Hmm, wetin my eyes see for NYSC.

I remember when I was serving at the Defence Headquarters in Abuja.

This was actually one of the reasons I said I didn't want to end up with a uniformed husband.

Because tell me why it almost felt like some of these men hadn't seen women before. If you were new there, it was almost a competition to see who could make you their side chick.

Anyway, there was this married man who took an interest in me. He liked gisting and would often come to my office to check in on me.

At first, I was quite naive about the whole thing and genuinely thought he was just being nice. I didn't read anything into it.

Now, there was this lady I had become quite close to. We all used to sit together and gist, and I genuinely thought we were on the same page.

In fact, this friendship was quite refreshing for me. She treated me like a little sister, told me about her handsome boyfriend who wasn't in the country, and would occasionally gist me about him.

I had visited her apartment a couple of times, and she had even taken me around some places in Abuja.

So, naturally, I thought we were good.

Tell me why, one faithful morning, this same babe called me into the bathroom for a chat.

Apparently, she wanted to warn me about stealing her man.

HER MAN!

Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would find myself in that position.

I was like, "Ah! Who exactly are you talking about?"

And she called his name.

My dear, I was SHOCKED.

I couldn't even understand what was happening. This was a married man, and someone was confronting me as though I was trying to take another woman's property.

I remember thinking, "So out of all the men in this world, na this one you are dragging me for?"

There are so many fish in the sea, and this is the one we're fighting over?

And the funny thing was that I genuinely hadn't known there was anything going on between them, but how would I, when he had a whole wife.

It was only much later that I discovered that this man actually wanted to date me. So, apparently, what I had initially interpreted as friendly gestures had a different intention.

Hmmm.

That experience taught me a thing or two about people and friendships. Sometimes, the people you think are looking out for you may not necessarily have the best intentions.

And perhaps more importantly, not every interaction needs to be entertained, especially when you don't know what someone else's intentions are.

You know what they say about keeping your enemies closer? Well, I guess I got a little lesson in that during my NYSC days. 😂

And that's just my two cents.

This was also a memory from secondary school.

There was this guy, one of the popular ones. I had a feeling he liked me, but I didn't know how much or why he would, since I was just the shy corner girl.

We definitely used to exchange looks, and he would speak up for me or try to get my attention at times. Lol. High school crushes were really the cutest.

Now, we were coming back from one particular break (I can't even remember which one), but this guy had a habit of returning later than everyone else. Apparently, that was a cool thing to do.

I always begged my mum to let me try it, but she never agreed. Parents and their rules, abeg!

Anyway, around that period, the famous Valentine's Day was approaching. You know how it was back then. People would try to shower their crushes or girlfriends with gifts in whatever way they could, even in a school that didn't permit provisions or nice things in general.

Unknown to me, this guy had given his friend a couple of gifts and a letter professing his feelings for me. The plan was for his friend to hide them in my locker so I could find them when I got to the hostel.

Awww. Cute, right?

Well, hold that thought.

Tell me why, just before I could even open my locker, our house matrons decided to conduct a random search for contraband.

And guess who was caught with the evidence? ME!

I was summoned and questioned about the items they had found. And when I was threatened with the possibility of my parents being called (the same parents who had warned me not to talk to boys, as how na?), I entered full damage-control mode.

I denied the existence of this guy o!

In fact, I went as far as saying that maybe he was someone who was obsessed with me because I had absolutely no idea why he would think he should buy me gifts or write me a letter.

Hmmm. I thought that would be the end of it.

But I forgot that these matrons were also human beings with their own gist networks.

Tell me why my matron went to tell his matron what had happened, and somehow, the gist got back to him.

This guy came to the class to confront me about the nasty things I had supposedly said about him.

And just like that, whatever love story was supposed to happen between us came to an abrupt end.

In fact, we became serious enemies!

Looking back, I guess we were both hurt and projecting that hurt in different ways. I was trying to save myself from trouble at home, while he probably felt embarrassed and rejected.

Hmmm. Secondary school love was not for the weak.

Anyway, my advice? Never underestimate the power of school gossip, and never assume your house matron doesn't have a direct line to everybody else's matron.

And that's just my two cents.

These days, I just sit back and remember some of the memories that made me laugh or cry. And honestly, some of them? Hmmm.

So, I’m thinking of doing a little series about the shege I saw before I met my husband.

You know how back in the day, when you started talking to someone new, there was always that fun question: “What’s your most embarrassing moment?”

I don’t think I can remember enough to rank them, but there’s one I will never forget.

Back in secondary school, I had this HUGE crush on one guy. I thought he was the one.

Why? Because we came from the same state and had the same birthday date. Interesting, right?

In my head, that was enough evidence. We could literally pass for twins.

But tell me why, on this fateful day, this guy was standing outside his classroom, chatting with his friend just after our afternoon prep was over.

And just like I had seen in the movies, I decided to strut.

Walk that walk, girl!

Only for me to end up inside the gutter, right in front of him and his friend.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, this guy laughed SO HARD. He was pointing at me, bending over, holding his stomach. This was not ordinary laughter, please.

Sigh.

I had to pick myself up and rush back to my class.

Best believe I cried. I was that embarrassed.

Smh. I wonder if that incident contributed to the crazy shyness I had back then.

Anyway, a little tip from me: Never attempt to do a catwalk close to a gutter in front of the guy you like. You never know how that story will end.

And that’s just my two cents.

To be continued…? 👀

It was just another morning, and I woke up with my thoughts.

I know she’s going through something unimaginable, but why doesn’t she want to talk to me?

Is it something I said, I wondered.
Did I not call at the right time?
Did I show that I cared enough?
Why does it always feel like I’m the last person she thinks about?

Or is it happening again?

Am I looking for reasons to push another person away? I wondered.

Hmmm…

Who is wrong and who is right?
Who is the bigger person?
And who should feel hurt?

It would be insensitive to bring anything up now because it’s not a good time. But then again, would that time ever come?

Friendships can be so fragile, and I don’t think enough attention is given to how much a friend can hurt you or even break your heart.

Your feelings are very much valid.

But I would say this: stay where you are appreciated. And if you’ve had to overthink things too many times, wondering whether you are the problem or not, maybe that relationship just isn’t for you.

Sometimes, you have to give things time. Sometimes, you have to give people space. And sometimes, you have to give yourself permission to stop forcing a relationship to make sense.

Well, that’s just my two cents.

Adios.

Nigeria… you love her, but somehow you also hate what she keeps doing to you.

The saying “May Nigeria not happen to me” has become so common that we barely stop to think about how heartbreaking it really is. How did we get to a point where people speak about their own country like it’s a tragedy waiting to happen?

The same promises that were made when I was a baby are the very same promises still being made today. Decades later, we’re still waiting. Instead of moving forward, it often feels like we’ve taken several steps backward.

Policies are introduced only to be ignored or broken. Rules seem to exist for convenience rather than progress. But who is really suffering? Every single one of us.

It genuinely hurts me to feel this way because, Nigeria, you’re my country. I want to be proud of you. I want to believe you’ll love your people the way they deserve to be loved.

But the truth is, the problem isn’t just the people at the top. It’s all of us.

Too many of us are willing to sell our integrity for temporary gain, forgetting that today’s daily bread won’t last forever. Real change starts with us. It starts with choosing honesty when no one is watching, doing the right thing in our workplaces, businesses, schools, relationships, and every position we find ourselves in.

Integrity won’t fix Nigeria overnight, but it’s where lasting change begins.

I hate that this is how I feel, but I still choose to hold on to hope.

“One day, one day, e go better.”

And if e no better… at least make I japa. 🥹🇳🇬

When I first started handling the Instagram page, I thought it was just about posting.

A picture here, a caption there something simple, almost routine. But soon, I realized it was more than that.

The posts weren’t disappearing into silence,They were speaking back.

Teachers began to tell us their students were asking about recycling after seeing our updates during an outreach, a parent stopped me and said, “I saw your post. I didn’t know conservation was this close to us.” In that moment, I

understood what we shared was not just being seen, it was being felt.

But with that realization came pressure my phone became both my tool and my tether.

I worried about whether a caption was strong enough, if people would engage, if the story would carry far enough. Some nights, the notifications felt louder than my own thoughts.

Still, every time I stepped back into the field, balance returned. Trees don’t perform for the camera,Children don’t rehearse their laughter.

The work itself was real, and that was all the reminder I needed.

Service, I began to see, does not end where your duty stops. It continues in the ripples in the unseen ways your actions move outward, touching lives you may never meet.

Khaki was still the uniform on my body, but the story I was telling had grown larger than me. It was no longer just about curating a feed. It was about building a bridge between conservation and community, between silence and story, between the work we did and the world that needed to hear it.

After resuming, I was eager to work restless even.

The HR had told me I would join the Education Unit, and soon I was handed something that felt both simple and enormous the Instagram page.

It wasn’t just about posting pictures,It was about telling our story.Showing the heartbeat of conservation in a way that could reach beyond our gates.

I came up with content, drafted captions, and began to see each field outing with fresh eyes.

When we went for fieldwork, I carried not just a notebook but my camera I captured the quiet dignity of trees, the laughter of children, the careful hands placing recycling bins in schools.

I filmed the songs of important environmental days the dances, the banners, the small but powerful actions that kept the spirit of conservation alive.

And then I would return, upload, edit, and post.

Slowly, the page began to bubble with life.

Notifications came, comments trickled in, and I realized I was curating more than a feed I was curating a voice.

I loved the monthly Tea Item, that little gathering that reminded us conservation is not only about forests and oceans, but also about people about building community.

I loved the school programs, where recycling bins were not just donations but seeds of responsibility.

Each post felt like opening a window. And with every window opened, more light came in.

I wasn’t just serving in khaki anymore I was telling the story of service.

A story that could inspire, connect, and perhaps, in some unseen way, transform.

And so, Part 7 of my journey was not about silence in the field or the weight of dusty boots.

It was about voices, captured and shared, echoing out into a digital world that needed to be reminded conservation is alive, here and now.

October 21st.

The morning air was soft, and my steps were steady, but inside, my heart felt like it was dancing.

I was back at the Nigerian Conservation Foundation

Walking through the gates felt like walking into a memory. I had been here before, back in university during my internship, learning the quiet language of conservation.

And now, NYSC had brought me back, not by accident, but as if the khaki had been leading me here all along.

The HR smiled and told me I would be joining the Education Unit helping with the social media page, attending to mails, and joining school visits. It was work that blended my skills with my passions, the kind of role that made me feel useful in ways that went beyond filling a seat.

That first day, I sat at my desk, logged in, and felt an odd mix of familiarity and newness.

The trails were still there, the trees still whispered, the birds still sang but now, I wasn’t just visiting I belonged here.

Every notification on the email inbox, every idea for the social media page, every plan for a school visit felt like a seed I was planting.

Maybe small at first, but capable of growing into something that could reach beyond the gates.

It wasn’t lost on me how full circle this moment was from a student intern watching from the sidelines, to a corper with a role in shaping the story.

And as I packed my bag that evening, I thought this isn’t just service to the nation.

This is service to the earth.

And now, the real NYSC had begun.

It finally happened.

After all the dust, delays, and dashed hopes, I was posted to the Nigerian Conservation Foundation

The day I got the confirmation, I smiled like someone who had just been handed back a piece of herself.

The same khaki that once felt heavy now felt light like it had finally found where it belonged.

I resumed in October.

From the moment I stepped into the Centre, I felt it peace,Purpose,Possibility.

It wasn’t just about NYSC

anymore It was about something bigger.

Every day brought something new.

The sound of birds in the trees,

The laughter of school children on excursions.

The quiet magic of nature doing what it does best existing, healing, reminding us how to be still.

I taught, I learned, I walked trails lined with stories, I saw children stare wide eyed at turtles, and teenagers suddenly care about the planet.

I found beauty in the ordinary from sorting files to preparing for events to simply showing up, fully present.

It was the kind of work that didn’t shout. It whispered. And I listened.

Some days were long some tasks were tiring. But not once did I wish I were somewhere else.

This was where I was meant to be even if it came late, even if it came after tears and silence and waiting rooms it came and it was worth it.

NYSC had given me many things but the Nigeria Conservation foundation gave me a gift I hadn’t expected:

a soft place to land,A space to grow.

And maybe, just maybe, the khaki had been leading me here all along.

To be continued…

The call came on a quiet afternoon.

“Hello, is this Oreoluwa?”

“Yes.”

“This is the Nigerian Conservation Foundation. Your request letter is ready. You can come and pick it up.”

My heart leapt.

After weeks of walking under the sun, begging, explaining, praying I thought, finally.

I thought this was it,That things were falling into place. That I could exhale and start doing what I came here to do.

I wore my khaki like it was a crown that day.

I took the trip to NCF with excitement buzzing under my skin, already picturing the work I’d get to do the kids I’d teach, the nature I’d help protect, the purpose I’d finally live out.

But NYSC had a plot twist waiting.

Because after picking up the letter and submitting it to the local government office, I heard the words that made my stomach drop:

“Submission isn’t approval.”

“You have to wait.”

“It’s not automatic.”

The familiar cycle returned.

More waiting,More silence. More “Come back tomorrow.”

And suddenly, that phone call that had felt like a finish line was just the starting line of another race.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to cry.

I wanted to ask why every step forward still felt like I was running in place.

But I didn’t give up.

I couldn’t.

Because somehow, the girl who once dreamed of standing for nature and change was still in there tired, yes but not broken.

So once again, I waited.

Hope and khaki still heavy, but this time, I was ready.

To be continued…

Khaki and Me – Part 3: Hope in Waiting Room

After being rejected at the pharmacy, I felt like I was living in slow motion.

Every day blurred into the next filled with phone calls, waiting, and walking under the hot Lagos sun with my clear file in my hand. I thought getting reposted would be the breakthrough, but it was only the beginning of another waiting game.

Nigeria Conservation Foundation was my dream place,It wasn’t just about PPA it was where my passion and my purpose could finally meet. But dreams, as I learned, can test your patience. I waited days, then weeks, just for the request letter.

Every day I hoped it would be ready Every day I left with “Come back tomorrow.”

In between, I was posted to a government school a place I didn’t want. I knew deep in my heart I wouldn’t give my best there, and that scared me more than rejection. So, I begged I explained,I cried.

I got another rejection this time, the one I asked for.

By then, my khaki felt heavier than ever,Not just on my shoulders, but on my spirit.

Still, something in me refused to give up. Maybe it was stubbornness😂Maybe it was grace. Maybe it was the girl who once dreamed of working in conservation, standing by wildlife, teaching kids about nature, and making an impact.

So, I waited.

And hoped.

And prayed.

And one quiet afternoon when I least expected it ,I got a call.

What do you think happened after the call???

To be continued…

Khaki and Me — Part 2: The Part They Don’t Post

Leaving camp, I thought I’d figured it out I had plans Dreams.

I knew where I wanted to serve, But NYSC had other ideas.

I was first posted to a small pharmacy in Lagos quiet, out of sight, and completely disconnected from what I studied or cared about I was confused.

Then came the rejection, and I thought maybe that was my open door. So I started the process of reposting, praying Nigeria Conservation Foundation would take me.

But while I was still waiting for their request letter, NYSC posted me again this time to a government school.

That broke me.

It wasn’t what I wanted. Not even close.

I remember walking into that school and feeling so out of place, like my dreams were slipping further away I begged them to reject me. I cried

I felt hopeless,I kept asking God, “Why is this so hard?”

All I could do was wait Pray,Cry ,Be patient.

That season taught me something I didn’t expect to learn during NYSC: the lesson of surrender Of letting go of control when everything is uncertain. Of still believing, even when it feels like no one sees your efforts.

I won’t lie it was heavy. But I kept showing up,Kept holding on. Because deep down, something in me knew that this wasn’t the end of the story.

“Khaki and Me” is not just about where I served but about what I survived.

To be continued…

🌿 Khaki and Me — My NYSC Story Starts Here

“This isn’t just khaki it’s a whole new version of me unfolding.”

Hey hey! Welcome to Khaki and Me my personal NYSC diary, where I’ll be sharing the realness, the randomness, and the rhythm of this once in a lifetime journey.

I’m Olabisi Oreoluwa Simisola, a Zoology and Environmental Biology graduate from Ekiti State University, a fun loving Lagos girl with a big laugh, and now… a proud corp member!

🎒 From Benue to Lagos

My NYSC story started in Benue yes, from the heart of the North Central, where I first wore my khaki, tried to keep a straight face on parade ground, and learned how to survive camp food (spoiler: bread and Tea are your best friends!), But never had it 😂

But as destiny would have it, I was redeployed to Lagos and now I’m proudly serving with the Nigerian Conservation Foundation which honestly feels like the perfect fit for me as someone deeply connected to nature and the environment.

💭 Why this blog?

Because I know what it felt like to search for stories that felt real. Not just the pretty Instagram NYSC photos but the behind the scenes stuff: the confusion, the friendships, the changes.

I created Khaki and Me so younger people ,students, fresh graduates, or even just curious minds can get a feel for NYSC from someone who’s living it.

Yes, everyone’s journey is different, but sharing mine might just prepare, inspire, or entertain someone who’s about to wear the khaki too.

👀 What you’ll find here

• Real time reflections from my service year

• Camp flashbacks (Benue gave me memories for life!)

• Lagos hustle as a corps member

• Serving at NCF and what it means for me as an environmentalist

• Tips, lessons, and laughs because trust me, there’s plenty of that

Whether you’re about to start your NYSC, already in it, or just here for vibes I’m happy you’re reading this. Let’s go through it together, one khaki moment at a time.

Thanks for stopping by!

Feel free to drop a comment, share your experience, or just say hi.

Till the next post,

💚