CAMP TALES: Jungle Boot Palava

Prior to the swearing in ceremony, I didn't bother to test my kit like everyone else did. I already knew it was going to be extra large considering my stature but I didn't envisage that I'd be given my great grandfather's clothes; the kit was nothing to write home about as it could fit in a person twice my size. Slim fitting it in camp was no option for me as the price was outrageous. I can't have a sewing machine sitting pretty at home while I waste my hard earned money here in camp for something that would not even be done to my satisfaction. Call me "alaroro". I guess the Ijebu part of me came to play. 

A day to the swearing in ceremony and I could not help but laugh at the tales of people who worked on their kit. It is either the right leg of their khaki trouser is longer than the left or one is bigger in size than the other. For some, there was no evidence of slim fitting at all as the trouser is still quite oversized.

The D-day came and I proudly got dressed in my grandfather's clothes. It was not bad after all. Scratch that! It was extremely bad but all thanks to my bumbum that did a major work of lifting the trouser while the remaining length of the trouser was safely hidden in my socks. However, trouble came when I tried putting on the jungle boot. I was originally given a size 41 even though I wear a size 38. I had no issue exchanging it to a size 39, at least it is quite manageable than the previous size even though it was still oversized. As luck would have it, someone came to the room with a size 38 and I swiftly grabbed my copy. But all na scam. There was no difference.

After dressing up, it was time to move but no way, my legs were not moving. Everything felt heavy and choking. There was no way I could move with the jungle boot. The boot was in control of my movement. If I intend to move right, it would move left. I felt what the biblical David must have felt when he was dressed in armour to fight against Goliath. Can someone just get me my sling and stone? It is not by force to parade o!

Daughter of Zion kept dragging her feet like a pregnant woman who is due for delivery. I managed to take pictures with a smile but I was dying inside. The boot was not anywhere near comfortable at all. To make matter worse, the governor did not show up on time. We had to wait for what seemed like an eternity and when he finally did, he sent in a representative who forgot his smiling cap at home. I was beyond pissed! 

Like the popular saying "all things work together for good", my khaki trouser and jungle boot worked together to frustrate me. While the trouser tightened its grip on my thighs, the jungle boot was melting out its punishment on my toes making it difficult for me to raise my legs at the shout of the last order. I doubt if the tailor in charge of NYSC uniform can make heaven because I do not understand why the upper and lower part would be free while the thigh region is extremely tight. Mind you, the buttons also obeyed my village people's order.

All I wanted was for the event to be over so I could pull off the hell on my feet.

Till I write again,

Mobola.