SUNDAY ON THURSDAY: A story that almost touch

Hey, Stars! Let me tell you a quick embarrassing story about me slaying for Jesus and my country on a Thursday!

This day, I woke up way later than my usual time. Normally, I’m up by 4:30ish to pee and drink some water, after which I’d hop on the radio while responding to messages from the previous night. I’m still working on being more present on that green app. 🥴

However, today I woke up by 8:30am.
“Shoot! I’ve missed all the major news and newspaper analysis”, Was my first thought.

Apparently, my alarm had gone off but somehow I slept through it. Must have dismissed it at some point even. Missing early morning news and newspaper analysis just has a way of messing me up and getting me all cranky. No jokes. And this is literally the only routine I allow myself.

It was time to pray but there was this uneasy feeling. I couldn’t shake off the need to be in the gathering of brethrens. The time was now 8:34am; less than 30 minutes to the start of service. How was I to get ready in half an hour and be in church on time, brah? Making breakfast was my first call to action.

So here’s the gist…

I don’t like going to church on empty stomach. It’s just not my thing. Cereal, munchies, fruit, proper meal… Something must enter my mouth before service. Heck, I don’t even fast on Sundays, especially if I’ll be going to church.

Went into the kitchen to boil some rice before facing the impossible task of finding a last minute church wear that wouldn’t require ironing. There was also the desire to wear a native attire or at least infuse colour green into my ensemble. It was the Sunday before Nigeria’s Independence Day after all!

Safe to tell you that yours truly didn’t leave her apartment earlier than 9:35am, and that was without eating (running too late) but definitely left behind a room littered with clothes and jewellery. This must be a girl problem. Isn’t it?

OOTD was white peplum blouse, a torquoise blue short skirt with Ankara detailing at the back, black plum heels, black and gold accessories finished off with a large blue and green scarf. My freshly tinted purple dreadlocks were neatly tucked under my scarf giving me Yoruba/Fulani look.

My scent? I smelled like bubble gum! My perfumes and oils were carefully selected and mixed to achieve this. You should’ve seen me! I looked so gorgeous, and hugging me would have left you feeling especially glad you did.

Talk about slaying for Jesus, and for my country.

Did I mention that it began to rain as I was about to leave the house? Actually there was a light shower earlier which I didn’t know about (explains why I didn’t get up early by the time). Yo, your girl can legit sleep through a storm. That’s a story for another day. 😅

I left home with an umbrella and rubber slippers. Despite walking gingerly, I still managed to splash mud on my bag, skirt and white blouse. Don’t even get me started on how my legs looked. Eish!

Anyway…

The first thing I noticed as I alighted from the cab was that my church banner which is usually hung on the gate wasn’t there. We hold our services in the banquet hall of a hotel. After washing off the mud at the tap, slipping on my heels and adjusting my outfit in the window-cum-mirror, I climbed the stairs up to the hall.

The second sign that put me off was seeing the hotel workers, in uniform, moving around the compound. In my almost two years of worshipping here, I’d ran into any of the hotel staff. Not ever.

Another flag was me not hearing children voices from where the junior church usually held service.

Something is off. I thought.

Now I was at the church door mouth. Rolled up my umbrella, put it inside my bag, final outfit adjustment and taar kra taar kra… my beloved brethren, the door was locked.

Locked?

Surely I’m not that late that I won’t be let into my Father’s house, right?

Or has rapture…? Nah, no way. God forbid!

Then it hit me. I pulled out my phone to confirm my suspicion and here’s what I saw.

Exactly, I thought Thursday was Sunday. I dressed up and actually reached the entrance of the church before realising it was the wrong day of the week.

My gosh! Was I embarrassed or what?

At this point, the hotel staff were beginning to look at me wondering what the heck I was doing there. Shame won’t even let me change my heels or bring out my umbrella. I simply re-entered the rain wearing my four inches and bowing my dreaded head to avoid meeting anyone’s gaze. They must have figured it out.

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This is where I’d like to remind you that I’m an African, a Nigerian from the Yoruba tribe at that. Of course, we believe everything happens for a reason. Durrr! On the ride back home, I kept looking for an excuse to explain away what just happened.

Maybe there’s something God was trying to avert by making go to church on a Thursday thinking it was Sunday.

Perhaps God needed to bless those people I met on the road with the beauty that is me.😉

Could it be that God was trying to give me a good story to blog about?

Because far from me to admit that it was just a stupid move not to have checked what day it was, notice that the people I met on the road weren’t as dressed up as I’d have expected on the Sunday before Nigeria’s Independence Day which is usually a funfare characterized with extravagant dress-ups in every nook and cranny of the country.

Oh, how dare we blame my joblessness?!

PS:

The last time I remember this happening to me was back in primary school when I woke up from an afternoon nap thinking it was a new day and started preparing for school 😅.

This incident happened two weeks ago and I had a good laugh at myself that morning, ate a full bowl of rice with rough pepper garlic & ginger fish stew washed down with a glass of white wine before going back to sleep.

Yup! Perks of being a freelance *wink wink*

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Tell me, have you ever experienced this or anything close? Do share in the comment section.

S/O to Adekunle Ijaiya for helping with this post.