We had a sort of radio station on camp called 'the Orientation Broadcasting Service (OBS)'. Members of the OBS are usually selected from graduates of Mass Communications and are mostly exempted from some of the camp activities. Plus, whenever it was time for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, they don't wait in line like the rest of us but go straight to the head of the queues and flash their card to get served straight.
Then there were our medical colleagues; the doctors and pharmacists in the camp clinic. Yes, they tried with whatever drugs and whatnot were available to them. However, whenever the hands of illness hovered over me (once or twice), the mere thought of going to the camp clinic combined with the delicious awesomeness of the oranges, apples and watermelons I buy at Aunty Bola's fruit place is more than enough to make me well again. I mean, I refused to be one of the guinea pigs of my medical colleagues in their quest to get better. But please, if you feel under the weather, abeg go see your doctor oh! No follow my orange and watermelon prescription otherwise, you are on your own. It was grace that saw me through.
There were also the MDG people. MDG stands for Millenium Development Goals. Theirs is to tackle pertinent issues such as illiteracy, health, etc. A lot of corps members joined the MDG on camp. They would go on to start or join MDG community development groups (CD groups) wherever they are posted. Then there was the Martial Band. They were the people called upon to play for parades. Justus was in the band. He even became no. 3 in the hierarchy, he was that good. It was a thing of pride to belong to the band. Most of them got posted to 'civilized' areas (Ilorin majorly, then Offa) unlike most of the rest of us that got one village or the other. Joining MDG and the Band is all well and good but not my kind of thing.
We also had games and sporting activities. It gives me great pride to say that my own participation consisted of clapping and cheering. My platoon managed to go far in both football and volleyball; we lost the semis in football and lost the finals in volleyball (which was played by the females). My passion on camp was dance and drama. All the platoons were also to compete in dance and drama and the best team/squad/group would become part of the state cultural troupe.
A quick sidenite on how we get divided into platoons. When a fresh otondo arrives at camp, at the point of registration, s/he gets the orientation kit and a state code number. The orientation kit consists of the NYSC bye-laws, a language guidebook on the languages predominant in that part of the country then 2 sets of white vests with white shorts, 2 pairs of white socks, a pair of jungle boots, a pair of white tennis shoes then one set of the khaki uniform with one NYSC crested vest and one cap. The state code comprises of the state's initials/short code followed by the batch and year then the individual's given number e.g KW/13B/069. The last digit of the state code determines an otondo's platoon.
Back to the drama and dance, I was one of the 5 guys who showed interest in dance and drama. Yeah sure, during rehearsals, tempers flared and arguments rose but we settled and overall, it was great fun! Some of our songs were hilarious and our dance steps were so good that other platoons' dance groups would pretend to walk past our rehearsal spot to make calls or some other such nonsense whereas their true motives were to spy our moves. Indeed, on the nights of the competition, many of their steps were modelled on ours and in some instances, were exact replicas of our moves. No wahala, God dey watch everything.
There were other competitions such as the Mr Macho and Miss NYSC where each platoon had to send a representative. We won the Miss NYSC competition. As to the Mr Macho, the sight of all those manly pectorals and packs would have sent me into a wild fit of jealousy if not for the fact that Cynthia held my attention for most of the night of that particular competition. The hall was crowded so we spent most of the time just outside in the dark areas doing........ You want to know? I am not telling!! We didn't do any bad thing oh but, a gentleman doesn't tell his secrets.
The 21 days on camp were coming to an end. Most of us looked forward to seeing our homes again. Some had already planned to lodge with their boy/girlfriends with the money we would be paid at the end of our stay on camp. And for some, most of the money would go to paying off accumulated debts at the mammy market. Seriously, that place can eat your money completely if you no wise up. Anyways, all that is a story for another page. Till that story comes knocking, keep calm and obey the clarion call!
Oluwsina Niran
https://www.facebook.com/niranneil?fref=ts
Cant wait for my own 21days oooo
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