I grew up in a public yard—one of those crowded compounds where ten families shared one big house, one water tap, and a single bathroom. To outsiders, it might have looked like a place of noise and trouble, but to me, it was a world full of lessons, laughter, and life.
Our room was the smallest one, squeezed in the corner, right next to Mama chibuike's kitchen where she sold akara every morning. The smell of hot oil and beans would sneak through our window, waking us up before the rooster had the chance. My siblings and I would line up to use the bathroom, each one knocking impatiently like we had an important appointment to catch.
In the public yard, privacy was a luxury. You could hear the neighbor’s fight, baby cries, or evening prayers through thin wooden walls. But even with the chaos, there was a rhythm to it all. We looked out for one another. If your pot of soup was about to burn while you fetched water, someone would shout, “Your fire o!” If you had no garri, someone would surely offer you a cup.
There were quarrels too plenty of them. Over noise, water, sweeping turns, or who left the bathroom dirty. But by evening, after the sun softened and everyone had eaten, we would gather in the open yard. Children ran around playing "suwe" and "ten-ten", while adults shared gossip, roasted corn, or watched the small black-and-white TV placed near the gate.
One day, rain fell so heavily that it flooded the whole yard. Buckets floated, slippers disappeared, and water soaked through the rooms. But that night, instead of sadness, the yard turned into a celebration. We all moved to the dry corridor, lit kerosene lamps, and shared stories. Someone even brought out a drum. The laughter echoed beyond the compound walls.
Living in a public yard wasn’t easy. But it shaped me. It taught me patience, community, and resilience. Now that I live in a flat of my own with my own tap and bathroom, I still remember those days. I remember the smells, the voices, the fights, and the fun. The public yard gave me more than just shelter it gave me stories and a second family.
Thanks for your time and for reading to the end
