THE FINAL DAYS II

THE FINAL DAYS II 

by Adedoyin Shobo

It is now June 18th, nearly a month after the waiting for our final year result. 

We had been contacted by the class governor to report at the Students' Affairs (SA) wing of the University’s senate for the collection of a duly authorized university clearance and our NYSC Call-up letters.

Everything looked in stark difference from the last time I was here. There was total make-over in the shaggy-faced housing schemes most students were made to sought accommodation. There were 'rat-holes' built outside the University walls as the school could not provide accommodation for it's students.

Today, Under G - the most densely populated neighbourhood is looking like the streets of Abu Dhabi. The street sidewalks now festooned with artfully painted light poles. Lines of convenience stores had sprung up to replace the old squalid outlook. Even these students looked different to me.

***

The 'lucky' members of the Chrysos X class with students from other departments filed out in droves, straight to the department of Students' Affairs at the bowl-shaped senate building of the university.

The state-owned University might not be highly rated like those overhyped varsities in Nigeria yet it prides itself as the most aesthetically-conscious bastion in this part of the world. 

The senate building is its most impressionable architectural feat ever built from any university in Nigeria: privately- or publicly-owned.

***

After waiting in a hydra-headed queue at the SA office, I obtained the required documents.

A green-coated non-gloss letter-headed paper with the top, bearing the logo of NYSC and an address in the Federal capital territory, Abuja, Nigeria. It read

"Sir / madam,

I am happy to inform you that by the provisions of the decree No. 51 of June, 1993… arrangements have been made for you to participate in the National Youth Service Scheme for one (1) calendar year and you should report as follows: State of Deployment (Ondo), Date of Reporting (5th July, 2011) ..."

By now the entire Students' Affairs wing of the senate building is filled with an asphyxiating hotness. Though, the sun was high, the heat generated from the raucous assembly of students was all the more - greater.

There were unconstrained screams of excitement in the air from students anxious to leave school.

It is true that before you gained admission into school your feet feel itchy to exit the ordinary levels of secondary school yet after the admission, when the stress from school work starts piling, you relapse into the tension of wanting to leave school. The wants of man are truly insatiable.

Amidst this crass confusion that might have aptly befitted a wailing procession at a burial ground or an explosive praise session in a typical Nigerian Pentecostal church, I caught the unmistakable image of Dele, you know cool Dele. He was beaming with smile you'd think he won a lottery.

'Delington' I fondly called. 'where dem post you na?' I inquired

'omo na lasgidi' 'Lagos state, my friend' He replied giddily. 

Lasgidi is a street parlance for Lagos. The quirkiness in his voice told me he seemed to have been privy to the location of his service year posting.

I am aware Dele’s father is a senior civil servant that works with the Ministry of Works. Somehow I felt tinge feelings of envy and anger for him. Damn you!!! You 'worked' it.

The saintly side of me quickly whipped me in line, accusing me of similar sin as Dele’s. You too are also as guilty as hell...

As a native of south – western extraction, by all standards I shouldn't be posted anywhere in the west side of Nigeria. Yet at this point in my country's history could you blame me.

There was wild fire raging on the mountains. The fire of terrorism from the Islamic fundamentalist group or whatever they called themselves - the Boko Haram...Ansaru.

The militia group had been sweeping through the savannas of North-Eastern Nigeria, afflicting all manner of absolute evil up to the highest order. They wrecked all manner of perversions including child marriages, abduction, rape, arson, suicide bombing, all in the name of some Holy war. It would make one wonder what part of the devil’s hell, did the blood-thirsty twats come from.

Their infamous campaign had been leaking copious gallons of the country revenue from the first bombing at Maiduguri, this year.

The smell of charred flesh and festering decapitated body parts greeted the nose. Gory images of bloodied corpses filled our minds on a daily basis is media houses revealed the extent of human wickedness.

The government only made empty promises while the number of dead stacked higher. They would say 'we are on top of the situation, there’s no change for alarm'. The sham of all the Nigerian situation was that everything was viewed under a political and religious scope.

National issues left the corridors of sanity and quest for national prosperity to a cesspool of whose brother was in power.

All of these insanity happened while innocent leaders of tomorrow were shipped to already-heated war zones while our leaders drank tea in air-conditioned office in Abuja.

It was only a matter of time. No parent would want to give their wards to national service to the country due to obvious hypocrisy in the ruling house. And it was becoming clear to citizens that the 1973 decree was going to suffer a grave setback in its original intention.

***

In the spur of the moment, I had to do what I wasn’t proud of just to get out of harm’s way. It was akin to blasted hopes, regrets that my dreams of seeing the Nigerian 'whiteman' land (Jos) would be squashed like the impact of a trailer on watermelon rind.

In the senate building, it wasn't just the tears of joy I watched. Students broke down like bread crumbs, totally distraught. They had been sold the counterfeit pills of injustice and abject insensitivity.

Most had their posting to serve up North and unfortunately in the heated, volatile zone of the North-East Nigeria.

I am usually a diction magician but words fail at this point when strong emotions come in between. I start thinking: ‘were my friends going to die?’

I was wedged in the dilemma of what was appropriate to say. I was totally jammed in my brains. 

Every word I uttered suddenly split in daughter cells at least with one especially prominent bad connotation. How do you tell a dolorous 'sorry' to an event that should be met with unrestrained joy? I wonder.

The final days were at last drawing near. I did my bye-byes to friends I would be leaving behind. We talked about the future...family and living the ‘life’ one day as we desire.