Diary of an Ibadan corper 2

So I started work in the wonderful city of Ibadan , putting aside my transportation wahala, I settled down to enjoy serving my fatherland. I remember how much that statement (serve your fatherland) had haunted me when I first got posted to Plateau  (watch out for diary of a Jos corper). How does one serve her fatherland dutifully in this country where almost all the states have been infested by robbers, bad roads, kidnappers, ritualists and suicide bombers? That’s what I say to anyone who asks me why I left the beautiful land of Jos.

Settling down at my local government was another palava. How is it possible that one will never get anything done in this country with a bit of ease, without having bribed the officers in charge? When CDS  or clearance days approach every week I usually dread the long queues, the pushing, the stress.. not forgetting some annoying and corrupt NYSC officials who have sworn to frustrate your life whenever you are needed at the local government.

I remember my first payment voucher signing as a relocated corper in Ibadan north local government, I almost cursed that day. I got into this queue, you know those kinds of queues where you don’t even care who is watching , you struggle for survival, those kinds of queues where you make friends with the closest reasonable person, those kinds of queues when you do not know when you will get out? Those queues where some people just arrive from nowhere to tell you they were in front of you since forever, those kinds of queues where you are not the only one with lipstick stains on your cloth ? that’s the kind of queue I’m referring to.

That day, I realized the power of a woman. They came in different shapes and sizes, some with letters from the LGI, some came with their babies or pregnancies to get sympathy , all some had to do was flaunt their beautiful face and body, bend and whisper stuffs into the ears of the officer in charge and in a flash he stands up and leaves with them carrying the files where everybody had to sign. But then some young men who had none of these offered cash in camera. So yours truly who wasn’t ready to use any of these wiles, queued  and endured for about 4hrs  before eventually signing that day. leaving some others in the struggle, as tired, dirty and rough looking as I was, I managed to  get to the bus stop. My earlier feeling of relief drastically turned to anger and contempt at the crowd waiting for something to convey them to Apata where I reside even if it was a bicycle. Another struggle?  Here was I thinking I’d put my transportation problems aside…chai! God.... My heart sank.