2012 will be a good year. E bad as e bad, I will finish my Service Year. That in itself spells freedom. Freedom from these itchy khakis. Freedom from weekly CDS meets. Freedom from the jokers- those corpers who wear woolen sweaters in the hot afternoon in a bid to look ‘fresh’. Freedom to leave my job when I like, without needing approval from some grouch in Surulere.
2012 will be badt. I will finally get my house. Some months of work + my service year savings will get me a place. Nothing fancy. It would have fancy wallpaper, some lamps and a dog. A dog, An Alsatian, a large one with long teeth or a Maltese, something furry, like a toy. A house; my own patch of earth. I wouldn’t be disturbed. No one will share my bottle of perfume. No curfews. No filth. A place to let my OCD genes roam free…and wild. My space.
***
The Passing Out parade came. It was uneventful. I arrived late. There were no more queues. I walked up to the bored woman under a canopy. She gave me my certificate. I signed the attendance list. There was no drama. I walked around. I snapped no pictures. I had served. There were parties, many of them. I attended one. It was a smoke filled room, with many fat girls in tight outfits. I left early.
I stayed back where I served. I felt lazy about ‘breaking in’ to a new job.
The apartment came. Tiny room. Nice location. I fixed the air conditioning myself. I remember the first time I put it on. I stayed outside, waiting for the explosion. Nothing of such happened. Then I got a book rack, cloth rack and shoe rack. Simple, sturdy additions, but they gave me much pleasure. The day I got a PlayStation game console, I knew my work was done. That purchase was the triumph of luxury over necessity. I should be happy, right? I have my discharge certificate, apartment and yeah… a dog. Not so my brother.
***
Three Hausa men with long limbs, dark shiny skin and clean shaven heads, gathered around a large tray of rice and beans. I love this scene. It symbolizes freedom. Men in a foreign land, drawn together by similar history and religion. I envy them.
In the last quarter of the year, I had wanderlust. Familiarity, roots and well known processes lost their pleasure. They all started to irritate me. The boring familiarity. The landlady who sends rice, stew and fish every evening. The one who calls me ‘My son’ and asks when I will ‘Go and further’. The uncle who sends a Bible verse every Monday. I wanted out. A trip to a strange land. A place where I would have to learn a new culture and make new friends. Baths at a public pump. The feeling of having most of your belongings in a duffle bag. I want that sort of existence, to have my roots in the sky. Any form of travel, even if na soul travel.
So I go home, and dream of locking up my possessions, paying rent for an extra year and jetting (or busing) off. I wonder who I will give my dog to when I go away. I hope they feed him well. I will miss him. Main thing is these things I wanted the most last year, they came and did not mean so much. I want to go far. And leave them.
***
So this year, I put away the pen and notepad. No more goals. No more dreams. Cos at the end of the year, I will might want the opposite. 2013, I will just live.
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