₦airaland Forum

Looks like a slice of cake

Olofofo247ng:
Have you ever lived in this kind of house or are you currently living in a house like this? Share your experience and let's have some fun 😊.

My God no go allow me live for this kind place

Normal level...

Lagos island way

Amotolongbo:
Na so so family to family fight dey happen for this kind of apartment. What causes the fight most is one pikin beating another pikin, na so e go turn fight of two mothers.

Another wahala is that there will always be a woman who no go dey get everything, na so so borrow borrow everyday sotey she go come knock your door for night to borrow stove to cook.

The very unfortunate part is agbaya married men and jobless bachelors assault young girls when they are just developing boobs and end up deflowering them when their parents are not at home 😭😭

You, your eyes don see shege for the kwantree.. see as hin dey analyze

Olofofo247ng:
Have you ever lived in this kind of house or are you currently living in a house like this? Share your experience and let's have some fun 😊.

Every morning, the sun hits the peeling yellow and blue walls of our three-storey building like it’s personally saying, “Oya, wake up Lagos!” I dey live for the second floor, the one wey get the long balcony wey always full of clothes like one big, colorful flag of survival.

The smell of *moin moin* and *akara* from Mama Soliu downstairs usually wakes me before my alarm. Iya Isila store dey always open early—those her colorful plastic buckets and pure water sachets don already arrange like soldiers. Sometimes I go downstairs with sleepy eyes, buy bread and *Agege* butter, and she go shout, “My customer! How body?” Even when NEPA take light, her generator go dey cough and sing like old Fuji music.

Life here no dey quiet at all.

From the first floor, you go hear Alhaji Soliu’s voice calling his boys to load goods. From the third floor, Sister Funke children dey run up and down the stairs like say na Olympics, their laughter scattering everywhere. My own balcony na the real theater—every Saturday morning, my clothes, my neighbor’s bedsheets, and Mama Aisha’s hijabs go dey dance together in the breeze like they’re having their own owambe.

When rain fall, everybody rush out like soldiers to pack clothes. “Temi, your own don fall o!” “Ah! My white shirt!” Na so we go dey laugh, even when water dey enter the house small small. But that same rain go later bring cool breeze for evening, and somebody go plug phone play *Ayra Starr* or old *King Sunny Ade*. We go sit for the corridor, share groundnut and *zobo*, dey gist about everything—from fuel price to who dey date who for the compound.

At night, the building looks like one big Christmas tree with different generator lights and lantern light glowing from different windows. You go smell different pots—somebody dey cook *efo riro*, another person dey do *jollof*, another dey do *amala*. The aroma go mix together like one big family pot.

Sometimes I stand on the balcony, look down at the compound, the rusty gate, the blue drum wey we dey fetch water from, the small children playing *suwe* under the umbrella... and I just smile.

This house no perfect. Paint dey peel, stairs dey creak, and sometimes toilet dey misbehave. But e get heart. E get soul. E get people wey go check on you when you no come out for two days. People wey go say “Pele” when you lose job, and “E go better” like say na prayer.

And every time I climb those steps with heavy legs after work, the moment I see our balcony full of color, I know say: *I don reach house.* ❤️

Na so we dey do am for here. No be just building—na whole life.

lagos island itafaji or bamgbose or ojuina

God forbid

lolz , idumota, mushin. this kind house plenty there

Chai ! Memories !!!! Thank God for life sha ! That’s all I can say !

Olofofo247ng:
I once lived in this kind of house in Mushin. 24 rooms, one prepaid meter, and a single toilet that everybody was expected to wash “after use” but nobody actually washed. My room was sandwiched between Mama Kemi who fried akara by 4am and Brother Taye who was learning keyboard with earphones that didn’t work. So every morning was a remix: akara oil hissing, “Do-Re-Mi-Fa”...blasting from next door, and NEPA doing their own percussion by taking light immediately your water in the kettle starts boiling. The real wahala was the bathroom queue. If you mistakenly forget your bucket outside, you’d meet it converted to eba container by the yard kids, or worse, find Papa Ndu’s wrapper hanging on your line with a note: “Abeg manage am, rain beat me.”

The peak madness was when our landlord’s son installed one CCTV camera facing the corridor after too many slippers went missing. First night, light went and the whole building gathered to watch “playback” with phone torch. We caught Mama Sikiru’s goat chewing the wire, two teenagers kissing by the tank, and Uncle Emma sleepwalking with only a towel and chewing stick. By morning the camera itself had disappeared. Landlord asked who took it, and 15 tenants shouted in unison: “Na NEPA!”...Till I left the house, nobody knows if it was a person or NEPA spirit that stole the camera.

This is freaking funny, I’m sure when you think about those times now, you go just Dey laugh alone like a 🤐😂🤣🤣

I can imagine 😂 😂 😂 😂 😂 😂 😂 😂 😂

Olofofo247ng:
I once lived in this kind of house in Mushin. 24 rooms, one prepaid meter, and a single toilet that everybody was expected to wash “after use” but nobody actually washed. My room was sandwiched between Mama Kemi who fried akara by 4am and Brother Taye who was learning keyboard with earphones that didn’t work. So every morning was a remix: akara oil hissing, “Do-Re-Mi-Fa”...blasting from next door, and NEPA doing their own percussion by taking light immediately your water in the kettle starts boiling. The real wahala was the bathroom queue. If you mistakenly forget your bucket outside, you’d meet it converted to eba container by the yard kids, or worse, find Papa Ndu’s wrapper hanging on your line with a note: “Abeg manage am, rain beat me.”

The peak madness was when our landlord’s son installed one CCTV camera facing the corridor after too many slippers went missing. First night, light went and the whole building gathered to watch “playback” with phone torch. We caught Mama Sikiru’s goat chewing the wire, two teenagers kissing by the tank, and Uncle Emma sleepwalking with only a towel and chewing stick. By morning the camera itself had disappeared. Landlord asked who took it, and 15 tenants shouted in unison: “Na NEPA!”...Till I left the house, nobody knows if it was a person or NEPA spirit that stole the camera.

OverCalculating:
Which kind of university is that? This kind of environment is not even ideal for any kind of university. Please, expose the institution and let's keep pushing it untill it is shutdown.

Oh boyy e, na you be that for your profile?? That's massive baby 🥹🥹

No, but no. 111 keeps appearing to me everywhere. Twice today.

I haven't lived in such a building and hope to never live in such.
But, angel numbers are following me everywhere. What is it?

Olofofo247ng:
Have you ever lived in this kind of house or are you currently living in a house like this? Share your experience and let's have some fun 😊.

Disaster loading

God.. this kind place na stuff of nightmares.

Godd housing is a primary part of happiness.

Unfortunately, many persons in Nigeria cannot afford even a moderate house again

Have you been to Lagos island before? Dem plenti

Olofofo247ng:
I once lived in this kind of house in Mushin. 24 rooms, one prepaid meter, and a single toilet that everybody was expected to wash “after use” but nobody actually washed. My room was sandwiched between Mama Kemi who fried akara by 4am and Brother Taye who was learning keyboard with earphones that didn’t work. So every morning was a remix: akara oil hissing, “Do-Re-Mi-Fa”...blasting from next door, and NEPA doing their own percussion by taking light immediately your water in the kettle starts boiling. The real wahala was the bathroom queue. If you mistakenly forget your bucket outside, you’d meet it converted to eba container by the yard kids, or worse, find Papa Ndu’s wrapper hanging on your line with a note: “Abeg manage am, rain beat me.”

The peak madness was when our landlord’s son installed one CCTV camera facing the corridor after too many slippers went missing. First night, light went and the whole building gathered to watch “playback” with phone torch. We caught Mama Sikiru’s goat chewing the wire, two teenagers kissing by the tank, and Uncle Emma sleepwalking with only a towel and chewing stick. By morning the camera itself had disappeared. Landlord asked who took it, and 15 tenants shouted in unison: “Na NEPA!”...Till I left the house, nobody knows if it was a person or NEPA spirit that stole the camera.

Quite an experience 😂

BUTTERMILKSUGAR:
What kind of life is this?

How do you mean what kind of life is this. Not everybody are privilege.
With this house, I can still tell you that they're still millionaires living there

Sphinx419:
My current apartment and I won't allow it bring me down... We might be poor today but there is always a hope for men

How old are you

Olofofo247ng:
I once lived in this kind of house in Mushin. 24 rooms, one prepaid meter, and a single toilet that everybody was expected to wash “after use” but nobody actually washed. My room was sandwiched between Mama Kemi who fried akara by 4am and Brother Taye who was learning keyboard with earphones that didn’t work. So every morning was a remix: akara oil hissing, “Do-Re-Mi-Fa”...blasting from next door, and NEPA doing their own percussion by taking light immediately your water in the kettle starts boiling. The real wahala was the bathroom queue. If you mistakenly forget your bucket outside, you’d meet it converted to eba container by the yard kids, or worse, find Papa Ndu’s wrapper hanging on your line with a note: “Abeg manage am, rain beat me.”

The peak madness was when our landlord’s son installed one CCTV camera facing the corridor after too many slippers went missing. First night, light went and the whole building gathered to watch “playback” with phone torch. We caught Mama Sikiru’s goat chewing the wire, two teenagers kissing by the tank, and Uncle Emma sleepwalking with only a towel and chewing stick. By morning the camera itself had disappeared. Landlord asked who took it, and 15 tenants shouted in unison: “Na NEPA!”...Till I left the house, nobody knows if it was a person or NEPA spirit that stole the camera.

Olofofoooo!!!

IyanAtiEgusi:
na who tap that ur nyash last?

Hahahhahaa
Madt Man 😂😜😁😁

Olofofo247ng:
I once lived in this kind of house in Mushin. 24 rooms, one prepaid meter, and a single toilet that everybody was expected to wash “after use” but nobody actually washed. My room was sandwiched between Mama Kemi who fried akara by 4am and Brother Taye who was learning keyboard with earphones that didn’t work. So every morning was a remix: akara oil hissing, “Do-Re-Mi-Fa”...blasting from next door, and NEPA doing their own percussion by taking light immediately your water in the kettle starts boiling. The real wahala was the bathroom queue. If you mistakenly forget your bucket outside, you’d meet it converted to eba container by the yard kids, or worse, find Papa Ndu’s wrapper hanging on your line with a note: “Abeg manage am, rain beat me.”

The peak madness was when our landlord’s son installed one CCTV camera facing the corridor after too many slippers went missing. First night, light went and the whole building gathered to watch “playback” with phone torch. We caught Mama Sikiru’s goat chewing the wire, two teenagers kissing by the tank, and Uncle Emma sleepwalking with only a towel and chewing stick. By morning the camera itself had disappeared. Landlord asked who took it, and 15 tenants shouted in unison: “Na NEPA!”...Till I left the house, nobody knows if it was a person or NEPA spirit that stole the camera.

If you write a full novel like this you will make a lot of money.

That mama wey get that shop downstairs naim I dey reason im matter cuz na she be IMF plus data storage center for that building

Nice note I love the write up

Olofofo247ng:
I once lived in this kind of house in Mushin. 24 rooms, one prepaid meter, and a single toilet that everybody was expected to wash “after use” but nobody actually washed. My room was sandwiched between Mama Kemi who fried akara by 4am and Brother Taye who was learning keyboard with earphones that didn’t work. So every morning was a remix: akara oil hissing, “Do-Re-Mi-Fa”...blasting from next door, and NEPA doing their own percussion by taking light immediately your water in the kettle starts boiling. The real wahala was the bathroom queue. If you mistakenly forget your bucket outside, you’d meet it converted to eba container by the yard kids, or worse, find Papa Ndu’s wrapper hanging on your line with a note: “Abeg manage am, rain beat me.”

The peak madness was when our landlord’s son installed one CCTV camera facing the corridor after too many slippers went missing. First night, light went and the whole building gathered to watch “playback” with phone torch. We caught Mama Sikiru’s goat chewing the wire, two teenagers kissing by the tank, and Uncle Emma sleepwalking with only a towel and chewing stick. By morning the camera itself had disappeared. Landlord asked who took it, and 15 tenants shouted in unison: “Na NEPA!”...Till I left the house, nobody knows if it was a person or NEPA spirit that stole the camera.

Olofofo247ng:
I once lived in this kind of house in Mushin. 24 rooms, one prepaid meter, and a single toilet that everybody was expected to wash “after use” but nobody actually washed. My room was sandwiched between Mama Kemi who fried akara by 4am and Brother Taye who was learning keyboard with earphones that didn’t work. So every morning was a remix: akara oil hissing, “Do-Re-Mi-Fa”...blasting from next door, and NEPA doing their own percussion by taking light immediately your water in the kettle starts boiling. The real wahala was the bathroom queue. If you mistakenly forget your bucket outside, you’d meet it converted to eba container by the yard kids, or worse, find Papa Ndu’s wrapper hanging on your line with a note: “Abeg manage am, rain beat me.”

The peak madness was when our landlord’s son installed one CCTV camera facing the corridor after too many slippers went missing. First night, light went and the whole building gathered to watch “playback” with phone torch. We caught Mama Sikiru’s goat chewing the wire, two teenagers kissing by the tank, and Uncle Emma sleepwalking with only a towel and chewing stick. By morning the camera itself had disappeared. Landlord asked who took it, and 15 tenants shouted in unison: “Na NEPA!”...Till I left the house, nobody knows if it was a person or NEPA spirit that stole the camera.

Lol

OGOLMEKZ95:
Every morning, the sun hits the peeling yellow and blue walls of our three-storey building like it’s personally saying, “Oya, wake up Lagos!” I dey live for the second floor, the one wey get the long balcony wey always full of clothes like one big, colorful flag of survival.

The smell of *moin moin* and *akara* from Mama Soliu downstairs usually wakes me before my alarm. Iya Isila store dey always open early—those her colorful plastic buckets and pure water sachets don already arrange like soldiers. Sometimes I go downstairs with sleepy eyes, buy bread and *Agege* butter, and she go shout, “My customer! How body?” Even when NEPA take light, her generator go dey cough and sing like old Fuji music.

Life here no dey quiet at all.

From the first floor, you go hear Alhaji Soliu’s voice calling his boys to load goods. From the third floor, Sister Funke children dey run up and down the stairs like say na Olympics, their laughter scattering everywhere. My own balcony na the real theater—every Saturday morning, my clothes, my neighbor’s bedsheets, and Mama Aisha’s hijabs go dey dance together in the breeze like they’re having their own owambe.

When rain fall, everybody rush out like soldiers to pack clothes. “Temi, your own don fall o!” “Ah! My white shirt!” Na so we go dey laugh, even when water dey enter the house small small. But that same rain go later bring cool breeze for evening, and somebody go plug phone play *Ayra Starr* or old *King Sunny Ade*. We go sit for the corridor, share groundnut and *zobo*, dey gist about everything—from fuel price to who dey date who for the compound.

At night, the building looks like one big Christmas tree with different generator lights and lantern light glowing from different windows. You go smell different pots—somebody dey cook *efo riro*, another person dey do *jollof*, another dey do *amala*. The aroma go mix together like one big family pot.

Sometimes I stand on the balcony, look down at the compound, the rusty gate, the blue drum wey we dey fetch water from, the small children playing *suwe* under the umbrella... and I just smile.

This house no perfect. Paint dey peel, stairs dey creak, and sometimes toilet dey misbehave. But e get heart. E get soul. E get people wey go check on you when you no come out for two days. People wey go say “Pele” when you lose job, and “E go better” like say na prayer.

And every time I climb those steps with heavy legs after work, the moment I see our balcony full of color, I know say: *I don reach house.* ❤️

Na so we dey do am for here. No be just building—na whole life.

Some of you can really write....I mean for me to read this to the end means you've got something there you need to develop if you're not already exploring your writing skills...well done to you and boda Olofofo

Olofofo247ng:
I once lived in this kind of house in Mushin. 24 rooms, one prepaid meter, and a single toilet that everybody was expected to wash “after use” but nobody actually washed. My room was sandwiched between Mama Kemi who fried akara by 4am and Brother Taye who was learning keyboard with earphones that didn’t work. So every morning was a remix: akara oil hissing, “Do-Re-Mi-Fa”...blasting from next door, and NEPA doing their own percussion by taking light immediately your water in the kettle starts boiling. The real wahala was the bathroom queue. If you mistakenly forget your bucket outside, you’d meet it converted to eba container by the yard kids, or worse, find Papa Ndu’s wrapper hanging on your line with a note: “Abeg manage am, rain beat me.”

The peak madness was when our landlord’s son installed one CCTV camera facing the corridor after too many slippers went missing. First night, light went and the whole building gathered to watch “playback” with phone torch. We caught Mama Sikiru’s goat chewing the wire, two teenagers kissing by the tank, and Uncle Emma sleepwalking with only a towel and chewing stick. By morning the camera itself had disappeared. Landlord asked who took it, and 15 tenants shouted in unison: “Na NEPA!”...Till I left the house, nobody knows if it was a person or NEPA spirit that stole the camera.

Nawa o
Brother you have stories o

This one may collapse at any slightest opportunity 🤔

Olofofo247ng:
I once lived in this kind of house in Mushin. 24 rooms, one prepaid meter, and a single toilet that everybody was expected to wash “after use” but nobody actually washed. My room was sandwiched between Mama Kemi who fried akara by 4am and Brother Taye who was learning keyboard with earphones that didn’t work. So every morning was a remix: akara oil hissing, “Do-Re-Mi-Fa”...blasting from next door, and NEPA doing their own percussion by taking light immediately your water in the kettle starts boiling. The real wahala was the bathroom queue. If you mistakenly forget your bucket outside, you’d meet it converted to eba container by the yard kids, or worse, find Papa Ndu’s wrapper hanging on your line with a note: “Abeg manage am, rain beat me.”

The peak madness was when our landlord’s son installed one CCTV camera facing the corridor after too many slippers went missing. First night, light went and the whole building gathered to watch “playback” with phone torch. We caught Mama Sikiru’s goat chewing the wire, two teenagers kissing by the tank, and Uncle Emma sleepwalking with only a towel and chewing stick. By morning the camera itself had disappeared. Landlord asked who took it, and 15 tenants shouted in unison: “Na NEPA!”...Till I left the house, nobody knows if it was a person or NEPA spirit that stole the camera.

I swear laugh won kill me

Yes, one worst than this but thank god for life. My rent now is $3k per year.
When your time comes, nothing can stop it.

Olofofo247ng:
Have you ever lived in this kind of house or are you currently living in a house like this? Share your experience and let's have some fun 😊.

But this house is better than many houses in police barracks in Nigeria