Well, it’s been somebody’s weekly routine - Solomon

-Feature story-

By: Ward9ice

THE WEEKLY BLUES

Prologue

Across Nigeria, Monday isn’t just a day. It’s a production, a chorus of generators, hawkers, and hope, where millions step into character and the city plays the score. Our protagonist, Solomon, walks the arc we all know: dread, rise, grind, release.

Sunday night

The clock says 8:59 p.m., but your weekend spirit insists it’s still afternoon. The fan hums. A neighbor’s gen clears its throat. WhatsApp family broadcasts bloom with blessings. You reply with one emoji and a mental calculation of possible sleep.

You spot the “Monday shirt” you meant to wash. You stare. You rationalize. You choose peace. The room dims. The ceiling becomes a blank cinema screen. Somewhere in your head, a narrator intones: the real battle hasn’t begun.

Monday morning

The alarm arrives like a villain with perfect timing. You rise in slow motion, duvet falling like a cape you didn’t know you owned. Wardrobe inspection becomes troop review. In the kitchen, steam swirls, this is not tea, this is courage.

Outside, the city is choreography: danfo conductors, half‑airborne, okadas threading needles, trays of gala and plantain chips balanced like medals. You adjust your shirt, whisper a pact with the day, and step into the traffic of destinies.

Midweek grind

By Wednesday, the soundtrack softens into repetition. Small wins stack like coins; small losses nip like mosquitoes. Thursday leans in, tired but loyal, pointing toward the finish line you can almost taste.

Friday evening

The sun paints Abuja in warm golds. The second hand becomes a drumbeat. At five, the highlife erupts inside your chest. You stand taller, lighter. The street air tastes sweeter. Hawkers wave like you’ve won something. Maybe you have.

The narrator returns: he faced the blues, the battles, the fatigue, and emerged. The curtain falls. The sequel is already in production.

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

“This is not tea. This is courage in liquid form.”

“Today, Monday will not disgrace me.”

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

“At five o’clock, the highlife erupts inside your chest.”

 

Well, it’s been somebody’s weekly routine. What’s yours like? I mean, just asking … Cheers!