21st December 2024, NewsOrient, Books, Arts, Culture, News, Lifestyle
By Dapo Thomas

We were all camped in Ramat Polytechnic, Maiduguri, for our orientation. It was a peaceful town. The ambience of the town was installed in its serenity. Everywhere was looking splendid. No part of the town was denied the radiance of its glory. The empire of the Kanem was subdued by the fragrance of its camels. Every feature of Borno revolved around the Kanem, the camels and the Empire. However, the first name that imposed itself on us in the town as a result of signage ubiquity was Mai Deribe. His name was more prominent than that of Maiduguri itself. He may not be the owner of the town but he was the economy of the town.

Everything one needed to know about Maiduguri was found in the story of Mai Deribe. Your dictionary could not give you a better definition of opulence than the palace of Mai Deribe. This life is a mystery that walks on paradoxes. Despite the unimaginable wealth of Mai Deribe, youth corpers like us, who collected 200 Naira stipend as wages for our national service, could still shop conveniently, excitedly and satisfactorily in the supermarket of a billionaire with our N200.

We could buy groceries that would last us for the whole month in addition to the foodstuffs we purchased in the local markets with the remaining change after our monthly savings of 20 Naira.

For about one and a half weeks that we got to Maiduguri, we were having a thrilling time until corruption visited the NYSC makeshift Camp. Before things fell apart, we were all eating well from the same bowl – corpers and soldiers on duty. The food and the rations were good when we came. But almost two weeks into the orientation, the food and the rations reduced in quality and in size.

The NYSC officials started treating corpers on national assignment like IDPs on deployment. They gave us food that dehumanized our dignity and added insult to injury by giving us rations that devalued our humanity. We gave them some days for penitence but they decided to ignore our vehemence by acting like local emperors that should not be questioned.

They told us that corpers don’t protest. What we heard was that government gave money for two cows to be slaughtered daily but the officers in charge chose to go deep into the market to buy meat from butchers’ stalls. In short, they stopped buying cows. This didn’t go down well with the corpers. We protested openly. This attracted the attention of the Camp Commandant, Captain Gbenga Agbola.

He addressed us and warned us on the implications of protesting or rioting inside the camp. After his address, he said he would allow one or two of us to talk.

I was the first to speak. I collected the mic and mesmerized the crowd. I was behaving like a labour leader mobilizing for national strike. My corper friends were amused by my entertaining rascality. They kept stoking my razzmatazz by yelling “fire on Dapo. Fire on Dapo”. Motivated by these multifarious sloganeers, I kept moving up and down like a politician on a soap box forgetting that I was doing all this “nonsense” before the Camp Commandant and his boys. Somehow, my eyes caught a glimpse of the Commandant and the expression I saw on his face was not encouraging at all.

It was very very unfriendly. As I was trying to caution myself and mellow down, I heard the unmistakable order: “Arrest him. Arrest him now and take him to the guard-room.” It was the Camp Commandant. In fact, he had hardly finished giving the order when his boys pounced on me like a wanted criminal. All the while, I thought it was a play. I never knew the Camp Commandant would get angry at a fresh graduate who was yet to get over school life.

Immediately I was arrested, I could see all the soldiers with guns taking positions in case the corpers wanted “to carry nose”. While I was being taken to the “guard-room”, the Camp Commandant addressed the Corpers on the need to maintain peace within the Camp. He warned that he would not tolerate any acts of indiscipline in his Camp.

I was in the “guard-room” for about 40 minutes before the Camp Commandant walked in. He dismissed the four soldiers watching over me before he came. He yelled and yelled and yelled at me. “You want to cause trouble in my Camp. You want to mess up with me? Do you know who you are dealing with? Before you mess me up, I will deal with you. You bloody civilian.”

I was just looking down like a repented sinner. He said the same thing people have always said about me: “You look so gentle and quiet. But you are a rascal. In fact, you are an accused. As from today, I will be calling you accused. O ya, say “Yes Sir”. “How can I say “Yes Sir” to a forceful re-christening ?” I didn’t say it out o. I was just thinking in my mind. By this time, he had got up from his chair and was coming towards me. Before he could slap my face, I had said “Yes Sir” three times even though once would be okay. He stood beside me and muttered :” See me in the Camp Commandant’s house by 9pm.” I wondered why he said that in low voice. I gave an “agreement nod”.

He released me unconditionally. As I was leaving his office (the one he called “guard-room”), some of the Corpers had gathered around the building to solidarize with me. They were happy I was not harassed or tortured. I didn’t tell anybody about the 9pm meeting apart from a new friend I met in Camp called Lai Ayilara. Though the CC (Camp Commandant) didn’t forbid me from telling anyone about our meeting, I decided to tell Lai in case I got “missing” in action. He (Lai) wanted to follow me to the CC’s house, I declined his request unhesitatingly. I got to the CC’s house at exactly 9pm. The first question he asked me was if I came alone and I told him yes. He also wanted to know if I told anyone about my meeting with him and I also replied yes. He told me in Yoruba: “O laya sha (you are too bold)”, and I said “thank you Sir for the compliments”.

Then, we went into the business of the day. ” What you did in the afternoon was audacious. I like you for that but you need to be very careful of “Messiahnism” because of its attendant consequences. I am not trying to dissuade you from fighting for your rights, I am only trying to warn you to choose your battles wisely and fight them prayerfully”. I was surprised that a military man was talking about “fighting battles prayerfully “.

He disclosed to me that his men had told him everything that we protested against in the afternoon meaning he knew that I was right. The soldiers suffered the same fate like us because we were eating together and our colleagues working in the kitchen made sure they served them the same rations they were serving us. According to the instructions from the NYSC Secretariat, a very tiny piece of meat was to be served to everyone on duty including the military personnel.

He told me he was happy that we protested but he couldn’t condone insurrection in his Camp because of the consequences it would have on him as the Commandant. He promised to protect me from any form of victimization from the NYSC officials. The interesting part was when he said I could visit his Camp house even when he was not around. He showed me where he normally hid his keys and told me to eat and drink whatever I wanted in the house. In a nutshell, I was given a blank cheque to “misbehave” as friend of the CC. It was a long conversation.

What an interesting young officer. He was damn too nice like his well trimmed moustache. That night, he indulged me with every pleasurable rarity-cookies, soda, food. When it was 11pm, I took permission to leave because I remembered that I told Lai to raise an alarm about my possible abduction once it was 12 midnight. Our meeting ended on a happy note as I left his house with a new title -FOCC(Friend of Camp Commandant).

As a result of our protest, our culinary condition improved dramatically. But you could see that the NYSC officials were not happy with me. Their hostility towards me was of special nature-there was nothing I took to them for approval that was considered laudable.

When the list of deployment for primary assignment was released, I was glad that I was posted to Bolori Day Secondary school, Maiduguri. It is an Army secondary school. Of the four of us from Unife that came on the same flight, only Bola Òbí was posted out of Maiduguri. She was posted to Bama. Bama is about 60 kilometres plus from Maiduguri. Toyin Akinwale had redeployed Southwards. Wole Oladiyun was in Maiduguri. Bunmi Fajebe was in Maiduguri. Bola Obi reported there only to discover that the camels there were more than the humans there. She ran back to Maiduguri to seek a new placement for her primary assignment.

After necessary interventions based on valid personal reasons and fraternal supplications from here and there, she was eventually redeployed to Bolori Day Secondary school, Maiduguri, the same place that I was doing my own primary assignment. What a sweet coincidence! I had known Bola Òbí right from when we were at the University of Ife. I knew her through Bunmi Dare, my classmate and my Vice President in the History Students Society. Through the same Bunmi Dare, I got to know other members of the circle of friends such as Toyin Ajayi, Lara Ojo, Lara Omolokun, Lara Ogbede, Jimki Ojei, Bola Ishola and Bola Ogedengbe.

While in the University, I knew there was intimacy between Bola and I but I wasn’t sure if there was any chemistry. Somehow, there is some kind of familiarity or closeness that can turn intimacy to chemistry just like the one that was evolving in Maiduguri and in Bolori. I was teaching English literature while Bola was teaching CRK.

When Providence wants to put an end to its own naughty pranks, it does it in a way that is very comical. I had passed through several Bolas in my life but none had gotten so close to any circumstance that was conjugal than this latest one that was very electrical. The currents supplying the vibes were everywhere and nothing I did to stop the miasma ever worked out in halting the stampede. First, she moved from Bama to Maiduguri where I was. Next, she was brought to the same school, Bolori where I was. Now, when she was to be allocated official quarters, she was given a room in the same house where I stayed.

I think Providence had had enough of my “bolistic” adventurism and decided to put an end to it by matchmaking the two of us in a “dipromantic” way.

Our convocation at the University of Ife had been fixed for 27th November, 1985 and the two of us were graduating the same day. Since we stayed together, we started planning together. We bought our flight tickets together. We planned our movements from Maiduguri to Ibadan together. My life was changing gradually. I now flew from Maiduguri to Ibadan instead of Lagos. A Lagos boy was gingerly becoming an Ibadan boy. By now, I should have suspected that I was getting too much involved in the relationship. Unfortunately, I did not. I didn’t know that the boundaries between friendship and relationship are tenuous. I continued to flenjor in a friendship that had already morphed into a relationship.

My naivety in matters romantic was obvious. Matrimony was knocking, I thought it was a play. Bola’s parents lived in Ibadan. I had started going to her parents house when I was yet to resolve certain issues. We arrived Ibadan on November 24. The following day, November 25 , we were in Ife to collect our convocation gowns. By the time we got to the Faculty office, I saw Bola Bangbose and we started gisting intimately as usual. It was a very stimulating friendly discussion which lasted for about 40 minutes.

As for Bola Obi, she needed to sort out one or two things with her circle of friends concerning my past activities. My testimonials with ladies in Ife were pentecostal. I was a very good boy with plenty friends who were girls. Everything about my adolescent rendezvous was without blemish but part of it still needed certification and clarification especially when you have friends who were also my friends. I don’t know how to put it. So, let me leave it like that. Finally, we resolved everything and the coast was clear.

After the convocation, we were back in Lagos. I remembered promising the CC that I would visit him and his family at their Lagos residence during Christmas. I was actually there on December 25, 1985.
His wife instantly took me as a brother and the children saw me as their uncle. The CC was a very cerebral guy. He had a collection of professional and academic degrees that made him an asset to the Army.

The beautiful thing about my relationship with the CC was that even after my national service, we continued with the relationship as if we were biological brothers. He was such a good man that was rare to find in the Army. Though he refused to tell me how I got posted to Bolori Day Secondary school, Maiduguri, by the NYSC Secretariat despite my protest against the officials, I got to know through an insider in the NYSC Secretariat that my name was number one on the list of those he requested to be posted to Bolori Day Secondary school as the Camp Commandant and as the officer who was superintending the school for the military. I got to know from the same source that I was to be posted to Damanturu by the NYSC as a punishment for my protest until they saw my name on the CC’s list.

In Maiduguri, I survived the harsh weather and I overcame the hostility of all my adversaries. Bola and I returned to UNIFE for our postgraduate programmes. But instead of returning to the Department of History, I went for International relations. It was a deliberate choice to pay back the Department for disallowing me to transfer to Law and for politicizing my project grade/score.(TO BE CONTINUED)

Dr Dapo Thomas’ From Primary To Tertiary, Here Is My Diary Is Serialised Here Weekly, Every Saturday.

~ NewsOrient

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