A mini vent about Camp ( the shithole I'm in for the paramilitary segment of my National Youth Service)

Ah shit gaddem. I'm in need of a vent. You see, last night, when I was sober chilling an insect flew into my eye. When these things happen you're meant to take a leisurely stroll to the bathroom/toilet and wash the offending creature from your soul windows but you must remember that there are no toilets here. It's been three weeks since I saw my face in a mirror. I can't. What can't i do you wonder? I can't ducking handle it!!! I'm trying to swear less because an aunt of mine asked me to but it's so bloody hard when stupid shit keeps happening to me. Anyway, as I didn't have access to a well lot toilet with a mirror I proceeded to claw both my contact lense and the creepy bastard from my eye with all the fervour of a self harming teenager. The long and short of it is I tore my cornea and now I've got pink eye. 

I pity the man that owns the first toilet I go to when I return to civilization. I shall lock myself in it and not come out. Then I shall write a 3 hour long song about how glorious toilets are. Truth be told I shouldn't be complaining about toilets or the lack of them. I overdosed on Imodium two weeks ago, and I'm fairly sure that I can't shit without clinical assistance at the minute. I see an enema in my future.

Here in Edo, my bed is nothing to write home about. While that expression conveys my thoughts on the bed perfectly it's stupid. I'm pleased that my bed is so bad that bed bugs have a hard time stooping so low, that way I get to guilt trip mama and papa Afam  to oblivion. Each guilt trip I send them on makes me so happy I could die. Is it odd that I occasionally delight in my misfortune so that I can stick it to the parental units? No, it isn't. In this regard my body has gone above and beyond the call of duty to be a walking sob story. In week one I got diarrhea/dysentery, in week two, I came down with malaria and the flu and I rolled my ankle while cultural dancing and in week three I've got a cold and pink eye. 

As if all of that wasn't bad enough, my bedtime lullaby is a cry of "amu mu o" every minute from some burly guy that sleeps at the other end of the room. I suppose it would be alright of that didn't translate as "my penis oh". Yes folks I've been falling asleep to cries of some guy complaining about his penis. Some of you will read this and think "no! Afam must be making this up" but there's some shit that you just cannot make up. And on that note I'll love you and leave you.

Happy Days,

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