Nigeria called and I answered. Yes, I've got a lot to say!
The first time you shit in a bucket, you're gripping the handles of your bigger bathing bucket in a slimy, Sprogyra-decorated bathroom somewhere in your "assigned" NYSC Camp. Even as you heave in and heave out, almost losing your fragile fat balance over that tiny bucket, the irony is not lost on you. "Even Unilag's 6 years could not subject me to this," you say in your head. Because God forbid you open your mouth in this hellhole. The bathroom's despicable condition, coupled with the fact that your shit has always had an honourable stink makes this the last place you want to utter any word. So instead you think, "This would make a good story. Okay maybe not good. An okay story. Fine. A readable one.
I have thought of nothing but writing this (essay?) from the last week of camp, till now, whenever you're getting it. I have thought of the best ways to capture my 3 weeks in camp, the best ways to describe, narrate, take you through everything that happened in that camp, but every time, I have felt inept, inadequate, unsure, frightened, worried that I may never be capable of fully telling you this story, of telling you this story in a way that you remember, in a way that it sticks, that you don't forget, that if you're ever wondering if when the time comes, if you should go for your NYSC Camp, that because of this piece, you know without a doubt, that you absolutely should. It felt like so much responsibility, my expectations of this piece. But it is what it is and after several plot narratives and back and forths in my mind on how to tell this story, I have decided to take you through everything as I remember, hopefully in chronological order, pausing, only to take you through my streams of consciousness, because at the end of the day, this is my story and I am the main character. Hehe.
I was in my best friend's home when I saw the letter. I was numb and in disbelief. After 6 months of putting this off, I was really doing this? The next two days had me on auto-pilot. I had two days, two days, to put together all the funds I needed to get my NYSC Kit, because I hadn't gotten mine yet. Two days to create 3 content calendars for all the pages I was managing for the month and get them approved. Two days to go shopping, to empty out my fridge, put my home together, and make my way to the NYSC Orientation Camp, Ede, Osun State. Against all odds, I did everything I had to do. I might have shed a tear or two while creating those content calendars, but that's by the way.
A couple of hours, two safe trips later, and I was on camp grounds with the suitcase my uncle had lent me and the bucket I had brought from my home. The security men at the gate checked my bag and one of them muttered upon seeing the four books I had tucked in the top compartment of the suitcase, one book to read every week, and one more in case I finished all of them too soon, "You like book o," and I smiled that smile of a former bookworm, a burntout Social media manager, a lost writer, and I hoped, for my sake that he was right. That in this camp, I would come back to my loves, my books and truly read all of them. (SPOILER: I didn't read any of them. Not How to Kill a Mockingbird, not Viola Davis' Finding Me, not All the Light We Cannot See, and definitely not The Art of Creative Thinking.)
Camp Life Begins
After my bags were checked, I was directed to have my vitals checked. The lady at the table pointed the thermometer at my forehead, and in that moment I wondered if it was possible to fake a high temperature, just so I could get sent home before I got sucked into all of this. She then checked my blood pressure, asked for my call-up letter, scribbled her findings on it and pointed me in the direction of my next stop. "You will get your bedspace assigned to you down there." And so, wheels rolling, I strutted down the road to where she had described. My brief hope of at least getting a place to rest my head was soon deflated, as I saw girls in their numbers, luggage in hand, sitting in gutters, some were standing, all just looking hopeless. I made my way to a duo who looked not yet as hopeless as the crowd and asked what was happening. "We have no idea," a girl I would later learn to be Charity said. "Everyone's just waiting for their bedspaces, but it looks like there are no more spaces." I don't know why but when she said this, it was so funny that I laughed. That was exactly the kind of ridiculous thing that would happen. I mean, I spent how many years in Unilag and I still expected Nigeria to have structure? Come off it nah, Catherine. I found a sweet spot in the dry gutters where everyone else was seated, positioned my bag and bucket so that they were within my line of sight, and then brought out my phone. I considered for the millionth time that day, turning back and just damning this whole thing to hell. No one was kuku forcing me. I had carried my legs by myself and said I wanted to go for NYSC. Nobody forced me. I sha sat and waited. Bad as e bad, they would send us home themselves, right?
Camp Friendships
This entire section is pretty much dedicated to Joy.
I came into camp, sure that I would leave with no friends and or lovers, but Joy came and proved otherwise. I can't explain our bond, but we got so close so fast. It's not every day you run into your person, as she so fondly calls me. But it was nice meeting someone that got me. I would randomly say something I thought was funny and Joy would laugh so heartily. Her jokes made me laugh. She made me feel like for the first time in a long time, I could breathe and let someone else do the thinking. But it wasn't just that. She made me feel like every bit of me, my existence, was beautiful. The words fail me. But she was my ray of sunshine in camp. I could have been having the worst day, but being with her instantly made everything better, brighter.
She's maybe a bit more logical, but I've got enough crazy ideas for both of us. Every day in camp was special because I spent it with her. It's because of her I didn't really go on with my plans to call in sick and escape. Two days in and I already knew I would spend every day in this god-forsaken place as long as I spent it with her.
I had crushes that came and went but Joy stayed. It was beautiful, watching us get close, bonding over rubbish spaghetti and delicious rice, over my love for romance and her love for logic, over everything that camp came with. I would not change any bit of it.
Mental Health
I had a meltdown in my second week of camp. I'm not sure where the tears came from (MY HORMONES. I was a few days away from my period) but I couldn't stop crying on this particular day. I wasn't crying because I was missing anything or anyone outside of camp. I was crying because it was my first time in forever without work or any of the other coping mechanisms I had carefully surrounded myself with, and every emotion, every trauma I had tried to push down into that corner of my heart where nothing ever sees the light of day, was all suddenly coming back up. All at once. It felt like I could no longer hide behind my work, the deadlines, the pressure, and I was met face to face with the life I had lived, the life I was living, my struggles, my fears, everything I hated, everything I wanted, longed for. It was surprising, to say the least, being faced with everything I thought I had moved on from, only to see that I never moved on from any of them. I think it was at this point that camp started becoming a mental health journey for me. I resumed journaling. Even tried virtual therapy. Thought of all the things I did not want to be stuck doing for the rest of my life, and all of the things I wanted to do.
I realised I love creating. I love imagining and bringing my dreams to life. I spend a lot of time by myself, no place to go but my mind, and it's such a beautiful place to be, and I have so many ideas, so many concepts I would absolutely love to bring to life. Camp gave me the permission to pause, to breathe, to take a look at my life and figure out what I wanted the rest of it to look like and I am grateful for that.
And goodness, I'll miss it. All of it. I'll miss the soldiers infuriating whistles morning, afternoon, and night. I'll miss the funny song that played every morning that traumatised us and drew us in at the same time. I'll miss the unity, the feeling that my life could pause and I would still be fine. I'll miss every bit of it. But now? I guess, it's onward and forward. If that's how the phrase goes…