My Camp Journey 2

"Na wash and wear, u fit use am, wash am to dry, and use again," akpos teased, prompting laughter from the passengers in the vehicle.

"Na wash and wear, u fit use am, wash am to dry, and use again," akpos teased, prompting laughter from the passengers in the vehicle. veryone except my front-seat neighbor. I didn't want to look silly laughing at the jokes because neither the driver nor my neighbor were laughing.

Except for the occasional hush noise, all was quiet an hour into the ride.

When I looked back, I noticed that the majority of the individuals were sleeping. Akpos was snoring with his mouth widely open.

I grinned and looked over at my neighbor. She was quiet, perhaps tired of pushing her phone, but she was completely awake.

I kept my gaze fixed on the enormous, seemingly interminable bush we were moving through.

I heard "Pepori." It came from my neighbor. If she hadn't been staring at me, I would have turned and ignored her.

"Pepori Oak?" was the name of my body spray. "Yeah," I said.

"I had a feeling. "I noticed it when you walked in," I wasn't sure if that was a compliment.

Pepori wasn't a designer scent, nor was it particularly pricey. "So, what are your thoughts on it?" I asked, trying to start a conversation. It was already becoming dull.

“Cool. I knew someone who wore it as well. "That was his favorite," she explained.

"And you? "Which one is your favorite?" I asked. I can't believe I was talking about scents & fragrances with this lovely person. What shall we talk about next?

What about eyeliners and mascara? "I don't have a preference. "I wear whatever scent I think is appropriate," she explained.

I engaged her in casual conversation, and soon we were conversing as if we'd known one another for years.

I brought up topics and areas of conversation such as school, movies, family, and friends. She went with the flow.

She earned her bachelor's degree in sociology and anthropology from the University of Benin. "My name is Jane, and I'm from Delta," she introduced herself.

I introduced myself and we continued our conversation. She told me she wants to sleep, a few minutes later.

"Can I lay my head on your shoulders?" she inquired. "Of course," I said, adjusting myself to support her head.

She drifted off, resting her head as though it belonged there.

When we arrived at Asaya camp, it was a buzz of activity. The taxi we joined took us from the kabba bus stop to camp.

Jane and I boarded the bus taking new corp members to the registration point to begin the registration process.

The Orientation Broadcasting Service (OBS) where playing music over the camp's public address system.

Every now and then, an announcement or message will be made.

We were searched and processed before being issued a KGN (kogi number) and heading to the hostel to leave our belongings, acquire a bed space and closet, and then continue to the actual registration.

To say the least, the registration process was stressful.

Standing in a queue that wasn't moving because another queue of pregnant ladies and nursing mothers was being served.

My phone rang, and despite the tugging and shoving in the queue, I managed to get it from my pocket.

Oge called me. I was standing near one of the public address systems that was playing loud music.

I couldn't hear her very well, so I canceled the call and texted her that I was registering.

She questioned about my particular location, which I provided her of. I caught her attention a few minutes later when I noticed her seeking for me like a lost penny.

She wondered why I hadn't called her when I arrived at camp. ""I was expecting you. she said.  "I'm almost finished with registration; all that remains is to write my name in the book of life,"

-"Which book of life is it again?" - Oge assisted me with the registration.

I discovered I was in the incorrect line, with people who had gone two stages ahead of me.

My call up letter has yet to be endorsed, which was the first step. She almost yelled at me when she realized I hadn't photocopied my papers.

She was furious and reminded me that she had requested me to do it while she was at school.

We had to exit the huge line and go to the photocopy machine. The prices at camp were designed to cut your throat! Photocopying costs N50 per page, using their stapler to staple your paper costs N20, and you must pay for tip-ex, markers, office pins, and other supplies.

She assisted me in properly arranging the documents, I paid, and we were on our way.

"The next time I tell you to go and do something, you do it," she yelled angrily after discovering how much I paid for each photocopied document.

I couldn't help but wonder why she treated me as if I were her younger sibling. Although it was entertaining, I found it fascinating.

She snatched the file and stormed out, furious. "Come with me!" she grumbled.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied as I followed. She came to a halt, turned to face me, and grinned.

She took my hand in hers and held it as we walked back to the registration area.

We both completed our registrations on the same day. I was grateful for being able to report to camp on the first day. We finally got our kits late at night.

"You are assigned to platoon 2," Oge had to have noticed my KG number: 0422.

"Yeah, what about you?" I inquired. "Seven," she remarked as she handed me her phone number, 0097.

"I wish we were in the same platoon," she expressed her request. "Me, I wish we shared a hostel," I quipped, and she chuckled.

"I wish we were sharing the same bonk," she joked.

"Are you staying up or down?" she asked right away. "Up," I responded.

I dislike down bonks. I was a border in secondary school, and the experience taught me that your corner mate will always have pals who prefer to sit on your bed down bonk when they visit your corner, while their own foam lies happily up the bonk.

"I like the down bonk," she explained. "I'm afraid I'll tumble over the top if I sleep there," she explained.

"You stay down, and I stay up." Wouldn't that be wonderful?," I attempted to flirt.

"Yeah, then at night?" she inquired. "You have a corrupt mind," I said, and we both chuckled.

"Thank you for assisting me with registration," I stated. "I'd like to express my gratitude.

"Let's go have something to eat." As we walked to the Ngwori, she held my hand.

CHUKS POV

That faithful first day at camp, I spotted Eazi. I was trying to acquire a locker at Hostel A when he stepped in with his bed and a backpack.

Who brings a secondary school bag to camp? I questioned myself.

What could a back-pack possibly contain? I watched as he placed his bed on top of my bunk, even though I was already in the lower bunk.

He could have chosen another bunk with empty lower bunks, but he chose the top.

That was strange, first a strange back-bag, then a strange choice of bed area. It got weirder when he chose a locker far away from his corner.

Why didn't he pick a spot near his locker? Or a locker at his corner?

He dashed away, as if he was being pursued. His acts were bizarre. I stayed behind.

I had already begun my registration. I had to return to the hostel since the stress was too much for me.

I wasn't built for that type of pressure; there must be a shortcut; I'll wait until things settle down a little.

On Tuesday, I arrived at camp to begin registration. I tried but couldn't handle the pressure. It wasn't worth it, so I went to take some photo shots first.

I took a bunch of shots with several guys I met at the photo booth.

I was looking forward to camp. I'd heard countless stories about camp life and was looking forward to it.

The photographer was shocked when he prepared a N2,600 receipt and I paid him in cash.

We became buddies, along with the other people I met at his stand. I drove them to Ngwori, where we ate and drank.

We drank for hours at the Ngwori joint, and I paid the bills.

My table was so crowded with alcohol that I had to ask two girls from the next table to come over and join us.

They did, and they eagerly requested stout.

After a few moments, one of them departed while the other stayed. She was having a good time with the company and the free drinks.

We left with the girl we met at the Ngwori. As we walked back to the photographer's stand, she started pressing my phone.

She must be quite impressed with how I spend my money.

I didn't have excellent looks, but once the money starts flowing, I rarely get a no. I took some more pictures with her and paid.

The photographer told us that his residence was nearby. He was staying close to the camp. I hired a room for him solely during the camping season.

He has a studio in Lokoja, the state capital. I discharged the girl without first collecting her contact information. Stella, as she said her name, wanted to accompany us.

I assured her I'd call her later, and we walked away. My two new pals and I went to his rooms.

We spent hours playing games on his play station. It was a spacious, self-contained room.

I asked him if it was feasible to find such lodging somewhere rather than staying at the camp.

He urged against it, stating that it would be difficult to enter and exit camp at random once registration closed.

He did, however, assure me that I was always welcome to spend time in his room.There is one unique thing about me, it quite easy for me to make friends.

I didn't have attractive features, but I knew how to spend my father's money.

When money talks, I've learned that crap works. I was a sickler and asthmatic until I was 21 years old.

A young person with sickle cell disease and asthma does not have an admirable existence.

I responded violently to everything: cold, heat, dust, poor ventilation, stress, and, on occasion, noise.

My life was monotonous and uninteresting when I was younger, and everyone at school ignored me.

They said I fainted at the slightest provocation, so they avoided me like the plague. My dad was a chief.

As a chief in the Imo state community of Egbema, you will be on the payroll of oil corporations.

Egbema was one of the few oil-rich settlements in Imo State, and my father had his own methods of making money.

I would not have made it this far without his wealth and affection for his youngest wife. I was his last wife's first son, and he named me Ugorji.

My father's name was Orji, thus I was his ugo. The others read meaning into the name my dad gave me - his 'ugo' - meaning his pride, as ugo is the igbo name for eagle, the pride of all birds, and I heard my name generated various issues in the polygamous household.

Oil firms pay reverence to my father, which is how I became rich on my little level then (lol). I grew up believing that money can solve all issues.

With so much to drink, I returned to Hostel A. I had no idea why the porters at the camp had given me a little foam.

I requested that it be changed, but they demanded that I accept it. They must have taken my tiny stature into account.

I was offended; I despise it when people look down on me because of my stature. And this is how I still got the tiny foam.

The strange guy who dumped his foam on top of my bunk was not present. So I took his foam and doubled it.

Later that night, he woke me up abruptly and demanded his foam.

He was meant to be my corner mate, yet he was acting as if I was invading his personal space. When I awoke, he was staring at me suspiciously.

He was behaving strangely. I handed him his foam and attempted to strike up a conversation with him, but he completely ignored me as if I were talking nonsense.

I arrived at camp early enough on the second day to begin registration.

I dropped money here and there to start things moving, and within an hour, I was done with what others take all day to achieve.

With my companions, I walked straight to a shop that offers my favorite local herbs.

Because of the illness I suffered as a child, I developed an affinity for local herbs.

It would take pages to explain, but it is better thought than lived.

My dad always keeps a bottle of herbs and warming liquids on hand for me. Every morning and evening, I took in some quantity of herbs which he measures with a small cup.

I developed a strong attachment to it. I was there with my new buddies when I noticed the strange guy wandering around aimlessly.

I called his attention to myself, and he came running. I wanted to be nice with him, so I offered him alcohol, which he politely denied.

He pretended I was giving him poison. I tried making some jokes, but all he did was leave me and my pals.

He was being quite hostile to me. The way he looked at me at times made it clear that he disliked me.

Perhaps because of my appearance. Later, I returned to the hostel.

I was trying to organize my belongings when I came upon the rolls of condoms I had purchased on my way to camp.

As I arranged them, I grinned at myself. I had ideas, and I had set a joke for myself as a target.

I was going to f.c.k as many p.u.s.s.I.es as I could get my hands on.

When the strange guy passed by, he inquired what I was going to do with all of the condoms.

At the very least, he wanted to talk to me. I was happy that at last he wanted to talk.

Maybe he didn't really dislike me after all. When I told him about my target joke, his countenance turned insulting.

He mocked me with his laughter. He clearly taught that I couldn't Approach a girl!

In 3-D, that was an insult! I really felt humiliated when he said that I will go  home with all of my condoms unopened, I was ashamed.

I can't even blame him for disrespecting me; I'm used to it. But, to add insult to injury, it was a no-go zone.

I challenged him to a stake, and he accepted.