Nigerian Youths Stress (to be) Corpers

5:20 am, October 4th 2012 my alarm rings! According to my Dad, I had to be up early to head to Yakubu Gowon House (YGH) in Abuja which houses the Nigerian Youth Service Corps. A quick dash into the shower and dressing up was all I needed. After all I was prepared (so I thought). I arrived at Tigris crescent, parked, got out and headed for the main gate of YGH. On getting there, the security man instantly knew why I was there even before I said anything (this was 7:30am). So I answered Yes! since he had the gift of “knowing”. This was just the beginning of a long day!!!

Got back into the car, the wait has just begun. On the offside, I had to pay 300 naira to park for 5 hours. The officer also told me I was parked facing the wrong direction. I quickly looked around thinking I missed something like a sign saying “ONE WAY or NO ENTRY”. Alas!!! There weren’t any. All I could do was shake my head, after four years away studying and in the Capital city of Nigeria, there should have been some improvement in communicating rules for motorists.

Back to my major task of the day, at about 8:15am, a queue had formed outside the gate of students who studied abroad (Nna I quickly joined the queue). You could easily tell in dressing and in the way they carried themselves. Some more or less than others dressed like it was time for party, others so casual and the minority were corporate and decent at the same time. Of course, I was in the minority.

10.00am sharp, a man in red, navy blue and white polo came out and asked us to make sure we have all our photocopies handy. Next, we were to move to the other side of the gate to make a new queue. I assumed as international students that have lived and studied in organized country’s like the UK and USA will just walk to the other side. But No!! The rush to the other side which was just few seconds away shocked me. Just like the bible says, the first shall become the last and vice versa, so it was literally. All those of us in the middle were obviously re-positioned due to the rush.

Security and Identification checks were carried out before I went through the gate and once I was in the building. Several “signing in” books I had to fill (oh I had visitors tag too).

Here on was the race to get registered as soon as possible. I filled the registration forms, and waited for my number to be called. 46 it was. Did the number really help in organizing things? The answer is NO!! As of 12.30 there about, the last number I heard was 30. Believe it or not, that was were the madness began. Pushing and shouting to get through the Wing B iron gate was the main task in most people minds. While some quietly sat down, some stood afar off, some went calling for “connections”.

Prior to that, there was a guy who had disappeared from the queue outside, and he was in before the rest of us. I had to ask “how did you get here?” His answer, “Juice”. Like I knew what that meant.

Alongside pushing and shouting came angry students and their parents. Angry at what? Everything! The people who showed up from no where and went in like they had every right to without a number. I call it taking the back door. It became literal when I had to do the same to at least start the process. The first room through the back door on the right was the first port of call. Look for your school in tattered big and medium sized books. This came after one of the three ladies in the wonderfully air conditioned room has stapled all your documents.

Once I was done here, I went to room 112 for UK students which I was. Another queue, another wait to enter another really air conditioned room with two guys. Some people on the queue had been in before and shared that the guy in the white shirt and red tie was not so friendly but the man in the cream suit was. Shall I call that separating wheat from chaff?

It was here I met a setback. When it was my turn, I met the ‘unfriendly staff’ and I stood until he asked me to sit. He went through my form again, with a tipex pen he shaded some things. He also went through my photocopies and then he pointed out that my NECO certificate wasn’t there. I wanted to scream but my nature wouldn’t let me, so all that ended as a thought.

Now here’s what I don’t understand. If I went through one lady and she certified that all was intact and stapled then why would he not allow it?

This ended my day, had to head back home without accomplishment. I shall return again tomorrow (5th October) once my NECO certificate gets to me from Lagos, hopefully before 4pm.

You can look forward to part two of my NYSC registration experience.

SaulaB