Dear Diary, My Morning Was Full of Crap (Literally)

Dear Diary,
January 7, 2025

I am not an actress, so I wonder why my life is full of drama.

Today, I was so mad that I began to laugh. Ask me what happened? I woke up at 6 a.m., and all I wanted was a quick hot bath to kickstart my day and set the tone for how serious I want 2025 to be—according to my vision board. But GUESS WHAT?

My morning was full of crap (literally).

I brushed my teeth, stepped into the shower, and scrubbed my skin. Then, there it was—a stench. The unmistakable stench of poop, seemingly coming from nowhere.

Now, let me explain: I’m the kind of person who keeps the bathroom windows open during showers, even in the coldest weather. So, I stepped out of the shower to sniff the bathroom air because, knowing my respiratory sensitivity, I couldn’t risk suffocating. But outside the shower smelled normal.

Here’s the thing—my nose is exceptional, so I knew exactly what I was smelling. Growing up, my youngest sister and I were my mother’s go-to “early warning system” for detecting anything unusual. If we could smell it, it meant trouble was nearby, and action needed to be taken. So, I was absolutely certain this wasn’t a distant smell. It was imminent.

I stepped back into the shower, and the stench was even stronger. My quick shower had now become a full-blown investigation. Was the city water tainted? Impossible! People drink this same water. I couldn’t leave the shower knowing I smelled that unmistakable stench of poop on me.

Then, I thought perhaps my soap wasn’t doing enough, so I contemplated using my scrub, whose familiar scent always reminds me of my mother. But before I began to scrub, I decided to take a whiff of the city’s air through the window for some clarity—my nose just didn’t seem to be making sense today. So, I stepped out of the shower again, poked my nose outside the window like a curious cat, and smelled…nothing. Frustrated, I turned back, and as I re-entered the shower, my eyes landed on the culprit.

Poop. Yes, poop. Smearing the showerhead filter.

Tears rolled down my cheeks. My mind raced with fury. Have I been bathing with someone else’s poop?

It was just me and Jackass in the flat. No one else could be blamed for this heinous crime. The last time I was here was 6 a.m. yesterday, and I hadn’t even pooped in days! I stood there, quiet for what felt like an eternity, while a thousand revenge scenarios played out in my head.

Why? Why would someone do this?

We live in a house with perfectly functioning toilets to take care of such business, for heaven’s sake! Why leave such ginormous, stinky evidence behind?

For context, when I’m mad, I get calm—almost eerily calm. My mother always said, “When Olu is quiet, something has either gone terribly wrong or she’s deep in thought.” People assume I’m well-behaved, but inside, I’m either simmering with rage or lost in my own mind. And when I speak in those moments, my words are so measured and deliberate that they could slice through a soul. So, I told myself to stay calm. If I was going to retaliate, it had to be precise—enough to ensure she’d squirm in a situation so absurd she’d carry the memory for a lifetime, passing the story down to anyone who’d listen.

As I stood there, however, my soul chose to go beyond calculated calmness. Instead, it gave thanks to God—at least I didn’t drink water from the showerhead like children sometimes do. But then a horrifying thought struck me: water could have passed through my mouth… I may have rinsed my mouth with water from the showerhead—I sometimes do that. The realisation hit me like a wave. I almost fainted. The tears intensified.

I contemplated leaving the poop there, storming to Jackass’s door, and dragging her by her hair to clean the entire place. But I realised I was shaking—from both the cold and my anger. So, I did the next best thing. I thoroughly washed the showerhead, stepped back into the shower, and took a second bath, scrubbing myself as though I was cleansing my soul from this early-morning onslaught.

It took me almost an hour to feel clean again. I even rinsed my mouth with warm saltwater—just in case.

Still, the anger brewed. You see, for the past three years, I’ve had to clean up Jackass’s accidents more times than I care to count. I don’t know if this is some strange Cape Verde souvenir she’s brought into the house, but it’s now beyond ridiculous.

I was tempted to vent on our WhatsApp group. But then I remembered my promise to the housekeeper after the last kerfuffle with the landlady. No more drama. I was never going to say a word in that group again.

As I fumed, I opened my Hallow app for some spiritual grounding. The reading of the day was on love. I sighed and told God, “I can’t love this one. I’ve tried. I’ve resolved many times every morning when I woke up, but some people are simply unlovable. Jesus, it is what it is.”

I told myself it was a mistake. But why, Lord, must I always be the one to discover these mistakes? Why are her mistakes so repetitive? Why is it always me?

Then I paused.

Isn’t love about considering others in the little things? Isn’t it about keeping things better than we found them? Was it only in Nigeria that we were taught these values? Or was it just my mother, raising the bar so high that I now struggle to live with people who smear poop on shower filters—or leave them to marinate in the toilet bowl?

At that moment, I remembered my grandma’s St. Patrick’s breastplate prayer. Growing up, she made us recite it every morning. I always argued, “Grandma, why do we need so much of Christ for ourselves? What about leaving some for others?” But now, standing there, I understood.

What a way to begin the year, right? I can hear Grandma Alice now, with her gentle wisdom and sharp tongue, saying, “Olu, trials come to strengthen your spirit, but child, even saints would struggle with a poop-smeared showerhead!” Oh, Grandma, I have had enough already!

As I write this, I realise there’s something absurdly comic in the madness of it all. Life is really a stage, and I’m apparently cast in a sitcom I didn’t audition for. Perhaps I’m being trained to be the next St. Patrick of Shower Filters—binding, loosing, and sanitising, all in one breath. My mates are fighting spiritual battles, and I am here—waging war in the bathroom.

But jokes aside, I’ve decided to hold on to this: love is an everyday, deliberate act. It’s messy, sometimes quite literally, and it requires a grace I often don’t feel I possess. So, instead of vengeance or even passive-aggressive WhatsApp messages (which I cannot even express), I choose silence and complete forgiveness. And in it, I’ll find strength—not to let people walk over me, but to walk away from the parts of life that threaten my peace.

So here’s to Grandma Alice’s prayers. Here’s to choosing laughter over bitterness and grace over grudges, even when it feels impossible. And here’s to the hope that one day, Jackass learns to aim better—be it in life, in conversation, or wherever her Cape Verde trophy gets the better of her.

As for me, I’ve had my soul-cleansing bath AND I WILL ALWAYS WASH THAT SHOWERHEAD GOING FORWARD BEFORE I EVEN START MY BATH. My anger is spent, and I’ll leave the rest to Christ—because truly, I cannot bear this burden alone.

Sincerely,
This same Olu,
Recipient of endless trials, but also endless grace.

P.S. If this is what 2025 has in store, I’m buying rubber gloves in bulk.

Grandma’s Alice Everyday St. Patrick’s prayer –
I arise today, and I bind me
To the Name of the Trinity,
Invoking faith in the Threeness,
Confessing might in the Oneness,
The Three in One, the One in Three!
Christ with me,
Christ before me,
Christ behind me,
Christ in me,
Christ beneath me,
Christ above me,
Christ on my right,
Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down,
Christ when I sit down,
Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.
I arise today, Through a mighty strength,
in the Name of the Trinity,
Invoking faith in the Threeness,
Confessing might in the Oneness,
The Three in One, the One in Three!
The Creator of creation.
Amen.