You wake up later than planned because you stayed up late watching a movie to compensate for how you felt on Sunday evening. That day, you had tried to get your regular Sunday afternoon nap that sets the tone for a new week but couldn’t, because as soon as you started to sleep, Asher came shouting "Aunty!" from the window of your room in her high-pitched soprano voice. You wondered how a seven-year-old could have such a loud voice. And just when you thought your mum was the one who could shout. That disruption scattered your Sunday plans. You usually fast on Mondays, so you knew breakfast was out of the question.

You leave your room around 7:40 AM and see that your aunty had already put water on the fire. So, you go ahead and sweep the house, starting outside by the side of the house where there’s a big pear tree that has been shedding leaves like crazy these days. Then, inside the house, you quickly sweep since you deep-cleaned last week and wouldn’t need to do so again this week. You mop and take care of a few dishes left in the sink from the day before because no one else would do them. You’re thankful you weren’t the one who had to light the fire because lighting the charcoal takes a lot of time and effort and wears you out. You fetch just enough water for yourself and proceed to take a bath.

You check the time, thankful that there’s still enough. You do your accounts, journal (or maybe not), then read your Bible since you prayed earlier but hadn’t yet read your daily chapter. You lay out your bed and your outfit for the day and then proceed to take your bath. You dress swiftly and notice that your aunt, uncle, and cousin are nowhere near done. "So much for bathing early," you mutter to yourself. To pass the time, you start reading John Maxwell’s book Beyond Talent. A few pages in, it’s time to go.

A few minutes past eleven, your aunt takes a turn that leads to Secretariat Junction, where you all had to pick up some yams and oranges sent all the way from Benue State. "God bless the sender," you pray silently, because you can’t guess when next you’d have eaten yam again. You’re dropped off at British American Junction, where you wonder if you should wait for the Tin City metro bus. Instead, you take a cab and head to work. Since you’d met your colleague in the cab, you chat about how she met her fiancé and the upcoming wedding preparations after you congratulated her. The rest of the ride is quiet, and you both walk to work and settle in.

Being the first day of the week, everyone is around. You watch a bit of TV, do some routine work, reply to emails, update your calendar with events scheduled for later in the week, and then tag along with the Deputy Provost (Admin) to the old site, where you could join the bus queue. Luckily, the bus to your area arrives as soon as you join the queue. You reach your junction and arrive at church just in time for prayers and couldn’t be more grateful. The Spirit flowed, and the prayer meeting was blissful. After it ended, you walked a while, bought bread, and then took a keke.

When you get home a few minutes to seven o'clock in the evening, no one is back yet. You take the key from the jeep door and let yourself in. The only thing you pull off is your shoes before the gate opens, and you realize they are back. "They’re back," you say to yourself and go to open the door. You greet everyone and head out to buy something. You visit Shadorc Bakery to see if they have popcorn, but nope, they disappointed you. So, you head back home with only the bread you were asked to get. With soup already in the fridge, your aunty asks you to prepare eba for dinner after eating boiled cassava. When everyone is done eating, you tidy up the kitchen, share some laughs, and head inside. There’s not much left to do because you’re tired from the day’s activities, so you mutter a prayer, watch some reels, and sign off for the day.

For an unplanned Monday, things turned out well. Of course, aside from the conspiracy theory the Deputy Provost talked about as we rode towards Terminus. He sounded really hurt, and all I could think of was how much he needed someone to talk to. He complained about how you couldn’t be yourself at work because of the toxic environment, with people constantly spying on each other to report to the Provost in hopes of gaining favor. I didn’t know that the reward for carrying gossip was promotion. Where were they in 2012 when we’d taught and handled other duties all by ourselves? He asked. Ma’am Helen who was with you chipped in from time to time, saying, "It’s only God that will vindicate you, Sir," as if to pacify him. You both dropped off at old JUTH and walked to the bus terminal. Along the way, she recounted her years of work, saying, "Here, there’s no reward for hardwork except more work." And you wondered if you should start doing the bare minimum too. But deep down, you know that’s not who you are. You prayed for grace and drifted to sleep.