Katsina.
I refreshed the page again.
Katsina.
I wanted to vent out loud, but it was late. Midnight even. I composed myself and gave what I hoped was a normal surprised look.
“I can’t believe it”, I managed.
After an extra year at the University due to a number of reasons, I’d finally completed a degree program in Biochemistry. It’d been hard watching my mates go for the national youth service, share their experiences, and post memes I couldn’t relate to. And I was happy for them. But now I could finally go, too, and I decided I’d make the best of the year.
By the time registration began, I was at my village, but the very next day I headed to Jos to do mine. To my dismay, I couldn’t be registered even though my name was on the senate list. I spent the whole day retrying while I watched my fellow graduates breeze through the process. I finally left in the evening; tired, hungry and disappointed. I, however, made plans to go to my school at Abuja as soon as possible to rectify the issue, and I was furious to discover it was a simple switch of the number ‘1’ with letter ‘I’. When I remember it nowadays, I simply laugh.
Though I’d registered, I still couldn’t make my state choice, for it was only made available on my portal on the last day of registration. I wanted to serve in the South, but the third slot only had northern states. I selected Katsina on a whim, believing my first and second choices would matter more. I was wrong.
So there I was with my aunt on a Friday night – she’d been posted to Sokoto – with mixed emotions, not sure what to make of our situations. I struggled with my thoughts as I went to bed, contemplating redeploying to the south. For some reason, a gradual calm came rested on me, and I drifted into sleep.
Once my friends and family found out about my “predicament”, they began persuading me to redeploy. Most concerns were about the insecurity and hostility, especially towards non-indigenes. Though I also held those concerns, I felt I should at least go to camp and see Katsina for myself, because I’d never been there before. I asked them for their prayers and blessings, and Sunday morning saw me at the car park, boarding a bus with my aunt, back to the Coal city.
Online articles educated us on the potential inadequacies of the mandatory gear to be given to us at our various camps, so we visited Terminus to obtain the same, but in our sizes. Later that day while online, I asked if any of my contacts was serving, or knew someone who was serving at Katsina. A friend replied me saying a mutual friend of ours, Anna, was there. I quickly called her to let her know I was coming.
Early Monday morning, my aunt and I got to the park, where we finally parted ways. It was November, and the journey was hot, dusty and uncomfortable, the road laden with portholes at least every five kilometers of the way. Coincidentally, I discovered that some of my fellow passengers were also heading to the self-acclaimed home of hospitality to answer the clarion call. We quickly got acquainted and our conversations helped keep our minds off our discomfort.
After about 8 hours - including stops here and there to eat, rest, and pray – we finally drove through the large gate signifying we’d arrived. My new acquaintances and I parted ways at the park, hoping to meet again at the camp, which we eventually did. I got lost three times trying to locate Anna’s residence, but was pleased to come across another graduate from our school in the process. He’d just completed his own service year, and was heading home soon. He gave me some much needed advice. I eventually found Anna’s place, left a few things, and passed on to camp, arriving shortly after dark.
I got settled quickly, and the next day we began verification and camp registration. I was assigned to platoon 4, and made three friends I’ll never forget; Rafan, Kizito, and Mike, and we always created a lively atmosphere in the platoon. I also made a lot more acquaintances, and soon, we began marching drills – which were exhausting, yet hilarious – and were finally sworn in as full-fledged corps members. “Kopas”, as pronounced in the native northern accent.
