NYSC: What did I do wrong?
By 13/08/2012
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What does it feel like to nurture great hope, visions and aspirations and work so assiduously at it, only to be shattered with the reality of shame and disgrace? How does it feel to love one’s nation dearly and serve her with all exuberant vigour and youthful zeal, far and beyond the call of duty, only to be rewarded with scorn, reproach and punishment because subsisting social structures and mores do not support such extinct ideals? The feeling is obviously one of dejection, frustration and near collapse that prompts quick re-evaluation of strategy. While some youths have stoically waded through such ugly experiences and re-launch dramatic comebacks managing to keep their tattered virtues, many others have been too wounded to survive; they turn around polishing their crafts and grafts to hunt the system they once craved to serve. The puritan blends with the system and learns the art of corruption even faster than the masters.
I am a youth presently distraught with the reality of unreciprocated love for fatherland and I wonder if there is hope for my kind in this nation. While at the NYSC Orientation Camp, I had planned to draw attention to needs in my place of assignment through the media by virtue of my communication discipline. But I was told corps members were not allowed to speak with the press. I was unhappy. How can that be? Do they want to repress my spirit? I might faint if I didn’t write for a fortnight. How much more for a year? I read the rules and discovered the bye-laws forbid ‘’...granting interviews on matters affecting NYSC policies...’’ Eureka! I found the answer. We were only forbidden from granting interviews, so I still had my freedom of expression. In fact, I knew NYSC wouldn’t have mounted any contradiction to Section 39 of the 1999 Constitution which expressly endows every Nigerian with freedom of expression.
I started writing and publishing right from camp, basking in the euphoria of serving my nation. Aside delivering one of the most evocative speeches at the orientation camp, urging fellow corps members to sincere service, I re-oriented many outsiders who had no idea of what fun awaits in the uncharted hearts of the jungles. From my interior village, I darted in writing, defending Ebonyi youths after the state government’s unpopular decision to stop full payment of their certificate examinations under the flimsy, faulty pretext of meeting up with minimum wage. I wrote for the Abia State University girl gang-raped by five monsters, urging justice for the poor girl. I wrote for the NYSC girl allegedly raped by a monarch in Osun. I wrote in defense of NYSC itself, telling the scrap proponents to be more constructive in their arguments. Despite the hail of accolade I was drawing from external readers, NYSC never communicated praise or warning. Then came the delay in corps members’ allowance. I thought if I could speak for the right of others, why should I be silent now? I wrote in defense of corps members in the country who were going through unimaginable hardship. I succinctly painted the horrid pictures like a skilled artist.
I must admit it was indeed the angry piece of a hungry corper. If you are in government and you read it, you will understandably be angry at the spunky brat who wrote it. And if you are outside government, you will be angry at government for treating corps members the way the writer portrayed. It was an angry piece that invoked anger. Where you direct the anger depends on what side of the divide you belong. The piece probably reflected in raw terms the mood of corps members in the country at the time. That was when NYSC Ebonyi woke up and invoked one of its rules against me.
The writer must be made a public example. For daring to ask questions when he should have kept quiet, he deserved query and extension. NYSC is highly regimented, and you are expected to always play the yes-man. You can’t fight your employer or else you will be fired. In fact, it was not wise to have written such a reckless piece putting yourself in unnecessary risk. You dey do oversabi, ehn? Na only you fit write? Did you say the query came seven days to your passing out? What a rude shock that must have been. It was perfectly timed for you. And now, with that extension twig in your file, your viability for public office in the future is endangered. Those were some of the thoughts of people who had reacted out of genuine concern for Folarin.
But you know what? I have no regret. I have no regret for serving with so much innocence. I have no regret for writing because it’s my calling; I take my ordeal in good faith. I am no bad writer, except when I’m angry, literary anger, mind you. At such times, I write with fire and brimstone dripping off my pen. Like a jury, I summon offenders before the table of public conscience and examine their conduct in the light of their sworn obligations to society.
And was I not supposed to be angry? You must know I saved 50% of that stipend, paid 10% as tithe, fed, transported, supported siblings, fulfilled financial obligations and commitments with the remaining 40%. And how much is the 40%? 7,800. Sincerely, there are corps members with stricter financial plans. So, when there is delay payment, you can only imagine the hardship and torture.
I was slammed with one month extension that led to two months delay even when none of the officials could open the particular section I breached. Together with the PRO, we perused the NYSC Bye-law searching for the appropriate section I violated. Then he finally fingered one: disclosure of official information. Laughable, isn’t it? Was I the one who disclosed the information to the public? The former Minister for Youth Affairs, Bolaji Abdullahi had announced before I published? Little wonder even the query I was issued reflected confusion and distortion in citation. The offence was publishing; the citation was dereliction of duty. Worse, I was not paid a farthing despite the recommendation of the same invoked 2011/2012 Bye-laws that there should be half payment in certain cases. My situation must be worse than that of a prisoner, because even prisoners get fed no matter their crime. I was whisked back to my village, to the consternation of my principal and his staff. Many of the teachers were too shocked to say a word. Few who found their voice wondered why the best always get the worst treatments.
When the extension letter was handed to me, my initial reaction was that of utter disbelief, sorrow, frustration and disappointment that gave vent to the morbid thought of suicide. A top government officer, formerly in the media, who was briefed and had promised to help look ‘immediately’ at the matter, did nothing to save me. His promise petered out like the gentle snuffing of a flickering candle flame. I bled deeply within. I wept. I remembered all I had showed and showered was love and passion for my nation. My June 3rd page 10, full-page clincher in The Guardian Newspaper captured my excitement for NYSC. Funny enough, I gave the State secretariat my only copy which they gladly accepted. And when I expected appreciation, commendation and reward from a grateful people, I got the back-stab of extension because I asked an innocent, genuine question: NYSC, where is our allowee? The system does not tolerate questions. The system does not tolerate criticisms.
Despite pressure to go public, I said nothing throughout my ordeal in deference to the section of the NYSC Bye-laws which frowns at seeking redress to grievances of this nature through the media. In my quest for justice, I would not want to be guilty of wrong doing. Hence, I bore the shame of the extension knowing the time will come to tell my story and let the people judge.
As I get my certificate this month and return home into the waiting hands of loving parents, friends and loved ones, some questions trouble me that I deem fit for national meditation. What are the parameters of our reward system? A corrupt politician is garlanded with honours, a Taiwo Akinkunmi languishes unrecognized in a shanty. Clearance corpers, ghost corpers, lazy corpers cheat the system and get applauded for playing smart, an acclaimed hard-working village corper without any blot of wrong-doing gets extension even when there’s no established offence? What do I have to show for my hard labour and passion? What will be my new exhortation to my generation? Does it pay to serve Nigeria with heart and might? Will this infringement go unaddressed? Will I go, my wounds undressed?
NB: The Punch and The Guardian published it under the title: NYSC: Tears of a wounded corper
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