If your knees weren’t decorated with at least three fresh scratches, you hadn’t really played that day. Back then, childhood was a badge of honour measured in bruises, dusty feet, and the smell of sweat mixed with sunshine. Parents didn’t have to ask where you’d been as the evidence was written all over your body.
We were the generation whose playground had no roof. The sky was our ceiling, the streets were our arena, and the soundtrack was the rhythmic clap of ten-ten, the hollow thud of a football hitting a wall, and the occasional “Yeee!” when someone tripped over a stone. We didn’t need Wi-Fi; we had wild fun.
Games That Needed Legs, Not Batteries
Hide-and-seek wasn’t a button you clicked, it was a chase that tested your lungs and your wit. You could hide behind Mama Risi’s giant gown hanging on the line or squeeze yourself under Baba Alabi’s rickety Peugeot. The unlucky ones hiding near the goat pen risked being sniffed out or licked in the face. And when you heard “I see you!” ah, you ran as if the crown of the kingdom depended on it.
We hopped through Suwe squares until our chalk lines disappeared, forcing us to redraw them with broken bottles. We chased tyres like professional race drivers, our “cars” made from Bournvita tin covers nailed to sticks. The fastest boy in the neighbourhood wasn’t the one with the newest trainers, but the one who could vanish in seconds after plucking mangoes from a tree that wasn’t his.
When Pain Was Part of the Fun
Our mothers were the emergency clinics of the street. With warm water, salt, and sometimes Ori (shea butter), they patched us up without sympathy for the tears rolling down our faces. “Shebi I told you not to jump that gutter?” they would scold, even as they dabbed our wounds. Pain didn’t send us to bed, it sent us limping back outside with pride. That scar? Proof that you played with the best of them.
The Champions of Today
Now, the “World Champions” are sitting indoors, eyes glued to glowing screens, fingers dancing over controllers. They know every cheat code in FIFA, every shortcut in Candy Crush, and every trick in PUBG—but they’ve never climbed an almond tree or played Suwe barefoot under the hot sun. Their battles are fought with Wi-Fi signals, not with improvised goalposts made from buckets and stones.
Of course, it’s not entirely their fault. The streets are busier, the air isn’t as clean, and parents worry more than ever. But you can’t help asking yourself.. are we raising children with strong thumbs but weak knees? Kids who can build castles in Minecraft but have never built one from real sand?
The Bond We Built
Our childhood wasn’t just about the games, it was about the lessons we didn’t even know we were learning. We discovered teamwork while pushing a stubborn bicycle up a hill so everyone could have a turn. We mastered negotiation when deciding who would keep the football overnight. We learned patience by waiting for your friend’s strict father to allow him out to play. And we learned resilience every time we dusted ourselves off and kept going.
We didn’t pause games the only “pause” was when Iyami called you for an errand, and you ran there and back as if your life depended on it, so you wouldn’t miss your turn. We didn’t need avatars—we were the avatars.
Today’s children will have their own stories to tell, and their own memories to cherish. But for those of us who grew up with scars, sweat, and sunshine, the memory is a soft pillow for the heart. And sometimes, when life gets too serious, you just want to run down a dusty street again, bare feet slapping the ground, hearing the echo of your friends’ laughter, and knowing that, for that moment, the world was yours.
Published on August 9, 2025
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