As a Nigerian, the plan has always been there. Go to the university, study something you love, graduate and go for the compulsory one year service to our fatherland, then… then…
Then… words just seem to fail me. A little help with suggestions would do right now. I feel stuck. The only phrase that keeps playing back like a broken record is “what next”.
Here I am, a nocturnal being by default or reset, watching the sun go down and the moon take charge of the night, then observing the breaking of dawn before hitting the sheets… and snooze…
The day is so bright, it’s almost blinding… with so much colour, looking like a typical telemundo scene. Then the surreal feeling, it is clearly a summer feel! Walking into a ‘madhouse’, so much filtered noise and all I hear is the ‘click-clack’ of my heels. I passed what used to be my office to a much bigger one. I dunno why but i couldn’t stop, my feet were in control. Then the madhouse got still…all eyes on me…all applauding…I am still very much confused but a smile managed to stain my face without my consent. I must have done something right with this kinda reception. Ok, I guess I have to speak now because my lips said so, but I don’t even have any control, I’m like a 3rd party in my own body. Speech time… but words won’t come out… there’s lip movement, yet no sound. Speechless. Blank. Black…
“Wake up dear, it is just a dream”. So back to reality, back to the phrase, “what next”. With a plethora of knowledge and ideas, the phrase keeps lingering on like a bad habit.
There was always a manual for getting an A or an F: get the handouts, go for lectures or photocopy notes, do averagely well in tests, then a little extra in exams, do the maths and you get your A or whatever grade you desire or deserve. Sometimes the formula or manual fails then you go spiritual. And then the religious centre in the school becomes your haven / or if you are the happy-go-lucky type that is a believer of symbiosis only in exam halls (or parasitism, so long you are the one getting). There was always a formula. Honest or dishonest, 1+1 just always equalled 2.
Every day, every test, every time-table, every gate close, every resumption date, every closing date, every deadline constantly telling us what to do next. And even when it felt like the stress was consuming and lecturers were unfair, and the exam fixtures were crazy, we were still being spoon-fed. Someone somewhere was responsible for answering the question “what’s next”. We never had that responsibility, we never had to worry.
Service year just made things worse. Like some throwback to Secondary school. Back to the era of punishments, lights outs, uniforms, seniors, bullying, mise-ing, saving, ‘visiting day’, prom, social nights, bants sessions, ‘he likes you, he’s cute’, ‘I can do bad all by myself’, match pasts, beauty contests, ‘I_too_know’s, ‘oversabis’, platoon ‘prefects’, bond 007… forgive my digression but I hope you get my point. What was next wasn’t even something to worry about in the slightest form. NYSC got us covered! And even over-booked! Like Robots, we had a program.
Once there was some motivational gathering, we gather and grope like new-born birds with mouths wide open, waiting to be fed a worm from the mummy bird and jostle to get some piece of the slimy delicacy into our mouths. Ten speakers, the first nine say the same things, downloaded from the internet and recycled, buttered with charisma, seasoned with a sense of humour and packaged in some tailored Marc Jacobs suit with shiny Italian shoes and Rolex to add the cherry to the ice-cream top. Getting all the hungry young’uns all riled up and sucking from the mother’s breast. Then the last speaker comes and opposes everything the first nine have said and *pheeeeeew*out the window goes the motivational and inspirational build up… Back to deflated… back to zero …back to the question: “what next”.
Yay POP! Like some high school graduation, #turnup parties, grad book, ‘say your bye-byes to new friends or lost friends’, then back home… in your mind you are free at last!
Then days roll in weeks… weeks into months… and the phrase hits you like a heart attack “WHAT NEXT?” time for networking, surfing the net for vacancies, travelling miles to meet up for some interview, getting turn down…
By Oyinloluwa
No comments:
Post a Comment