DIARY OF A CORPER — EPISODE 4: CDS WAHALA 

“Everybody, settle down!”

Nobody settled down.

In fact, that announcement alone was the signal for more noise.

Plastic chairs scraped against the floor.

People shouted across rows like they were in a marketplace.

Someone was laughing too loudly at something that was not even funny.

And I just sat there…

Confused.

Because wasn’t this supposed to be a meeting?

It was my first CDS.

I came prepared.

Notebook.

Pen.

Even a little bit of hope.

Yes, hope.

Because I thought maybe we would do something that would finally make this whole “serving” thing feel real.

Maybe we’ll plan something meaningful.

Maybe—

“Who has paid their dues?!”

Ah.

Welcome back to reality.

The president stood in front, sweating like a man carrying the weight of Nigeria on his shoulders.

“Raise your hand if you have paid!”

Nobody moved.

Silence.

The kind of silence that says:

We heard you… but we will not cooperate.

“Okay,” he continued, voice rising, “if you don’t pay, you will not do your CDS biometric today.”

That one entered.

You could feel it.

Because now, it wasn’t a suggestion anymore.

It was a threat.

I leaned toward the girl beside me.

“How much is the dues?”

“₦4,000.”

I blinked.

“For what?”

She shrugged.

“Projects or something… I don’t really know.”

Of course.

I didn’t even want to be here.

First of all, they looked at my degree—International Relations—and somehow decided I belonged in Culture and Tourism CDS.

I blinked.

Culture… and tourism?

I even asked around, and someone said:

“Oh, it’s mostly dance and drama.”

I blinked again.

Did I study Theatre Arts?

But this is Nigeria.

You don’t ask too many questions if you want peace.

“Next on the agenda,” the president said.

I sat up a little.

Finally.

Possibly something important.

“We are contributing ₦500 each.”

I relaxed back into my chair.

Of course.

Money again.

Why was I even surprised?

“For what again?” someone shouted.

“Send-forth gift for an NYSC official.”

I paused.

We are serving…

And also funding the service?

Interesting.

He added quickly, “It’s not compulsory.”

But somehow, it still felt compulsory.

The way Nigerians will politely force you, ehn…

You don’t have to do it… but you have to do it.

After more announcements, the new corps members were asked to stand.

Introduction time.

When it got to me, I stood up and introduced myself.

Everything was normal until—

“Are you single?”

Before I could even process it—

The guys screamed.

Actual screaming.

I sat down slowly.

So this is my life now.

Eventually, we were told we had one month to pay our dues.

Grace period.

Which basically means:

When your next allawee drops, don’t pretend.

By the time CDS ended, my head was already aching.

And this is something I have to attend every week?

God abeg.

I stopped by the market on my way home.

Big mistake.

The moment they see khaki, everything doubles.

“Corper, come now!”

“Aunty corper, what do you want?”

But ask for the price—

You will hear nonsense.

I made a mental note:

Never shop in uniform again.

After buying a few things, I entered a bike.

And that was how my problem started.

They say, follow who know road.

That day, I understood it deeply.

The Hausa man kept nodding confidently every time I tried to explain my destination.

I asked him multiple times if he knew exactly where I was going.

He nodded.

Five minutes later, I suspected something was wrong.

Ten minutes later, I was sure.

“Ah ah… this is not my area.”

He turned back, still nodding.

“As in?”

I almost screamed.

You don’t know the road, but you’re nodding like GPS?

We stopped.

Asked people.

Turned.

Turned again.

Entered places that did not resemble my street in any way.

Eventually, after the confusion, stress, and unnecessary tourism, we found it.

Then came phase two of the problem.

I handed him his fee as we had earlier agreed.

“Your money don increase.”

I froze.

“Increased how?”

“I carry you go everywhere na.”

That was when I lost it.

So because you don’t know the road… I should pay extra?

I am the victim here!

We started arguing at my gate.

His voice was rising.

My voice was rising.

Then—

Femi walked in on us.

He sized up the situation, and without saying much—

He paid.

I didn’t like that.

Not because I didn’t have the money.

But because I hate being cheated.

Still…

There I was.

Standing there.

Looking like a damsel in distress.

In front of him.

Wonderful.

Dewa, every little opportunity to embarrass yourself, you take it.

You’re doing well.

Truly.

The bike man left.

I carried my things quietly.

Avoided eye contact.

“Are you okay?” Femi asked.

I nodded.

Too quickly.

“I’m fine.”

I wasn’t fine.

But at that point, dignity was more important than honesty.

I even forgot to thank him.

As I entered my room, I dropped everything and sat on the bed.

Silence.

Finally!

Next time?

I’m choosing a rider that understands me.

Language-wise.

Sense-wise.

Everything-wise.

Because this one?

Never again.

End of Episode 4

To be continued…

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