My NYSC year.

The year I discovered that adulthood is mostly adjustment.

I had to learn quickly. Especially in Abeokuta.

Transportation in Abeokuta is not for the faint hearted. It is not for the overly polite. It is definitely not for someone who grew up saying “sorry” even when they were the victim.

If you did not arrive early enough, you had to fight for a seat.

Not fight like boxing.

Fight like strategic survival.

Elbows become weapons.

Bags become shields.

Eye contact becomes a declaration of war.

And there I was. Ajebutter pikin. Soft spoken. Well ironed shirt. Thinking queues were respected everywhere in Nigeria.

I was wrong.

The first few times, I stood there shocked. Watching people who looked smaller than me slide into buses like trained athletes. Mothers. Students. Office workers. All moving with one shared understanding.

Seat first. Morals later.

If you hesitated, you trekked.

I learned to remove the softness from my face at the park. To stand closer than I was comfortable with. To position my leg at the bus door before it even stopped moving.

Abeokuta transportation taught me urgency. It taught me that “after you” is a luxury phrase. It taught me that survival sometimes looks rude.

If you did not go early, you went ready for battle.

And somewhere between pushing and panting and pretending I was not stressed, I realized something.

Adulthood is not one big lesson.

It is small humiliations.

Small adjustments.

Small fights for seats on crowded buses.

NYSC did not just teach me service.

It taught me how to secure a seat.