Short Story Fridays

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Short Story: Pristine | By: Morountodun (Vol 9)

Read Parts 1,2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 and 8 of the Pristine series here, here  Here Here here here, here  and here

Dara had just finished teaching
her first class the following Monday morning when a student met her on the way
with a handwritten note. She hurried off to the headmistress’ office where an
unfamiliar female corper in uniform sat before the headmistress.


“You sent for me, ma?”
“Yes, corper Dara,” the woman
replied, motioning for her to take a seat. “I’m pleased to inform you that we
have a new corper joining us. She has just been redeployed to Gombe and was
posted here, and as the ever resourceful person that you are, I thought you
might like to meet and welcome her, especially as you are both in the same
batch. She’s Uju by name.”
Dara and Uju exchanged brief
smiles as the headmistress continued, “Corper Uju has just reported here this
morning, so she’ll be given the rest of the week off to settle before resuming
fully next week. She’ll be occupying the room next to yours at the lodge so
please help her get comfortable. I know you must be happy to have a fellow
corper in the school now. Congrats.”

Dara, shocked, asked Uju, “You
relocated to Gombe? Why? My parents have barely forgiven me for not leaving
here!”

“It’s personal,” Uju replied dismissively.

“Alright. I’m sure we’ll get to it
later.” Dara smiled. “Will you take my number so I’ll be around when you move
in?”

They exchanged numbers, and as
Dara left for her next class, she thought of Chika. They hadn’t spoken since
the very awkward day at his place and it was unusual for him not to have called
or reached out somehow. Thinking she had probably embarrassed him although she
felt embarrassed herself, she decided to break the ice.
                    Hi. There’s a new corper at my PPA. Wonder if she’ll join our CDS.
His reply came almost instantly.
                    She already did. Met her @ secretariat this morning.
                                                                   
****************
Dara had never really celebrated
Valentine’s Day. It was afterall a day for lovers and she hadn’t had any. The
yearly red-themed youth fellowship ‘secret’ gifts exchange at church usually
made the day.
This year, all roads in Gombe led
to the Mallam Sidi camp for the batch A passing out parade. She didn’t expect
to have any fun there when a batch was done with their service already while
she still had eight more months to go, but being at the event gave her hope
that it would be her turn someday.
Chika was waiting by the camp gate
when she got there, and his warm smile quickly dispelled all thoughts of hostility.

“The next POP would be yours. Does
knowing that feel as good as I imagine?” Dara grinned at him.
He laughed. “I suppose. It’s
cool.”
“The parade hasn’t started, has
it?” she asked, squinting to see the parade ground at a distance.
“Nah. The governor’s probably just
woke up now. They can’t start without him.”

He made no move to leave the gate,
so she asked him, “Waiting for someone?”

“Yeah. How’ve you been?”

“Not bad. You?”

“I was starting to wonder if you
weren’t lost,” he said loudly, chuckling.
“Lost?” Puzzled, she look up at
his face and turned to follow his gaze to see who he had been talking to.
Uju smiled and explained when she
was close enough, “I stopped to get something at a shop on my way. Have you
been waiting for long? I tried to call but couldn’t get through.”

“Uju! Hi! I didn’t know you were
back in town,” Dara said, surprised.
“Yeah, I’ve been at Biliri with my
dad. He stays there,” Uju replied.
“Oh. I didn’t know that.”

“I moved in at the lodge late last
night. I guessed you might have been asleep and I didn’t want to disturb.”

Dara frowned. “Are you serious?
You couldn’t have disturbed in any way, we live right next to each other now.”

Uju shrugged wordlessly.

“Shall we proceed?” said Chika,
both girls on either of his sides.
1 273
Entertainment

Short Story: Pristine | By: Morountodun (Vol 8)

Read Parts 1,2, 3, 4, 5, 6 and 7 of the Pristine series here, here  Here Here here here and here

“Hey sis, how’s it going? Are you
good now?”
“Yeah. I told you the principal
said I could take Friday off? I’ve had all weekend to recover. I feel much
better now.”

“Good. Hope you aren’t too lonely.”

“Well, I’m the only corper in my
school, because the school’s still quite new. I get to see other corpers,
though, during CDS, clearance, in church on Sundays… I’ve friends already, it’s
cool. How’s home?”

“Dinner at the Johnson’s tonight,
we’re getting dressed.”

“Alright. Enjoy.”

“You take care too, Dara.”

“Thanks, Giddie.”

Her phone rang again almost immediately
after the call. It was Chika this time.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“So I discovered this cool place
not so far from yours. How about we try it out for dinner?” he said.

“Okay,” she replied, smiling at
the coincidence of her whole family dining out that night.

“I’ll meet you at home within an
hour. We’re strolling.”

“See ya.”

It was a beautiful night, the
breeze was just perfect. When they walked away from her street, she observed,
“It’s like there are traffic lights every few metres in this city.”

“Yet you stay in an uncool part of
town. You should see other parts, like where I stay. Gombe is really not a bad
place.”

Dara rolled her eyes. “I already know
my accommodation isn’t the best, you don’t have to rub it in.”

He chuckled.

“Being too comfortable during my
service year would just feel like I never left home, anyway. This’ll give me
some experience to share later in life,” she said with a defiant shrug.

He snorted. “So when you become
the Nigerian President, you can talk about how you grew up without shoes too?
Goodluck with that.”
“I see what you did there,” she
replied, laughing. “Speaking of presidents, have you ever thought about being
one when batch A passes out? You’re B, right?”

A car sped past then, and he
quickly pulled her away from the road so they switched positions. He looked at
her. “No, I haven’t. Why did you ask?”

“You should think about it. I
think you’d make a good CLO or CDS president, whichever one you prefer.”

“Nah. I’m too much of a rebel to
be a CLO, trust me. President might be cool though. What inspired that
thought?” He looked at her again, still surprised.

Dara shrugged. “You’re likeable
and eloquent. You have the ability to carry people along, and you seem to have
very good rapport with people.”

“Why does it feel like you’re
asking me out?” Chika said with a wide grin.

She rolled her eyes again, hitting
his arm playfully.

He told her after some moments of
silence, “Dara, you’re a great girl and you seem like a go-getter yourself.
I’ll only think of running for president if you consider a post too.”

“Okay. That’s fair enough.” She
smiled.

                                                                          
***********
The headmistress’ office was
unpainted, like the rest of the school. It contained only a shelf of files,
three wooden chairs and a table behind which the headmistress, a tiny,
middle-aged woman with thick glasses, sat. It was Dara’s second time there in the
two weeks she had spent. The first time had been when she first reported at the
school and had needed the head’s approval to get her acceptance letter signed.
She had been in a hurry to report back to the NYSC secretariat after camp, to
notice how poorly equipped the school was. All she had wanted was to be
accepted at her PPA so she could travel back home to Kwara, to rest off the
three-week orientation camp stress.

Now she was being careful not to
show an iota of condescension. She kept a straight face as the headmistress
looked up from what she was writing and said, “Corper Dara, I hope the malaria
has left for good.”

Dara  smiled. “Thankfully, it seems so.”

“We bless God. I just called you
here to commend you. You have been active and hardworking in the little time
you have been in the school, everyone—staff and students alike—felt your
absence when you were not around on Friday. It shows that you are dedicated,
please keep up the good work.”

“Thank you ma.”

“I know we pay so little here,
being a new school, compared to what your other colleagues must be receiving at
other places. This is what makes it even more commendable that you are putting
in so much effort. I want you to know that God does not leave any good deed
unpaid. Please, this our little chat is just to encourage you. Do not relent.”

Dara was humbled. She had vowed
since her first day in the primary five class of students that could barely
spell basic words, to make a difference. And making that difference she
obviously was.
“I believe that every child
deserves quality education. I’m only trying to make my own little contribution
to the cause,” she replied the headmistress, who then nodded and remarked
proudly, “More young people should think the way you do, corper Dara.”
                                                                   *************
The sendforth/welcome ‘party’ held
the first Thursday in February, a week to the batch A passing out ceremony.
Dara had looked forward to the day with much excitement, and the doughnut-and-drinks
wasn’t even half the attraction for her as was the election that took place the
first few hours.
There were five posts to be
filled. Chika was sitting next to her as usual, and Dara nudged his arm with a
knowing look when it was time to nominate a presidential candidate.

“The role of the president would
be to head this CDS group and preside over all its meetings for the next four
months, so please ensure that the person you’re nominating is someone fit for
the job and that will dutifully carry out the roles of a true leader,” the
outgoing president began. “This administration has attempted to create enough
awareness on environmental health issues in the state by organizing public
lectures and carrying out periodic sanitation exercises, but there’s still a
lot to be done to achieve the aim of the group. Whoever you choose as the next
president should have all it takes to steer the group in the right direction,
and as a rule, he/she must be from batch B. 


Suggestions?”

“I’m nominating Chika,” Dara said,
on her feet.

Someone else got up to nominate
Usman, an extremely quiet Hausa guy Dara thought incapable even though he
attended meetings regularly, and she whispered to Chika with a grin, “That’s no
match, you’ve got this.”

“Chika and Usman, please step out
for a minute.” He waited till they were both out of earshot, and then the
voting began.

Dara counted. There were seven
votes for Usman and eighteen for Chika. It felt so good to know many people
believed in him as much as she did, and she couldn’t resist the I-told-you-so
look she gave him when returned back to his seat.

The outgoing president continued,
“Every president needs someone to assist him. Who will be the vice president of
the group? The VP can be from either batch B or C, male or female, and you’re
free to nominate yourself if you’re interested.”

“Dara,” someone from the back
said.

“Dara,” another person agreed.

“When did I get so popular?” she
asked Chika, genuinely surprised, as many other people voted her.
He shrugged. “You’re a star, how
could you not shine?”

It was unopposed. She had actually
had secretary or provost in mind, but vice president it turned out to be.

“What’re you doing the rest of
today?” Chika asked after the elections.

She shrugged and replied before
digging into her doughnut, “Nothing really. You have anything in mind?”

“Well…I made president and you
vice. I think that deserves a little private celebration. You’ve never been to
my place before. Today’s a good day,” he said persuasively.

She thought about it. “Yeah. We
could plan our tenure too, God knows this CDS could use a bit more fun
activities.”

“How’s it going to be? We go
straight from here or you want to stop over at yours first?”

“I should probably change from
this uniform first—“

“You look good in anything. You
know that?”

She smiled. “These jungle boots
are quite uncomfortable to move around town with. I’ll call you when I’m set so
you can give me directions.”

“Cool. I need to clean my room
anyway. And if I have enough time, I might cook your favourite, noodles.”

“Yayyyy.”

“Cool. It’s a date.”
                                                                              *********

It was no date, just a visit, Dara
told herself as she dressed up in her room. The striped maxi she’d worn at
first felt too dressy, so she opted for her usual jeans and tee instead.
There was denying that Chika had
always flirted with her since the very first time they’d met, albeit subtly.
And even though he had never really said anything to that effect, she felt
nervous about going to see him. It might be different this time, since he would
be in his territory. But what if she was taking his friendliness way too
seriously?

She took a final glance at herself
in the mirror before she stepped out and scolded herself the red tee was too
tight around the bust line. Later, in the cab, she convinced herself that the
looser, darker-coloured top she had eventually worn was more appropriate,
although she asked herself why so much fuss. It was just Chika afterall.

“What do you think?” he asked as
he met her at the gate and proudly showed off the chalets in the compound. He
stayed in one of them alone, and Dara had to agree—it was indeed a finer part
of town.

“That you’re a bloody show-off and
I’m totally jealous,” she answered, feigning a sulk.

He turned on the stereo when they
got inside and gave her a grin. “I was just about to start making lunch. Wanna
come?”

She leaned against the kitchen
wall and watched him chop up some vegetables. When the food was on fire, he
said as he danced towards her, “Come on, show me some moves.”

Tiwa Savage’s Eminado was playing. Dara shook her head regretfully. “I don’t know
how to dance.”
“With a body like yours? What a
waste.” He continued dancing in front of her, mimicking the ‘body rocking’ in
the music video and making her laugh.

He asked, while she served the
noodles, “Would you like some wine? I got this bottle from my uncle when I went
to Kaduna last month.”

“I don’t take alcohol,” she told
him.

“Ok. Juice then.”

Chika listened to her talk about
her sanitation idea while they ate. He did appreciate her zeal, but they had
been president and vice for barely four hours, surely there would be plenty of
time later on to discuss CDS!

“You’re like a nerd—only prettier
and without glasses.”

“What?” She was at the kitchen sink,
washing the pot and plates they had used.

He shrugged. “You’re obsessed with
working and planning. You don’t party, you don’t drink, and you can’t even
leave used plates unwashed.”

She laughed. “You make it sound
like they’re bad habits.”

“It depends. What do you do for
fun? What unserious thing excites you?”

Dara paused to think about it,
then froze entirely when she realized the hot air she was starting to feel on
her neck was actually his breath.

“Tell me. You can’t just be so
damn serious and controlled all the time. Hmm?”

She had finished rinsing the last
of the utensils, but she remained facing the sink. He was standing too closely
behind her. Half an inch and she would be pressed into his body.  She didn’t know what to say. Finally, she
croaked, “Chika.”

“Yes, baby.” He planted a soft
kiss on the back of her neck.
“What’re you doing?” Her voice had
suddenly turned very thin.
He put his hands on her waist and
turned her around so she was now facing him. “Don’t you like it?” he whispered.
“I-I don’t know.”
Another kiss on her neck and then
he smiled. “That’s a first. You usually know a lot of things.”

She shook her head. Gently
removing his hands from her waist the same instant he tried to reach for her
lips, she moved a foot away.

“What’s wrong, Dara? Don’t you
like me?” he asked, putting his hands in the pockets on his trousers.
She looked into his eyes, waiting
for more. When it didn’t come, she replied softly, “Not this way. Please.”
 *********************************************************************************
Morountodun is a writer and a microbiology ‎ graduate of University of Ilorin.
Twitter: @Morountosweet




‎
*********************************************************************************
Are you a writer? Interested in sharing ‎your short stories on this



platform? Be‎ our guest on our Short Story Fridays segment. Email: [email protected] or ololade.olatunji@yahoo/ gmail.com

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Entertainment

Short Story: Pristine | By : Morountodun (Vol 7)

Read Parts 1,2, 3, 4, 5 and 6 of the Pristine series here, here  Here Here here here
It was the coldest January she had
ever experienced in all her twenty years and seven months, and Dara usually
didn’t handle cold so well. As if it wasn’t hard enough to have to travel so
far from home only a day after the New Year to allow her settle in for a few days
before work resumed, the cold shocked her—puzzled her, even. It blew like wind,
numbing the face, fingers, every part of the body left uncovered, and
threatening to whirl one off to freezing point.
Dara’s plan the past four years
had been all about graduating top of her class. To do that, she had studied
hard, kept distractions at bay, mixed with like-minded people, and had had a
four-pointer CGPA in Biochemistry to show for it.  Now school was over, real life had begun, and
her new plan was to live it. This meant staying strong. Strong enough to get
out of bed every morning no matter how tempting it was to just lie under the
duvet. Strong enough to endure the lousy accommodation her PPA had gotten her
in a nearby compound with poor drainage. Strong enough to face the school
children with a bright smile everyday because it was her duty for the next ten
months. Strong enough to protect herself from the extremely harsh weather with
the thickest clothing items she laid her hands on. Strong enough to enjoy Gombe,
no matter what, because she had had a chance to leave but had chosen to stay
and so had no right to utter a single word of complaint.
                                                               
******************
“Good morning, fellow corps
members. Hope everyone had a fun holiday, especially those who travelled home
even though there was no official permission to do so”—there were mumbled jokes
and laughter—“To all batch A and B corpers, it’s a new year and CDS has fully
resumed. I urge us all to endeavour to make meaningful contributions to the
group this year for better results than ever. To the batch Cs that have newly
joined us, this is environmental sanitation community development service
group, where we try to enlighten ourselves and the community at large on how to
maintain proper hygiene in our surroundings. We hold our meetings every
Thursday between ten a.m. to twelve p.m. You are all very welcome, and your
contributions and full participation in this CDS will be highly appreciated.”
After the president’s speech, the
group secretary read out the minutes of the last meeting they had held, and
plans for batch C welcome party/batch A send forth party were discussed. Dara
observed quietly from the back row of the old building they used as classroom,
wanting to form an objective opinion as opposed to the ‘waste of time’ she had
heard CDS popularly being described as.
Before the close of the meeting, a
slim, fair guy that sat in front of Dara got up to speak. “I think it’s
important to let the new members introduce themselves briefly so we can at
least get to know their names, schools they graduated from, disciplines, PPAs,
etc.”
There were only two other new
guys, and after they had spoken, Dara got on her feet too. Smiling, she said,
“My name is Oluwasarasimi Adegbite—Dara, for short. I’m from Kwara State, I
studied Biochemistry at the University of Ilorin, and my PPA is Amazing Grace
Primary School.”

“Status?”

“What?”

The guy that had spoken earlier
turned to look at her, and repeated himself with a straight face, “Your marital
status. Single and seriously searching? Engaged without a ring? Married but
left ring at home?”

Everyone laughed. Dara replied
with a grin, “Single but not desperate.”
Later when he walked up to her
where she was waiting by the road for a bike to take her home, his opening line
was, “I’m not desperate either, but I think you might want to know me.”
“Really? Why?” she asked, amused.
He shrugged. “’Cause I’m cool and
you need someone to show you around town.”

“I’m settling in just fine,
thanks,” Dara smiled at him.

He sighed. “I’m trying to be
not-so-desperate here but you’re desperately trying to prove me desperate. Not
cool.”

“What’s your name?” she asked him,
squinting under the sun. It was amazing how the sun was up and yet the air was
cold.

“I’m Chika. And you have a lovely
name. Dara. Means something good, right?”

Dara nodded. “I’m sorry I have no
idea what yours means.”

“That’s alright. I was born and
bred in Lagos, so I probably speak better Yoruba than Igbo,” he told her,
smiling. He noticed she was shifting from one leg to the other, so he said, “I
realize I might have held you here for abit longer than I should have, so I’ll
just stop the next bike that comes around for you while I desperately ask for
your number.”

“Okay, that’s enough desperation
for one day,” she laughed as she punched her number on his phone before getting
on the bike.
                                                          
************
The following Thursday, Dara woke
up with a headache. She had a pack of pain relievers, so she took two tablets
during breakfast, before she left for CDS. She got to the venue right on time,
but Chika had already saved her a seat next to his at the middle row.
“I would have given you a call
since last week, but I had to make an urgent trip oer the weekend and got back
last night,” he said, leaning towards her as she sat, after he had motioned her
over.

Dara nodded and smiled politely.
She had actually not given him any thought till she had seen him again. Writing
lecture plans and notes and marking assignments for two different subjects kept
her busier than she thought she’d be as a teaching corper. She liked it though,
how the days gradually passed without her realizing because she had been
absorbed with work.

She must have lost concentration
at some point, because suddenly there was a general laughter and she didn’t
know what it was about. What she felt instead was body pain and an impending
fever.
Chika leaned towards her again and
asked, “Are you alright?”

“I feel really hot.”

“You’re burning up,” he confirmed
by placing the back of his hand against her neck. “Did it just start?”

She winced in reply as the
headache returned.

“Damn mosquitoes,” he muttered.
Then he walked over to the front to have a word with the president, and soon
came back to tell her, “Maybe you should go home, Dara. You shouldn’t stress
yourself if you aren’t feeling well.”

She tried to argue, but the
headache intensified. He followed her when she got up to leave. “I-I’ll be
fine. I’ll just go and rest at home,” she said as they walked to the road.

“Alright. But you should see a
doctor or at least get drugs to take. I’m guessing it’s malaria. Has this ever
happened to you before?”

“Yeah. Curse of an AA. I’ll stop
at a pharmacy on my way home, I think there’s one on my street,” she replied,
trying not to alarm him any more than he already was, but actually feeling
worse.
“How about I come with you?” he
offered.

She managed a smile. “Thanks, but
that shouldn’t be necessary.”

“I want to. That way I’ll be sure
you’re going to be okay.”

“I will be—“ She stopped talking
and groaned, holding her head in her hands.
“I insist.”
He waited outside her one-room
apartment so she could change from the khaki uniform into something more
comfortable, then watched her take the physician’s prescription. She soon fell
asleep on her slim mattress, and when she woke up forty minutes later, he was
lying on the carpet with his head beside her legs on the mattress.

“You’re still here.”

She watched him, confused, as he
walked towards her hotplate to uncover the pot on it. Even with the delicious
aroma of noodles that filled the room, she still had to ask to be sure. “You’re
cooking?”

He shrugged, squatting to stir the
pot’s content with a fork. “I figured you might have to eat something when you
woke up. I wasn’t so sure you didn’t take the drugs on an empty stomach.”

“I ate before leaving home in the
morning. But it’s really thoughtful of you to do this. Thanks,” she told him,
touched.

He grinned. “Actually I’m not the
gentleman you’re thinking I am. I’m just a hungry man who discovered your
carton of noodles. Didn’t want you staring at my mouth so I made enough for
two. How’re you feeling by the way? Any better?”

“Yeah…fine. But you’re something
else, Chika,” she replied, trying not to laugh for fear of the headache
returning.

…Eating together on her carpeted
floor that early Thursday afternoon marked the beginning of a friendship,
without either of them realizing it.

*********************************************************************************
Morountodun is a writer and a microbiology ‎ graduate of University of Ilorin.
Twitter: @Morountosweet




‎
*********************************************************************************
Are you a writer? Interested in sharing ‎your short stories on this

platform? Be‎ our guest on our Short Story Fridays segment. Email: [email protected] or ololade.olatunji@yahoo/ gmail.com

0 327
Arts, Entertainment

Short Story: Pristine | By : Morountodun (Vol 6)

Photo Credit: Wikihow

Read Parts 1,2, 3, 4 and 5 of the Pristine series here, here  Here Here and here

Her mum was upset, as expected.
She had yelled over the phone when Dara called to tell her about the posting,
and the yelling continued even after she got back home for the after-camp
break. Her dad was calmer, as usual. His only grouse was why she hadn’t said
anything about not wanting to redeploy in the first place.

“Maybe because I knew mum was
going to react this way?” Dara finally had the nerve to answer, on her third
night at home, when they still wouldn’t stop asking why she had done what she
did.
“How am I reacting?” her mum
retorted. “What sane mother would want her child in a dangerous place like
that?!”

“Mum, do you know that before I
left for camp, I had never spent a whole day out of this house? I even went to
school from home everyday because you didn’t think the campus was such a great
idea. I don’t want to be this overprotected girl without any exposure. This is
an opportunity for me.”

The older woman tried to explain,
“This isn’t about you living home, it’s about where you chose to stay—“
“Accidents happen everywhere.
Sickness kills too. Boko Haram isn’t the leading cause of death in Nigeria. And
they aren’t even striking in Gombe, I’ve told you that several times,” Dara
said, exasperated. “I stayed at the Nigerian Christian Corpers Fellowship
family house the two days I spent outside camp, I met several other corpers in
different batches that had been there before me and all they had to share were
testimonies. It seems like a good place, really.”

“Well, you’ve obviously made up
your mind to stay so it’s too late to argue,” her dad pointed out with a glance
at the two of them.
Her mum shook her head. “I know
it’s too late to argue, but I’m thinking of asking one of the pastors in church
to intervene. Dara is obviously out of hand. She needs to be reminded of the
consequences of disobeying one’s parents!”

Dara smiled. “Really, mum? And you
don’t even believe that God is our protection wherever we find ourselves?”

Later that night, Gideon went to
her room and told her, “You know mum just wants the best for all of us, right?”

“I know.”

“And you can always still apply
for relocation. People do, even after six months into the service.”

“Yeah, but that would be if I
hated it there. Let’s wait and see.”

“So…any other camp gist you
haven’t given me yet?” he asked, smiling mischievously.
“Well, there was this guy—“

“I knew it.”

“And no, he isn’t my reason for
wanting to stay, you know I decided to before I even went to camp,” she
reminded him. “He relocated anyway.”

“What happened with him?”

Dara shrugged. “I liked him. He
was my friend. He wanted to be more than friends, but the feeling wasn’t
mutual.”

Gideon sighed. “What on earth do
girls mean when they say stuff like that? This girl at my office told me the
very same thing. Is friend-zoning the good guys like a rule you all follow
these days?”

“You know, now that I think about
it, you and David actually share some qualities.”

“Like?”
“You’re both really sweet and
nice, the type girls love to talk to because you’re such great listeners.”
He looked puzzled. “Isn’t that
what women want?”

“Well, I can only speak for
myself. And I imagine it must get boring. What I’d really like is someone who
makes me laugh, someone I can be spontaneous and have fun with, not just talk
and listen all the time. He must also be able to make me mad sometimes, and
turn it all around almost instantly too. I want a guy who keeps me on my toes.”

Gideon nodded. “Interesting.” Then
he added, shaking his head, “Girls are just plain crazy and insatiable.”
                                                                      
**************
December seemed to pass by too
quickly, and Dara found herself staring into a Nigerian map in one of Dan’s
Geography textbooks on Christmas day when she should have been helping her mum
out in the kitchen.
“What have I done?” she groaned,
slamming the book shut.
Dan tried to console her. “At
least you’ve been there before. Now you’re abit familiar with the place. You’ll
be fine.”

“My ass hurts just thinking of the
trip already,” she said, wincing.
He grinned. “Yeah, you could use
more flesh in that area.” When she didn’t laugh like she often did when teased
about her derriere size, he added reassuringly, “Don’t worry, sis. You’ll come
home on holidays, right? Easter isn’t so far away.”

Dara shook her head, dejected. “I
can’t travel that distance for a two-day break, it’s not worth it. And I
already know my punishment’s no money for flight ticket from mum and dad. I’ll
be packing for the whole year when I leave nextweek.”

Dan sighed. “But you know, you
might get a rich Nomad with plenty cows and never even want to leave Gombe
again.”

She did laugh at that. The
possibility of finding love with a cattle-rearer was much more attractive than
the deliverance team she imagined her mum would consult if she ever considered
permanent residence in the North.

*********************************************************************************

Morountodun is a writer and a microbiology ‎ graduate of University of Ilorin.
Twitter: @Morountosweet
‎
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Short Story: Pristine | By : Morountodun (Vol 5)

Read Parts 1,2, 3 and 4 of the Pristine series here, here  Here and Here
                                                        
“I should probably apologise for what I did last night, but I really don’t want to.” 
It was camp fire night, and the last Saturday on camp. All corpers were to be seated according to their platoons, but David was sitting with Dara, who looked at him and asked, curious, “Yeah, what was that about?”

He was quiet for a minute, then he shrugged and replied, “I really, really like you. I wasn’t going to say anything about it because we’re only here for three weeks and then we’d go our separate ways, I didn’t want you to think all I wanted was just a fling. But the more I keep it to myself, the more the feeling grows, Dara. And last night, I just couldn’t help it. It didn’t help that you looked the way you did in that dress either.”

She laughed. “It’s an adorable dress, I totally agree.”

“I just wish I wasn’t redeploying or you were redeploying with me so we could be together.” He continued quietly, “Not that distance is really a barrier these days. If you feel the same way, that is.”

She noticed he was looking at her expectantly. She asked, lost, “What?”
He shifted his chair so they were no longer sitting side-by-side but face-to-face, and then he took her hand and said with utmost earnest, “Dara, I need to know that you feel something for me too…that you want me as badly as I want you…that you want to make this work like I do. We could try it out and see. I’m crazy about you and I don’t know how else to show it.”

“David.” The anticipation in his eyes broke her heart. She swallowed hard before telling him, “I do like you very much. I enjoy talking to you, you’ve been like my one true friend since we got here. But I’m afraid that might be all that I feel towards you. I’m sorry.”

He smiled but she thought she saw pain. As he returned back to position, she wondered if she should have given it more thought, or at least pretended to. She had never been in any romantic relationship before and somehow imagined that it would involve much stronger feelings than she had for him. What if she was wrong and the love could grow over time? What if he loved her enough for both of them or if she never met any other guy as sweet? But then again, what if she turned out right?!

                                                                         *************
When she got her posting letter after the final camp parade on Tuesday was when it hit her what she had done—or hadn’t. Mum and dad had gone through so much trouble to get her relocated and she hadn’t followed through with the complete process. She didn’t want to imagine their reactions when she told them. The thought of it terrified her.

“Yayyyy, we got our relocation,” Kenny said in a sing-song, waving the redeployment letter and dancing towards Dara as she stood rehearsing how to break the news to her parents.

“Yay, I got posted…to a primary school in town,” she replied, trying to sound as enthusiastic.

Kenny smiled at her and asked, a little unsure, “It’s what you wanted, right? You wanted to stay?”

“My parents will be furious.” Dara bit her lower lip as she stared blindly into the posting letter. “I don’t even know what to think right now.”

Taiwo joined them then and told Kenny, “We’re good to go. The bus is leaving anytime from now.” They were heading to Lagos, where they had lived all their lives and had been redeployed back to. Dara would have to wait for some more days in Gombe to report at her Place of Primary Assignment (PPA) and settle her posting before she’d be able to travel.

“You’ll be good, right? Please take care of yourself,” Kenny said, concerned, and they hugged.
Taiwo hugged her goodbye too, and as she watched them leave for the bus, it took Dara all her willpower to keep the brave smile on her face.
David called to ask where she was, and he soon came, dragging his box behind him. “I didn’t get where I wanted, but where I got is close enough to be able to work something out with my employer,” he told her.
“Good for you,” she smiled back.
“So…I guess this is it. I’m going to miss you so much, Dara. I’ll call you everyday.”
She laughed. “Please don’t.”
“Are you sure? ‘Cause I could if you wanted.” He grinned.
“I’ll miss you too,” she said, meaning it. And as he walked away towards a Delta-bound bus, she tried to decide which of her parents to call first. Not that it mattered, the deed had already been done and there was little or nothing anyone could do to change it at that moment. They would have to accept eventually, and she would just have to live with the decision she had made, however it turned out to be.

************************************************************************************************************
Morountodun is a writer and a microbiology ‎ graduate of University of Ilorin.
Twitter: @Morountosweet

‎
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Short Story: Pristine |By: Morountodun (Vol 4)

Read Parts 1,2 and 3 of the Pristine series here, here and Here
                                                           
The marching squads were made up of corps members from all the platoons that proved exceptional at parade, and Dara was in one of them. However, everyone returned back to their platoons when the Regimental Sergeant Major (RSM) called for an impromptu inter-platoon parade competition on the morning of the Miss NYSC pageant.

“Platoon commanders, come and stand here with me. I want a member of each platoon to command,” ordered the RSM, a short, dark man. All ten platoons were arranged in a U-shape, each platoon lined up in 3s, and he was standing at the center.
Dara’s commandant asked her before leaving, “You sha sabi as I dey give all the commands wey una dey respond to? You go fit do am well?”
She nodded and took the position at the front, mentally going over the commands.
Platoons 1-7 all had male commanders, making Dara the first female to lead a platoon. Platoon 9 also had a female commander, but the RSM was most impressed with Dara’s confidence and command tone, that even though a few otondos—a term she had come to understand meant novice—in her team halted wrongly, making them lose the parade to platoon 5, he still judged her the best commander for which she got resounding claps.
Taiwo was missing all day, only showing up backstage later in the evening as Dara was being dolled up for her first appearance as the eighth contestant.

“Where have you been?” Dara asked when she saw her. “Kenny and David just left here some minutes ago, we’ve been trying to reach you.”

“Yeah, my phone’s been off. I was in a meeting with my platoon members. There are some changes.”
There was noise now, the first contestant had just been called on stage and the audience was a loud mixture of cheering and booing.
“You look different,” Dara observed.

“You changed your hair?”
“Yeah…”

“All done. Press your lips together,”
Tolu girl told Dara, stepping back to admire her handiwork and adding one last layer of powder.
Dara looked into a mirror and gasped,

“OMG, I look so pretty but I feel so nervous!”

“Me too. Our rep chickened out this morning and here I am,” Taiwo said, smiling. Just then, the third contestant was called on stage, and as she walked away with an even bigger smile, Dara stood dumbfounded.
“Hey. You’ll be great,” Tolu told her with a hug, extra careful not to step on her white tennis or stain her spotless white uniform in which all contestants were to appear in the first round.
“Thanks,” Dara replied, truly needing the reassurance. Still, her heart skipped a beat when it was her turn to go on stage. Her strides were cautious, her smile a little unsure at first as she walked the first length of the stage. She paused to strike a terrific pose, though, with an arm akimbo, neck tilted with her ponytail hung playfully by the side and her long legs a little apart.
The audience cheered, but not half as much as they did when she showed up in native wear. She had thought the colours rather unusual when Tolu boy had suggested the gold lace buba and navy green aso oke iro, ipele and gele with red accessories, but standing with everyone screaming and clapping and taking pictures, she couldn’t help the big grin that took over her face. It helped too that most of the other contestants had chosen to wear the mid-riff baring traditional Fulani and Edo outfits, so she stood out all covered-up and regal.

The third round of appearances was all about evening wears, and just before they took to the stage, Taiwo walked up to her in the changing room and apologized, “Dara, I didn’t mean to double-cross you like this. I’m sorry, I should have let you know earlier.”
“It’s okay,” Dara replied with a smile.
She smiled back.

“Yeah, it’s not like you even wanted this in the first place. I helped you do it, so whether you win or I do, I’ll still feel like I won anyway.”
She sashayed off in a clingy polka dot strapless dress and Tolu scowled and said, while touching up Dara’s make-up, “And that’s your friend? Such a bitch.”
One of the other contestants standing close to them said wistfully as they watched Taiwo leave, “I’d kill to have a figure like that. She’s so sexy, she makes us all seem plain.”
Dara shook her head. She felt anything but plain. Her long, asymmetric orange dress with pleat details was gorgeous. She had loved it the very minute Tolu boy had shown it to her, and she couldn’t wait for the final catwalk.
They filed out one after the other according to their numbers. This stage of the contest wasn’t only about looks, and the first two contestants already flopped their questions.
The compere asked Taiwo, after she chose a number, “How many months in a year have twenty-eight days?”
“Like only twenty-eight days? Or up to?” she asked him, to be sure.
He shrugged and only repeated the question, to which she replied, “All twelve months.”
Dara inwardly prepared for her question too, instead of wondering if Taiwo had been right or wrong.
When it came, it was the camp director’s full name, the last question Tolu boy had asked her that afternoon so she aced it of course.
The girl she had met at the salon the day before was the last contestant, and there was a collective gasp when she answered the plural of ‘criterion’ as ‘criterions’. She ended up at the fifth position overall.
Dara’s heartbeat went wild when her name still hadn’t been called till the top three. Taiwo held and squeezed her hand as the third remaining contestant held hers too. They were standing apart from the others and still anxiously holding hands, when one of the judges finally announced, “In the third position as second runner-up is…contestant number 8, Miss Oluwadara Adegbite.”
Taiwo was first runner-up, and as they both congratulated the winner amidst the crowd’s jubilation, they were presented with their wrapped gifts. Several snapshots later, the winner with a tiara on her head and Dara and Taiwo flanking her on both sides, and the show was over.
Kenny rushed backstage and didn’t seem to notice Dara as she walked past her to hug Taiwo. “You could’ve told me! I’m so proud of you!” she exclaimed.

“Everything was last minute, I had to quickly prepare,” Taiwo replied, beaming.
Dara watched them, feeling left out. She had been the one preparing all week, why was Kenny not proud of her? If the tables were turned, she’d hug Kenny first, if not because she was her favourite twin, then because she had just achieved something she had almost given up on.
“Hey.”
When she turned, David was smiling down at her.

“Can you hug me, please?” she said, a tear rolling down her cheek.
He instantly drew her into a warm embrace like he had been meaning to even before she asked, and told her, running a comforting hand along her back, “You look stunning. You were amazing.”
She smiled when she pulled back, but then he pressed his lips onto hers, startling her. The kiss lasted only for a second, but it was soft and firm at the same time, leaving Dara speechless even as her platoon members excitedly swarmed her, congratulating and taking pictures.


To be continued
*********************************************************************************
Morountodun is a writer and a microbiology ‎ graduate of University of Ilorin.
Twitter: @Morountosweet
http://morountosweet.wordpress.com
‎
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Short Story: Pristine | By: Morountodun (Vol 3)

Read the first and second parts of the Pristine series here and here

“Dara, that your friend is like
the finest guy in camp, in my opinion,” Kenny said in bed one afternoon after a
long, tiring lecture in the camp auditorium.
Surprised, Dara asked, turning on
her own bunk to face her, “David? Really?”

“Yes! And he likes you.”

“Of course. How else would we have
been friends?”

“I mean really like you.” Kenny emphasized in a way Dara thought
unnecessary. “I see the way he looks at you. He spends as much time as he can
with you, and has been bribing Taiwo and I by saving all three of us seats all
week since lectures began. He clearly adores you.”

Dara rolled her eyes. “He’s just a
nice guy. We talk a lot and that’s it. Don’t go reading meanings into nothing.”

“We’ll see about that,” she
snorted derisively, then gushed dreamily, “There’s just something about really
tall guys that aren’t skinny or fat, just well built like that. Most especially
when they wear glasses. Gives them this intelligent, sexy look.”

Taiwo, who had been quiet the
whole time—she was indeed brooding most of the time—dropped the magazine she
had been flipping through. Using her toes, she poked the back of Kenny’s
mattress suspended over hers and asked suspiciously, “You find Malik
attractive?”

Kenny bent to peep at her,
puzzled. “What? Malik? Of course
not,” she replied, seeming a bit disgusted. Then she added with a chuckle, “He’s
not even that tall.”

When Kenny left for the bathroom
some minutes later, Taiwo told Dara with a nervous smile, “I know my sister
wouldn’t hurt me, but sometimes I feel like she gets with my boyfriend a little
too well.”

“Kenny gets along with everyone
well,” Dara reminded her.
“Yeah. What do I have to worry
anyway? No guy would have me and want her instead.”
It struck Dara then, just how very
insecure Taiwo was. She was actually the smaller-bodied and lighter-skinned
twin, hence she might have seemed prettier, but many people found Kenny’s
friendlier nature more appealing and that apparently got to her. Dara didn’t
feel sorry for her, although she imagined it must be difficult for twins to
constantly be compared to each other. And in Kenny’s defense, she told Taiwo,
pretending to not notice the glare that followed, “Some guys aren’t just about
looks, you know?”

She fell into a brief nap that
afternoon, wondering what anyone would say about her too. Dwelling on how
people say her or if they liked her wasn’t really in her character, she simply
lived, vanity-free. And it had been working for her so far. Parade that evening
was a shocker to her, however, when the platoon voted and the commandant
approved…of Dara representing them in the Miss NYSC pageant.

“What?!” she had exclaimed,
horrified at the first person that suggested it before they voted. 

“I’m not
even so tall. And I don’t know how to model or catwalk. Let’s not even make a
fool of ourselves,” she had argued with them all, shaking her head while they
voted.
The platoon commandant tapped her
soldier and told her, “My friend. You suppose dey happy o, say everybody wey
dey dis platoon wan make you stand for them in this whole camp. Na becos dem
feel say you fit o. Ahahn, you no dey look mirror? See as you yellow, wey you
slim, wey you fine o! Na you go do am walahi. Make you go prepare your mind.”

Dara sighed. “What about costumes?
I didn’t bring any fancy clothes to camp now.”

“All of us na team, we go find
everything wey yo go use. No worry,” the soldier assured her.
She wasn’t assured, though. She
went ballistic as David walked her to the hostel that night. “Can you imagine
them?!” she fumed. “Many girls in the platoon and they chose me! I didn’t even
sign up for this, I’ve never thought of myself as a beauty queen for a second
in my life! We will lose the pageant and I’m not even going to be sorry!”

He only smiled quietly. When she
had let off enough steam, he told her, “Dara, you don’t even know how
incredible you are. And that’s what makes you even more beautiful.”

She was going to roll her eyes at
him, but when she looked up, he was staring at her in a strange way…like he had
meant what he said. At that instant, Dara wondered if what Kenny had said was
true. And after saying goodnight, she still felt his eyes on her all the way
till she got into the room, suddenly feeling self-conscious and weird at the
same time.
                                                                 
*******************
She had to learn to be vain, and
Taiwo was a pro at that. Every night after dinner, they went into one of the
empty hostel rooms and had brief grooming sessions before it was lights out.

“You have to be more confident
with that walk,” Taiwo would say, demonstrating to correct Dara’s tense version
of a catwalk. “Feel sexy, be sexy.”

“But I don’t feel sexy, I feel like an idiot!” Dara would reply helplessly.
Kenny was always there too for
some moral support. She’s laugh at her and say, “Dara, how could you not feel
sexy, looking like you do? You have the body and you’re smart too. What more
could you possibly need?” Then she’d say wistfully, watching them practice,
“You even look more like Taiwo’s twin than I do.” It had never occurred to Dara
that Kenny might just be envious of Taiwo’s looks too.
On the third day of practice, when
Dara finally decided to put her mind to it and actually made an impressive imitation
of Taiwo’s catwalk, Taiwo shocked her by firmly cupping her breasts and asking,
“Do you know what these are for?”

Puzzled, Dara shook her head while
Kenny giggled, watching her expression.
“So I figured. You don’t wear
push-ups?”

“Push-ups?”

“Bras. Push-up bras,” Taiwo
explained, srill holding on to them.
Dara shook her head again, shocked
and wondering what her boobs had to do with anything.

“They give you shape. They make
clothes hang beautifully on your body. When you walk, stop acting like you’re
ashamed of these God-given gifts. They’re yours to be proud of.” She finally
let go. 
“You don’t have to walk exactly the way I do. I have wider hips, you
more of boobs, so just enjoy being in your own body…feel yourself.”

“Okay,” Dara replied, pushing back
her shoulders and standing straighter.

“I bet your boyfriend enjoys
them,” Taiwo teased with a wink.
“I had a guy once. All it took to
get anything from him was just to let him have a feel. Guys can be crazy like
thatm” Kenny shared, shaking her head and laughing.
Dara smiled. “I’ve never had a
boyfriend. I didn’t want any distraction in school, now I’m looking forward to
it though.”

“Never? As in never? Where have you been? You don’t even want to know how many
guys I’ve been with.”

After some more practice, Dara
asked Taiwo, “You know a lot about modeling, how come you aren’t even
representing your platoon?”

She shrugged dismissively. She had
wanted to, and was actually one of the three girls nominated in her platoon for
the pageant but had had the least number of votes. Sometimes popularity
mattered more than skill.
Kenny, knowing what had happened,
gave her sister a sympathetic smile right before checking the time and telling
them, “It’s almost nine. They’ll cone send us to bed in about three minutes.
Let’s continue tomorrow.”
                                                                   
************
Camp had gotten really busy,
series of activities were going on. Inter-platoon cooking, drama and dance
competitions gave almost everyone something to be involved in. Two of Dara’s
platoon members, both namesakes, dedicated their time to preparing her for the
pageant, however. Tolu boy was a professional stylist with a UK degree while Tolu
girl was a make-up artist. They pieced Dara’s outfits together and got her
likely test questions. They believed in her so much she became excited about it
all.
Even Gideon and Dan cheered her on
from home when she told them over the phone, although they found the idea
totally unlike her and therefore unbelievable at first. Their parents supported
too, after she lied that she had applied for relocation.
The excitement flew out the window
a day to the pageant when she went to mammy market to get her hair and nails
done. There was another customer in the salon who wouldn’t stop telling
everyone that cared to listen how prepared she was to clinch the Miss NYSC
title. She had everything planned, had brought all her outfits and accessories
from home, and had enough experience from other beauty contests she had engaged
in before. She had come to camp solely for this, and was absolutely positive
she’d win. She smiled a lot, batting her eyelashes and calling everyone
‘darling’, like a true diva.
The girl left when Dara’s hair was
halfway done, and terrified, Dara told Tolu, “I can’t do this. I obviously
don’t stand a chance.”

He gave her shoulder a gentle
squeeze. “Queens need brains too, not just looks. Yes, you do stand many chances.
Trust me.”

“Okay,” Dara sighed.
To be continued….
*********************************************************************************
Morountodun is a writer and a microbiology ‎ graduate of University of Ilorin.
Twitter: @Morountosweet
http://morountosweet.wordpress.com






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Short Story: Pristine | By: Morountodun (Vol 2)

Read the first part of the Pristine series here

The soldier did
seem to like Dara. Good thing too that Dara shone at marching. People no longer
snickered at her, they admired her instead—her perfectly timed responses to the
slow match, quick match, attention by number and halt commands, the pride with
which the platoon commandant called her to the front to show other corpers how
it was done.
It all felt so good, so much that
she didn’t even consider joining either the Millenium Development Goals (MDGs)
or the Peer Education Training (PET) programmes going on on camp, both of which
would have interested her normally, had she not wanted something different from
what she was used to.
“Excuse me, I think you dropped
this.”

Dara turned to find a guy holding
up an orange handband and shook her head. “No, its’s not mine.”
It was the fifth evening on camp,
parade had just ended and she was thinking of stopping over at the room to see
if the twins wanted to eat at the mammy market too. She continued walking and
the guy followed her.

“You were great back there. Did
you have some military experience? Or are you just a really fast learner?”

Dara answered, “I had never
marched prior to this.” Then she glanced at him. “You aren’t in my platoon, are
you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”

“I’m in platoon seven. You were
pretty easy to notice though. Not that I was looking.”

Dara smiled. He had obviously been
looking.

When they got to the front of the
girls’ hostels, he asked her, both hands in his pockets, “Isn’t it rather early
to retire for the night? What are you doing till lights out?”
“Actually, I just want to see if
my friends are available to go and find something to eat together,” she
replied.

He shrugged. “I’m available.”

She went into the room to check
Kenny and Taiwo anyway, but soon returned alone shortly after she had left,
He grinned. “How could I not have
asked for your name? What if you hadn’t come back?
Dara smiled and told him.

“What does Dara mean?” he asked,
really wanting to know.

“Oluwadarasimi. God is good to
me.”

He sighed. “Yoruba names are just
so beautiful and meaningful. I’m David.”

She looked over at him, noticing
for the first time how very tall he was.


“So Dara, what would you like to
eat?” he asked as they walked past the auditorium and towards the mammy market.

“Noodles. There’s this Igbo lady
that adds lots of vegetables that I like. What about you?” Then her eyes caught
his wrist and she shook her head, amused, as she said, “I was going to suggest
that you report the handband you found at the OBS, but apparently it was never
lost.”

“Mmm…yea, noodles…that’s my
joint,” he replied, throwing back his head in mock ecstasy.

                                                       
*************************
“Oluwadarasimi Ajoke.”

“Yes, mummy,” Dara answered,
holding her phone closer to her ear so she could hear above the loud music
booming all over the camp from the OBS speakers. Her mum called her name,
Oluwadarasimi, in full most times, but whenever she added ‘Ajoke’, her native name,
it meant serious talk.

“Has anything been said about
relocation forms over there? I hear it should be out by now. You daddy has been
making some calls to his friends at the NYSC headquarters in Abuja.”

“Yes, mum. But I really want to
stay here,” she really wanted to say, but didn’t have the heart to, so she lied
instead, “No, mum.”

Her mother sighed. “Please just be
at alert and do everything you’re supposed to do when you get the news, okay?
We’re trying our possible best to get you out of that place as soon as the
three-week camp is over, but you know you have to write a letter and fill
relocation forms over there too.”
“Okay.”

When the call ended, Dara slid her
phone into her waist purse, increased her pace and caught up with David. She
had had to reduce her steps while she received the call, leaving him scrolling
through his phone with one hand, the other hand in his pocket. He smiled at her
as she apologized, “Sorry for the break in transmission. That was my mum.”

“Did you tell her?” he asked. They
had talked about the relocation dilemma, debating on whether staying in Gombe
for the whole year was worth it. His excuse for applying for the relocation was
that he had a job to get back to in the South-South.


“I couldn’t. But I will, sooner or
later.”

“This is like the best evening
I’ve had since I got to camp,” he said, when they got back to the girls’
hostels area.

“I told you, that lady makes the
best noodles ever,” Dara replied with a giggle, facing him in front of her
hostel block.

He smiled. “Nah. Well, yeah, it
was a nice meal, but I meant meeting you, getting to talk to you—“


“Tricking me into talking to you,
you mean?”

“Well, thankfully, it worked,” he
replied with a grin, then added in a more serious tone, “So I’ll see you
tomorrow.”
Unsure if it was a question or a
statement, Dara nodded before she turned to make her way into the room.
To be continued…..

**********************************************************************************************************************************
Morountodun is a writer and a microbiology ‎ graduate of University of Ilorin.
Twitter: @Morountosweet
http://morountosweet.wordpress.com






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Short Story: Pristine | By: Morountodun (Series)

                                                                
The shrill whistling and strong loud voices woke Dara up. For a moment, she wondered where she was, then she checked the time on her mobile phone and sat up on the bed as she remembered.
It was 4am. The room was crowded with about thirty rumpled bunk beds, half-open luggages and brightly coloured buckets of water. Half-dressed girls scampered all around the little available space as the soldiers backed orders outside. Still tired from the 18-hour trip of the day before, Dara reluctantly climbed down from the top bunk and reached for her bucket under the lower bunk.
“Wetin do this one? You no hear say na time for parade? You wan make I pour you water?!”
Dara looked up at the very tall, muscular female soldier standing before her and explained, “Yeah, I want to go and fetch my bathwater.”
The soldier stared back at her disbelievingly, like Dara couldn’t have said what she had, then she shouted, “E be like say you dey mad! Na me go wake you up to do your documentation? You no know say you suppose don ready for parade? If you sabi wetin good for you, make you leave this room now before open my eyes! Otondo!”
Dara grabbed her waist purse under her pillow and quickly joined the other girls excitedly flying out of the room as the soldiers had started spraying water.
The parade ground was a large, open field towards the camp gate (semicolon) bare, but for some sparse, dry grasses. And it was a cold November morning—dawn, rather. Dara had been well-informed about the harsh weather conditions and had gone to camp prepared, but surely the soldier would have slapped the otondo—whatever it meant—out of her had she waited a second longer in the hostel, searching her box for one of the jars of Robb her mum had kindly gifted her with before she left home. 
‘Kindly’ because Mrs Adegbite had not been in support of her only daughter going up north alone in the name of National Youth Service Corps (NYSC), a 1-year program in Nigeria designed by the government in 1973 to help tertiary institution graduates appreciate other ethnic groups and learn the culture of the places they were posted to. The North was too full of insecurities, with the recent attacks by the Islamic militants, Boko Haram.
“But mum, Gombe is one of the most peaceful States. I have read all about the place. We should be grateful I wasn’t posted to Borno,” Dara had reassured her the night before she travelled.
“Okay o. Maybe those animals are going to send you a personal letter when they are moving there,” her mum had retorted, still pissed that her own cousin, an NYSC official had failed at ‘working’ Dara’s posting to nearby Ogun State, or at least somewhere no one would have to worry about bombings and killings.
Dara’s dad, the calmer parent, had smiled and told his wife at the dining table that night, “My dear, don’t be so worried. The camp will be sufficiently secured, and Dara only has to be there for just three weeks. She’s redeploying after camp, I’ll see to that.”
Only Gideon and Dan knew about her excitement at the adventure of being far away from home for the first time, and Dara had exchanged knowing glances with them. Their mum would have a fit if she found out. She had a known phobia for letting her kids out of her sight. Dara often wondered if it was because of how late in her marriage it had taken to start having them. Family and friends were welcome in their home for as long as they wanted to stay, as long as she didn’t have to worry about her own children being away. And usually, Gideon would be the rebel, the one strong enough to dare heir mother, being the first child. But even he had served in Oyo, just two hours away from home, like she had wanted.
“Good morning this morning! Gentlemen corps members, I want to once again welcome you to Mallam Sidi camp. This is Gombe State, the jewel in the savannah, and I have no doubt that your stay here will be a good one,” the camp commandant was saying in a calm tone while Dara shivered uncontrollably.
He continued, “However, many of you are horribly dressed for parade this morning. I want to let you know that this is the last time such will be tolerated. Henceforth, on this camp, you shall all be dressed in your white t-shirts and shorts, with appropriate footwear. You were all given your kits upon arrival yesterday, so there shall be no excuses. Is that understood?”
“Yessir!” the corpers chorused groggily, all lined up in 3s.
“Na dis one even bad pass. Otondo.” Another soldier, male this time, said in a loud whisper, roughly nudging Dara forward from where she was trying to hide. It was no longer as dark and people close by could see. As they giggled, Dara developed a sudden hatred for her favourite pair of pink Hello Kitty pyjamas and matching flip flops.
“Oga Jimoh, na my friend be dat o, make you leave am.” The female soldier appeared from nowhere, a hand holding her gun to her side. She told Dara, eyes wide for enphasis, “I just dey pray make God help you make I find you for hostel wey you never ready again. Na then you go know wetin dey. I don mark you!”
The corpers, all numbering close to a thousand, both male and female, were grouped into ten platoons, and an NYSC official a man-o-war officer and a platoon commandant with an assisting soldier assigned to each group. Dara cringed when platoon 8 commandant was called and it was once again, the female soldier walking towards her with a smirk.
“She’s not the only female soldier on camp, but she’s taller than most of the men, and strong too! It’s terrifying. I just pray I don’t get into any more trouble with her,” Dara gisted her brothers over the phone as she walked back to the hostel.
“Just be careful. Those soldiers can be very mean,” Gideon told her from experience. 
“I used to sleep in my whites at nights so all I had to do was brush my teeth before parade in the morning and bathe later.”
Dan, who didn’t take anything seriously and the youngest of them, said cheerfully, “If she’s picking on you so much, sis, maybe she likes you. You know how I like to talk to you too when I know you’re not in the mood. It’s all love.”
Dara laughed, and realized she missed home at that moment. It was only the first day and she wondered what a whole year would feel like.
“Changed your mind about redeploying yet?” Gideon asked quietly.
“I can’t say yet,” she answered.
Same redeployment talk was going on in the hostel. Some people had gone to the kitchen to queue for breakfast, others were taking pictures of their first day in the all-white camp uniform outside, but most of those in the room were involved in the discussion, “The North isn’t all bad, at least some of us live here,” a smiley-faced hijabian sister was saying as Dara entered the room.    
“It’s easy for you to say because you’re Muslim,” another girl said. “Christians here live in perpetual fear, anything can happen at any time. I even managed to come in the first place, there’s no way I’m staying back after camp.”
“Abi o. let only the Muslims remain in their North before they kill us all,” Dara’s bunkie, an obvious ‘SU’ with virgin, rubber-threaded hair and no earrings added. Dara frowned as she bent down to bring out her whites from the box.
“Their North? I hope you know that not all Northerners are Muslims. I am from Kaduna South, and several other States as well have indigenes that are Christians, like in Biliri Local Government Area of Gombe and many other places. So get your facts right before you say Muslims own the North, ‘cause they don’t. No religion does, the people in it do.” That was from a dark girl who spoke in a distinct Hausa accent at a far corner.
Dara’s bunkie replied, “Alright. My point is still that Muslims are violent. They kill at any little opportunity in the name of religion. You will never see a Christian acting like that and it’s because we know that we serve a living God who fights His own battles.”
The room erupted into angry, offensive words being hurled at one another, and Dara’s first instinct was to leave the room, just in case a fight broke out. Wasn’t it how religious wars started?
She had slipped out of her pyjamas and now had her towel wrapped around her chest, but instead of running off to the bathroom, Dara chose to express her opinion, just in case her silence meant approval of her bunkie’s choice of words. “I don’t think Muslims are bad and Christians are good.” She paused to be sure she had some people’s attention and continued, “However, I do believe there are good people and bad people, regardless of their religion. I have seen terrible behaviour from supposed Christians and I have met really nice Muslims. In fact, I live in Ilorin, a town where both religions co-exist in peace and harmony. And I find it disheartening that this argument is even happening.”
Everyone was quiet now, and the hijabian sister that was smiling before said, looking pained, “Honestly, it’s high time Christians stopped playing the victims. Yes, there are some people hiding under Islam to perpetrate their evil acts, but we aren’t all terrorists and it hurts so much that the religion we hold so dear has become so despicable. It’s sad that we live in a country where everyone looks for who to blame instead of finding solutions to our problems. And if you all must know, I’ve lost two family members to the Boko Haram attacks and they were Muslims like me!”
Dara didn’t bother to get breakfast from the kitchen that morning, the akamu they served was in no way inviting. Thankfully, she had brought two boxes of cornflakes from home, so she launched the first.
Although most of the other girls had taken off their whites to relax in the hostel, Dara dressed up for afternoon parade immediately after having her bath. She’d rather risk spilling milk on her t-shirt than go through another round of humiliation from the soldiers. 
She had just finished her cereal when the girl at the lower bunk opposite her said, “Hey, I want to charge my phone.”
There was only one socket between them and Dara’s phone was plugged in, so she asked the girl, “Do you have an adaptor or extension box?”
“No. But you’ve been charging since,” she replied scornfully.
“It’s barely been thirty minutes,” Dara stated.
“I think I brought an extension, Taiwo, check my box,” the girl’s bunkie said from the top.
Taiwo found it, wordlessly motioned to Dara to unplug her charger, then fixed the extension and plugged in her phone before leaving the room.
“Such a drama queen,” the other girl chuckled as Dara bent to fix her charger. “Don’t mind her. I’m Kenny,” she said with a smile.
Dara asked, not quite sure, “You guys are twins?”
Kenny laughed and nodded. “It’s hard to believe at first, I know.”
“Wow,” Dara said, truly amazed. It was indeed hard to believe. Not only did Kenny seem nicer, she looked different…bigger, taller, like she had been at the better receiving end of their mother’s placenta. The strange thought amused Dara and she replied Kenny with a smile, “I’m Dara. It’s nice to meet you.”
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Morountodun is a writer and a microbiology ‎ graduate of University of Ilorin.
Twitter: @Morountosweet
http://morountosweet.wordpress.com
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Are you a writer? Interested in sharing ‎your short stories on this
platform? Be‎ our guest on our Short Story Fridays segment. Email: ololade.olatunji@yahoo/ gmail.com
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Entertainment

Short Story: Wonderland. | By VictorMaria

Swirling between mirages and reality
Lost a glimpse of the truth
Seems like it happened outside my head or inside
Not sure which
Bones weak to the marrow
And I seem to enjoy every moment that passes
I feel soft from the inside 
Can’t clearly express this feeling
Seem to be losing it
I tend to have detailed reasoning on every wave of light I see
My mouth feels somehow – can’t explain that
My eyes wide open, sleepy but can’t sleep
Feeling a sudden urge for something sugary or fruity
I seem to hear my boom box beating louder than usual, even the flexible pumps I can feel and hear them breathing
Also seems like I can hear some impossible decibel of waves
Everywhere silent like a crypt….hold on
Who says a crypt is silent? At least some bad-arse ghosts could be chilling off-grave and making some noise. 
Anyway everywhere seems so silent….but all seems noisy…
The ticking of my wrist watch that seems inaudible deep in my wardrobe
Seems to be one of the factors of noise..
I think I can also hear my silent phone sounding like a gas leakage
I feel some ounce of courage…very unusual ‘dutch courage’
After a long battle with reality
My eyes take me to dreamland
In my dream I get confused with reality. Series of funny dreams pass across my skull like an EMP. After what I thought was 10 hours but just 3 hours of sleep. I hear the birds tweeting and a big bang on my door. The door swings open and I see my friend… I guess he too had a hell of a night. What scares me is not his swollen eyes nor his funny look but the glass of drink for two and a brand new bottle of vodka. This is the same drink responsible for all my little drama before my 3 hour night rest. Still can’t distinguish some of last night’s action from reality or dream.What else can I do than to accept my friend’s lovely gesture…..more vodka please
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VictorMaria is an aspiring author of fiction, fantasy and non-fiction. He also works as an artist with interests in landscape and nature drawings. He also has great passion for classical music, lego bricks, architecture, travel and wildlife. Visit his blog owlsandrobins.wordpress.com
[email protected]
Instagram Profile: @saintvictormaria
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