On my first day at my PPA, I arrived thirty-seven minutes early.

By 7:23 a.m., I was standing outside the gate with my NYSC cap on, my khaki neatly ironed and the kind of optimism that should probably be classified as a mental illness 😂. I had spent the night preparing for the first impression. New place. New people. New responsibilities. I even rehearsed how I was going to introduce myself. “Good morning, sir. My name is...”

The security man looked at me. “You be corps member?” “Yes, sir.” He pointed at a wooden bench. “Sit down.” That was my first official instruction at my PPA. I sat. For forty minutes.

At 8:03, someone finally opened the office. At 8:07, I was introduced to my supervisor. She looked at my posting letter, looked at me, and smiled. “Welcome.” “Thank you, ma.” “You can use Microsoft Excel?” “Yes, ma.” “Good.” She handed me a stack of papers. “Enter all these into Excel before 12.” I looked at the papers. There were 286 of them. I looked at the wall clock. 8:11. I looked back at her. “Ma… all?” She smiled again. “Yes. You people are young. You are fast.” That was the exact moment I discovered that being young was apparently a professional qualification 😂. By 9:30, I had entered approximately 14 names. By 9:35, the power went out. Nobody reacted. I waited for somebody to complain. Nothing. The secretary continued typing on her laptop. The accountant continued calculating. My supervisor continued reading a file. I finally asked, “Ma, should I wait for the light?” She looked at me as if I had asked whether Nigeria had electricity. “Don't worry. It will come.” It did not. Instead, someone brought a generator. Everybody smiled. Then the generator coughed twice and died. Nobody reacted. Again. At that point, I understood something: these people had suffered together for so long that electricity going off was no longer an event. It was simply the weather. By 11:47, I had entered 31 names. My supervisor walked past. “How far?” “I'm still working on it, ma.” “Okay. Please make sure you finish before lunch.” I looked at the remaining 255 names. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Then she added, “Oh, and there is a meeting by 1 p.m. You will prepare the attendance sheet.” “Okay, ma.” “And after the meeting, help me arrange these files.” “Okay, ma.” She paused. “One more thing.” I knew that sentence was coming. “Please help me type this letter before you close.” She handed me another file. I stared at it. She walked away. That afternoon, something strange happened. I stopped being angry. Not because things had improved. They hadn't. I simply started laughing 😂. I laughed at the impossible workload. I laughed when the generator went off for the third time. I laughed when someone came into the office and asked if the corps member had finished the work that three people were supposed to be doing. I even laughed when my supervisor casually said, “You'll get used to it.” Get used to it? Ma'am, I had been there for one day! By 5:58 p.m., I finally packed my bag. I stood up slowly, exhausted. Then my supervisor called me. “Ah, before you go…” I froze. She picked up a file. “Can you help me do one small thing?” I looked at her. She looked at me. I looked at the clock. 5:59. Then I smiled. “Ma, tomorrow.” She stared at me. I stared back. There was silence. Then she laughed. And somehow, that was the first time I felt like I belonged there. Not because the work became easier. Not because the electricity returned. Not because my PPA suddenly became wonderful. But because I finally understood the secret: sometimes surviving your PPA isn't about having the strength to do everything. Sometimes, it's knowing when to say, “Ma… tomorrow.” And walking out before they remember another “small thing.” 😂 That was the day I learned my first real PPA lesson.