NYSC!!!

NYSC...

Those four letters alone are enough to put the fear of the Lord in me. There's nothing I dread more. Okay, maybe there are some things that I dread more, but it's definitely up there with the best of them. As graduation approaches, my dad has been putting the pressure on me to apply for it. I've tried and tried to wiggle my way out of it, but to no avail. Finally he got tired of my excuses and put his foot down. 

Under the guise of a simple Skype call, he coerced me into starting my application. He kept a watchful eye on me as I trudged through the steps. Now all that's left is to upload the required documents, and come August, I'll be shipped off to Nigeria for a year. 

I guess I should explain what NYSC is. It stands for National Youth Service, and it's compulsory if I ever wish to work in Nigeria. It starts off with a 3 week orientation camp. For those 3 weeks, you have to wear a uniform of khaki pants and a white shirt with the NYSC logo emblazoned on it. Military instructors (Yes, you heard me right), put you through an exercise regime known as Man of War. The whole point of the camp is to encourage your team building spirit to shine through. The food is watery gruel at best, and a diarrhoea recipe at worst. The boarding system at Tema International School is a dream compared to this. If your dream is to share a room with about 60 people, then prepare to have it realised. If it's not......brace yourself.

Picture this. You get there on the first day, with the naive dream of getting through the 3 weeks unscathed. Carrying your bucket, pail, and other brick-a-brack, you make your way to the officer who will decide your fate from there. With a hesitant step, you approach and inquire as to the location of your room. The officer briskly asks you your name and ID number. Before you finish rattling those off, a tagged key is thrust into your hands with vague directions to your hostel. With a brave smile, you stumble through until you find the cell...I mean room, in which you will spend the next 20 days. Pushing open the door, silence descends on the room as 59 pairs of eyes stare at you curiously. With a muttered hello, you quickly scan the room to identify an available bunk. You manage to score the bottom bunk right next to the door. Weighing the pros and cons of this position, you quickly settle in and prepare for the rest of the day. Your bunk mate goes through the run-of-the-mill introductions, and you make your first ally in the camp. As the days go on, you struggle to adapt to the challenging ways of the camp; sleeping with 59 strangers, bathing with 59 strangers, sharing the same toilet as 59 strangers, changing with 59 strangers in the room. And if you're unfortunate enough to be a girl, then you have to think of periods too. Woe be unto you if Aunt Flo decides to visit you at camp. Your tortured body can barely keep up with the instructor who keeps yelling his head off, as you try to prance your way through an obstacle course from hell. The watery soup is barely enough to keep your energy levels high, and the guards at the gate won't let you leave and attempt to get a decent plate of food. As you close your eyes to sleep, you count the days until you can be rid of this prison.

Needless to say, this is what I think camp is going to be like. It's a combination of my thoughts on it and accounts from friends who've been to camp. When the 3 weeks are over, you are given an assignment of either teaching at a school or working at an office. The assignment spans about 8 months. If the NYSC programme consisted of the assignment alone, I would do it with little complaints. However, the camp part of it is not only unnecessary, but also horrible. That's what I think anyway. Some people might enjoy it, but I certainly don't. Not to mention the unstable state that Nigeria is in. You wake up in the morning not knowing if that's the day some people decided to either blow up where you live, or kidnap you for a nefarious purpose. Nigeria has always been equated with danger, but now, the constant terrorist threat puts it on a whole other level. That being said, you can't pick the state to which you're posted. If the officials decided to thrust you neck deep in the crisis, you have no option but to pack your bags and wave your life goodbye. Well, unless you decide to stage a quick wedding. Married women are allowed to stay in the same state as their husbands. So unless I find a strapping young Lagocian (that refers to someone from Lagos), then my future posting is in the hands of a cranky/nice officer in the NYSC office. 

I know my dad has my best interests at heart, and I'm sure he doesn't want to send me to my death, but I wish I could skip this. Call me unpatriotic, or whatever you want, but I wish I were Ghanaian at this point. Not only do I actually like Ghana, and the people there, but you don't have to serve there if you schooled outside Ghana. Believe me, I've done research on this.

And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, ends my rant on the NYSC.