OtondoBook: Episode Three: #No B.S. For the OBS
A friend of mine once said: Life has the most annoying spoiler alert.
Do you understand that? It’s like you slot in the DVD of your life in the DVD player and you get the movie selection: My Life in HD.
Suddenly, Spoiler alert: You die in the end!
Jesus. And I really thought the actor (me) would survive in the end.
I digress. I am being philosophical. So, today, I officially joined the OBS.
For the non-otondos, here is what OBS means: Orientation Broadcasting Service.
Okay, I’m not a full member, but I sounded for the Swearing-In-Ceremony and I didn’t have to stand in the scorching heat. Instead I sat smugly in front of a mixer and amplifier all through the boring ceremony (I may have slept half-way through though)
That’s gotta count for something.
After drinking white water (or “tea” as the kitchen staff were bent on calling it) and eating bread for breakfast, I spent the rest of the day manning the “console” of the broadcasting for the OBS.
Being the sound engineer on duty, I really didn’t “voice” into any mics, but it thrilled me no end as OAP after OAP kept saying “Go-od afterrrrrrrrnoon, Corps Members. This is No Too Laff live at the OBS studio, and I’m chilling with the awesome Justin.”
Disclaimer: I may or may not have added the “awesome” before the “Justin”.
After that brief moment of fun, I went with my OBS boss Ufuoma to the store to get materials for the Otondos. While we were loading stuff, I got drawn to a sweet voice.
“Daddy…I dunno how I’m gonna cope here. I just came in, and I already wanna check out.”
I swear she was actually saying “gonna” and “wanna”. I suddenly “wanna’ed” talk to her.
Luck shone on me.
“‘Scuse me. Are you wearing the standard issue white uniform?”
“Er…no. I was given the plain uniform, but I’m wearing a shirt I bought in Benin. Can’t wear that fuckin’ standard-issue white.” Of course, the “fuckin'” was for her benefit.
She began to moan and groan, complaining about how stressful it will be for her, etc.
I laugh good-naturedly, breaking into a sweat from the heavy lifting (I like to think I was pretty muscular at this point – kind of like a younger Michael Power with an actual sense of humor) and said, “hey, ma’am. With that kind of thinkin’, camp will be a three-month drag instead of the actual three weeks it is.”
She smiled for the first time. “You really love the camp life, don’t you?”
I reply, whispering conspirationally. “Me? Like the camp? Naw. Fuck it. But tell you what, I’ve come to have the best fun with the most fun people on here. It’s the most comforting thought ever.”
She giggles deliciously and asks, “are you a yoruba dude?”
I’m like, heck, no! And we get discussing and I find out she’s Ibo and her name’s Ebere.
“Ebere? Whooo. I’d never have guessed over the phone. You’ve got a hot voice, ma’am…”
My work mates, David and Frank are hassling me ‘cos I’m breaking focus chatting her up.
She stands up to leave. She’s not in her whites because she only just arrived.
“I hope to see you around in camp.”
And once again, your slothful guy fucks up. I reply, “Hopefully, Ebere.”
And she says. “But the camp is big…”
And I’m staring dumbly. “Yeah, it is, huh?”
And she blurts out, “maybe you should take my number? That way we don’t lose touch?”
And I’m like “oh…eh,” *stops drooling* “yeah. Gimme your number.”
Hopefully, I didn’t sound totally epileptic when we exchanged numbers.
She leaves me with a suggestive and titillating “I hope you call me. If you don’t, I’ll begin to think you don’t really want to see me.”
I sigh. I’m getting close!
Frank nudges me.
I blink at him.
“Is that girl okay?”
Misunderstanding him, I’m like “she’s cool bro.”
Frank persists. “No. I mean, doesn’t she strike you as a mentally imbalanced person?”
I never noticed anything like that.
(To be continued…my Martial Arts Instructor just called me to the field)