“Angelina, I’m not interested in the size or colour of your urine!”

My PPA experience would be incomplete without the story of the individual I happened to share a room with at the corps members’ lodge provided for us.

Her name is Angelina.

We came from camp together. The Catholic corps members had arranged transportation for us, and, like many of us, we had expectations that we will be posted to some relatively familiar town where civilization still had a fighting chance.

Instead, we found ourselves in villages whose names sounded like incantations.

But that was not even my problem.

My real problem began the moment I stepped into the room.

There she was, using a pee bucket she had apparently brought with her from camp.

I looked at the bucket.

Then I looked at her.

Then I looked at the bucket again.

Within me, I was asking the most important question of the moment: Why in the room?

Why not the rest room?

But it was my first day, and I didn't want to start establishing unnecessary rules before I had even properly settled in. So I kept quiet.

What happened next would become one of my most valid reasons for crashing out.

“Come and see. My urine is now full and pure. I can't believe I'm this healthy!”

For a moment, time stopped.

You know those moments when your brain refuses to process what your ears have just heard?

That was me.

Did she just invite me…?

To what exactly?

Was I being invited to an unceremonious festival of urine?

I stood there, trying to reconcile the person I had just met with the confidence with which she had presented me with this information.

And somehow, that was only the beginning.

Because if there is anything I have learnt from my PPA experience, it is that sometimes, the people you meet become a bigger part of your NYSC story than the actual place you were posted to.

Living with Angelina came with its own collection of escapades, strange conversations, unexpected adventures, laughter, confusion, and moments where I genuinely had to ask myself, “How did I end up here?”

There were days when the lodge felt less like accommodation and more like a live-action comedy series.

There were experiences I could never have predicted before leaving camp, and there were moments that, if I narrated them exactly as they happened, you would probably think I was lying.

But then again, that is the beauty of NYSC.

There are still shackles around my ankles, and I know better than to tell the entire story while I am still inside the system.

But watch out.

In about three months, when I am finally out of these shackles and have regained full freedom of speech, I am pretty sure I will be writing a book.

And if I do, Angelina will have a chapter of her own.

Actually…

She might need several chapters.