I grew up in a time when happiness didn’t need charging.

Evenings were not silent, they were alive. The street would fill with laughter as soon as the sun softened. We played ten-ten, suwe, police and thief, and sometimes football with a ball that had seen better days. Nobody cared if it was torn—we cared that it rolled.

Our parents didn’t hover. They simply said, “Be back before it’s dark.” And somehow, that was enough.

Food tasted different then not because it was expensive, but because it was real. Freshly fried puff-puff sold by the roadside, hot akara wrapped in old newspaper, jollof rice cooked over firewood that carried a smoky flavor no gas cooker has ever truly replicated. We didn’t call it “organic” or “local” it was just food. And it brought us together.

There was community in everything. Your neighbor could correct you. Your friend’s mother could feed you. You could walk into any compound and feel, somehow, at home.

Life was simple but it was full.

Now, things are different.

The streets are quieter, not because there’s peace, but because there’s absence. Children are indoors, eyes glued to screens, their laughter reduced to emojis and voice notes. 

Parents are more protective now, not without reason but somewhere along the line, childhood started shrinking.

Children are learning too much, too fast.

They are pressured to perform, to excel, to “be something” before they even understand who they are.

And the adults?

We are tired.

Everyone is chasing something, money, stability, relevance. The same streets that once echoed with play now carry the weight of survival. Conversations have changed from “come and play” to “how far? Any update?” Stress has become normal. Rest feels like a luxury.

We are connected to the world, yet strangely disconnected from ourselves.

Sometimes, I miss those evenings.

Not just because they were fun, but because they were free. Free from pressure, from comparison, from the constant feeling that we are running out of time.

I wonder, did we lose something important in the process of growing up as a country? Or is this just the price of evolution?

Maybe progress isn’t wrong. The world will keep moving, whether we like it or not.

But maybe, just maybe, we need to pause long enough to remember:

To let children be children again.

To laugh without checking the time.

To sit outside, feel the breeze, and talk, really talk.

Because in chasing a better life,

we shouldn’t forget how to actually live one.