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Solider up is the first word I hear, and I need no atomic scientist to explain to me the meaning of the statement. It is the officer in charge of the syndicate waking us up to prepare for the morning training session. I quickly pull my body out of the sleeping bag and stand at attention, and there she is. She is a tall woman, who from the look on his wrinkled face; she is probably in her fifties. Joy did you join the academy to sleep? , she roars, You should have stayed at home and enjoyed your high destiny beddings otherwise… . I do not hear the other words she speaks because a part of me coincides with the idea of staying at home. Despite dreaming of joining the military academy since childhood, I am beginning to realize that military jobs are not meant for everyone.
I am Joy. All recruits are placed into groups of thirty called syndicates, and within the union, everyone is identified with a code. Every union has two guides to oversee team activities. I am number Joy in syndicate three, hence the name. As I put on my books, I keep guessing what the day has stored for us. It is my second day in the military, and the first one had not been good at all. Growing up I had admired soldiers for their discipline and the organized way they conducted their activities. When I was of age, I applied to join, and ‘luck’ was on my side. After the events of the day before. I am wondering whether I will manage through the twenty-one days that the interview is scheduled to happen. Getting the job is no longer on my mind. After all, I can make a good farmer back home.
Halfway down the race track, my heart is panting vehemently, but to stop is next to a crime. There are six more laps to go, and I can hardly finish my fourth. Suddenly, we hear some people shouting while running, but we can hardly see them clearly since it is still dark. As time goes by the voices become cleaner and we realize they are singing songs of war, but we can also hear some extra noise. As they come closer to the running track, we recognize that it is a group of soldiers jogging with aluminum boxes on them hears. The guide informs us that they are the junior cades who were on punishment. I do not wait to hear why they are being punished. Instead, I hasten ahead to ensure that I am among the leading runners, just in case there is a punishment for the last to arrive, I cannot take any chances.
Back in the dining hall, we align with our pairs of aluminum cans, one for tea and the other for bread and boiled eggs. We have less than a quarter an hour to serve breakfast and head back to the field. I share out my hot tea as I am sure I cannot finish in time. We quickly eat as we interact with other syndicates and guides. One guide narrates the good and bad times in the camp. We learn of a few recruits who have died during the interview. The figures are even higher for those who die in training after passing the interview. Injuries are the order of the day, and the guides keep reminding us of the importance of tough training. We must know how to survive in the jungle and behind enemy lines. We are lucky to get to the field in time, and after prayers and speeches, we embark on an exercise and other field events including kickboxing, swimming, and karate to name a few.
It is day three in the academy, but it feels like week three. The main activity today is a medical checkup. All candidates line up outside the tent and go in the tent in pairs. I expect to be attended to by nurses who could help me remember life outside the camp. Finally, it is my turn, and inside we find a team of doctors in military gear. Remove your clothes and stand at attention , one soldier shouts; All clothes including inner wears , shouts another soldier. We quickly exchange glances with the other candidate, but then I remember the number one rule that every statement from your senior is a command. The lady examines ‘my whole body’ while wearing a stern face, passes my file to the next doctor for recording, and points at the exit before shouting for the next candidate. The candidate enters before we could wear out clothes, but we were ashamed to look at each other directly. Later in the evening, we come to realize that to the doctors what seemed like a big deal to us was just a routine to them.
Finally, it is day four. We receive results, and those who failed the medical tests must be released from the camp. ‘Fortunately’, I failed the height test and breathing, so I could not be admitted to the academy. In other words, I was too short for the job with a lunge problem. I go back home determined to reconsider my dreams and put more emphasis on my studies. The four-day experience has been not only robust, but also educative. I leave the camp convinced that being a soldier is a calling from above.
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