Chapter 15:Letters from Sokoto
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Chapter Fifteen
The sun in Farufaru Camp, Sokoto State, didn't rise—it attacked. The dry air, the dusty ground, the harsh routines—everything about orientation camp screamed survival.
Celine had read stories about NYSC, but none of them prepared her for the raw intensity of Farufaru. From the moment she stepped into camp, life became a blur of discipline, fatigue, and dust.
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Her mornings began at 4:30 a.m., jolted awake by the thunderous voice of the parade commander screaming through an old megaphone:
"Corpers on parade ground! Ten minutes!"
Sleep was a luxury.
Her days were spent marching under the scorching sun, running laps, standing in long queues for food that often tasted like wet cardboard, and navigating her way through unfamiliar faces and culture.
Her friends weren't there.
Naomi had been posted to Rivers State. Titi was in Oyo, and Grace had landed in Kwara. They were all scattered across the country, and none of them was with her in Farufaru. They stayed in touch through WhatsApp chats and voice notes, but the distance felt real—especially on days when her whole body ached, and her heart longed for a familiar face.
Titi: "Sokoto ke? Ahhh! Try survive o, babe."
Naomi: "No worry. You strong pass this thing."
Grace: "Abeg find Hausa boyfriend make dem teach you small small language!"
Their jokes helped. But she was facing this alone.
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Nathan became her strongest anchor.
Even across states and time zones, he messaged her morning, afternoon, and night.
Nathan: "Have you eaten?"
Celine: "I don't even know if this is food."
Nathan: "Let me guess… white rice with dry beans and pure water soup?"
She laughed a little every time. He sent her love notes disguised as prayers. Encouragement that wrapped around her like a warm scarf on cold desert nights.
"You're not there by accident, Celine. You were planted. And you will bloom."
His love wasn't loud—but it was present. And in camp, presence was everything.
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She grew used to the dusty uniforms, early drills, and cold showers. She even made a few temporary friends who helped pass time with gossip and laughter, but no one was from her inner circle.
Each evening, she'd fight with the poor network just to squeeze out a call—first to Nathan, then her parents, then sometimes Nathan's mother, who always said something comforting like:
"The desert can't swallow a star, my daughter. You will shine there."
Those words stuck with her.
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Then came the dreaded posting letters.
After three weeks of survival, the camp officials began handing out PPA (Place of Primary Assignment) slips. Some corpers celebrated with cheers. Others cried on the spot.
Celine's hands trembled as she opened hers.
"Government Secondary School, Kebbe LGA, Sokoto State."
She blinked at the paper.
"Kebbe?" she whispered.
A staff member standing nearby overheard and gave her a sympathetic look.
"It's far. You'll need strength, corper."
No one she knew had ever mentioned the place. It sounded remote. It sounded forgotten.
She tried to smile.
"I'm going to the edge of the earth," she muttered to herself.
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The journey to Kebbe was long and exhausting. She shared a rusty station wagon with chickens tied behind the seats, and bags of beans packed beneath her feet. The farther they went, the fewer the buildings… and the poorer the roads.
When she finally arrived, Kebbe greeted her with open space and silence.
The secondary school was simple—a scattering of buildings surrounded by bush paths. The students peered at her from behind classroom doors, murmuring in Hausa.
She met with the school principal—a man with a round face and kind but firm eyes. He welcomed her politely.
"Sir, please… I'd like to be rejected," she said hesitantly. "I don't think I can serve here."
The principal laughed softly.
"Everyone says that. But give us a chance. You'll enjoy Kebbe. Our people are peaceful."
Celine looked around. The heat. The language barrier. The isolation.
"But… the students don't even speak English."
"Exactly. That's why you're here."
She left his office with a sinking heart.
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Her room was basic—no fan, just a worn-out mattress and a wooden table. She placed her bags on the floor and sat down quietly, blinking back tears.
She tried to call Nathan.
No network.
She moved near the window, stretched her phone toward the sky, and finally got one bar.
The call connected briefly.
Celine: "Nathan… I don't know how I'll cope. This place is so far. So different."
Nathan: "I know, baby. But I believe in you. You're not just here to survive—you're here to impact lives."
"I'll visit soon. And when I do, I'm coming with gifts and garri."
Celine (laughing): "Just come with yourself. That's all I need."
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That night, she sat under her mosquito net, scribbling into her new diary—her father's gift.
Day 1 in Kebbe. It's quiet. Too quiet.
The kids stare like I'm from another planet.
I'm scared.
But Nathan believes in me.
My parents trust me.
And maybe, just maybe…
There's something here for me to learn too.