The NYSC Diaries (Entry 3)

The next day was a blurry rush of parade and exercises and platoon matters and all the ad hoc wahala that comes with camp. In all of this, I had decided to stick fast to my resolve to remain a hermit. Unfortunately for me, the Orishas weren’t done messing with my well-laid plans.

That morning, we were assigned our platoon drill sergeant and man-o-war officers. I made sure to stay right at the back of the line. Alongside James and Toyin, of course. The three of us had gotten reasonably close the previous day and looked forward to spending all our free time together. I have a bit of an idiotic tendency to just dance for no reason sometimes. And because I was standing next to James, he’d look at me and laugh while saying something about how I was inviting gay people to corner me in the night due to my constant waist-whining and ass-shaking. Toyin, at a point, even grabbed my ass and commented on how soft it was.

Yeah, we were that comfortable with each other.

During the appointments and nominations and all what-not that morning, I was dragged out by the platoon officer for the post of Director of Socials, alongside one fine-ass bearded Yoruba boy named Tolu. Thankfully, I lost the nomination to him. Then, nominations began for Mister NYSC for our platoon. And as one house, the whole platoon turned and pointed at me.

Like, dafuq? I tried to protest but the drill sergeant wasn’t having it.

“You don’t want to contest and win for us?” she asked. “As fine as you are. Fine, tall boy wey all the girls in this camp go don dey trip for.”

Ah, mogbe! What is it with all this people and the road they have decided to keep missing!

After a series of back and forth, we all settled on James and I running for Mister NYSC, two other guys running for Mister Macho, and Toyin and one very pretty Hausa girl named Nabila running for Miss NYSC. Once that happened, I knew I had to drop the hermit shit and just be myself.

After all the nonsense appointments and parade drama, we all made our way over to the hall for a security lecture. And again, I was reminded of the terrible country I live in.

The “security expert” said he was a member of the Secret Service (as if what we have in Nigeria can even detect a rat in the midst of cockroaches) and began to list a number of things we should desist from. From giving out our phones to friends to buying used phones and all that jazz, his talk was a long-winded, extremely boring lecture. Halfway through it, Toyin, who was sitting between James and I, told me to wake her up when he was done, relaxed on the chair and went to sleep.

A few more boring topics later, he said the one that caught the attention of everyone in the hall.

“You people are young and very gullible,” he said, “so please, desist from homosexuality and lesbianism. They are abominations. Not just traditionally, but morally and religiously. And it is unfortunate that this state is the hub of homosexuality in this part of the country. They will come to you o, flashing money in your faces and promising you all manner of things. But when you do it one time, the spirit will take over you and you will suffer for it.”

While he was vomiting this load of tripe, I noticed several heads nodding in agreement with the rubbish he was pouring out. Nigga was still not done o. He continued, “There are several cases of young men, young men like you people, small, small boys that have been destroyed by this thing. You see them wearing pampers…”

At the mention of that, the entire hall erupted into a loud roar of mirth, while my eyes rolled so hard, I could feel them touch the back of my head. It took all my self-control not to stand up and walk out of that hall. Uncle carried on after the hall had quietened, talking about how adult pampers now sell more than baby pampers, due to – according to him – the high number of incontinent homosexuals in the state. He even went on to tell us a story (absolutely, ridiculously fictitious and foolish, of course) about a girl who was engaged to be married when she came for service and was “initiated” into lesbianism. (Yes people, he used the word “initiated”.) When she finally married her fiancé, he “discovered” that she had her menstrual flow 30 days of a month (read: every single fucking day) and was perplexed by the condition. He decided to investigate and discovered that it started as a result of her “initiation” (yes! He used the word again) into lesbianism. At the end of his tales by moonlight, he reiterated his advice that we stay away from those abominable acts.

Nothing had ever given me as much joy as I had when one of the many idiots in the camp stood up to contribute to what the man had said on the topic of homosexuality, and was rudely interrupted by the beagle sounding for everyone to go for breakfast. Without further ado, we all left the hall. And I could breathe air untainted by idiocy again.

Later that night, when we went to get dinner, I met Praise and Victor on the line. Having not seen them all day, I allowed them to drag me to their hostel which, coincidentally, was the same one James was in, albeit in a different room. While we ate, I pulled out my phone and began to watch the Beychella. (Yes, I have that historic Beyoncé-headlined Coachella performance in my phone. And I’d watched it so much, I could practically do the entire performance with her without making a single error. And I still can’t get enough it.) I was busy watching it when the next drama happened.

Someone who’d been following the images on my phone asked me what I was watching and I told him it was Beyoncé’s Coachella performance. Next thing he said was, “Ha! I can’t watch that. Beyoncé is a witch na. A Satan worshipper.”

That was when I turned to take a look at the person talking. And I couldn’t hide my disappointment. Nigga looked like a compendium of mismatched parts, proudly flaunting itself as a masterpiece. I told him I didn’t care much for his opinions about her and turned back to what I was watching. Next thing I knew, a whole argument had sparked up around my support for Beyoncé and what it connoted. I was astonished, seeing as I hadn’t ever engaged in a conversation any one of these guys talking about me like they’d known me all their lives.

One of them said I had to be an undercover Satanist to be in support of Beyoncé. His assertion was so ludicrous that I burst out laughing. There were several other ridiculous suggestions as to why I supported Beyoncé. Then, one of them, probably fueled by his frustration at my determination to not get drawn into their display of idiocy, said, “Him dey even do like woman sef. You sure say him no be gay?”

Wo! Never let it be said that Mitch doesn’t take an opportunity to put fools in their place.

I turned around, very slowly, and let my eyes roll over each of them till my glare landed on the unfortunate idiot who had spoken. The look I gave him is one I reserve just for vermin. I stared at him with such loathing that Praise shouted, “Jesus! Mitch, don’t kill him with your eyes na.”

Shaking my head, I returned to my phone.

But these guys were really determined to goad an actual response from me. Because the next thing I heard was the one who started the entire thing saying, “I won’t be surprised if he’s a homo. After all, Jay Z is a proud bisexual.”

This time, I had to say something. I turned to them and said it. “Well, it’s safe to say that none of you will ever emerge as anything even remotely close to a success. Seeing as successful people are only worthy of being maligned by your ignorant heads, you’ll definitely never be successful.” Amidst their gasps of shock and outrage, I got up, bade farewell to Praise and Victor and turned to leave. A few steps away from the door, I couldn’t resist leaving a parting shot. I turned back to them, took out one of my earpieces, and said, “And, just so you know, Jay Z isn’t bisexual. And even if he was, I’d still like him for being an amazing musician. And, trust me, no one would ever bestow upon any one of you the privilege of being gay or bisexual. You dimwits would do nothing but bring shame to the LGBT community.”

With that, I left the hostel.

The bloody, ignorant fools. Both them and their fathers are all mad. Bunch of educated idiots! I’m waiting for the next person who’ll decide to answer the call of misfortune around me in this camp.

Nonsense and elemental magic!

Written by Mitch