3. First day in AFMS part 2

As I stand there waiting to be registered, I was told to change my clothes and wear the brown ‘housewear’ I had been told to bring, I changed into the brown shirt and trouser, which I later got to know is nicknamed ‘ojebs’. My mum seeing how I was being ordered around and shouted at burst into tears, she dragged me close and begged me to come back home with her, that she could still pull a few strings and get me into another school at home, but how could I give up now? Not after seeing my dream, seeing those young boys, who at most couldn’t be more than 2,3 or 4 years older than I was, they stood there helping the soldiers (who I later knew are called airmen and officers), obeying instructions, they looked impossibly smart, with their boots pitch black and shiny I could see myself on them, starch khakis and many white stuffs all over their body, with something on their shoulders that had different colours, much later I got to know these were JS3 provosts, and all the white on them were white anklets, mufflers, berets, belts and shoulder flashes, this is the way provosts in the Nigerian Air Force dress.

These boys were incredibly smart and neat, they did not smile, kept a straight face, spoke rarely, most times only in response to a soldiers instruction, and it was usually a simple ‘sir, yes sir’, if they needed to talk to me or any other of the new boys, they made it short, simple and firm, in a kind of tone that you dared not think twice before obeying them, they did not shout or scream, but the tone was firm enough to make you know they weren’t expecting you to refuse anything you were told to do, they looked so disciplined, like they could never do anything wrong, I admired them, and badly wanted to be like them. My mum couldn’t take it anymore, the air around the registration centre, which I later knew is called ‘down school’, was so tense, she kept crying and begging me, the soldiers acted like they did not see her tears, they only spoke to her when necessary, ‘madam oya come and sign here’, ‘madam, let him fill this form’.

I looked up, and who will I see, a young boy, he looked very familiar, smartly dressed in his starched khaki and all the white stuffs, had a yellow and white stuff with 3 lines on his shoulders, he marched (he was walking, but seemed to me back then like marching) straight down towards us, and as he got closer I was sure I knew him, it was Dotun Adetoro, I was tempted to scream and run towards him, but the tense nature of the atmosphere somehow restricted me (thank God I did not), as he got closer he saw my mum and I, he walked past me like he did not know me, I was shocked, isn’t this Dotun, is he crazy or what? He walked to my mum, I expected him to prostrate and greet her in Yoruba as usual, then my mum would pull him up and hug him, how wrong was I, he simply stood infront of her, barely bowed his head and said ‘good morning ma’, straight face, no smiles, no emotions, no actions, just like a robot, I was shocked, I am sure my mum was too, he turned to me and asked how my journey was, I told him fine, my mum greeted him in Yoruba and asked some questions in Yoruba, he maintained his posture, no movement, simple, straight, answers in English, acting like he wasn’t asked those questions in Yoruba, he was called to ‘take some new boys up-school’, by now my mum was pleading with him to please ensure I do not suffer, his replies were straight, sharp and unconvincing ‘he will be ok ma’, ‘don’t worry ma, he will be alright ma’, ‘I will make sure he is fine ma’, he had to go, and he called someone else, he told my mum the other guy was in my squadron and would take good care of me, the new guy was dressed just like him, the only difference was that the stuffs on his own shoulders were made of blue and white. The new guy introduced himself as Dike Chinedu. It was time for me to go, my mum burst into tears, Dike smiled briefly, I guess the smile was to make her relax and assure her I will be okay, and he said ‘he is in my squadron ma, I promise you I will personally take care of him’, he asked for my name and promised to check up on me later that night, it was time to go and I said a quick bye to my mum, and I was on my way ‘UP SCHOOL’… WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD… Where being second best is not good enough, where you are trained always to STRIVE TO EXCEL… Welcome to AFMS