surprisingly homoerotic stuff as well. Someone just joked about “firing” someone’s ass when he’s sleeping.
I also wish I had an MTN SIM card. It’s the only one that works in this part of the world.
It’s strangely beautiful out here. The airs a little dry and I haven’t had an actual conversation yet.
For some strange reason 4 corpers have claimed to be pastors.
There’s also a guy here called “Lamba”. I literally watched him give himself that nickname. I should have done something. I fear my inability to act when I should have will haunt me for the rest of my stay here.
Lamba has claimed that he will “service” so many girls here….especially the ones with boyfriends. Before I go on, I fear I may have painted Lamba as an idiot. His story comes from pain. Lamba’s brother lost his girlfriend to the ravages of NYSC as well. So he plans to make as many men with S/O’s going through the program feel the same pain.
I’m going to take a nap.
5pm: Bunch of us got called by camp admin to start cutting up pieces of paper and write numbers on them for students registering tomorrow.
I agree but only because I need to get an exit for a few days and this might curry favour.
No biggie.
We cut the paper.
Bonded.
Now we’re a crew. All decent guys.
There’s two in particular.
Victor from Ibadan and Daniel from Maiduguri.
Victor accused Daniel of fcuking cattle and Daniel threatens to fcuk victor by his logic.
This debate goes on for longer than you’d think.
7:30pm: We get smashed and get food. We all notice a couple behind us and the girl eats very little of her food. As soon as the couple leaves a massive debate erupts from my table between the guys (my guys at this point) and the staff on if the guy should have made her pay for her food for not eating it.
That also goes on for longer than any argument of that nature should.
We leave.
9:30pm: we’re all talking about girls. Well except Daniel. He’s talking about using the razor blade in his bag to tear open Victor’s pants.
It’s weird….but we’re laughing. Which is a probably metaphor for something. Probably.
I’m hotspoting wifi from Daniel’s phone to whatsapp my parents so I can’t really call him out.
Also nothing is problematic in Camp.
Is it weird that I feel at home with these insane people?
Is it weird that I’m sleeping on what might be the most disgusting mattress I’ve ever seen?
Is it weird that I’ve lied to my new friends that I went to uni in Ghana so they can like me?
No? Maybe? Yes?
I suppose we’ll find out in the next couple of days.
Lamba is back in the room now. He’s telling about how he’s coming to “Lamba” all my girls in Lagos.
I tell him he’s too much man for them. He agrees.
Crisis averted.
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