Here is Monday Again
So quickly Monday shoved its head up again. Right and lucky for those who were promised payment on Monday, and to others, lets be truthful a continuous sweaty week begins. These days i was not sure in identifying who is who going.
It was not as if i did not have a work. Going daily to your place of work in a public transport gives you a whole lot to think about. I would say despite the whole craziness that lie in a bus, it is in fact the only objective way you can assess yourself as being sane.
Thoughtlessly, my eye skimmed through the window: a way of heaving myself off daily tension from thinking about work ahead, but allow my thoughts to wander off on its own. That makes me feel sane, or at least temporarily has been making me feel that way.
The queue at bus stops, was always a thing, giving the frustrated way workers, students and appointment keepers constant clocked themselves by checking the time. Monday stress by 6:15am was getting on them already, with no bus at sight.
Some even trying to flag down cars.
The look of those behind the wheel (those in private cars) could not be compromised. With most unconsciously having a squeezed face as they moved slowly in the hold up. To others used to the route, i assume tried to give an unreadable expression, but amidst all boldness in it, we could see the same end result.
The struggle for the fittest is daily. In Lagos, Nigeria we are never going to get out of this stress. Our fine days will always be worth it, i always hoped.
My gazing and thoughts kept flowing till this particular act dribbled my thought.
A boy crossed briskly to where my moving bus was, obviously to the entrance of a school opposite the road, when i heard him sigh in distress, as he fully approached the bus area. I would have assumed i heard wrongly, but clear enough for my twingling ears in the morning, ready to pick up any signal as my thoughts did, I convinced myself to a fact that i must have heard him say this, “One day my 5am hustle will be worth it”
I wondered what stage he had gotten to in life to know what hustle meant, studying his patterned uniform, facial structure and height in concluding that he probably was a junior secondary school student. In reality, i had to caution myself as the bus tugged forward, it was not in my place to doubt or question whatever experience the boy had.
Looking down at my wristwatch, and then up to the traffic, knowing time will be the only thing by passing in a steadily fast direction but the hustle for the fittest will be everyday . Sighing and for the first time during the journey relaxing my head to the window, I was most likely going to be late for work, and there was nothing i could do about it, maybe that was the only reality that was needed.