A Typical Saturday Morning in an African Home

Saturday mornings in an African home are never ordinary. They carry a rhythm, a drama, and an unspoken law that everyone somehow understands, even without a family constitution.

Perish the idea of “weekend rest.” In an African home, every Saturday is National Environmental Sanitation Day whether or not the government declares it.

The alarm clock is definitely not your phone’s ringtone. It’s your mother’s voice slicing through your dreams, or the sound of brooms sweeping, pestles pounding, or plates rattling like cymbals in a marching band. By 6 a.m., something or someone must announce the commencement of the day.

My mum is always the first to rise. A few seconds later, her voice would echo through the house:
“Wake up! Day never break for your eye?”

Meanwhile, your eyes are tightly shut, still in darkness. But in her world, the sun is shining, and you’re simply refusing to acknowledge it. You try to pretend you’re still asleep, but it’s a trap. By the time she flings open your door and yanks your bedsheet, you’re already negotiating with heaven for strength.

Everyone knows Saturday morning is never complete without chores. You’re either scrubbing bathroom tiles until they gleam, dragging buckets of water like a mini weightlifter, washing the car as if it had a wedding to attend, or running errands faster than a delivery service. Worse still, you could be dispatched to grind beans or tomatoes at the neighbourhood shop, while the machine screamed louder than your own protests.

The tasks are never assigned democratically. Parents handed out roles with the authority of a military commander:

* The first-born will most likely sweep and mop the entire house.

* The second-born is sentenced to washing plates and pots, including the ones that are already clean (because“wash everything again!”).

* The last-born? Bring bucket. Fetch broom. Hold torchlight. Basically, Apprentice-in-training.

Every African Saturday has its soundtrack. It could be gospel music thundering from the sitting room, old-school highlife, or reggae classics that Dad swore were “real music.” Sometimes it was Mum’s favourite radio preacher.

And of course, the volume is never below 100, and nobody in the house, or the neighborhood has a choice.

One moment you’re scrubbing the floor, the next, you hear mom passionately singing “Akanchawa” or “We Are in Battle” such that you’d think she co-wrote the song.

Still, there was always one sweet reward waiting. As the house gleamed like a palace and everyone smelled faintly of detergent, a heavenly aroma drifted from the kitchen. Moi moi, akara, or the unforgettable beans-and-plantain combo

You sit down not just to eat but to celebrate survival, like a soldier returning from battle, medal in one hand, spoon in the other – weary, but triumphant.

Saturday mornings in an African home were noisy, chaotic, and full of drama. But they were also full of love, laughter, and unforgettable memories. They shaped us more than we realized by teaching discipline, resilience, and the art of turning chores into stories worth sharing.

So, what was your own Saturday morning like growing up? Was it the gospel songs blasting at full volume, the smell of akara in the air, or the dreaded “wash every single pot in the kitchen” routine?

Everyone has that one memory that instantly transports them back. We’d love to hear yours.

Share your favorite (or funniest) Saturday morning routine.

 

 

...Sweet Lilian