The Epic Nollywood Saga of a Nigerian Workweek - Ward9ice

By:  Ward9ice

From Sunday Shadows to Friday Freedom: The Epic Nollywood Saga of a Nigerian Workweek

Prologue: The Universal Struggle

Across the globe, Monday mornings are a shared human trial, a ritual of alarm clocks, coffee cups, and reluctant commutes. But in Nigeria, the experience is not just a routine. It’s a production. A full‑blown, multi‑act drama with a cast of millions, a soundtrack of honking danfos and sizzling akara, and a plot that begins long before the alarm rings.

This is the story of one man, Solomon, and his weekly odyssey from the quiet dread of Sunday night to the sweet, trumpet‑blaring victory of Friday evening.

Act One: Sunday Night — The Silent War

It’s 8:59 p.m. on Sunday. The weekend is still technically alive, but its pulse is fading fast.
Solomon lies on his bed, scrolling through his phone, pretending Monday is still a distant rumour. The fan hums lazily above him. Somewhere outside, a neighbour’s generator coughs to life, as if to remind him that reality is warming up backstage.

The WhatsApp family group begins its ritual:

“Good night o, blessed week ahead, in Jesus’ name!”, Aunty Blessing, Voice Note Prophet

Solomon replies with a single emoji, while mentally calculating how many hours of sleep he’ll get if he closes his eyes right now.

Then he sees it, the shirt he was supposed to wash for Monday. He stares at it for a long moment, then shrugs.

“We go manage am like that. Nobody died from wearing a shirt twice.”

By 11:00 p.m., he’s lying in the dark, eyes wide open, thinking about traffic, deadlines, and that one colleague who says “Happy Monday!” with suspicious enthusiasm.

The narrator’s voice echoes in the darkness:

“Little did Solomon know… the real battle had not yet begun.”

Act Two: Monday Morning — The Hero’s Return

The alarm explodes into the room like a villain’s laugh. Solomon opens his eyes slowly, whispering to himself:

“It is time… whether I like it or not.”

The duvet slides off his shoulders like a royal cape. The soundtrack swells, a mix of church choir harmonies and talking drum.

He marches to the wardrobe, flings it open, and inspects his clothes like a general reviewing his troops. In the kitchen, steam rises from his tea like ancestral blessings.

“Ah… this is not tea. This is courage in liquid form.”

Outside, Lagos‑style chaos awaits. Danfo buses screech, okadas weave through impossible gaps, and street hawkers dart between cars with trays of gala, pure water, and plantain chips balanced like Olympic torches.

A conductor leans halfway out of a bus:

“Ojuelegba! Enter with your change o!”

Solomon adjusts his shirt and mutters:

“Today, Monday will not disgrace me.”

The narrator booms:

“And so, Solomon stepped into the battlefield of Monday… armed with courage, caffeine, and the unshakable hope that Friday would come quickly.”

Act Three: The Midweek Grind

By Wednesday, the week has settled into its rhythm, a mix of small victories and quiet defeats. The coffee is less about courage now and more about survival. The WhatsApp group chat has shifted from “Good morning” memes to “Please, who has the report?”

Thursday arrives like a tired uncle at a wedding, still part of the celebration, but clearly ready to go home. Solomon’s eyes are already on the prize: Friday.

Act Four: Friday Evening — The Sweet Redemption

The sun is dipping low, painting Abuja’s skyline in gold and amber. The clock ticks toward 5:00 p.m. like a drumbeat of freedom. Solomon’s eyes lock on the second hand, each tick is a step closer to deliverance.

Then… it happens.
The clock strikes five.
The soundtrack bursts into jubilant highlife.

Solomon stands, gathering his things with the swagger of a man who has fought the good fight and won.

On the street, the air smells different, lighter, sweeter. Hawkers wave gala and plantain chips like victory flags. Okadas zoom past, danfo conductors still shouting, but today their voices sound like a celebration.

The narrator’s voice returns:

“And so, Solomon conquered the week. He faced the Monday blues, the midweek battles, and the Thursday fatigue… and emerged victorious. Until… the cycle begins again.”

Epilogue: Why This Story Feels So Real

Because it is real. Whether you’re in Lagos, Abuja, or anywhere else in the world, the arc is familiar:

• Sunday night — the quiet dread.
• Monday morning — the reluctant rise.
• Friday evening — the sweet release.

In Nigeria, though, it’s wrapped in the colours, sounds, and flavours of daily life — the danfo horns, the street hawkers, the WhatsApp broadcasts, the endless hustle.

And so, every week, the curtain rises again.
The actors take their places.
The soundtrack cues up.
And Solomon, like millions of others, steps back into the story.