This had to be the shortest time I spent in the bathroom I told myself as I tied the lace of my white shoes, and stepped out of the dormitories to notice. The military was not actually the ones inside; those guys are the man o war squad. But, if a man o war can cause all this havoc what would the military do? Before I finished asking I heard “if you are walking you are wrong” from someone that seems to be wearing a military camouflage, holding something. That was the last thing I heard. All I knew was in less than 2 minute I was at the parade along with others; I suspect I flew.

This week was slow. From the cold at 4.30am parade to the sun at 4pm parade. I needed a plan. And so I discovered the OBS (Orientation Broadcasting Service). For the price of anchoring radio shows, telling other camp Corp. members gossips, when every other person is standing under the Sun and in the Harmattan, you would just be there chilling under umbrella and sitting on plastic chair drinking pure water and sometimes juice. What a life?!

But then not everyone could be in the OBS, Which makes the Camp's PRO Mr Lot and also the batch A, Senior Corp members. As the screening was intense. I was selected amongst a few others to be a part of the DCA (duty continuity announcer) this was more or less like winning a presidential tournament; the corps members I had to beat to get it were a lot. As a sharp somebody, from the first day I have been working towards a relocation; yes a change of location. But you can never trust Nigeria and its politicking, so I needed the OBS more than the guys that lost.

Another thing about this first week is the food; Bad food most times. The interesting thing about the food is that there is always a queue; involving like a 1000 hungry souls and the choice of meals was always a thing to behold. Now, for those people who couldn't endure the long minutes of queues for their meals, the mami market was their best companion.  This is where being a girl was just a blessing from Jehovah-nissi; plus your money and the gentleman’s money, hallelujah.

The sharia law began in States like Zamfara. If you don’t know what that means I would elaborate a little. No smoking, drinking, mini cloth etcetera, was permitted and as such any perpetrator caught in any of these or other related act were addressed or decamped immediately. So mami market was as celibate as possible.

Finally Sunday arrived and I slept so beautifully. This was the only day the beagle wasn't blown at 4.30am. This was Christmas in October. I think I woke up at 7.30, my case was better, some corps members woke up at 12pm; those girls slept all the hours they lost during the week. Could you blame them?

But as a Christian and an avid believer of the things of God, I couldn't ignore church this day. So I found myself in the popular NCCF fellowship. I was overwhelmed at the huge turnout of people on that day and the service kept going smoothly, from the dance to the choir ministrations. It was like heaven on earth again, then I remembered it will come to an end soon and then parade begins; a thought from the pit of hell.

And then, the pastor came up to the pulpit and began his sermon... Which I believe should have been titled "God brought you to Zamfara" or "your purpose is in Zamfara".  Whichever way, the pastor kept telling us for close to two hours how God wanted us to be here, and it wasn't a mistake. .

Am like… Father! the only thing I heard in this message was the topic. So please bless my plan for a relocation, Amen.

More to follow.



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