TALES OF A YOUTH CORP MEMBER; PT 16; GREEN’S JOURNEY: A TOWNSMAN IN CAMP

*Fiction intertwined with reality* Read PT 15 here;

TALES OF A YOUTH CORP MEMBER; PT 15; THE MEN THAT SOUGHT MY AFFECTION- 2

On a scorching afternoon, we found ourselves queuing to collect some document. Exhausted from the heat, I couldn’t help but notice this particular chatterbox a few steps away from me. He prattled on about topics so mundane that I can’t even recall them now.

Irritated by his incessant babbling, I shot him an irritated stare and audibly hissed. Apparently undeterred, he sauntered over to me, disregarding my hostile demeanor, and jokingly inquired;

“Which university did you graduate from?” he asked, attempting to strike up a conversation. “Hello, young woman who appears to dislike my presence,” he added again, clearly unbothered about my evident disinterest.

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Still irritated, I remained silent, refusing to dignify his question with a response.

 “Let me guess, from OOU right?” he continued, his tone brimming with confidence, as if he had already pegged me just like everyone else. However, I am aware that Top of Form

he must have glimpsed it through the transparent file jacket I was carrying. Unsurprised by his deduction, I simply raised an eyebrow in response.

“And where do you come from?” he persisted, still undeterred by my silence.

Reluctantly, I replied, aware that he wouldn’t relent until he received an answer. Especially now, with a few glances already directed my way, accompanied by unfriendly looks from those obviously displeased that I was ignoring a cheerful guy who simply sought conversation.

“I am from Osun state,” I finally relented, unable to withstand his persistent questioning any longer.

His reaction was immediate and exuberant. He erupted into jubilation at the revelation that he had met someone from his own state. Despite myself, I couldn’t help but smile at his infectious enthusiasm. While our conversation persisted, I discovered that his hometown was not far from mine in Osun State, which made our friendship grow effortlessly afterward.

In his excitement, he proudly proclaimed to everyone on camp that I was his sister, a claim I didn’t refute. Instead, I played along, referring to him as ‘egbon mi’ (my brother), which led some people to believe that we were actually related.

Three days later, he showed up at my hostel with a lady in tow, introducing her to me as his wife rather than just his girlfriend, as I had assumed, and I greeted the lady warmly.

I further inquired from him about his marital status while we walked away,Top of Form

and he confirmed it with a nod. And before I could ask any more questions, he called out to his ‘honey’ at the top of his voice, bidding me farewell with giggles reminiscent of a lovestruck teenager.

I had meant to ask Green (this was his nickname) why he permitted his wife to remove their wedding band from her finger. The faint marks on her ring finger hinted that she had recently removed the ring after wearing it for a considerable time.

However, without extending any further invitation for questions, I observed silently while he escorted his partner out of my view with cheer.

Ultimately, why did it concern me? Our familial bond was only a few days old after all.

During my time on camp, it became increasingly apparent that this woman had a reputation for being one of the most promiscuous individuals, eagerly engaging with anyone who caught her eye.

But despite my initial urge to confide in ‘my brother’ about it, Tolani’s counsel to remain silent lingered in my mind, guiding my actions.

About two weeks into our camping experience, with a collective desire to break free from the confines of this stressful environment, an Inter-Platoon Football Competition was arranged. Green, having frequently showcased his defensive prowess and coaching abilities, a talent he had honed back home, was selected as a pivotal player for his platoon’s team.

During the game unfolding on the field, drawing cheers and jeers from the spectators, I found myself uninterested in the match and decided to tend to other chores in my hostel. Standing in line to fetch water, I was engrossed in my thoughts when sudden screams erupted from the direction of the football field, rented the air like a wild chorus.

“Haaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”…………………

“Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”……………

“He don die oooo!”……………….

“See bone oooo!”………………………..

“Blood is spilling!” The panicked cries echoed, compelling me to join the throng of others running towards the football pitch. Approaching, I saw one of the footballers on a stretcher being whisked away into the waiting ambulance van that was always on hand. Moving closer, witnessing his palpable agony, I realized it was Green, writhing in pain as he was taken into the ambulance destined for an Orthopedic hospital in Kano state for proper medical treatment.

With the commotion on the football field intensifying, Top of Formthose of us who had not been following the match closely turned to the spectators for an explanation. Amidst the chaos, a voice rose above the clamor, recounting the harrowing incident.

“It was an attacker from the opposing platoon,” they said, their tone tinged with worry. “He kicked a guy they call Green in the ankle, and his bone broke like a biscuit.”

The gravity of the situation dawned on us and we absorbed the shocking news. A hush fell over the crowd, punctuated only by the distant wail of sirens while the ambulance rushed Green to receive urgent medical attention.Top of Form

“My own brother, ooo,” I interjected the scene narrator paused, and then she continuedTop of Form

, “Heiya, sorry about that anyway.”

Moving from one group of eavesdroppers to another, I found myself overwhelmed with various versions of what had transpired on the field.

One account claimed,

“The foot was completely disengaged from the leg because I glaringly saw it removed with my own two naked eyes,” a female comrade asserted.

However, someone else contradicted her, insisting, “Haba, madam! Only a few strands of veins actually held it together and prevented the foot from completely falling off.”

“Who told you that?” another interjected.

“I saw it myself; I wasn’t told,” he explained, while she retorted, “Somebody actually held the leg near the ankle, and it completely fell off.”

“Maka why, madam, when it’s not a biscuit bone?” Amid the chaotic retelling of events, another spectator provided clarity about what had truly occurred, while tension among onlookers fueled their exchange of differing narratives.Top of Form

Regardless of the varying narrations of what had happened, one thing was clear: Green needed urgent medical attention because something must have happened to his bones.

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Feeling utterly dejected by my brother’s predicament, I made my way back to my hostel with a heavy heart.

Consumed by thoughts of his suffering, I walked, I couldn’t shake the feeling of helplessness that gripped me.

A few minutes later, I felt compelled to seek out my supposed ‘sister-in-law’ at her hostel. I questioned how I could be feeling this despondent when she, as his wife, must be utterly devastated. It was my duty as a ‘sister-in-law’ to be there for her during this trying time.

Upon arriving at her hostel, I was astonished to find her chatting and laughing with her roommates as if nothing was amiss. Puzzled by her apparent ignorance of her husband’s condition, I wasted no time in informing her of the grim news.

“Guess you don’t know that your hubby is presently on his way to Kano Orthopedic hospital for a bone mend,” I informed, expecting her to express concern or distress.

To my surprise, she snapped back at me spontaneously, “He is not my husband.’’

CONTINUES……………………..