GOMBE CORPER SERIES PART 3: My life outside camp (Part A)

I sat still at the back of the old taxi as I made my way to my PPA, completely sandwiched between two corpers also heading into town. So many things were going through my mind that even though I was grateful that I was posted to the heart of town, I was also nervous if I would be accepted. My PPA was not far from the Orientation Camp so before I could enjoy my racing thoughts, I was told that I had reached my destination. I struggled and got my dampened box and pails down from the car and wobbled my way across the road, with the rain showing me no mercy.

I couldn’t understand anything the gatemen were saying and the only words they could understand from me were “Good Morning sir” of which as a response, one of them called a keke that was leaving the compound for me. Directing the keke driver to where I didn’t know, in the language I didn’t know, was the beginning of my communication problem in Gombe State. Nevertheless, I tried my best and quickly hopped into the keke and the man turned around and drove back into the huge compound. The driver took me straight to the front of the Corper’s lodge or at least what the termite-infested building was supposed to be and immediately after I removed my belongings and paid him a huge amount of money, he sped off.

I carried my things, ran towards the building, and knocked on the metal door and a young lady ushered me inside. I could not believe what I saw; The corper’s lodge is an old office, divided (using plywood that was almost torn down by termites) into three tiny cubicles. The Lady helped me get dry, offered me a cup of hot tea, and answered some of the pressing questions I had about the organization. Fear gripped me when she made mention of the fact that our boss, (the man that attended to corpers posted to the organization) was very wicked and doesn’t smile with anyone. Later on, I remember being drenched in terror as we approached the man’s office and she pointed at it from a distance saying that she was so scared of him herself.

“Oh, how evil this man must be. God, please help me” I prayed within myself and swallowed hard as I walked along the dimly lit and narrow corridor to his office.

”yes?” A strong voice from inside the office answered as I put my hand through the curtain to knock on the already-opened door. I stepped in and met a dark medium-sized man in his late fifties (as I came to know later on). He wore a light blue kaftan, bright brown colored leather shoes that matched the color of the cap on his head, and sat on one of the visitor’s chairs; holding a newspaper, which he dropped when I stepped in.

“Good afternoon sir, my name is Abigail Abangasang and I just passed out from Amada Camp this morning. Please, I am being posted here to serve.” I said whilst shaking. He looked me right in the eye, frowned for about half a minute, stood up and went to his official seat.

“Abigail, have a seat.” I sat.

”Let me see your posting letter.” I stretched out a badly soaked semi-dried, semi-torn paper towards him and paused when he paused and his frown got sterner.

“What is this?” he asked swiftly, looking up at me. I was so scared that I kept stammering as I tried explaining that the letter had been soaked because of the rain.

“Could you not put it somewhere dry and safe? This shows you’re careless.” He got the almost shredded paper, tried to arrange it and looking at me in the eyes again, and sighed softly.

He asked me questions about myself, explained the pros and cons of serving at the organization and from time to time, kept asking me if I still wanted to serve there. With each sentence he said, his frown became lighter and I became less tense. After documenting me, he asked if I knew the next steps I was supposed to take in the registration process and where I was to go. To this, I answered the negative but, because he was about to leave work, he offered to drop me off at the secretariat to complete my documentation before heading home. That, my dear readers, is how the father-daughter relationship between Mr. Musa and I started and till now, as I am writing this, a few days away from my POP, trust me, My boss is one of the best things that happened to me while serving in Gombe State.

After Mr. Musa dropped me off at NYSC Gombe LGA secretariat, he told me what to say when I got in, told me what to say to the bike man when I was leaving, and then drove off. I walked into the office, completed my documentation, and took a bike to the Army Barracks, where I was to stay till I found a house (I cannot talk about my experience there, it is confidential).

My mother strongly forbade me to come back to Akwa Ibom after I left camp because there was a crisis in the North. As such, I spent my 2 weeks' leave actively and desperately searching for a house to call home and being rather desperate, I had to move into the lodge provided by my PPA, the termite-infested one. I remember going to complain and request keys to the last cubicle from my boss (as the other two were occupied)

he declined, stating that the place was not habitable enough for a lady. Having promised that I would get a house soon, he finally yielded to my plea. That day, I washed the last cubicle, getting rid of the excess sand, and dust, and debris the best way I could, and then moved in. When I woke the next day, I had inhaled so much dust that I could not breathe.

Okay dearest readers, this is long enough, let’s break it into two or three parts maybe, shall we?

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