MON -- 10:15 AM -- Oriade Family Flat, Mushin -- November 6th, 2006
The second letter from the Defence Academy arrived exactly three weeks after Elisha had returned from Kaduna. He'd spent those weeks in a state of controlled anxiety, maintaining his morning runs and continuing to help his mother at the market while trying not to think about the sixty spots available among nearly three hundred candidates.
This envelope was thinner than the first—either very good news or very bad news, with no middle ground.
"Nysaria Defence Academy regrets to inform you that you have not been selected for direct admission to the 2007 Regular Course. However, based on your performance during evaluation, you have been placed on the Priority Reserve List as candidate number 7. Should vacancies arise through declination or other circumstances, you will be contacted immediately."
Elisha read the letter twice, then set it down carefully on the small table where his mother sorted her market receipts each evening.
Not accepted. But not rejected either.
"What does it say?" his mother asked, though her tone suggested she was preparing for disappointment.
"Reserve list. Number seven. If seven people decline their places, I'm in."
Uncle Femi looked up from his morning tea. "Seven people? That's not so many. Rich people's children sometimes change their minds, go to university abroad instead."
"Or maybe they don't," Elisha said quietly. "Maybe seven is just enough to keep me hoping without actually offering anything real."
His mother studied him with the careful attention she usually reserved for evaluating potential customers. "What do you want to do?"
"Wait, I suppose. There's nothing else I can do."
But even as he said it, Elisha knew the waiting would be torture. Every day that passed without a call would make acceptance less likely. By January, when the new term began, his chances would effectively be zero.
---
**THU -- 2:30 PM -- Willowgrove Secondary School -- Same week**
Elisha had gone to visit Mrs. Adenuga, ostensibly to update her on his Academy application but really because he needed to talk to someone who might understand the complexity of what he was feeling.
"Reserve list number seven," she mused, leaning back in her chair. "That's actually quite good, Elisha. It means they genuinely want you but ran out of spaces."
"Or it means they want to keep me interested without committing anything."
"Cynical thinking for someone so young."
"Realistic thinking for someone who's lived in Nysaria his whole life."
Mrs. Adenuga smiled. "Fair point. But consider this: if you were just another candidate they wanted to let down gently, they wouldn't have ranked you so precisely. Reserve list number seven means they've calculated exactly where you stand relative to other candidates they couldn't accommodate."
She pulled out a folder of papers—university prospectuses and application forms.
"While you're waiting, you should consider backup options. University of Lagos has a good political science program. If your goal is public service, there are multiple paths to that destination."
Elisha flipped through the materials without enthusiasm. After months of focusing on military service, civilian university felt like settling for something lesser.
"I know that look," Mrs. Adenuga said. "You think anything other than the Academy represents failure. But Elisha, the country needs good people in many institutions, not just the military."
"The military has the power to change things quickly."
"The military also has the power to destroy things quickly. Sometimes slower change is more sustainable."
Before Elisha could respond, they were interrupted by a commotion outside—shouting, car horns, the sound of people running. Mrs. Adenuga moved to the window and peered through the louvered glass.
"Something's happening at the junction. Looks like... soldiers? And protesters?"
They watched as a convoy of military vehicles—two trucks full of soldiers and an armored personnel carrier—moved slowly through the intersection while a crowd of young people chanted slogans and waved handmade signs. The soldiers looked tense but disciplined, weapons visible but not raised.
"What are they protesting?" Elisha asked.
"Hard to tell from here. Could be fuel prices, could be university funding, could be anything. There's always something to protest in this country."
But as they watched, the dynamic shifted. Someone in the crowd threw a bottle that shattered against the side of the lead truck. The soldiers responded immediately, deploying into formation with weapons raised. The crowd scattered, but not before several protesters were tackled and arrested.
The entire confrontation lasted less than ten minutes, but it left Elisha with a sick feeling in his stomach. These were the kinds of operations he might be asked to participate in as an officer—using military force against civilian protesters, maintaining order through intimidation and violence.
"Second thoughts?" Mrs. Adenuga asked quietly.
"More like first doubts."
---
**SAT -- 7:45 AM -- Oriade Family Flat -- November 18th**
The phone call came at dawn, pulling Elisha from sleep with the jarring urgency of unexpected news. His mother answered, then called for him with an excitement that made his heart race.
"Elisha! Phone! It's about the Academy!"
Colonel Baanjidu's voice was crisp and professional. "Candidate Oriade, this is to inform you that a vacancy has become available in the incoming Regular Course. You have forty-eight hours to confirm your acceptance and report to Kaduna for immediate processing."
"Sir, yes sir. I accept."
"Outstanding. Report to the Academy Administrative Office on Monday, November 20th, at 0800 hours. Bring all documentation from your previous evaluation plus civilian clothes for the first week of processing. Welcome to the Academy, Cadet Oriade."
The line went dead, leaving Elisha staring at the phone with a mixture of elation and terror. After months of preparation and weeks of waiting, it was actually happening.
His mother had been listening from the kitchen doorway. "You got in?"
"I got in."
She moved to embrace him, but he could see tears starting in her eyes—pride and joy mixed with the knowledge that her son was about to disappear into an institution that might change him in ways she couldn't predict or control.
"When do you leave?"
"Monday. Two days from now."
Uncle Femi emerged from the back room, fully awake despite the early hour. "Two days? That's not much time to prepare."
"I think that's the point," Elisha said. "They want to see how we handle sudden changes, unexpected pressure."
The next two days passed in a blur of preparation and goodbye rituals. His mother insisted on cooking his favorite meals—jollof rice with fried plantain, pepper soup with fresh fish, pounded yam with egusi stew—as if she could somehow sustain him through memory of home cooking.
Uncle Femi offered practical advice: keep your head down during the first few months, don't volunteer for anything until you understand the real power structure, remember that the uniform doesn't change who you are underneath.
But both of them were dancing around the real question: would the Academy change Elisha in ways that would damage the person they loved?
---
**MON -- 8:00 AM -- Nysarian Defence Academy, Kaduna -- November 20th, 2006**
The Academy looked different as an accepted cadet rather than a candidate. The same imposing gates and razor wire, but now they represented the boundaries of his new life rather than barriers to his aspirations.
Elisha joined a group of thirty-seven other new cadets—the complete incoming class, drawn from across Nysaria and representing every major ethnic group and geographical region. They stood in loose formation outside the Administrative Block, still wearing civilian clothes but already beginning to move and speak with the unconscious discipline of people who understood they were being observed and evaluated.
Major Adelaja, the orientation officer from the trials, appeared precisely at 0800 hours.
"Gentlemen, congratulations on your selection. You are now Cadets in the Nysarian Defence Academy, which means you have earned the right to begin earning the privilege of commissioned service. For the next four years, this institution will be your home, your school, your testing ground, and your crucible."
He paused, scanning the group with the same analytical intensity Elisha remembered from the trials.
"The next seventy-two hours will determine whether you survive your first week. You will be issued uniforms, assigned quarters, integrated into the Academy's routine, and introduced to the standards of conduct expected from future officers. Some of you will find this adjustment challenging. Others will discover that the discipline and structure provide exactly the framework you've been seeking."
Another pause.
"Questions?"
A cadet near the front raised his hand. "Sir, when do classes begin?"
"Classes begin immediately. Every interaction you have from this moment forward is educational. Every meal, every formation, every moment of personal time is an opportunity to demonstrate the qualities that earned your selection or reveal the weaknesses that might result in dismissal."
Major Adelaja gestured toward a group of senior cadets who had been standing quietly nearby.
"These are your Fourth Year mentors. They will guide you through initial processing and orientation. Listen to them carefully. Follow their instructions precisely. They have survived what you are about to experience, which means they understand things you do not."
The senior cadets moved forward, dividing the new arrivals into smaller groups. Elisha found himself assigned to a tall, lean Fourth Year named Cadet Captain Adebayo—no relation to the general's son from the trials, but carrying himself with the confident authority of someone who had earned his position through demonstrated competence.
"New cadets, follow me. Move with purpose. From this moment forward, everything you do reflects on the Academy and your potential as future officers."
---
**TUE -- 5:30 AM -- Cadet Barracks, Academy Grounds**
The first reveille came like a physical assault. Elisha had been expecting early wake-ups, but the combination of bugle call, shouting voices, and the immediate demand for rapid response to formation still left him disoriented and struggling to keep pace with expectations.
"Move, move, move! Formation in five minutes! Anyone not in proper uniform and position in five minutes starts the day with remedial PT!"
Elisha pulled on the Academy-issue physical training uniform—gray shorts, black t-shirt, running shoes that were identical to every other pair in his barracks section. Around him, other new cadets struggled with the same rapid adjustment to institutional routine.
His roommate, a quiet young man from Kano named Abdullahi Shehu, seemed to adapt more quickly than most. His movements were efficient, economical, suggesting he'd grown up in a household where military-style discipline was normal.
"How are you managing this so easily?" Elisha asked as they rushed toward the formation area.
"My father was a warrant officer. I've been getting up at 0530 my whole life."
They made it to formation with thirty seconds to spare, joining ranks with thirty-five other new cadets who were all trying to look like they belonged while clearly having no idea what came next.
Cadet Captain Adebayo appeared in front of them, now accompanied by two other senior cadets who looked like they could handle any physical challenge the Academy might present.
"New cadets, welcome to your first Academy morning. For the next hour, you will participate in basic physical training designed to establish baseline fitness and introduce you to Academy standards. This is not a competition. This is an assessment."
The next hour tested every aspect of Elisha's physical preparation. The five-kilometer run he'd managed respectably during trials became a grueling test when performed in formation at a pace set by the fastest runners in the group. The calisthenics that followed—push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, mountain climbers—continued until several cadets were visibly struggling.
But what struck Elisha most was the atmosphere. This wasn't the hostile environment he'd expected based on movies and stories about military training. The senior cadets pushed them hard but didn't humiliate anyone. When cadets struggled, they received additional instruction rather than punishment. The goal seemed to be developing competence rather than breaking spirits.
After PT, they were marched to the dining hall for breakfast. The meal was simple but substantial—porridge, bread, tea, boiled eggs—served efficiently by catering staff who treated them with the neutral professionalism reserved for institutional clients.
Elisha found himself sitting next to Ibrahim Musa, his former bunkmate from the trials, who had apparently also been called up from the reserve list.
"How are you finding it so far?" Ibrahim asked quietly.
"Different from what I expected. More... professional, I suppose. Less arbitrary harassment."
"Maybe that comes later. Or maybe they've learned that breaking people down doesn't necessarily build them back up stronger."
Across the table, another new cadet—a Lagos boy named Emeka Okafor who'd clearly come from money based on his expensive personal items—was complaining quietly about the early wake-up and physical demands.
"This is ridiculous. I came here to become an officer, not a common soldier. Officers don't need to run five kilometers every morning."
Cadet Captain Adebayo appeared behind him so quietly that Emeka didn't notice until the senior cadet spoke.
"Cadet Okafor, you seem to have a misunderstanding about what officers do. Would you like clarification?"
Emeka turned around, suddenly aware that his complaining had been overheard by exactly the wrong person.
"Sir, I was just... I mean, I understand that fitness is important..."
"Outstanding. After breakfast, report to my office for additional instruction on the relationship between officer fitness and troop leadership. The rest of you, prepare for uniform issue and administrative processing."
---
**WED -- 2:00 PM -- Academy War Games Center -- Three days later**
The first tactical exercise came sooner than any of the new cadets expected. They'd barely mastered basic drill movements and Academy routine when Major Adelaja announced they'd be participating in a leadership assessment designed to evaluate decision-making under pressure.
"This is a command simulation," he explained as they gathered in a room filled with maps, communication equipment, and tactical displays. "You will be placed in scenarios that require rapid decision-making with incomplete information. Your responses will be evaluated not on outcomes, but on reasoning, leadership style, and moral judgment."
The cadets were divided into groups of six, with each group rotating through different scenario stations. Elisha found himself assigned to a urban warfare simulation that presented a scenario he recognized from recent news reports.
"You are a lieutenant commanding a platoon during civil unrest in a major city," the instructor, Captain Okafor, explained. "Protesters have occupied a government building. Some are armed, others are not. Your orders are to restore government control of the building with minimal casualties."
Elisha studied the tactical display, which showed the building layout, estimated number of occupants, and available resources. His fellow cadets looked to him expectantly—somehow he'd been designated as the group commander for this exercise.
"What's the timeline?" he asked.
"You have thirty minutes to develop a plan and begin implementation."
Elisha gathered his team around the display. "Okay, let's think about this systematically. What's our primary objective?"
"Restore government control," said Emeka Okafor. "That means clear the building."
"With minimal casualties," added Ibrahim Musa. "That's the constraint we need to work within."
"What if we tried negotiation first?" suggested Abdullahi Shehu. "Maybe some of them would leave voluntarily if we offered safe passage."
Emeka shook his head. "Negotiating with protesters sets a bad precedent. Shows weakness."
Elisha found himself thinking about the protest he'd witnessed at Willowgrove—the quick escalation from demonstration to confrontation to violence. Had there been alternatives the soldiers hadn't considered?
"What do we know about why they're protesting?" he asked Captain Okafor.
"Does it matter?"
"It might affect their willingness to negotiate versus their commitment to martyrdom."
Captain Okafor made a note on his evaluation sheet. "Assume they're protesting government corruption and military involvement in politics."
The irony wasn't lost on Elisha. Here he was, training to become a military officer, being asked to suppress protesters who were complaining about military involvement in politics.
"I recommend we establish a perimeter, cut off supplies and communications, and offer negotiated withdrawal," he said finally. "If that fails, we use minimum necessary force to remove them—tear gas rather than live ammunition, targeted arrests rather than mass casualties."
"What if they shoot first?" asked Emeka.
"Then we respond proportionally. But we don't escalate unless they do."
Captain Okafor watched the discussion with interest. "Cadet Oriade, you seem hesitant to use decisive force. In combat, hesitation costs lives."
"Sir, this isn't combat. These are Nysarian citizens exercising their constitutional right to protest. Our job is to maintain order, not wage war against our own people."
"And if your superiors order you to use whatever force is necessary?"
The question hung in the air like a challenge. Elisha could feel his fellow cadets watching, waiting to see how he'd handle the conflict between orders and principles.
"Sir, I would clarify the parameters of 'necessary' and ensure that any action taken was proportional to the actual threat presented."
Captain Okafor made another note. "Interesting answer, Cadet. We'll revisit this topic in future exercises."
---
**THU -- 8:30 PM -- Cadet Barracks -- Same week**
The evening news brought reports that made Elisha's simulation exercise feel prophetic. A major pipeline explosion in the Delta had killed twelve people and shut down production at three oil facilities. The Delta Liberation Movement had claimed responsibility, but government officials suggested the attack might have been orchestrated by corrupt officials seeking to manipulate oil prices.
As the cadets watched on the small television in their common room, the news anchor reported that military units were being deployed to "restore order and protect critical infrastructure."
"That could be us in a few years," said Emeka Okafor. "Leading troops into Delta operations."
"Or it could be us getting killed in an ambush because politicians and oil executives are playing games with people's lives," responded Ibrahim Musa.
Abdullahi Shehu looked troubled. "My uncle works for Shell. He says the situation down there is getting worse every month. Says the militants are getting better weapons and training from somewhere."
"Probably from the same people who are supposed to be stopping them," suggested another cadet. "Everyone knows there's money to be made from oil disruption if you know which way the market's going to move."
Elisha listened to the discussion with growing unease. The Academy was training them to become officers who would implement government policy, but what if that policy was fundamentally corrupt? What if the orders they received were designed to protect the interests of people who were stealing from the country?
He thought about his conversation with Dr. Hassan during the psychological evaluation, about subordinating personal interest to collective good. But what happened when the institution supposedly representing collective good was actually serving personal interests?
---
**FRI -- 3:00 PM -- Captain Okafor's Office -- End of first week**
The summons came during afternoon study period. Cadet Oriade was to report to Captain Okafor's office immediately. As Elisha walked across the Academy grounds, he tried to think of what he might have done wrong, but couldn't identify any specific violations of Academy rules or procedures.
Captain Okafor's office was spartanly furnished "military-issue desk and chairs, Academy photographs, a bookshelf filled with professional military literature. The captain gestured for Elisha to sit, then studied him with the same analytical intensity he remembered from the trials.
"Cadet Oriade, you've completed your first week at the Academy. How are you finding the experience?"
"Challenging but manageable, sir. The physical demands are reasonable, the academic expectations are clear, and the leadership opportunities are valuable."
"Diplomatic answer. Let me ask more specifically: how are you finding the moral and ethical dimensions of military training?"
The question felt loaded. Elisha suspected his responses during the tactical exercise had triggered this conversation.
"Sir, I find them the most challenging aspect of the training. The technical and physical requirements have clear standards, but the ethical questions often involve competing values and unclear guidance."
Captain Okafor nodded. "Such as?"
"Such as balancing loyalty to superiors with responsibility to subordinates. Or balancing mission accomplishment with protection of civilian populations."
"And how do you resolve those conflicts?"
Elisha hesitated, then decided honesty was his best strategy. "I don't know yet, sir. I hope the Academy will provide frameworks for making those decisions."
"What if the Academy doesn't provide those frameworks? What if you're expected to simply follow orders without questioning the ethical implications?"
Now Elisha was certain this was a test, but he wasn't sure what answer was being sought.
"Sir, I believe officers have a responsibility to understand the ethical implications of their actions. Following orders doesn't relieve us of moral responsibility for the consequences of those orders."
Captain Okafor leaned back in his chair. "Cadet Oriade, I'm going to share something with you that's not part of the official curriculum. There are officers in this military who believe that ethical considerations are luxuries that compromise operational effectiveness. There are others who believe that ethical considerations are essential to maintaining public trust and institutional legitimacy."
He paused, watching Elisha's reaction.
"Your performance this week suggests you fall into the second category. That's admirable, but it may also put you at odds with certain aspects of military culture and certain individuals in positions of authority."
"Sir, are you advising me to be less concerned with ethical considerations?"
"I'm advising you to be smart about how you express those concerns. The military needs officers who think seriously about moral questions, but it doesn't always reward them openly. Sometimes integrity requires strategic thinking about when and how to take principled stands."
Captain Okafor opened a desk drawer and pulled out a thin folder.
"I'm recommending you for the Academy's Advanced Leadership Track. It's a supplementary program that provides additional training in strategic thinking, ethical decision-making, and civil-military relations. The workload is significantly heavier, but the education is more comprehensive."
Elisha took the folder, feeling its weight as more than just paper.
"Why me, sir?"
"Because this country needs military officers who understand that their primary duty is to the nation and its people, not to the institutions that employ them or the individuals who command them. And because you've demonstrated the intellectual capacity and moral courage that kind of service requires."
"What's the catch?"
Captain Okafor smiled grimly. "The catch is that advanced leadership training will make you more valuable to the military and more dangerous to corrupt officials. It will create opportunities for significant service and significant moral compromise. The question is whether you're prepared for both."
Elisha thought about his mother's sacrifice to pay for his Academy preparation, about his promise to serve his country honorably, about the protesters he'd seen scattered by soldiers at the Willowgrove junction.
"Sir, I'm prepared to try."
"Outstanding. The program begins Monday. And Cadet Oriade?"
"Yes sir?"
"Remember that honor is not something you achieve once and then possess forever. It's something you choose in every decision, every day, for your entire career. The Academy can teach you how to think about those choices, but it can't make the choices for you."
As Elisha walked back to his barracks, he reflected on how much had changed in just one week. He'd entered the Academy as an idealistic young man who believed military service would provide clear opportunities to serve his country. He was already learning that service would require navigating complex moral terrain where the right choice was rarely obvious and often costly.
But as he looked at the Advanced Leadership folder in his hands, he felt a surge of determination. If the system was corrupt, then it needed officers who understood corruption and were committed to fighting it. If the institution was flawed, then it needed people who could work to improve it from within.
The question was whether he could maintain that idealism through four years of Academy training and however many years of service followed. Whether he could become the kind of officer Nysaria needed without becoming the kind of officer Nysaria tended to produce.
Only time would tell.