My NYSC Story

My diary Comprise two parts;

The Road Trip to Iseyin, Oyo state on the 23rd of May.

And


The Camp Experience.

This comprise the first part, The road trio.

 It was a tedious but highly stimulating journey. At different points in the journey to Oyo, Various things crossed my mind. Enjoy.

                   *   *   *   *    *
May 23rd.
4:14pm.

Shades of disregard.

So, the driver slows down, alights and declares 'na oil i wan buy'.  Without any regard for us, the passengers.

Moments ago, before several palm frond constructed stores, displaying yellow bags of garri and several lines of four litres, filled with red oil slid past us like a video reel, this driver complained of disregard.

He was on top speed, disregarding my intimate conversations with Alessia cara, of which i didn't mind.

He halted the bus suddenly, i looked up and saw a cattle herd crossing the road. The herdsman, probably fulani chased them along but the herd kept walking majestically, perhaps they are aware that their man is the president, who knows.

The driver shouted at him,

"if to say i kill one of your cow now. U no just get sense. Motor wey go kill you dey come.!!!"

I did not bother much, Alessia doesn't understand pidgin, so I had nothing to worry about. I just pulled back into her as she attempted to make me believe she's mine. In her words, "Oooh baby i'm yours".

But I suspect she says this to whoever cares to listen. Still, I listen, I love to be seduced by her. This musicians ehn... One can never trust them...

That's how I did not know Sam Smith was singing for the man that broke his heart, and I followed him to be chanting...

"Leave your lover, leave him for me... ".


                   *   *   *   *    *


4:22 pm.

Jangilova.

Note to my lover.

...The slide changed as I looked out this bus window. It's no longer green fallow lands, hills or depressions begging for proper utilisation. It's all heavy duty trucks right now. The smell of engine oil mixed with mechanical parts of disassembled engines arrest the air. The window is wide open and the wind is forcing fluids out of my eyes. I conjure a quarter smile or a grin if you prefer a better but more boring word. I think of you, the bus halts again. Several buses line in front of us, it's a hold up...
The guy beside me, his head bobs up and down, as though he's listening to Aha gazelle's vegeta playing from my purple wire. He's just nodding in obeisance to sleep. The bus rolls forward, a soldier leaning on a dry stick waves us on, the driver accelerates. I stop writing this.
I just want to facebook and listen to Aha Gazelle remind me why i had to let girls go. Long journey.
Safe journey.


                   *   *   *   *    *

4:31pm.

The Road.

Why do these roads have lines.
Some white and broken. Some white and unbroken. Some yellow and unbroken.
They are all like one very long snake, running opposite our bus at exactly the same speed.
The white unbroken ones close to the central barrier that dualizes the road. The white broken lines are in the middle of the road.The yellow unbroken lines are on the outer end close to the forests or houses.
Why?
And Jon bellion is screaming "Don't ask coz I don't know!!! "
Dumb as*.

                   *   *   *   *    *


4:47pm.

Detour!

The bus stopped at Oreh. We step down and each passenger walked toward whatever delighted him. Vendors selling chinchin, suya, banana, beverages.
I walked into a restaurant. It's for travellers based on its arrangements and how scanty it looked. A girl sellse bottle water. I drink, sit and watch till the driver ushers us back into the bus.
The bus leaves and stops at a filling station minutes later. The guy before me asks for bottle water, and the hawkers say it's thirty percent less than I bought it five minutes ago. I sigh.
He haggles on, they offer him twenty percent discount. I look at him and wonder if he's trying to make me feel bad. He just bought bottled water fifty percent less than the price I did moments ago.
Where is Jon bellion, I'm about to run wild.
The young man bears no ill, he offers me banana but I politely decline. He just made me look like a fool, I hate smart people. Hehehehehe...
New friend alert!


                   *   *   *   *    *
5:03pm.

Ovasabi. Prejudice. Preacher and the word.

The last hour or half of it, has been terrorized by unapologetic dimples on the road. The driver and his speed are infidels, they aggravate the bump induced jerks.
The young man beside me suddenly "Praised the lord", and declared he wished to share the word of God with us.

An old woman in the mid seat row turns, almost cynically but no expression on her face. I caught her eyes. She seemed relieved to see I was not the one sharing the word of God. Prejudice.
A very dark man in front turns around and stares in a condescending manner at the undeterred preacher. Ovasabi.
They are just making the preacher feel like this is not the right time to preach the word of God. Is there a proper time?
Just because potholes and hot seats have conspired to increase the torture of our backs and bum, soul winning should stop?
I'm sure no one is listening, oh, I just heard him say "Jesus is saying, can I come and be your Lord? "
Wow.
Moral:
 Earpiece cannot stop you from hearing the word of God.

                   *   *   *   *    *

5:22pm.

Detour:  Pee Lessons.

The girl had been hitting on it from the park. She kept telling everyone who cared to listen she was a "Wee girl".
She claimed she had just gone to urinate but since the bus took another one hour to leave the park, she was sure she would need to pee again.
A very melodious and nod inducing Yoruba tune was playing and suddenly I heard voices disrupting.
Driver, driver, I want piss.
The whole men, except me (of course, I was typing this) had to prevail on the driver to stop.
She is fair, short but on low cut. She's lively and loquacious (or maybe she's lively because she's loquacious or anyone can serve).
The bus stopped near a bush. The vegetation was just about ankle high. She came down and stood, confused. How was she going to pee in this short bush by the road side?
"You for wear skirt. You wey know say you dey piss piss anyhow, you no suppose wear trouser."
Hmmm...
You see the moral or you need to visit London to see your ENT specialist?
Oh, I thought the E was for eye. My bad!.


                   *   *   *   *    *

6:52pm.

New Garage,  Old Lagos Road.

The bus parks in the New garage. Commercial bike riders beseech us. Five hundred Naira they say, to get us to a park where we'll find a bus to Iseyin. I laugh.
I call a friend and he explains that I should walk out to the road and take a taxi to iwoh road. Then from there take another taxi to ojoo.  Then i'd find a ride to Iseyin. Long journey but less than three hundred Naira. I choose journey, who has extra cash to waste. Out on the road, a short man approach me and takes my luggage to his car. Iwoh road, #150.
I sit in front of the car and wait as he hustles for more passengers. A bus drives awkwardly, and despite directions from bystanders, it still grazed the fender of my taxi. The driver flares up in Yoruba.  Beautiful language, I must learn.
Both the victim and offender argue. People Wade in and it becomes a group of people arguing. In Yoruba language. I hear Wa, I hear oshile, I take notes. Beautiful language but they like " talk pass fight."
No be yorubah!?
I look around, shutting out the semi fight. I wonder where this place is. When in doubt, consult a sign/bill board.
I look left, right. Nothing. Then my eyes dart to a board on the junction, at the bottom right corner, with brown paint on a yellow back ground, the name of the place still visible to a searching eye.
Our car is filled, the driver sated. I sit in front as he complains, "upon as I try direct the guy, he still go spoil my motor".
I smile in sympathy, as he drove off New Garage, Old Lagos Road.

                   *   *   *   *    *

8:41pm.


Y' Demons.


We get to Iwoh road and from there another taxi to ojoo. Walk to ojoo with my box on my head. Get to Total and some old and alcohol wrecked old men, acting as a bad excuse for urchins. They stare at us as if they forgot their jobs.
Once we disclose we're going to the camp at Iseyin, they cirlcle like imbecile hyenas.
#700, and 200 for your bag....
Say what???
We decline payment, the guy with me is infuriated. We didn't pay for anything other than transportation from Edo, and here we are, asked to pay for one luggage, #200.
A woman comes around, with a face towel. I remember I need a towel.
How much?
700
What?
Oya gimme 550
Take your towel madam. I have no use for it.
She asks if I have white shorts, I shake my head. She offers her poor quality shorts.

Buy original shorts.
But I heard they'll give in camp.
That one na fake. E go tear.
OK ma.

I walk away.
She's not impressed, neither am I. She walks past my front, and I say "Thank you ma."
Make e dey pain her.

Moral:
Oyo will exploit you  if you're a corper. The men and women aged and advanced, will still raise the price of wares.
To be forewarned, To be forearmed.


Good night.

#Oyokopa 

#Itesiwajukopa

#kop