TALES OF A YOUTH CORP MEMBER; PT 11; A Case of Sexual Misconduct Unveiled

*Fiction intertwined with reality* Read PT 10 here;

TALES OF A YOUTH CORP MEMBER; PT 10- Camp Life: Embracing its Routines

The following day, a serene Sunday unfolded, and with no parade scheduled, when the Orientation Broadcasting Station (OBS) came to life, the revelation shocked us.Top of Form

The newscaster’s voice rang out across the camp, recounting the escapades of some Corps Members who managed to indulge their desires despite the demanding Paramilitary training. The news of two women caught engaging in intimate activities after lights out on the parade ground the day prior, with none other than the teenage boys, the innocent water-fetchers on the camp, as their companions, sent ripples of amusement through the camp.

Amidst the lively atmosphere of the camp, filled with laughter and surprise over the scandal, I meticulously dressed, getting ready for a visit to Tolani at her hostel. The very notion of teenage boys, enveloped in the innocence of their adolescent years, being entangled in such a daring escapade alongside my fellow corps members, left me shaking my head in disbelief. The sheer absurdity of the situation clung to my thoughts like a stubborn shadow as I made my way to my friend’s abode, intent on sharing in the collective mirth and disbelief.

Upon reaching her quarters, I was greeted by a palpable air of secrecy, her roommates engaged in a hushed discussion that seemed to revolve around the recent exposure of the two women involved in the scandal. It was as if they sensed my arrival heralded a readiness to delve into the incredulous affair, and without a word spoken, I was seamlessly drawn into their conversation.Top of Form

 

“Goodness, gracious! Those girls really made a mess of things,” remarked a lady from a nearby bunk, close to Tolani’s. After a moment, she added, “If they’d been caught with fellow male corps members, or even with the camp officials or soldiers, it might have been more forgivable.”

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“Come to think of it,” Tolani added thoughtfully, “apart from the fact that these boys are not educated, they’re actually underage, probably in their teens.”

“And very muscular, though,” chimed in another roommate, subtly suggesting that muscularity could imply prowess in bed. This remark elicited laughter and playful boos from the group.Top of Form

 

“Muscular but very unkempt and dirty,” Tolani concluded with visible disgust, a sentiment shared by the rest.

“My point, as the newscaster mentioned, is how they managed to keep their libidos high despite the daily drills,” the fair-complexioned lady, likely the Medical Graduate Tolani had once told me about, interjected. While another voice added, “Yesterday’s drill, especially, was one of the heaviest, yet they were eager for intimacy when, in fact, they should have been getting a decent sleep.”

The chatter resumed among the various clusters of camp residents, and I wasted no time in nudging Tolani’s memory about the specific fellowship we had discussed amidst the myriad of options available. With a swift nod, she acknowledged my reminder, assuring me that Victor, an ex-corps member who operated a food stall at the bustling mammy market, a spot we frequented and sought advice from, would provide us with valuable insights into which fellowship to pursue.

Preparing to depart, eager to seek Victor’s counsel, Tolani and I had just stepped out of her lodge only for the tranquil atmosphere of the camp to be abruptly shattered by the piercing screech of tires. A speeding car swerved into the vicinity, narrowly missing us by a hair’s breadth. The driver, visibly furious, unleashed a barrage of curses from the confines of his vehicle, the vehemence of his anger clear even from a distance.

“Where is that wretched woman, the despicable creature I mistakenly called my wife?”

His voice, thick with rage and laced with the bitterness of recent betrayal, cut through the camp as he parked harshly, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. He then stormed towards the admin hall, screaming at the top of his lungs.

“I sacrificed my hard-earned money to pay her dowry,” he shouted, his words directed at no one in particular. “Bestowed upon her a tertiary education her own parents couldn’t afford. And what does she do?’’ He queried, his hand extended in front of him, while he wriggled his body like someone enacting a scene. “I say how did she chose to pay me back?’’ He reiterated, letting out a scream of disgust.

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“She disgraces herself by frolicking with swine on this camp!”

His anger intensified as he retorted angrily, drawing the attention of a few camp officials who approached cautiously.

“Where is she?” he screamed again, his voice rising in frustration, with the officials initially struggling to comprehend his rant.

Then he swiftly gestured to a fully loaded van, previously unnoticed and stationed behind his car. With determined strides, he paced back and forth, his voice rising in frustration as he continued to bellow.

“Where can I find the office of the NYSC State Coordinator?” He then asked a group of onlookers, myself included, and, as if moved by some unspoken agreement, we all silently gestured towards the office a few blocks away.

He stormed into the office with a clear sense of resolve, while the camp officials, who had been hesitant to approach him due to his angry demeanor, eventually followed. In mere moments, we stood in stunned silence as he reappeared, dragging one of the women who had left, pulling her toward the waiting van already piled with belongings I assumed were hers. His voice, thick with frustration and fury, cut through the air as he addressed her.

 

“These are the God-forsaken belongings your poor parents sent you with to my house. This van will take you back to your hometown immediately.” It seemed he had made up his mind. We watched in silence as tears streamed down the young woman’s face, her sobs filling the heavy air. She was led toward the van’s passenger seat while her supposed husband veered off toward his car. Both vehicles quickly pulled away from the camp’s gate, leaving a thick sense of tension and sorrow in the air. I didn’t quite understand why I felt sad in that moment, but somehow, I did.

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We drifted away from the scene like everyone else, and amid the lively chaos of Mammy Market, I found myself with Tolani, searching for Victor, who was meant to point us toward the best fellowship to attend. He had always been our go-to for advice, effortlessly steering us through the twists and turns of camp life. Whenever we found ourselves at a crossroads, uncertain of which path to take, Victor’s counsel was our compass. From secret tactics, like sharing the parade cheat code, which involves feigning illness to secure a coveted bed space at the camp’s clinic, just so we can avoid participating in exhausting drills, Victor’s wisdom proved invaluable.

He even suggested that we cultivate relationships with our female fellow corps members engaged in romantic liaisons with the military personnel at the camp, recognizing that they could potentially advocate for us and influence favorable post-camp placements by speaking to their partners.

“Otherwise, they might just assign you to a place where the only mode of transportation are Toyota-donkeys and Honda-camels,” he would jest, poking fun at us with references to areas in the state where camels and donkeys serve as the primary means of transport. He would add ‘Honda-Toyota– to give it a touch of dignity.

By the way, in our eyes, Victor’s guidance was indispensable, prompting our swift visit to his stall for counsel once again.

But as we approached Victor’s stall, the familiar voice of the Orientation Broadcasting Service (OBS) suddenly filled the air again;

OBS;            “In the heart of the orientation camp just moments ago, a scene unfolded, encapsulating the essence of drama in its every detail.Top of Form

 The revelation of two women apprehended with two underage yet well-built almajiri boys is now a tale across the camp, stirring whispers and speculation alike.” She had begun her narrative with a lightness that hinted at the absurdity of the situation, a faint smile tugged at my lips as the newscaster described the boys as ‘well-built’, but her continued narration quickly drew me back from my daydream.

“So, in accordance with the Camp’s regulations,” she continued, her voice steady;

“The next of kin of these women were contacted.” Her words lingered, heavy with expectation. “It turned out that the husband of one of the women was the designated next of kin. A man who, until recently, resided with his wife in a neighboring state, had undertaken the arduous task of packing her belongings and escorting her to Tsafe Orientation Camp.”

The incredulity in her tone mirrored my own astonishment. “He was vehement,” she continued, “insisting that she proceed to her father’s house, his frustration evident.”

Away from the initial drama and in the aftermath of the encounter with Victor, the echoes of the OBS voice dwindled into silence. Tolani and I found ourselves heeding the advice of the spirited food vendor to attend the Nigeria Christian Corpers’ Fellowship (NCCF).