**It has always been my dream to serve in the Nigerian Army.** It wasn't because of the money or fame, not the honour or glory received by soliders and certainly not for the jungle boots and camouflage. ![17463118796241203927900278914532.jpg](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmdK7x5wYgyuFuujuxqM3xq14sgBk8gA4B9TnJt4BB2mmk/17463118796241203927900278914532.jpg)_{[Portrait of a Light-Skinned Woman in a Camouflage Holding a Rifle](https://www.pexels.com/photo/portrait-of-a-woman-in-a-camouflage-clothing-holding-a-rifle-4964929/)}| -| My primary purpose was to serve my country. I dreamt of making the world better, in my little ways, for my generation and the generations to come. I wanted to do that, not sitting behind computers, but right behind a fully loaded rifle capable of blowing up someone's brains in a split second, just as my uncle. I loved the thought of pulling the trigger on people — real bad people. **My family was against it.** They felt it was uncommon for a child, particularly a girl to dream of such horrendous stuff. My father particularly was worried for my safety. He didn't want any harm coming to his angel. So, he told me stories of brave soldiers who fought for the love of their countries in thick forests without a conducive place to stay and away from their loved ones, except for their brothers and sisters in-arm. He discussed how they go through tough trainings and extremely stressful conditions. **One day, he gifted me a book **"Zoya"** by Danielle Steel.** The story revolves around Zoya, the young cousin to the Tsar who flees St. Petersburg to Paris to find safety during the Russian Revolution and first World War in Europe. After reading the story, he told me about his experience during the Nigerian-Biafra Civil War and how vulnerable people were molested and murdered. Later on, he asked me what I thought about soliders who lose their lives in the battle field. I felt it was barbaric for humans to pursue peace through lethal force when they can simply dialogue and negotiate terms together. My mother added that she didn't want her child to be surrounded by the sounds of nuclear bombs, machine guns and firearms. This profession might be honourable but it affects your psychology, the longer you stay and the messier it gets. I refused to let my family's concerns dissuade me from dreaming and believing. **Then one day, my uncle returned on leave to meet his family.** He would gather my cousins and I around the living room and narrate his experiences. During one of his stories, he mentioned how he opposed the authority of a senior military personnel during his early days and the consequences of that action. He never regrets any moment, still that story made me reflect deeply. I dislike being pushed or shoved around. And if I must obey an order, then you must provide me with enough information to know why you need me to take that action. In the military, this is not so. First, you are told what to do and you must perform the task right away without hesitation or questioning. To make matters worse, my family later detected that I was struggling with an eye defect. The ophthalmologist prescribed an extremely high dioptres and suggested that I limit engaging in high-impact activities and strenuous exercises. I could no longer particular in sports like basketball despite my height and certainly not weightlifting or pull ups. This was the last straw that broke the camel's back. It dashed my dream of joining the Nigerian army at 18. I still wish it was possible to pursue this dream job. _{Special invite goes to @etoro, @bossj23 and @josepha}