Monday Squared

It was last year, during my internship at Coca. A typical Monday morning. The rainy season had already started. But after a dry weekend, I hoped the day would stay clear. I put on my best clothes and, boldly, my bright white shoes.

Our supervisor, Mr. Hawoltu was such a charismatic leader. He didn’t just teach us about punctuality. He demanded a certain professionalism—a way of carrying ourselves, not just in how we worked but how we presented ourselves. Clean, sharp, and *civilized.

By 6:30 AM, I was already on a bus heading to Torhayloch.

It started raining lightly during the ride, but I didn’t think much of it. By the time I neared my destination, it felt like the skies had opened, and the rain was pouring with a vengeance.

People were huddled under buildings, waiting for the rain to stop.

The roads were slick, and water was already starting to pool in some areas. When the bus stopped, and I got off, the rain miraculously eased, as if it was teasing me.

As I began walking toward the compound, I spotted my friend who was heading in the same direction. He was going to a shop near Coca. We walked together, chatting, as the water slowly started to gather along the roadside.

My friend suggested we cross the road earlier. “Let’s cross now,” he said, eyeing a spot where the water wasn’t as deep.

“It’s fine,” I said. “We’ll cross at the corner.”

He gave me a doubtful look. “Alright, your call.”

We kept walking, talking about nothing in particular. When we finally reached the place I had suggested for crossing, I realized how wrong I had been. The water was overflowing across the road.

My friend looked at me, shaking his head. “Told you we should’ve crossed earlier.”

I sighed. He was right.

“We should go back and cross where it’s safe,” he said, starting to turn around.

My stubbornness kicked in again. The last thing I wanted was to admit defeat after dragging us all this way.

“No,” I said, staring at the rushing water. “We can jump over this. It’s not that bad.”

He raised his eyebrow. “You’re going to jump over that?! Go ahead.”

I glanced at the distance. It wasn’t too far, but the water looked deep, and my bright white shoes were already screaming for mercy.

I stepped back and took a running start.

I ran. I jumped. And just like that, I landed—straight into the water. Not just a splash, but a full, sloshing mess that soaked my shoes and the bottom of my pants.

“Oh man, I can’t believe you actually tried that!” My friend burst out laughing. (But why, Ermi? You’re the only person in the world who found that funny.)

I stood there, feeling the cold water seeping into my socks, the once-pristine white shoes now murky gray. It was a disaster, and I knew it.

Worse, Ermi hadn’t even crossed yet, and now he had the luxury of going back to the safer crossing point.

He calmly walked back to cross where it was safe.

I waited, stewing in my frustration and wet shoes.

When he finally crossed and caught up to me, he couldn’t resist throwing a few more jabs my way.

“Next time, just listen,” he said with a grin.

We found a nearby shoe-shining boy to clean up my mess.

But the damage was already done. I walked into the office with damp socks and shoes that would never look the same again.

That day, I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened. Why had I been so stubborn? Why hadn’t I just taken the safer route?

Fast forward to last week’s Monday—I found myself in a similar situation. There I was again, facing a flooded street, just when I was about to cross the road.

I remembered what happened last year. I remembered the laughter of my friend.

I chose to go back all the way to a safer spot to cross.

While my shoes stayed dry, it left me thinking.

In both, I felt like I’d lost something. It was my shoes last year and my time now.

Why had I been so slow to act? Why hadn’t I just crossed when I saw the road was clear?

Again, I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened.