THE CORPER'S LIFE: time and change

I rammed into his privacy though he chose to stay in the quiet of our shared corner. It was a place where he chose from which to ponder or reflect on what he may have seen or rather something I may not have been able to fathom as at that moment. Whatever it was, was not of immediate concern to me as the pressure that had formed therein my bladder had almost driven urine down my lower chamber. So I cared less for as long as the elating relief derived from emptying my turgid bladder ensued. Done, I intuitively took a cursory look at the valley behind the corpers’ lodge. Though not unfamiliar with this sight a new inspiration dawned on me.
The valley unlike most I’ve seen has no plain land or stream at the bottom. Rather, it is made up of a thick vegetation of mango, palm trees and a mixture of other trees cum shrubs and thickets of tall grasses. It was richly green with sleepy fine grasses at the walls of the steep hills_ the way all the grasses bowed in harmony to the winds was and still is something that awes me. Not a million words could elicit the beauty of this rare feature that lays just behind my window in Afor-ugwu, Aguobu-owa but then, as at the time of this write-up, this valley had been hit with the smoldering effects of bush burning. Fire ignited by hunters in a bid to feed their families and do the other numerous do(s) that makes man manly_ a good omen for man but a bad ordeal for the inhabitants this natural fortress for all manner of creatures. Well, apart from man, it is noteworthy to say that our gravity defying predators like hawks, owls, vultures tend to seize this bush burning opportunity to prey on animals that are left or rendered vulnerable.
The hitherto lemon green walls of the valley at this moment had become bare like coal mixed with muddy soil that has become dry from evaporation and the sucking tendencies of hamattan winds. The trees had begun to rustle ceaselessly like crying mothers who have been made to witness the beheading of their sons by those they have no control over. Dry leaves hovering just about everywhere that I could count the remaining living leaves if I wanted to. There now appeared so much dirty brown than I have seen on rainy days. The contrast herein was sharp that one would not be far from the truth to describe it as “unthinkably unimaginable.” Within such almost unnoticeable span, green had become brown, brown becomes ash and ash becomes nothing.
This is not to say that this piece is an attempt to write against bush burning due to the numerous adverse effects it has on agriculture and the economy by extension. Though it tends to say so, it by no means equals the numerous literature that has been written on this nature-degrading-act. It is however about something that we all share_ time and changes of life.
Many a time corps members find themselves in burnt-up situations like the aforementioned valley. First happens in the camp where NYSC orientation camp officials and soldiers cum members of the man-o-war paramilitary outfit collaborate to drill life’s air and sweat off us as we begin to look like a park of sheep on whom powdery coal dust has been smeared. That being done, the awakening bugle sounds off just when we’ve managed to muster enough energy with which to close our eyes and sleep. Then like rustling leaves on the bed of a forest we’d grumble (mostly inaudibly) in pain like whining mothers who just lost their loved ones. To go on this woeful spree of uncontrollable circumstances, those of us thrown into the hinterlands of remotely rural areas to serve the fatherland begin to cry foul_ that we’ve been dished a meal not fit for consumption and so, like dry grasses on the walls of a steep hill we loss grip on the soil and are blown about like confused thoughts in a stormy mind. Sometimes we feel cursed or suffering from a misfortune of some sort or that we have become victims of circumstances we have no hand in. it is mystifying!
However, these are times and change. Who knows? Things could just have taken a good roll from the beginning onto the end_ but what’s the adventure or fun in that?
Anyway, for as long as there is time and more time, change and more change will and must transpire whether or not we choose to flow in the harsh tides both variables present.
Noteworthy is the fact that we do not always remain dejected like withered roses for long. Our dislike, distaste and disdain for the horrors of time don’t last long either. The grumbling wears off and the tears too must dry with time just like the walls of the hills begin to put on its lemon green look when the rains pour in. then new leaves begin to sprout paving ways for new thickets of shrubs and tall grasses. New palm fronds and new seedlings emerge while the once-upon-a-time harmonious beauty resurfaces_ then all manner of creatures begin to find solace herein once more. It is almost as if the dry winds and fire had processed a rough rock into a glistening gold.
This is how it is in “corperdom.” We are enmeshed in much more than we seem capable of taking but then we can take much more than can be imagined or anticipated. We are drilled, drenched and dried all together but we come out even more promising than our previous blossom before the drought.
Let me not fail to mention one of the most inspiring wordings I’ve heard in the course of my service year. Chief Ugochukwu Njoku my LGI once said, “flow in every stage.” Juxtapose this with the aforementioned and ponder over the wisdom therein.

__Prince Jeremiah Kadiri