Seeds of Life

I remember my first night at Camp...hmm. I arrived late and like other late comers, I had to sleep outside without a mattress, on the chilly fine sand of Adamawa with my bag for a pillow. That night was a nightmare. I was depressed, disillusioned, heartbroken, alone and lost. Even the glittering stars dancing in the night sky could not obliterate the discomfort I felt from the stones piercing my skin, the soundtrack of the mosquitoes and the cold that seeped into my bones all night. I don't even know how I managed to sleep. I just know that I woke up with sand in my mouth and hair. Those were the days.

This is not a story about my NYSC camp experience, so I will try not to derail again.

After camp, I met and bonded with youths from different parts of the country. I was more at home with some Muslim young men and women from the Northern part of our country. Their optimism and gregarious nature endeared them to me.They were young; carefree; valiant and made my monotonously boring job quite interesting. We all had big dreams of bringing sanity to our nation and felt limitless. Our Khaki united us in a strange way and our love for each other was beyond any tide of difference until one beautiful day.

My phone vibrated once and I knew it was Musa. That was our signal and it meant allowee was ready. Springing up from my desk, I dashed out of the noisy office without a backward glance. As expected he was in front of the cashier's office. We had beaten other Corpers to it and his handsome face was awash with a bright infectious smile which was made brighter by the thought of money hitting our bank accounts.

"Where are Zuma and Police?" I asked on a giggle as I looked around in search of our other friends.

"They travelled to KD for the weekend. I will collect theirs. The cashier stepped out for prayers so we will have to wait small."

I didn't mind waiting. We were leaning against the railings, reminiscing about life at the camp when a lanky old man walked over to us. His squirrel like face was partly concealed by very thick beards that made it difficult for me to guess his age. He walked with a slight limp and his white shirt hung loosely on his slim frame. His blank gaze penetrated my soul as if they could see my future. Everything about him was ominous and reminded me of scary movies. I had seen him severally along that corridor and in one of the offices. He always kept to himself. He ignored my greetings and turned towards Musa who instantly switched to his dialect. The mans voice was shrill and Musa was awed by his presence. The dialect was strange music to my probing ears and although I could not make sense of their discussion, I instinctively knew he was scolding Musa. When he finally walked away, my friends countenance changed. He became withdrawn and melancholic the whole day. I knew something was bothering him, he didn't want to talk about it so I didn't push for answers. The next day, Musa was back to his old self so we forgot about the strange man.

Several months later, when were about passing out, Musa looked me in the eyes and divulged the words that were spoken many months ago. Words I had never heard of in my entire adult life. I still cannot explain how I felt when I learned the truth. When I learned

that a stranger who knew nothing about me tried to sow seeds of hatred, derision, hostility and distrust in the fertile mind of a youth. That instead of encouraging unity, a revered man sought to breed chaos with tales from the past. Tales of betrayal and bloodshed. That day, we all agreed that these same seeds sown over the years by our elders were the cause of ethnic violence, brutal crisis and all forms of intolerance in our nation.

Musa never allowed that seed to be sown in his life. He chose to live free, to break away from the shackles of vendetta; to resist the negative hold of religion and ethnic bigotry being continually thrust on us by our elders. He chose to chart his path through the web of chaos and bitterness draining our nation. I can still remember his words to me;

"my friend we need to fight the urge to fan the embers of war. It is time for us to put an end to all forms of discrimination, segregation and resultant conflicts. The sins of the fathers are not the sins of their sons! None of us got the opportunity to choose where we were born, so nobody should be judged for his or her ethnicity, for holding a divergent view or for atrocities committed by an ancestor. It is time for a reorientation. The future is ours..." I looked at him that day and saw a great man and a true friend.

Ask yourself today; what type of seed are you sowing in that young persons life?

God bless Nigeria!

(All stories are a work of fiction. The characters do not exist, except in the mind of the author. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.)