Deborah Olusanu: Reflecting on The Bumpy Life Before Allawee

That day, we stood in a long, winding line, waiting patiently for our turn. “Omo, hunger dey this land oh,” I muttered quietly to myself, feeling the familiar pang in my belly. It was one of those evenings when every minute seemed like an hour, and every stomach growl was louder than the last.

We knew the puff-puff started frying around 8 p.m. Mummy Edo and her husband—both proud Deltans—were selling their golden balls for ₦50 each. No wonder there was a massive crowd of hungry corpers and students alike, all desperate to get their hands on those crispy, warm treats. I glanced sideways at Favour, who was already laughing, “I thought we were the first o,” she teased.

Government pikin like us depended on puff-puff to calm the angry worms in our stomachs. What else could we eat anyway? Dinner was a luxury, and every kobo mattered.

We gathered in a small circle, pulling out our calculators (yes, calculators for soup budgeting), and began adding up how much it would cost to prepare a pot of soup from scratch. Okro – ₦1,500. Fresh pepper – ₦500 (and trust me, that was barely enough for 10 pieces). Crayfish – ₦500. Red oil – ₦1,200. Meat – ₦1,500 (if we dared to buy at all). Our eyes widened as the total crept up to ₦4,000 — just for one meal. For five people!

Thank God Daniel had garri stashed somewhere. Without that humble bag of cassava flakes, we’d have been looking at spending ₦5,000 or ₦6,000 on just one meal. Puff-puff suddenly looked like the only sane option.

So, if each of us chipped in ₦500, it would get us roughly 50 puff balls, and we had a bag of sachet water to wash it all down. Simple, affordable and surprisingly satisfying. Those who preferred puff-puff went ahead to buy, while others found their solutions, because in this lodge, we knew the dangers of going to bed hungry. Nobody wanted to turn into a midnight vampire, biting their roommate out of desperation!

This was life before allawee, the time when every kobo mattered, when luxury was a myth, and survival was the daily goal.

Our staple was concoction rice and beans, affectionately called a balanced diet. We ate it with pride and joy because, hey, at least it filled the belly. Maybe it was balanced because it lasted half the day, and we washed it down with enough water to fill the spaces the food couldn’t reach.

We were fortunate enough to have their Primary Place of Assignment (PPA) nearby, so we could commute to work and still keep going. But even then, the energy to shout at unruly students was hard to come by, and when it came, it came with a fierce anger fueled by hunger.

One scorching afternoon, after teaching my Primary 5 pupils, I had a craving. I thought, “Why not treat myself to some pizza and ice cream?” The heat was unbearable, and I deserved it, or so I thought. Walking past the eatery, I laughed to myself, “Imagination wan kee person.” In the end, I walked back to the corper’s lodge with bread buns instead.

Back at the lodge, the calendar where I marked off the days left until allawee greeted me with a fake smile. 11 days. “Hope person no go die before then,” I whispered.

Those days before allawee brought us together in unexpected ways. Corp members shared a bond stronger than we realised. We sang our unofficial anthem, “Adulthood na scam,” like it was a song we composed ourselves. Every evening, the lodge would buzz with laughter and stories. Motivational quotes floated around, while those lucky enough to have charged phones scrolled through TikTok videos. Others huddled together, having begged neighbours to charge their devices, joining in the laughter as a shield against the hunger clawing at their insides.

We laughed to mock the hunger, trying to show its ugly head. We laughed to pretend everything was fine. Laughter was our armour, and friendship our refuge.

Amid all this, business ideas began to take root. Hunger sharpened our minds, and necessity sparked creativity. I remembered a small business I had started back home but abandoned out of laziness. Now, the fire was back. NYSC had given us a crash course in business and survival.

Watching friends like Favour tutor a child after hours and Daniel offering lessons to neighbours, I knew I couldn’t be left behind. I grabbed my book and pen and started writing a business plan. It was clear that this period was more than a trial—it was a training ground for our future.

NYSC made us appreciate the quiet sacrifices our parents made to feed us daily without complaint. Now, it was our turn to prepare for adulthood, and possibly parenthood. The hunger and hardship we faced weren’t just obstacles; they were lessons.

Perhaps hunger and lack of clear vision help one see far. I now have business ideas lined up, and I plan to start them immediately after allawee drops. No more hunger after allawee.