Life is funny. Life is fun. But, most importantly, life is what you make of it. At the end of camp I was really ill – high fever, chesty cough, blocked nose, and after blood tests, malaria and typhoid. At the end of camp, my life was enriched. I had made many, many friends, and had memorable experiences. I remember platoon members who were married women, all trying to be young again. I remember roommates who were so much fun to be with – I don’t think anyone had to leave the room for entertainment at any time of day. There was even a pajama party held in honor of a corper that was traveling for her wedding in the second week. They are all so endearing, when I was really sick, I would always meet my bucket full of water, someone would carry out my water for me to bath, and someone would wake me up gently in the night to change to my PJs. Someone would answer the soldier that came to chase us out that I was ill and I should not be disturbed. Someone would help me collect my food from the kitchen. Someone would remind me to take me medicine, when it was time. I loved that room. Not once did anybody have an argument or fight. Everyone, from East, West, South South, South, North, were together. Before we left, I collated a list of names and phone numbers, and photocopied for every room member (considering that I spent double of what it should have cost outside, they were touched). I might not call all of them immediately, but I intend to reach out to them all at one time or the other. They were lovely and helped me to reason that the NYSC program did make sense afterall.