. . .
MONDAY, 9 OCTOBER, 2017
This is around the time the alarm rings, I think in my sleep. I wake up just before my phone blares off. I scurry for my phone in the dark and check the time. It’s 4:59 a.m. Wow, my mental clock is spot on again. Does this mean it’s going to be a wonderful day?
It’s Monday. Work is usually crazy today; all the work we lazily left in anticipation of the weekend. A stream of my boss in action comes to mind. I don’t let it weigh me down. I have to prepare for work.
I get out of my nighties and hop into the bath. I’m all done in mere minutes.
Skirt or pants? I catch myself tinkering. Pants, I decide. I want to look smart today as I don’t know what to expect.
I dart to the kitchen and fry me some eggs. There’s a quarter loaf of bread on the slab. I fetch 3 slices. I look at my watch for the time. It’s 5:30 a.m. I really need to speed things up. I quickly empty my plate, more like gobble.
I’m out. The streets are usually empty this early in the morning except for bag snatchers that draw at your bag if you’re not holding it tightly. I clench the handle at the thought. A danfo pulls over at my front. The conductor doesn’t need to shout this early. The madness hasn’t begun yet. He says almost in a whisper ‘Ikeja’, and I board.
I’m at work. It’s crazy; customers keep calling and appearing with all sorts of worries. The fear of marketing is the beginning of healthy living. But I asked for this, I trained for this, for months.
A message buzzes in. I check. It’s Tobi. I wince. What does he want to say this time? I read the message:
You had the whole weekend
to write back to me. Are you
chickening out of our pact?
You got to be kidding me.
I’m so not replying this.