It’s Monday morning.
You wake up with a smug smile on your face. There is artificial darkness all around you as NEPA has kept the electricity to itself. This fact does not dampen your mood as you had already ironed clothes for the week two days ago.
You go to the bathroom and open the tap-a few drops of water trickle out and eventually stops after five seconds. You shrug this off because you remembered to store water in buckets, bowls and tea spoons the night before; all you have to do now is have your bath at lightning speed to combat the early morning cold.
You put on your makeup with the glow of your fully charged rechargeable lamp since you are still engulfed in darkness.
When you get to work, your colleagues complain that there is no water in the dispenser as you sip water from your flask which you brought from your house.
Later on, you go to the ATM to withdraw some cash. You use your knuckles to key in your PIN because you’re not sure that the key pad has ever been cleaned.
When you withdraw your cash, you count it while standing in front of the machine, to the annoyance of the people waiting in line behind you.
You stop at the canteen to buy one wrap of Moi-Moi. You sit at a table in the corner and bring out a bowl with fried fish from your bag, because you already know that the Moi-Moi won’t have anything inside it.
The Office Security Guards greet you profusely as you walk past them which makes you suspicious as they barely acknowledge you on any other day. But then you remember that it’s the end of the month; they assume that your salary has been paid and expect that there was ‘security allowance’ included.
You read a text message from your Boyfriend saying that his flight to Lagos that morning was good, which you find interesting because his post a minute ago on Facebook showed ‘Abuja’ as his location.
You decide to go to your bank to make a payment. There is only one Teller attending to twenty customers. You smile and sing all of Phyno’s songs in your head as a form of meditation, and you are in a serene state of mind when it finally gets to your turn on the queue.
You drive with confidence past fuel queues because you filled your tank top the brim two days ago. You drive at the lower spectrum of the speed limit to conserve fuel, ignoring the loud blares of horns of the cars behind you.
You get home and look lovingly at the kegs of diesel in your backyard, like they are your children. ‘Thanks for being there for me’, you whisper to them.
As you get into bed at the end of the day, you wonder if your trust will ever be restored.
Ivie M. Eke.
Previously published on The Sparkle Writers Hub in March 2017.