Seminar

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I never imagined that NYSC would have me sitting in a sweaty and stuffy government-sponsored seminar hall in Osogbo. Where the fans had given up on life, the projectors flickered, the speakers kept screaming at intervals, and the generator outside groaned like it hadn't been fully fed with a full tank.

I sat on the plastic chair at the high table, looking at my assigned partner, Amaka. The only NYSC copper ( nickname for NYSC members in Nigeria) I've seen who wears heels to CDS (community service). She was in a deep conversation with the event planner. Pointing and waving hands in demonstration as if she were in a faceoff with the planner.

There was an actual war going on in my stomach. I shut my eyes and yawned. My eyes teared up a bit, as if pleading on behalf of my stomach.

“You want people to sit through a four-hour seminar and serve them just snacks? Was that the plan?” she snapped.

The planner, a lean woman who looked like she had never seen food all her life and a face like he’d seen too many cut budgets, shrugged. “The budget wasn't enough for food but snacks. I'm not sure it'll get to everyone present here today."

I held my lip, trying not to laugh. But Amaka caught me with her always-sharp eye.

“It's funny abi? Like, you’re really, really enjoying this, abi, Emeka?” she said, marching back to her seat at our table.

“Honestly, yes, I am,” I said, grinning. “I told you from the start that this," I made gestures with my hands. "This whole thing is a boondoggle. From the seminar name to the people told to handle it down to everything. It all sounds like a joke. ”

She rolled her eyes in frustration and held her face. “ ‘Love in the Workplace.’ Like how are we supposed to teach fifty bored civil servants how romance and HR could co-exist when they've been owed salaries for months but their leaders are balling.”

"Now you're seeing it from my angle." I paused, sighed, and took a deep breath. "I even asked the Ministry coordinator and he said it would improve productivity. Yes, holding seminars for civil servants is a nice idea but not with topics like this for inexperienced coppers like us".

Amaka didn't reply. She only tied her hair into a ponytail and relaxed on her chair. Her countenance had the look of an angry military woman. I felt the same way too. But two angry captains can't be on deck. Besides, we needed to complete the seminar for our records. I gently rubbed her arms.

"Come on. It's just four hours. We'll be out of here soon."

Gradually we watched the hall fill up with old men and women. People who looked like they’d rather be home watching Africa Magic (indigenous home video TV channel) than be in a stuffy hall on a hot afternoon listening to some kids spill words on love. I heard from a reliable source that their coordinator has threatened them with a sack if their name wasn't present on the attendance list.

Finally, it was time to begin. Amaka took the microphone and cleared her throat. Then she forced a smile.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen!” she chirped. “My name is Amaka, and this is Emeka. We’re here to talk about—”

“Love!” I added, grabbing the mic trying to make the seminar more entertaining. “Because even in the office, love matters.”

There was a scuffle from the back as someone yelled.
“Na love go approve salary? (Will Love approve my salary?)”

Immediately laughter echoed throughout the room. Amaka tried to control them but the more she talked, the more they shut her up with words. When she tried effortlessly but didn't succeed, she shot me a look. "This isn't working."

I sighed and said. "I know. I know how you all feel. We feel the same way too. Our allawee (copper's salary) hasn't been paid either. But we need this seminar or we lose our jobs and I'm sure we don't want that." I smiled. "So please, let's try for the next 3hrs 45min and pretend that we love what we're doing here. I promise to keep it short and entertaining."

Like magic, the hall became silent.

Amaka looked at me and smiled.

"Thank you." I continued. I quickly grabbed the leftover sticky notes and handed them around. “Let’s play a game. Write something you know your colleague sitting before you is best at and stick it on their back. It could be funny but don't take it too far, please. Don't worry they're not going to fire you.” I assured them as if I had the power to.

That cracked something open. Laughter erupted as people scribbled furiously. One woman stuck a note on her boss that said, “Best at eating cola nuts during meetings.” Even the boss laughed.

I looked at Amaka. She was smiling. Her eyes filled with admiration. She returned my stare. "It's actually working.”

I smirked. “Sometimes, you just lean a little into the madness.”

Next, I asked them to write the opposite of what they had written earlier. What they don't like about their colleague.

When they were done. I asked them to look around.

“The truth is everyone has two stickers on their back. One with a positive trait and another with a negative trait. No one is left out." I said. “Work is hard. And sometimes, your colleague’s bad habit is just one more reason to hate Mondays. But before you complain, remember: you have your own sticker too. You annoy people just as much."

Amaka chipped in. “Because, in as much as we all think we're the best. Nobody's perfect.”

Someone shouted from the back, “Not even our bosses?"

Amaka smiled. "Yes, not even your bosses."

"Preach!” another voice yelled.

The hall erupted in laughter. Even the bosses.
We ended the seminar with a loud applause and the taste of puff puff (snacks) and soft drinks.

I and Amaka sat at the edge of the stage, legs swinging as the people filed out,

“That was chaos,” she said looking at the crowd.

“Yeah,” I replied. “I thought we’d crash.”

“But we didn't. All thanks to you” she said, glancing at me.

I chuckled. "I didn't do anything. It was a team effort."

She snorted. “Please. You're trying to be a gentleman, right?”

I laughed. I got up and offered her my hand. "Come on. We did a good job today. We deserve some suya (smoked meat)"

“Only if you’re paying."

I smiled, hand still stretched. "I got you."

She took it, smiling. Then we walked out of the hall into the noisy Osogbo street, the heat from the sun bullying our heads and our hands still linked together.

I smiled. Maybe I was wrong. The seminar wasn't a boondoggle after all.