JOURNEY TO THE HILLS

In my part of Africa, serving guest with one's traditional meal, even in a far away land, is almost a norm. So I visited this Mambila family in Lagos and I was served a corn milk drink whose smell reminded me of my first encounter with Gembu- a land whose initial tale struck fear into my heart. This write up tells of my journey to Gembu and my first encounter with their flavored corn milk drink.

After I had collected and opened my posting letter, and discovered that I was posted to Gembu for my primary assignment in the 2016 service year, the next thing that greeted me was a seemingly satirical placard held aloft by one of the Batch As, who was sent to convey us to Sardauna Local Government Area.

"Gembu Land of Opportunities" was the write up held up by the corps member.

The write up seemed satirical in that it contradicted every thing I heard about Gembu. According to the stories I heard in camp, Gembu was anything but a land of opportunities. It was considered the prison to which the unfortunates were sent to. It was the chastising rod the platoon officers used to bring erring corps members in line. It was often said that " The fear of Gembu is the beginning of wisdom". Nobody wanted to be sent there. None us considered it a land of opportunities. So the corps member attempt to raise the status of Gembu, was viewed as a ploy for cover up.

The appearance of the corps member did not help matter at all. He was thin and his hollow eyes shifted menacingly in his oblong head. Although it was the way his God made him, I thought it was the suffering in Gembu that made him so.

"Gembu corpers this way" another Batch A called out from a section of the camp where seven buses were waiting to convey us. This particular corps member looked better than the first but I still noticed that his shoe was a bit dusty. You see, fear and apprehension made me and many others to notice every little detail we would have normally ignored- we were that tensed.

I got to the buses with many others, and we crammed in like condemned prisoners. Like men sentenced to life jail, we rued our service year. Almost every one of us had someone to blame for being posted to Gembu. It was either the wicked platoon officers, the inconsiderate state Cordinator or Satan. Some even blamed Gembu for existing. Once we were seated, the buses zoomed off, carrying us to a place against our will.

Gembu buses were the first to leave the camp ground, for our journey was far. Six hours, they said, was the average time it takes a bus from Jalingo to reach Gembu. The distance marker placed along the university road was a quiet reminder of this.

Armed with this knowledge, many of us bought snacks and drinks along the road, to help us through the long journey. Then, to wear out the time, we turned to the Batch As among us and peppered them with questions about Gembu.

Is there light in Gembu? Do they have drinkable water there? How is the culture of the people? What language do they speak? Are there really opportunities in Gembu? These and many more were our questions.

The Batch As tried to answer us as best as they could but they weren't telling us everything. Their attempt to avoid our question on light made us to become more curious in that regard. We reasoned that their attempt to avoid the question points to one fact- there is no light in Gembu. And when they finally answered us they confirmed this. I remember our disappointment on learning this. Nuhu, the architect guy that shared the front seat with me, said that this was his only regret. He claimed that he could stay anywhere in the world if there is light.

It took us two hours to reach Bali and another two hours to get to Gashaka. Then from there, we were aiming for Sardauna Local Government Area. In all, it took us four hours thirty minutes to reach the foot of the Mambila Plateau, which encompasses Gembu and entire Sardauna...

When we got to the foot of the Plateau, the Batch As advised us to put on our sweater, pull over or any other extra clothing. This was to protect us from the cold that was about to hit us on our ascend of the plateau. Those who had their extra wears close by quickly put them on. Those who hadn't, just had to manage on.

The bus that I was in, which was leading the other six, started climbing the plateau, serpenting through steep heights and narrow curves. We started feeling the change in weather immediately. Then at about a thousand feet above sea level, the cold hit us like shrapnel. We cringed and coiled up ourselves, and try to get warmth from one another. Breathing was also a bit difficult. Those who couldn't control the pang of nausea that was building up in almost every body, threw up.

As we climbed higher, the nausea sensation began to subside as our body started adapting to the condition. But the cold refused any form of adaptation. The Batch As, with smirk in their faces, watched us as we cringed at the slightest jerk of the bus. They were accustomed to the swirl and pull of the hills and its extreme weather and low pressure, but we weren't.

At the very top of the plateau, roughly two thousand feet above sea level, I saw something that started changing my orientation of Gembu. I saw a land rich in natures gift and beauty. There on the plains of the peak, I savored a beauty that was uncommon.

Like the Andes of South America, this humble Mambila Plateau bustled with nature at its fullest. Rocks, vegetation, waterfalls, jungle lives- both creeping and flying, jumping and crawling- all coalesced here. My stay was not going to be as bad as I had thought.

When we finally landed in Gembu, the people were very hospitable. We were sheltered in the Local Government Secretariat. The meal they served us was jollof rice with flavored corn milk drink. The margarine flavor mixed in the corn milk gave it a very pleasant smell. A smell that I had never perceived anywhere else until now.