My NYSC PPA Was Hell, But I Fell in Love with My LG Chairman

By: Amina

I didn’t know whether to cry or dance azonto when I saw my NYSC posting letter: “Local Government Secretariat, Obokun LGA, Osun State.”

Obokun? As in the place wey Google Maps dey confuse? The one wey network dey fear to reach? I blinked twice, hoping it would change to something like Shell or UNILAG. But no. Obokun.

The only thing louder than my heartbeat was the generator noise in the cybercafe.

I come from Kano, born and bred. Daughter of a strict northern father and a prayer warrior mother. My father nearly fainted when I told him I was going to the Southwest for service. My mum just held my hand and said, “God is watching you, Aminatu.”

Na so my wahala start.

PPA OR PUNISHMENT?

From the first day I resumed at the secretariat, I knew peace had left the building. The secretary, Mama Remi, looked at me like I owed her husband money.

So you be corper? You go type, arrange file, fetch water, and buy bread for me. Abi you think say this place na computer village?

My smile disappeared. “I studied Mass Communication, ma.

She hissed. “You go communicate with dust, my dear.

I worked like a donkey. They turned me to PA, errand girl, typist, and sometimes, God forgive them, secretary to the cleaner. One day, I almost cried when they sent me to go and bring eba for the office driver.

But I endured.

Because every 19th of the month, that 33k Federal Government alowee used to land like answered prayer.

ENTER THE CHAIRMAN

One day, while carrying files to the records room, I ran into someone. Like literally, my head hit his chest.

Tall. Dark. Beard that looked anointed. Smelt like money and menthol.

I’m so sorry,” I said, picking up scattered files.

He smiled. “It’s okay. You must be the new corper. Amina, right?

My heart paused.

“Yes, sir.”

He stretched his hand. “I’m Honourable Dayo Alade, the Local Government Chairman.”

My head was screaming: Jesus! Na fine man be this?!

PART THREE: THE UNUSUAL FRIENDSHIP

From that day, Chairman started noticing me. Small greetings became longer conversations. Sometimes he’d call me to his office to help draft speeches or edit official letters.

“You’re smart, Amina,” he’d say.

I’d smile and try not to faint.

Then one Friday, he said, “Do you want to join me at the commissioning of the new borehole project? We can use the drive to talk.”

Talk? In your Prado? With AC and full tank?

God, I’m available.

FROM BOREHOLE TO BUTTERFLIES

That outing was different. He asked me about my dreams, my struggles, and how I was coping in Obokun. I told him everything. He listened.

That night, he sent me a text:

“You’re not like the others. You’re real. Can we talk more?”

I slept smiling like goat wey enter corn.

From then on, we became… close. People began to notice. Mama Remi started giving me side eyes. One woman in Admin even whispered, “Corper Amina don catch Chairman o.”

But nothing physical happened.

Until the NYSC cultural day.

PART FIVE: THE KISS

I wore full northern attire, flowing gown, scarf, henna, everything. When I walked in, Dayo couldn’t stop staring.

You’re stunning,” he said. “Are you sure you’re even real?

Later that evening, when I went to thank him for his help with a community project I pitched, he pulled me aside.

Amina, I don’t know what this is, but I haven’t stopped thinking about you.

Before I could process it, he leaned in and kissed me.

My knees almost betrayed me.

I ran home, heart pounding.

HEAD OR HEART?

I prayed. I cried. I talked to my bunkmate, Chinwe, who screamed, “Na wa o! You carry northern innocence enter Yoruba romance.”

But it was more than romance.

Dayo respected me. He didn’t push. He didn’t manipulate. He gave me space but made it clear he had feelings for me.

I was confused. I was falling. Hard. But how would I ever explain to my parents?

A northern girl, barely 23, dating a 35-year-old Yoruba politician?

That one fit scatter family WhatsApp group.

THE ENDING I DIDN’T EXPECT

NYSC ended. He came for my POP. He stood with me, took pictures, and whispered, “So what next?”

I wanted to stay. I wanted to say, “Let’s try.” But reality held my mouth shut.

We said goodbye. No promises. Just silent understanding.

Now, it’s been 2 years.

We still talk sometimes. He got married last year, to a senator’s daughter. I saw it on BellaNaija. I smiled. And cried. At the same time.

But I’ll always be grateful. Because in that hellish PPA, I met a man who reminded me that love can be gentle. Even if it doesn’t last.