If I can recall well, the first time I heard or uttered the word “Yola” was sometime during my primary school days. It was under the mango tree in our school compound. We were learning the (then) 30 states and capitals in that typical sing-song fashion Nigerian primary schools use. It was a sweet song, so sweet that some of my classmates were able to recite the 30 states that day; others 20 states or less.
I guess it was not all that sweet to me or I didn’t like the sound of all the states, as I found myself stuck on only two. Our teacher then (who has since passed; God rest her soul) made me stand in front of the class and recite the rhyme. So I began:
“30 states and capital: Abia – Umuaya, Adamawa – Yoya, Abia – Umuaya, Adamawa – Yoya, Adamawa – Yoya; Adamawa – Yoya; Yoya… Yoya…Adamawa…”
My voice was breaking into uncontrollable tears. I could hear my classmates bullying me with uncontrollable laughter. I could hear their tiny voices whispering: “Nwa headi, amag’ ag’ ya o. Obodo ugwu awusa d’ya oyi!’” (“The headmaster’s child does not know how to recite it o. He likes the land of the Hausas!”).
Even though I could see the disappointment on my teacher’s face, she didn’t mind my already soiled green and white school uniform. Instead, she carried me up in her arms and wiped my tears with her palms. She urged me not to listen to my classmates and reassured me that with time, I will learn the states and capitals and recite them better than my peers.
Two decades later, somewhere in the capital city of Enugu, I found myself stuck with the same four-letter word in the tiny bathroom of a bosom friend’s one room en-suite apartment. “ADAMAWA – YOLA” echoed in my head as I sat in that bathroom, with beads of sweat rushing out of my body on a cold Friday morning.
I had just graduated from the Faculty of Law, University of Nigeria with good honours and was waiting to be posted to any of the six campuses of the Nigerian Law School for the one year vocational training required of all Nigerian Law Students. Knowing “somebody that knows somebody”, I was certain that I would be posted to the Headquarters of Nigerian Law School in Bwari, Abuja. In fact, after the online registration, I bragged loudly to all that cared to ask.
“Which law school are you going to?”
“Abuja campus, of course! Where else?”, I would scornfully say.
I think my bragging became so irritating that, one day, an acquaintance asked me solemnly, “Have you worked your posting to Abuja?”
Before he could finish, I zoomed off:
“Yes, I have. One of the lecturers in Abuja campus is my very good friend. I know one of the Directors in Abuja campus and my Oga and the main Oga in Abuja Campus are very close. I have forwarded my details.”
The guy just said, “Hmmm…” followed by a long silence.
Another person who overheard us asked, “You don’t like Enugu campus?“
I frowned at him and asked; “How can I? I am from Enugu. I did my primary, secondary and university education in Enugu. I need a change of academic environment, biko.“
My trust in my Abuja connect was still strong on the eve of the posting, as I lay on the six spring mattress lying on the floor of that one-room apartment with two of my close friends and classmates. We kept vigil for the posting; empty cans of Alomo Bitters, Orijin and Hero bottles littered the room. I could see the fear written on my friends’ faces and I could tell why, but I was overconfident that I would be posted to Abuja campus because of the “somebody” I knew. The only fear I entertained that night as we kept vigil together was that my good friends might not be posted to Abuja. As we all desired to be in the same campus, we each chose Abuja as our first choice during the online registration.
Mid way into our self imposed vigil, I slept off and was woken up by one of my friends, terribly shaken. He had slept off too and dreamt that he was posted to Kano. I shouted, “God forbid!“
As we say, the sleep in my eyes “cleared” instantly! The other friend there with us was also woken by the K- word. He shouted “Jesus!” when he heard “Kano” and sat up immediately.
I asked the friend that dreamt, “Do your dreams come true?“. He said yes.
I started consoling him on his loss. “Boko Haram crisis is not that serious in Kano. You should be grateful that you are not posted to Yola; the headquarters of Boko Haram.”
I then made a dry joke about how even lecturers are transferred to Yola as punishment for not being in the right clique and those transferred there either try to get redeployed to another campus or resign. We laughed and drank more until we slept off.
Around 4 a.m., we were woken up by the shouts of; “Yeah! Yeah! Lagos, here I come!”
It was the voice of my friend who dreamt that he had been posted to Kano. I could see the tears of joy on his face. I quickly unplugged my INNJOO phone from the socket and checked my status but I was not posted yet. I congratulated my dear friend but with mixed feelings.
“He dreamt of Kano and his dreams come true, and now he is posted to Lagos. Which of his friends is now going to Kano?“, I thought. I shrugged off this feeling. “Definitely not me.“, I told myself and kept a straight face. “My Abuja friend will post me to Abuja; he promised to do so. I can’t go to the North with all the killing of students and ‘Kopas’, and the poor performance of Yola campus every year. Mbakwa o! God forbid. It’s either Abuja or Lagos.“, I reassured myself.
Fear began to creep up on me; my friends could see it but I pretended to not be afraid. I called Madam Obere to warm her goat meat pepper soup and serve us with more cold beer. That was around 6 a.m. As we ate, drank and chatted about hopes and law school expectations, we had our phones handy and regularly checked social media for updates. #NLSposting was trending on Twitter and Facebook.
@amarajesus: “God has remembered my family and me. I don’t know anybody but Jesus is my somebody and He has posted me to Abuja. #PraiseGod #JesusMySomebody #NLSposting.”
@sassylawyer: “My Abuja connect is on point. #TeamAbuja #flexingthingsonmymind #NLSposting”.
@kingsbench: “This #NLSposting does not reflect my wish and desire. It is a caricature of a supposed transparent process engineered by my class rep. Why #KanoCampus?”
@Ichie_common_law: “My enemies have finally gotten me. They have sent me to Boko Haram. How many days from Enugu to Kano bikonu? #SoberMood #NLSposting.”
@corporatelawyer: “That awesome moment you get posted to Lagos campus as a budding corporate lawyer with months of internship in corporate law practice. #iRepLagos #NLSPosting.”
We laughed over all these amidst mouthfuls of peppery goat meat and cold beer. “Months of internship” spent taking pictures from different corners of the law firm and posting on Facebook and Instagram. Also, how can one accuse his class rep of manipulating Law School posting? Not even the Dean of a Faculty can take such credit. We shrugged at the thought of how influential the accused class rep could be.
Then came a sorrowful scream. “Kano! Kano!! But why me?”
Our dear friend had been posted to Kano campus. Thank God the Lagos guy’s Kano dream finally came true and I wasn’t the one going to Kano. I stood up from the floor, patted the Kano guy at the back and told him it may not be as bad as he thinks, gave my phone to the Lagos guy to be checking my status; took a chunk of meat and gulp of cold beer and headed to the bathroom. I was a happy man.
After removing my clothes and turning on the shower, the Lagos guy called from the room with an unexpected announcement.
“Guy, you have been posted to Yola.”
I stood frozen, yet sweating profusely in the shower. I couldn’t hear anything except the sound of the primary school song of “Adamawa – Yola” echoing in my head. Men don’t cry, but I did.”
Slowly, with shock and shame, I walked out of the bathroom. My friends rushed and tied a towel round my Unclad waist. Aside the echoing school song and questions like “Why me? What have I done wrong?” floating around in my head, I could hear my friends saying; “Guy, calm down before you hurt yourself o. It may not be as bad as you think. Things have changed about Boko Haram fight since APC changed Nigeria.”
I collected my phone and checked my posting. Truly, “You have been posted to YOLA!” was staring at me boldly. My friends suggested that I should call my Abuja friend and my Oga that knows the main Oga in Abuja so that they will repost me to Abuja or Lagos. I then dialled my Abuja friend.
“Hello sir!”
“Yes, how are you?”
“I am fine sir. And you?”
“I am good. Have you been posted?“
“Yes sir.“
“To where?“
“Yola.“
I held the phone tightly. A brief silence followed that word.
“Hello sir?”
“Yes, I am here. When are you travelling to Yola?”
I wasn’t sure if I had heard the question he had just asked me, or if it was meant for someone else. I was so shocked by the question that I didn’t know when I told him: “But sir, you promised to post me to Abuja campus.“
He then replied saying that he was not in charge of posting and that the person he knew in the ICT department had been transferred before our posting.
“Sir, please can you repost me to Enugu? Forget about Abuja; I don’t even like Abuja or Lagos and its busy traffic. I am more used to Enugu.“
“No, you did not say that on time. Besides, it is not possible because your orientation and lectures will start on Monday and today is Friday already. When you reach Yola make sure you call me.” Then came the hang up tone.
Confused, I then called my Oga but the conversation was not different. He urged me to accept the posting in good faith and go to Yola. According to him, maybe God is planning to make me Turaki Adamawa. What he meant by that I am yet to find out. I told him that I don’t know the road to Yola and he said, “That’s why you have Google Maps in your phone”.
That was how I packed my belongings and left the coal city of Enugu on Saturday morning before sunrise with the aid of Google Maps. It was a long journey to the North that humbled me and reminded me of the vanity of trusting in men. As I journeyed, I discovered from the notifications pouring into my phone each time 3G breezed in that news of my posting to Yola was trending on BBM and Facebook.
@kingsbench: “The influential Classrep that couldn’t influence his own posting to Abuja or even Enugu. Shame! I hope he stays safe in Yola bombings. #NLSposting.”
I shook my head and smiled as my phone signal tripped off. “It shall end in praise”, I promised myself.
Sixteen hours later, I found myself in front of a beautiful milk coloured gate manned by fierce looking military men and boldly inscribed with the words: WABBAMA – WABBAMA (WELCOME – WELCOME). Beside the beautiful gate was a big banner of Abubakar Shekau’s head surrounded by his comrades in arms. Another bold inscription accompanied this image: MOST WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE. I closed my eyes and prayed
