If one day were set aside as my favourite day of the week, without any doubt, it will be Sunday, for so many reasons, it's a work-free day for most workers and a weekend break for students. And for us Christians, it's a common tradition to dress glamorously to church, which is the highlight of the day for me.
I've spent more than 3 decades on earth, and all through these years, I've never had a bad and regrettable Sunday except this day.
"Are you ladies not done yet?" My dad bellowed for the umpteenth time from the sitting room, his voice echoed through the hallway and straight to our rooms, we could sense the frustration in his voice, as I hurriedly decided on the shoe to pair with my dress.
Mum, on the other end of the big vanity mirror on the wall, firmly knotted the last knot on her scarf, taking a few moment to fix her lipstick, feeling satisfied with reflection on the mirror, she took her purse on the stand, gave me the 'hurry up look' and stood up quickly to go meet her already impatient husband.
Every Sunday morning was a chaotic routine, every one waking early to prepare for church, and dad always shouting impatiently at us like he's officiating the service himself, with his usual threats to leave us behind. Well, he did one when he officiated the opening prayers that Sunday.
Still, we were always among the first family to make it to church. I always wondered why dad would never understand that a man's preparation time should never be compared to a woman's own.
We arrived at church, and as usual, one of the first few families to arrive, and the church service was lit,spirit-filled and soul-elevating as expected, the choir taking on the praise session like they received an extra help from the angels. I danced and swayed my hips like no one's business as they sang.
Soon, it was time to close, as the grace was shared, as I opened my eyes, I saw that everywhere seemed dark, oh, it was going to rain, not now, I thought.
Alas! Showers of blessings, Pastor Mike remarked as the congregation rounded up the last verse of the grace. As if his remark motivated the clouds, the rain poured now more than showers, it was like raining cats and dogs outside, as Lagosians would say.
We had no choice but to wait it out, even though the service was closed, yet the rain didn't seem like it was going to end, heaven was more than generous pouring down its waters, so that a few hours passed.
Thankfully, it finally eased again, and dad signalled for us to be in our way, as the rest of the other families.
Our church was not too far from the house, so sometimes we walked to church just like this very day, but dad wished he drove that day, but that wish was soon diminished when we arrived at a junction that was flooded, and it was also the only route to our house.
"Oga no road o", a bike man warned Dad as we moved closer, "water has taken over everywhere"
"E carry one pikin go", another woman with her trousers folded up to her knees added. I began to panic
But dad held on a stern look as we moved forward, we saw people trying to move across the water, some moved confidently, while some, mostly women, moved with fear and had to be held by the men who offered assistance.
It was my first experience of flooding, and now I understand better why lagosians would always cry out to our government in the news to construct more drainage and waste systems.
"Don't be scared, hold me" Dad said as we rolled up our trousers, ready to dive in with our legs. I saw a man lift up his young daughter around his neck and wished I were as small as her. Dad would have probably carried me the same way, but I was 15 and already as tall as a 30-year-old lady, so that wish was impossible. Having no other hope, I held my breath as the cold brownish water hit my leg.
"Spread your legs apart as you move", Dad said, holding me firmly. The current was definitely strong, pushing my tiny, long legs. Mum held on to his other hand. If I could read her mind, I et, she wished we had skipped church today.
In about a minute, we made it to the other side of the water, and I released a breath of relief and wished we never had to go through this kind of Sunday again.
We finally reached home, with soaked clothes and muddy feet. Mum was muttering under her breath, probably thinking, "Next time, we are skipping church, whenever rain is forecasted on a Sunday, but Dad was trying to keep a straight face, and I saw the hint of a smile on his face, probably wishing, maybe next Sunday, they would try to prepare on time.
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