No Country for Dull Men (1)

Yesterday I was cleaning up my store room and checking for stuff I could do away with for good. I was rifling through an old partly-torn duffel bag when I came across a belt. It was frayed a bit at the ends but firm. The material was not leather, instead a hand-woven fabric in marine green colour. I knew where it came from but for certainty I sniffed it. As expected, it was a now faint and still familiar scent; like a combination of vanilla and sandalwood.

I was immediately inundated with nostalgic feelings that dated back to my NYSC camp weeks, which brings us to the reason for this post(s). Over the next few weeks, I will be writing an abridged version of key events that happened during my stay at camp. I hope you enjoy it.

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Flashback six years to February 2008.

At the Faculty of Arts and Communications University of Nigeria, a small group of recent graduates queued outside the faculty office waiting to receive their letters of (NYSC) deployment. Those of us outside could still hear the conversation between the faculty officer and students inside.

“What’s your own name?”

“Chikaodi Okafor, Sir”, her wavering voice betrayed the fear beneath it.

“Well Chikaodi, I hope you have your hijab ready. You have been posted to…ZAMFARA!”

The faculty officer’s laughter was loud and mirthless.

“Jisos! Noooooo!!!”

The office door burst open and a girl whom I guessed was Chikaodi ran out and made for the stairway without caring about the people she bumped into. Some of us tried to stifle our laughter, we couldn’t find it funny, after-all we weren’t yet sure of our own fate.

Her reaction was understandable; Zamfara state had been in the news lately for their strict Sharia law practices. Only that week, a young couple had their left wrists chopped off for mistakenly holding hands in public and they were not even Muslims.

“Call that girl, call her! If she doesn’t come and sign her deployment form she won’t get her certificate oh…Next!”

How the officer could remain insensitive to such an issue didn’t surprise us, since he assumed office few months ago we had all heard different stories about his callousness.

The next person on the list was a guy. The moment he was told he would be serving in Lagos he whooped with joy. When he came out he proceeded to slide across the hallway on his knees the same way a footballer would after scoring a much needed goal (thank God the floor was made of polished marble).

                                         

If someone were watching us, they would think the book of life was being read out. I was next in queue. Though I will admit, I was nervous but I decided I wouldn’t let any news bother me.

“Ricardo?”

“Yes”

He peered at me over ancient horn-rimmed specs.

“Who gave you that name sef, your father?”

“I can’t say sir, I never bothered to ask.”

I wasn’t in the mood to discuss naming rights. If he did not notice, I was already impatient.

“Let’s see…ehen! Kogi State. You have been posted to Kogi State.”

Huh, Kogi?  It was one of those states that you knew existed but never really knew much about, sort of like Kebbi or Gombe state. I didn’t know how to react. What part of the Nigerian map was it?

“Are you asking me? Sign here and take ya letter.” He barked.

I had no idea I had been thinking aloud. I was probably more shaken than I thought.

On my way out, I avoided the numerous questioning eyes. I was already on Google mobile looking up Kogi state. Ironic much?

I found out it was in the central region of Nigeria and bordered by Kwara and Benue States. So it wasn’t northern, my mind became more relaxed.

Weeks later, on the day I was to leave for camp I arrived very early to the bus-stop at Iddo, Lagos. Two touts began to exchange blows over which bus I would board. Their daily commission depended on it. I quickly entered the less crooked-looking one and squeezed myself at the back (the choice seats in front had been taken…or reserved for the highest bidder). I had never been to Kogi in my life and didn’t know what to expect, on such trips I preferred to remain awake. But I failed miserably.

Few hours later when I woke up, I was happy to note that this particular bus actually had an AC. We were in Akure; it wasn’t just the road signs, but the numerous rusty zinc roofs that told me. The driver of a commercial bus was using a detached hand mirror to check vehicles behind him while navigating the steering wheel with the other hand. The passengers couldn’t be bothered (only in Akure)…

We drove on for another three hours. The trip was very long and uneventful- except if watching numerous trees and goat farmers were your thing- we only stopped once to eat. I was beginning to wonder if we would ever get there when I saw the ‘Welcome to Kogi State’ sign. The first few kilometres were bushy and then we entered the main city.

I didn’t know what to think, there were huge rocks, really old cars (think Santana and Datsun) and mosques…lots of mosques. I turned to verify from the woman by my side if we were in actually in Kogi state (and not Zamfara). She confirmed it and seemed excited to be home. Unfortunately I didn’t share her enthusiasm; the state looked to me to still be in the eighties…

“Wey that corper?” It was the driver speaking- “This na Okene park, you go come down here take taxi to Kabba. Na there your camp dey.”

I thanked him and alighted with my suitcase, before long I found a taxi (yes, that white Datsun thunderbird) going to Kabba. The driver, a smiling man probably in his forties told me reassuringly that he would get me there in thirty minutes. There were three other passengers in the car when we left Okene.

Everything was going fine until we spotted a large grass cutter (bush rat) scuttling across the road. At the sight of it the driver immediately manoeuvred the car after it as if in attempt to run over the creature, nearly tumbling the vehicle into the bush itself.

“Kai! And na big one!” he lamented.

He quickly stopped the car, got a long dane gun from under his seat and ran into the bush after it. We looked at each other with surprise. A gun?? What the…

Gboa! Gboaa!!

Two shots rang out from the bush. I jumped in my seat. Jesus! What kind of people were these, no gun laws? One of the passengers was on the verge of running for it when the driver emerged triumphantly from the bushes with the dead animal in one hand. He had a huge smile on his face.

“Abeg make una no vex, if I no carry bush meat go house my wife go vex”. He explained.

I remembered reading how much Okene people loved bush-meat. Still it was no reason to nearly get us killed. He was about putting the old school gun back under his seat when I urged him to put it in the boot. I wasn’t going to risk being shot by accidental discharge.

When we finally got to Asaya-Kabba camp, it was 5.45pm. I was both hungry and worn-out, I could barely drag my suitcase. Not far away, a soldier in full army gear walked towards me. He wasn’t smiling. I began to walk in his direction, not smiling either…

To be continued…