I wake up, unsure what time it is. Can’t remember where my phone is. I doze off a little, waking again not knowing how many minutes extra I’ve slept.

I look up at the windows. Slightly lit. Must be 5am thereabout.

I grope in the slightly dark room, on my bedsheets, for my phone. There it is, on some pack of old books squeezed into a corner of my bed.

6 : 08 am. Says my phone. I rise, listening to the honking of cars on the road beside our house gate. The construction workers hadn’t begun work on the uncompleted building beside ours, but I can hear the splashing of water. The workers are probably taking their bath in the open, behind the wooden fence of their building.

Normally, I would start my day with a key activity on my 7 daily habits list. But today, I had the urge to twist the plot a little.

I had no data to check messages and updates on social media, so I go to a university campus some few meters from our house.

Wi-Fi was free there.

I dress up, blue jean shorts and a green top. I slip into my slippers and slip out of the room. Roommates still snoring, drunk with sleep.

I off some main lights in the house and exit the main gate, forgetting to brush my teeth or wash my face. I intend to not be long.

But as I trek on, greeting a few vendors that were sweeping their sites to begin their sales, an idea dawned on me – why not take a longer stroll?

A tempting proposition.

I get to the university nearby, connect to the Wi-Fi but the damn Wi-Fi wouldn’t allow my phone to sip the internet juices within it. But I’m an old dog who never gives up. I roam around the building till I chance upon the spot with strong Wi-Fi connection. Connected!

And like a flood, my messages start loading. I spot an important one and read the details.

I send a few messages. To exes. Potential lovers. And out-of-my-leagues, hoping my hook makes a good catch.

I decide to act upon the silly idea that occurred to me earlier. I walk on, taking in the fresh morning breeze. It was a form of exercise. Destination: another university further down the road. But my real motive for going there is a food joint. A favorite porridge joint. That seller has been there since my senior high school days, and the quality of her food hasn’t fallen like many others that began well.

And as I become exhausted from the long walk, I pray earnestly that she would be there. I had gone there a few days ago and the place was closed. Perhaps because of the recent heavy rains.

On my way, I spot many cars hurrying to work. I wish I won’t be spotted by an old acquaintance because of my looks. I was in very casual wear.

Thankfully, I find what looked like a shortcut. I had never used it and because of the long nature of this alternative, it would be so sad if it turned out to be a dead end. I would have to walk back, wasting precious energy and time.

I take it all the same, my doubts mounting as I descend further.

At a point, I was sure I had made a mistake. I asked a security officer of the construction site along the path.

“Is there a road from here to the main road?”

“Yes. This way.” he said, pointing.

I turn. Oh, there! The path practically coiled itself around the construction site and joined the main road. I wouldn’t have found it without his help.

And all the time I was on the shortcut, I lamented the stretches of fine virgin vegetation lying waste instead of being used to grow food. No wonder food prices in the city had skyrocketed.

The new government was trying its best to improve lives in the country, but it all doesn’t depend on the government. Individually, there is so much to do.

I reach the main road, relieved I hadn’t made a mistake. I hurry on and finally make it to the university’s main entrance.

Campus looked deserted. School will reopen in a few days time. I feared my favorite porridge seller might not be there.

I pray and double my steps, stretching my neck to look at the spot while still miles away.

“Thank God!” I gasped when I spotted her large barrel that housed the porridge.

I had forgotten to meditate and pray before leaving my room and so I decide to pray silently while walking to campus.

When I spotted the food seller, my prayers turned to praise.

I didn’t want God to think food was the root of my joy. Well, what was wrong with being excited upon seeing food as an adult? We are all children, of God, of course! And we have the right to a certain percentage of childishness once in a while.

I buy what I will take as breakfast that morning, and remembering the long trek to this place, I buy for the next day.

A three-day fast had been declared in church and I didn’t want to think about it as I unpacked my food and helped my self with the contents.

Sitting under a shed meant for graduate students, I let my mind wander while I sip my porridge.

It was nice to follow one’s daily routine. It was also great to break them routines apart and let oneself roam carefree and live as one pleases. At least, just for a day.

Then I spot a man washing a car. Perhaps it was his car. But a woman arrives in another car, a red Toyota corolla. She is a Muslim, in veil, quite beautiful.

Her husband must have bought it for her, I assume. Or maybe she bought it herself.

She parks, rolls down a glass and say something to the man washing the car. It was then I knew the man was only there to wash cars.

Soon, he was done with the first car and began washing the second.

I take my eyes off them and focus on some messages on my phone, interrupted by phone calls from friends who needed some favors.

I spot an old man under a nim tree some distance from where I sat. He is speaking to himself, in sign language. I stare at him for long time, unable to shake the discomforting discovery off my mind : that the mute too have problems they wish to share, and sometimes there’s no one to hear them.

I turn just in time to catch the Muslim woman returning with some items to her red car. The washer was done.

She spots a blemish on the car and points. The washer goes to clean the indicated spot, saying something I couldn’t hear. He stands by the door of the car while the woman is seated inside, behaving like a little boy about to receive candy from a school teacher.

The woman hands him a note. I see the color. Sea blue. The highest of our denominations.

That was too much for washing a car! The woman must be very generous.

I see the happy look on the man’s face. He bites a lip, dust a part of the building next to where he stood, smiling at God-knows-what.

Joy was threatening to blow up the fine wiring in his skull!

The woman notices the effect of the gesture on her recipient, smiling to herself as she drove away.

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