Hell? Please. I live in Nigeria (I)
A tale of Kuffy Eyo vs. the Nigerian bureaucratic machine
Even if I were a Christian, I would not be scared of Hell because I live in Nigeria. This country, this so-called giant of Africa, must be competing for “Best in Dysfunctional.” Because tell me why, it goes out of its way to screw up the lives of its citizens.
Unfortunately, I am one of such unlucky souls, and in the last couple of months, I have had to deal with one of its most evil arms—the Nigerian bureaucratic system.
While I wrote most of this essay between April 7th and 9th of this year, the National Youth Service Corps’ (NYSC) recent decision to move 60% of graduates from the 2025 Batch A stream 2 to Batch B compelled me to edit and publish it. So join me on my descent through the rungs of this inferno.
We start in the first week of November 2024, when I was filled with the joy and future possibilities after completing the immense undertaking that was my medical internship (housemanship).
Once I was done with my internship, I needed documents to process my full registration with the Medical and Dental Council of Nigeria (MDCN). These documents required a chain of signatures from my training hospital, and this meant I was at the mercy of people not being “on seat,” others who would use a whole week to pen down their signatures, and consultants going on strike. I spent 3 weeks shuffling between offices and saying “Yes ma” and “Yes sir” before my paperwork was processed to a point where I could leave my host city of Port Harcourt.
The documents were finally processed and shipped to me on December 17, 2024. But my road to full registration had barely begun. In the meantime, I was caught in a tussle with another and more agonizing bureaucratic nightmare—the Joint Admission and Matriculation Board (JAMB). Yes, the same parastatal that failed 400,000 students recently because of a “glitch.”
In my case, and for reasons best known to my university and JAMB, I had learnt that my name was not on the JAMB Matriculation List. I found this out on their site, and they recommended that I take my JAMB result and admission letter to my school’s student affairs department. I got back to Calabar in early December 2024, and by the 2nd, I was trying to sort the issue out.
I went to the Students Affairs Department of the University of Calabar, Calabar, Cross River State, Nigeria. The representative there said, " No, it’s not us that handles this; go to the admissions department.” And so I did.
At the admissions department, I was directed to an office where the man in charge was even more lost about how to help. So I rang up a classmate who had had the same “name not on matriculation list” issue with JAMB, and he told me that the way to fix it was to go to the JAMB office, pay about 1700 naira and print my JAMB result again. I was like, “Oh, sharp. This should be easy peasy.” Haha, cute girl.
I got to the JAMB office in Calabar by 11 am that day and was promptly informed by security to come back another day. He told me at the gate that they had taken in all the people they would be attending to that day. Mind you, my house is on the outskirts of Calabar, and the journey to the JAMB office takes about an hour, but what choice did I have? They held my destiny in their hands.
The next day, I was there by 8 am and was immediately discouraged by the crowd of desperate “candidates” standing in the morning glare. For four hours, I too stood. Yes, stood. Because they wouldn’t even open the gate for us to sit on benches within the public-owned compound. In the fierce December sun, I, Dr. Kufreabasi Eyo, who had written JAMB over 10 years ago, sat on a small elevation by the gutters along the roadside.
Fine girl like me. But no wahala, no be naija we dey? Way must dey. As you do with drawn-out parastatal encounters, I found a staff member to bribe.
Oh, you thought I was above bribery? Well… we all have principles, but the reality of these bureaucratic confrontations is that you must drop something if you want something. By then, my brain was fried from the sun and my bum aching from sitting on the coarse concrete. But even with my promise of a little something-something, I was advised to return another day because “there was no network.”
A few days later, I was back at the celestial gates of the JAMB office—my third opportunity to grovel for admittance. By God’s (money’s) grace and after an hour outside, I was allowed to enter the compound funded by taxpayers. From 9 a.m. to 3 p.m., I had a seat. A hard, wooden bench without a backrest. But why would I be ungrateful when the holders of my destiny had offered me this honor? This “honor” that ended up with my not being attended to because “there was no electricity.”
Mind you, the JAMB office has a generator. They just would not turn it on. By 1 pm that sweltering Monday afternoon, I was ecstatic to have the office supervisor finally grace her workplace with her presence. I assumed that meant operations would resume. Haha, cute girl.
This woman, visibly annoyed to see us in the people-funded parastatal, demanded that we go home and that “they had finished work for the day.”
Still, we stuck around, clinging to hope, smiles flooding our weary faces as she asked junior staff to turn on the generator for some administrative work. But Mrs. Supervisor swiftly commanded staff not to attend to us, even when they had taken pity on us and said they would. Defeated, I decided that that would be my last time at the Calabar office.
By the 15th of December 2024, I was in Abuja, and my plan was to take my problems to the JAMB office at Kado because I felt that FCT branches would be more efficient and organized.
Okay. Okay. Please, I just remembered another bureaucratic experience I need to share. So, for now, let's put a pin in JAMB wahala and briefly rewind to November 12th, 2024, when I did my biometrics at the Immigration passport office in Port Harcourt, Rivers State, Nigeria.
Through an officer in the service, I paid 23,000 naira over the official amount to have my passport prepared because he told me my file would rot in the office if I didn’t include “settlements.” Through him, I got my biometric appointment and was ushered through the crowds on the day. The passport officers informed me that my passport would be ready in 6 weeks, but even with my officer friend, it took over two months and an extra 5,000 to have my passport ready because “there were no booklets.”
Apparently, they were using the booklets for people who had paid for express processing and Detty December returnees who were flooding into the country for Christmas festivities. But I was okay with the delay because I didn’t need the passport urgently. Hence, my not paying an extra 25,000 for express delivery.
Okay, we are done with that brief detour. Let’s go back to December and Jamb Office Kado, FCT, Abuja, Nigeria.
As I had expected, this office was organized. There were shaded seats for everyone. I got there by 7:30 am, and even though I was 26th in line, I was called in within an hour. But of course, it can never be that picturesque. To balance out the organization, good network, and electricity, I had to be attended to by the rudest, loudest, and most aggressive civil servant I have ever met.
This man was not just threatening me and every other “candidate” he attended to; he made me waste 5000 naira to solve a problem that I did not have. He refused to listen to me when I attempted to explain how my friend had solved the same issue and warned me to stop acting like I knew more than him. This man proceeded to print out a document that I was meant to submit to my Vice Chancellor’s office, all the way in Calabar.
By 1 pm that mid-December day, I was home and looking for a friend to help me submit a copy of the document to the VC before the University closed for the Christmas break on the 20th. Thankfully, while I was making arrangements, I scrutinized the document and found out it was meant for people who had transferred institutions and needed their previous institution to revoke their admission so their graduating institution could reflect on the JAMB database.
Mind you, Mr. loudmouth had repeatedly asked if the school I graduated from was my JAMB first choice, to which I repeatedly said yes. It was even on my JAMB account that I had never transferred institutions, yet instead of admitting his confusion and listening to my solution, he made me waste my time and money.
For what it's worth, which was a lot, the Kado office visit allowed me to create a JAMB account, and so I didn’t have to be present physically to have my result slip printed and my problem solved. The next day, I called my Calabar contact, and he rectified the issue. Of course, money exchanged hands, and I was glad to be on the giving end. The relief at having scaled through this hurdle was immense, but little did I know. MDCN and NYSC were waiting for me.
(To be continued)
Author’s Notes:
The last two weeks have been crazy for me and I am proud of myself for putting out the part 1 of this two part series.
I’ve been planning an electronic dance music event called NOCTURNA in the city that I call home— Calabar. That is mostly why I have been so exhausted. I’ll tell you guys all about it after it’s over. So probably the entry on the 15th of this month.
Thank you so much to Ofem Ubi for the photographs. You should check out his site.
What did you think about this though? I’d love your comments
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Till next time.
I couldn't stop relating and laughing. God help us in this country 😂
You can never know with Nigeria my dear, there’s no government office that is clean. The officials obtain, torture and scam people who go there to do one business or the other. Just name any establishment and you will get their stories.