DIARY OF A CORPER — EPISODE 18: BECOMING

I lay on my bed that morning with my notebook resting on the pillow, staring at the last sentence I had written.

Maybe growth is not becoming someone new; maybe it is recognising who you have always been.

I read it again and nodded slightly.

These days, I had begun to notice my growth.

Ever since I wrote a speech that the director genuinely appreciated, something in me had shifted. I had resumed writing again, not because I was trying to impress anyone, but because I was enjoying it. Words were beginning to come easily to me again.

Actually, a few weeks after I started attending my church, I joined the media department after one of the ministers encouraged me to become a church worker.

“Sister Dewa, you can’t just be a benchwarmer. You need to work for God. You are a youth, this is when you have the strength to work for God.”

His words had almost become an anthem every Sunday.

I knew choir was a no-go area. I have a terrible singing voice, and I can’t stand for hours either, so ushering was also out of the question. After considering all the departments in church, I decided to settle for the media unit. I took pictures, sometimes edited videos, and I was good at writing captions.

One day, one of my leaders asked me to prepare and post a Sunday reflection on the church’s media platform. I wrote a simple personal story with a spiritual lesson, and it received a lot of positive feedback from those who read it.

The real turning point came one Sunday after service.

One of the brothers in church stopped me near the church gate.

“Dewa, you wrote that post about the Maggi cube, right?”

I nodded, smiling.

“You should join the drama unit. We need scriptwriters.”

I laughed.

Me? Writing Bible drama?

“I don’t think I can write stories that teach biblical lessons o.”

“You’re good,” he insisted. “I think you can do it.”

He said it with so much confidence that I found myself thinking about it.

As I walked home that day, I kept wondering whether I could function in two departments.

I later joined the drama unit. Becoming a church worker actually helped me in a way. I was now so involved in the services that going to church without Taiwo no longer felt awkward.

I had my own responsibilities now. I had to arrive early for workers' meeting, and Taiwo and I no longer sat together during service.

I wouldn’t lie, there were moments I still missed our friendship. But the ache was no longer as sharp as before.

I had also been enjoying my time at the office.

Things had become much easier between me and the director. He wasn’t as terrible as I had first thought. Whenever he gave me work, I made sure to do it properly and submit it on time. He seemed impressed with my seriousness because these days he would occasionally give me money and label it “transport fare.”

In the six months I had spent in Lokoja, I could tell that I had changed.

The girl who arrived here had been anxious, confused, and counting down the days.

Now, the city no longer felt like a temporary place I was merely enduring.

It felt like a place that was shaping me.

Then, as if responsibilities were not done looking for me, after writing that morning, I prepared to go for my CDS meeting, only to find another surprise waiting for me.

During the meeting, the president mentioned that Batch A2 corps members were passing out soon. He was one of them, so we had to choose the new executive members before they left.

People started nominating candidates. It became rowdy. Suddenly, I heard:

“I want to nominate Dewa as the next vice president.”

I blinked, then looked around to see where that nonsense had come from.

“Ah, no o,” I said immediately, shaking my head.

But before I could protest properly, another person spoke.

“I support.”

“Me too.”

“I said no.” My voice was louder this time.

Vice president ke? I rebuke it.

In my CDS, whoever becomes the vice president is automatically the next president. So that meant that when the new president passed out, I would become the president.

Well, except we were both in the same batch, like the current president and VP. But what if a B1 corps member got elected?

Ahh.

I don’t even want to think about that.

One of the outgoing executives I had become acquainted with came to me.

“Dewa, there’s nothing there. I’m sure you can do it. See all the ideas you have contributed since you came.”

“Ehn, let me keep contributing as a floor member.”

“No, you will execute as well.”

“Ah noo.”

“You can do it,” she insisted.

I looked around in disbelief.

So much for not liking my CDS.

If someone had told me during my first month in Lokoja that I would one day be nominated for a leadership position in Culture and Tourism, I would have laughed in their face.

Back then, I attended meetings because I had no choice.

Now people were trusting me with responsibility.

After the nominations for the different positions, we held an election, and members were asked to indicate their preferred candidate by raising their hands, which were then counted.

The funny thing was that I had no opponent. And to make matters worse, the person who got elected as president was in Batch B1.

And just like that, I became the vice president of Culture and Tourism CDS.

As the meeting ended, a few people came to congratulate me.

“Dewa for VP!”

“Our incoming presido.”

I haven't even survived this one, and you people are already pushing another title on me.

Later that day, my mother called me.

Since I returned from home, she had become more intentional about her calls, almost as if she was worried about me.

We talked about the office, church, CDS, and the endless responsibilities that seemed to be following me around Lokoja.

Then she became suspiciously quiet for a moment.

“So, Adeewa, is that all?”

“What else?” I asked, confused.

“What else biti bawo? Why are you hiding gist from your mother?”

“Mummy, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay. Are you not dating Femi now?”

I nearly choked.

“Mummy!”

“What?” she asked, sounding amused.

“Oya, come and be going.”

She chuckled.

“Okay o. Oro tani ki baba o ma gbo, baba l’oma pada pari e.”

“Hmm.”

“Anyways, greet Femi for me, and your other friends too.”

“Okay, Mom. Bye.”

“Eat well o, and don’t stress yourself too much.”

“O…kay,” I said. This woman should go now.

“Odabo, ọkọ mi.”

“Odabo,” I replied.

After the call ended, I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling.

I thought about everything.

Church worker. Temporary secretary. Vice president. Writing again. Healing quietly. Growing slowly.

I was no longer just surviving NYSC.

I was becoming.

 

End of Episode 18

To be continued…

 

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Next: ➡️Episode 19: Truth or Dare