11/22/2025
The memory is still sharp, a cold, sickening punch to the gut.
It was years ago, a time when my business was still a fragile thing, and every transaction, every payroll, was handled in cash.
I was on my way to pay my staff—the lifeblood of my operation—when the world tilted. In a flash of violence and fear, I was robbed. Every naira meant for my employees' livelihoods was gone.
I remember the crushing weight of that moment, not just the loss of the money, but the stark, brutal realization that followed.
I stood there, shaking, tears welling up, ready to plead my case to my team. But a quiet, cold voice in my head whispered the truth: your staff cares about their salary, not your tears.
Their rent, their children's school fees, their next meal—that was the only reality that mattered. My personal crisis was just noise.
The clock was ticking. I was broke, the business was teetering, and the pressure from my staff was a relentless, necessary force. I had to move, and I had to move fast.
That desperation led me to the Okirika (fairly used clothes) market. It was a world away from my usual business, a raw, unforgiving hustle.
I started small, picking up clothes not even bales from a supplier and taking them to the open market. My car became my mobile shop, packed with clothes.
Every day, I was out there, a man pressed for time and survival, selling to make enough to cover the debt and the next payroll.
Then, I noticed a strange, beautiful anomaly: my sales spiked on Sunday.
It was counter-intuitive. In Nigeria, Sunday is a day of rest, a day for church and family. The market is quiet, almost deserted. Many vendors, even those struggling, would proudly declare, "I don't open on Sunday."
Imagine that. A broke, desperate man, clinging to the edge of financial ruin, saying, "I'll take a day off." The sheer arrogance of it, the luxury of resting when the wolf was at the door, was a lesson in itself.
But here's the secret I uncovered: The competition was resting, but the customers were not.
Many of my Sunday buyers were the "busy individuals"—the ones who couldn't make it to the chaotic market during the week.
They were the ones with disposable income, looking for a quick, hassle-free transaction.
They were there, money in hand, and because the competition had chosen to observe a self-imposed day of rest, I had the entire market to myself.
My rent counted Sunday.
My staff's salary counted Sunday. The interest on my debt counted Sunday.
The bills don't take a day off, so why should the hustle?
The Business Lesson for Every Entrepreneur
This is a powerful reminder for every business owner, especially those just starting out or fighting to survive:
The greatest opportunity often lies where the competition refuses to go.
In business, the "Sunday" is any self-imposed limitation, any conventional wisdom, or any inconvenient time slot that your competitors avoid.
• Your "Sunday" is the early morning or late evening customer service.
• Your "Sunday" is the niche market your rivals deem too small.
• Your "Sunday" is the complex problem they refuse to solve.
If you are hungry, if you are fighting for survival, you cannot afford the luxury of conventional rest.
Your business needs you to be where the customer is, even if it's inconvenient, unconventional, or goes against the grain of what everyone else is doing.
Don't rest even on Sunday. Find your competition's day of rest, and make it your most profitable day of the week.
That relentless pursuit, that willingness to do what others won't, is the difference between surviving and thriving. It's the difference between tears and triumph.
I hope this inspires you!
Joy Akinlolu writes
