Military training is not easy and definitely not fun. Some experiences are worth sharing but some are so humiliating that these experiences remain on the training facility after we leave. None other than the ones who’ve gone through a grueling military boot-camp would know what I’m talking about. The harshness of going through the training among fellow country men is one thing, but imagine going through this among foreigners in a foreign country.
It was eight years ago, I arrived at New London, Connecticut at the US of A. Home to the US Coast Guard Academy. I was received at the airport by a very nice young African-American woman. On the way to the Academy we did a good amount of chit chat which I had to cut short when I found out she was going to be my instructor for the next four months. Choosing my words carefully I made friends with my new instructor, who was a Lieutenant (a captain in our rank structure) in the USCG.
After spending my night at a visitor accommodation in the Academy premises, I was woken up by the knocks on the door. The same instructor was standing in full uniform. She told me to pick up my luggage and follow her asap. I thought it could be the uniform, but she wasn’t the nice woman I met the day before anymore. I changed, washed myself and packed my luggage and followed her. I didn’t have time to look around the foreign environment of the academy as I was struggling myself with the luggage, which was heavy as hell. I have over-packed as always.
I was taken to a storeroom where I put away my entire luggage. She then directed me with a drill sergeant gesture into a hall. The hall was filled with confused looking faces of to-be future officers of the USCG. It was a mixture of gender, race and color. We were not allowed to say a word. They gave us a bunch of forms to fill. The environment was so intense. I was given a name badge with my last name ‘Mujuthaba’ written in capital. Underneath my name was engraved ‘United States Coast Guard’. From this point on I knew I was one of them and was I right.
When our self introduction to Officer Candidate Class of 04-00 was over, I found out that I was one of the two international students taking part in the training. The other guy was Haitian. The class had a blend of academic degrees. Officer Candidate School (OCS) was for civilians as well as military enlisted personnel from all the military branches of the US. We had personnel from USCG, USMC, USAF and US-A. Me? I was from the Maldives National Security Service (Now, Maldives National Defence Force). After being addressed by the Chief of OCS, we were taken to the barber.
No, we didn’t have a say in the style of our hair cut. They just trimmed the sides and the back of the head to zero. I didn’t mind this, as I knew this was something coming. It was sad to see some of my new classmates losing their well cared hair. So we walked back again in a single line, hands by the sides (not swinging), eyes front and squaring corners. It would be a funny scene to watch an OC walk but wasn’t funny when we actually did it. I was then taken to the uniform area, where I was given the USCG uniforms. Officially I’m OC Mujuthaba of the USCG. To be continued…
