The first call-up letter I got was to go to Adamawa state to serve Nigeria with all my strength. But for a reason, I willingly revalidated. The subsequent one came, and I was catapulted to Enugu state to go through a 3-week compulsory orientation in Awgu camp before I was posted to my place of primary assignment in Umuitodo, Udenu LG.
Awgu is one of the seventeen LGAs in Enugu state. It was a LG area I saw people living without electricity for years. This wasn’t caused by non electrification of the area, the people intentionally submitted themselves to total darkness through their own making. Almost all the cables that supplied electricity to the area were stolen not by outsiders, but by the indigenes.
There was another feature, apart from total darkness, that described Awgu LG during my short stay in the camp. None of the LG staff of Awgu normally came to work, but they only appeared at the end of each month during the time that their salaries were ready to be paid. I approched and asked one of the staff the reason for this, her response was funny and disheartening.
Despite the rigours and severity – waking up early in the morning, compulsory morning devotions even if you were a Traditionalist, occasional punishments from known soldiers if one dared disobey any of their commands. Their language was, obeyed like a zombie and no complaint. Non-nutritious foods normally served to ‘corpers’ like those in refugee camps – we were made to go through in the camp, there were still some funs one couldn’t afford to miss.
After morning devotions and some clean-ups, we normally went for morning lectures. Those lectures, no doubt, were educative and enlightening. Physical trainings and drills to keep fit were tonic to the body. Social activities were entertaining. And every evening, ‘Mammy market’ was there to give succur after each day’s rigorous activities.
In sports, I made sure I was not left out. I participated in football, and played for my platoon (platoon-4). We made it to the final, but lost the match to platoon-1 or 2. We came second in the tournament. But our platoon-4 ladies did us proud; they lifted the trophy for the volleyball competition. Both victories were taken to celebrate Bonfire Night in the camp.
Before we left camp, the accountant, a Yorûbá man for that matter, tried to play a trick on me. I didn’t claim my allowance on time, and he thought I wouldn’t come. But when I showed up, he started to find one or two flimsy exuses. I was patient with him for two days. I allowed him to exhaust all his tricks. But the third day when I started my…, he didn’t hesitate to provide the money. After ‘chopping’ the large part of money disbursed by the FG to provide sumptuous foods for ‘corpers’, the accountant still wanted to ‘chop’ my meagre allowance. Ole!
It was like I was posted to Enugu state to know what a rigorous life meant. After leaving Awgu orientation camp, I thought there would be a relief from the compulsory, strict life I was subjected to in the camp, but I was wrong. I was posted to live in a remote and faraway village where I wouldn’t have access to electricity, pipe borne water, social life and what have you for a year. In fact, one could hardly go to Obolo-Afor, a fairly lively town very close to Nsuka, from Umuitodo, my place of assignment, unless it was a market day.
There was no Android/Tablet to download and listen to music of one’s choice. My only companions were my books and a transistor radio. Thanks to one particular FM station then which made my Sunday nights a bit animated. The station normally played Yoruba songs of King Sunny Ade, Ebenezer Obey, Ayinde Barrister, K1, Victor Olaiya, I.K Dairo and a host of others. They were mostly played at night between 11pm and 12 midnight. I hardly missed the programs. Unless you’re far away from home, you may likely not appreciate what you’re familiar with. It was so emotional one day when Chief Ebenezer Obey’s song (Ara Nbada) was aired on radio.
“Irin ajo la wa yi o, ori gbe wa o de’le… Iya o si ni’le yi o e, baba o si ni’le yi o e. Ise aje, ise aje, ise aje mo ba d’ajo o…”
When it comes to hospitality and generosity, I give kudos to Umuitodo residents. My landlady gave free accommodation and occasional fresh soups with thick Akpu or garri (eba). Of course there were some differences between Igbo and Yoruba foods. For instance, our foods like moinmoin, akara (bean cake), eba, fufu, were soft while theirs like okpa, garri, akpu and even their’akara'(bean cake) were very thick and solid. Their pap (àkàmù) was usually watery unlike ours. Throughout my stay in Enugu state, I never saw Igbos making or eating ‘amala’. They complained it was too soft for their preference. Just give it to Igbos, their soups were richer. While eating, you wouldn’t care for meat or fish. Pieces of assorted offals put together in their soup were enough.
In the evenings after school hours, I occasionally settled for original palm wine (direct from ‘ori ope’). But I didn’t do ‘kainkain’ which was the real drinks in the village.
Before some students were assigned to get water for ‘corpers’, I used to go to the stream to get water to drink or to bath, though not from same location.
Umuitodo was the village I saw grown up ladies bathing in the stream half-naked without caring whether a grown up man was present or not. There was an occasion I went to fetch water in the stream. I saw a fully grown lady bathing half naked. Perhaps because of where I came from, I felt not comfortable seeing such. But the lady, perceiving how uneasy I was feeling, calmed my discomfort. “Corper, make you come fetch your water o. Never mind wetin you see”, she uttered.
My encounter with the lady was not like that of Lakunle, a village schoolteacher in ‘The Lion and the Jewel’, who only saw Sidi’s bare shoulders. You remember that beautiful village girl in Soyinka’s play? I saw it halfway, but not completely.
At least I witnessed two or three such occasions. I usually felt somehow each time, but because I didn’t want to look stupid in the eyes of the ladies, I managed to pretend as if nothing was wrong. Culture is indeed strong!
Anytime I think of what has become of Nigeria today, I can’t but ask exactly where we got it wrong. There were two occasions in my trips during my service year which, if it had been today, might have cost my life.
I got to Onitsha, Anambra state, very late in one of my trips. By the time I got to the park where I would take another vehicle to Enugu, it was already dark, and there was no longer any vehicle to take to my destination. Also there was no one again in the park except a night guard. I thought of looking for a way to get to a nearby police station at least to stay overnight.
Though banditry and kidnapping were not common that time, armed robberies were rampant in Anambra state, most especially in Onitsha, that period. This was the reason the night guard discouraged me of trying to go to a police station at that late hour. He offered me an accomodation in one of the buses in the park. It was eyes wide open till morning because everywhere was in total darkness. But thanks to God and the guard, I arrived safely at my place the following day.
Another similar occasion was during the time that I went into a fierce and ferocious riot immediately we entered Onitsha from the Niger bridge. To turn back was impossible. The driver had to ask all the passengers to alight at the tail end of the bridge leading to Onitsha. I thought the end had come because those Igbo guys were on rampage to descend on any non-indigene, most especially Hausas. Onitsha was where I witnessed human beings being butchered and their bodies roasted.
At that moment, I didn't know where to turn to. But thank God again for sending a kind-hearted Igbo man, whose motorbike I took through the unfriendly atmosphere to the park. He instructed me not to utter any word if we were stopped on our way. And each time we were stopped, he made strange signals to those violent-looking guys, who manned each road block. Until I got to Enugu that day, I was not at all myself. If you had watched ‘Hotel Rwanda’ or ‘Sometime in April’, you would of course know how dangerous it was to enter into such riot. Tribal war is tough!
Yes, my service year was full of mixed and conflicting feelings: tough and occasional fun. Of course I managed to know a little about Igbo culture – the food, the dress, naming of the new-born, mourning of the loved ones and the language. I always tried to speak little of Igbo language I managed to master to my students. But each time I uttered few words, I perceived I was always secretly laughed at. My dialect was funny to them, I believed.
I bu nwata akwukwo – Are you a student?
Ibo-la-chi or Ututu oma- Good morning
I na-aga akwukwo – Are you going to school?
Ego ole – How much?
Wota ego – Bring money.
Ekele Chineke – Thank God.
Sometime the issue of whether to continue or scrap the NYSC program came up and was discussed. Some supported its continuation while some spoke against it. But in my own view, though there are insecurities all over the country that have created fears in both graduates and their parents, a year mandatory service is worth experiencing.
Happy 50th anniversary.