A Corpers Life, Part Two

A few weeks ago, I shared my first impressions of NYSC camp with Giist readers; now its been a little over a week since camp wrapped up and I’m positive I’ll never experience anything that will come close to those three extensive weeks, ever again.

After close to two weeks, I wanted to run home.  I’d decided I had had enough.  The place was absolutely unlivable and I wasn’t feeling well due to the sudden change in environment. But after several phone calls to my many parents in Abuja and in London, I stayed. I didn’t want to disappoint them and most importantly I didn’t want to disappoint myself. I said I would go through with it, and I like to keep my word, especially a pact I made to myself. I was in for the long run, three weeks was a very long time in an enclosed space with strange people and older adult supervision, and lets not forget the soldiers that lurked at every corner on campgrounds. Not enough stories, or personal opinions could’ve given me a proper synopsis. As they always say, you can’t teach experience for experience is your teacher.

One of the biggest lessons I learned while at camp was that you can’t expect to change how a person thinks, but you can try to make that person understand why they need to change their perspective. If I wasn’t mistaken all the individuals at camp were certainly University graduates, yet the attitudes and behavior some Corpers donned at camp was that of children at primary school. Basic things like forming a straight line in order to fill out paper work were things of a foreign nature in their minds. People were quarreling like cats and dogs in a boxing match, or simply cutting the line as if they were entitled to the spot already being held by someone in place. Corpers would approach you and tell you they were next in line only to disappear and come back hours later while they rested under the shade, as if the people doing things the right way were morons for standing in the sun.

Living in a shared environment can be grueling, especially with complete strangers. I fathomed that we were living in confined and poor conditions, but I must say that I am highly disappointed and ashamed of how the females in my hostel kept their living quarters. We had females urinating and defecating in gutters that were purposely built there to serve as drainage. Such would be excusable had there not been designated bathrooms and toilets. Everyone is well aware of the fact that the facilities aren’t kept to the best of its ability, but as women and as human beings the way we think and process is what separates us from animals. It was very hard for me to comprehend how and why a person, a woman nonetheless could stand up to urinate in a place that is supposed to be a common area and also used as daily circulation. Of course I complained, and if definitely fell on deaf ears, my roommates and myself never gave up though, someone even had the nerve to defecate in front of our door one morning.

The biggest problem that was presented to me was the lack of communication between the staff at camp and the Corpers. I definitely understand that this is an environment and culture where the elders are put on high ground and well respected, but in this case these workers took that to their advantage. I’m not trying to make a generalized statement here, for I came across plenty that did their jobs and were willing to help out any Corper in need. Though the problem falls on the majority of the staff that made sure they made our daily lives a living hell and further slowing the already snail like speed of the important things we need to get completed before we left camp. There were staff that would not show up when they were supposed to, some that will get up and leave based on their discretion in the middle of an unfinished task. Yes, some of my fellow Corpers were quite aggressive. Yes, some of my fellow Corpers were down right unnecessarily disrespectful at times, but you can’t fight fire with fire, the problem will only continue to persist. I believe that one leads by example, and as our elders and as ones assigned to assist us, there were several alternative methods to which they could have solves many issues rather than just walking away. There was an abundance of tasks that were left until last minute to get completed simply because egos came to play rather than the real issue, which was to help Corpers finish handling business.

Putting all stressful things aside, we kept ourselves busy and entertained. Corpers kept Mami market in business, took plenty naps when we could. I bonded a lot with my roommates; we were lucky enough to end up in a cubicle that only held 4 bunks. We went to morning parade together, sometimes we even went jogging when the sun went down on evenings we weren’t too tired, or better yet lazy. Scheduled camp events like cultural day, where people dressed up to represent whichever culture they desired and of course most opted for their own, I decided to create my own just for fun. Campfire night was quite memorable and went on without a hitch, it was beautiful to see people around a campfire, and I think that was the first time it actually clicked to me that this enclosure I resided in was a camp.

After all the queue battles, red sand-covered trainers, sweat and overly tanned skin. The experience was bitter sweet. I’m very used to adapting to my environment, but this was the most challenging of them all. The mean streets of New York City, or Brooklyn doesn’t have anything on NYSC camp, camp was rough and in 21 one days I re-established my limits within myself and with others. My roommate Efe even started calling me “The Kubwa Terrorist “ due to the fact that I refused to tolerate nonsense from anyone. December 6^th was a victorious day, it was the last day of camp and I turned 25. This experience would be very hard to ever forget. It was three weeks of hell, three weeks of adventure, three weeks of survival, three weeks of friends I’ve made and hope will continue to be a part of my life for a very long time. Few tears here and there but I went through it, I did it, I’m still alive, and what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger. I got a better perspective of the Nigerian in a nutshell through my fellow Corpers, if anything I need to thank them for giving me something I couldn’t buy anywhere had I not stayed and endured camp life.

Now that you’ve read Part 1 and Part 2, what did you think of Farida’s NYSC experience? Share your comments below!