LOH #255: Skipping the Repairs, Keeping the Love

I think if I had the money to buy a house right now, I’d go for the smaller one. The one that doesn’t look like much, maybe, but doesn’t need all the repairs. Not because I’m afraid of the work, trust me, I’ve seen firsthand what it means to build a place brick by brick, but because I’ve learned that home isn’t in the walls or the glossy paint. Home is in the people who fill the space, and the love that lingers even when the roof is leaking.

I still remember when my parents first moved into the house we’re living in now. I must have been six or seven, small enough that everything looked big. 😂 The house wasn’t complete then. I don’t even think it had windows. I remember wrappers being pinned across the gaping holes where glass should have been, just to keep out mosquitoes or give us some privacy.

The floors weren’t tiled. The walls weren’t painted. But we had laughter. I’d watch my mum sweep the cement floor every morning. My dad, with his endless optimism, would say things like, “Don’t worry, one day this place will shine.” And he was right. Little by little, the house grew with us. Brick by brick, paycheck by paycheck, the walls got smoother, windows appeared, paint brightened the rooms.

But even before all of that, it was home. It was the place we ran back to after school, the place where my siblings and I quarreled over who got the biggest piece of meat, the place where my mum hummed gospel songs while cooking. It didn’t matter that it was incomplete, because we were complete inside it.

That’s why, if given the choice now, I’d choose the small house that doesn’t need fixing, because I'd rather dwell on the people that'll be living in it, rather than the house itself. Because home isn’t in chandeliers or modern kitchens. It’s not even in how pretty the front porch looks. Home is in the people.

And maybe that’s why I lean towards the “buy everything ready and fast” team. Maybe a little bit out of laziness too? Lol. But also, because I’ve lived inside a house being repaired before. I know what it means to sit in a room with cement dust in your hair, to eat dinner on a stool because the dining table is still “coming.” It teaches you resilience, yes, but if I’m being honest, I’d rather just skip all that now and get straight to living in the warmth of the people inside.

Speaking of living, it’s funny how the second part of this prompt slips right into the first. You see, in my house these days, we’re not really making any “back to school” preparations. I’ve finished school. My siblings? They’ve been in school since two months ago because, well, the Nigerian university system never quite obeys the concept of “summer vacation.” So while others are stocking up on pencils and ironing uniforms, my home is quiet. No scramble for new backpacks. No sound of my mum shouting, “Hurry up, you’ll be late!”

Oh my, those were the days! Sometimes I miss that chaos, honestly. The night before school resumes, when my siblings and I would iron our uniforms like we wanted it to look ironed for the entire school term. My mum double-checking that everyone had notebooks. My dad calculating transport money in his head. Those little rituals were part of what made the house feel alive.

But something else is coming. Christmas. And in this house, Christmas is a whole season on its own. That’s the preparation I find myself looking forward to now. I can already picture it, the smell of fried rice sneaking out from the kitchen, my siblings arguing over decorations, my mum humming again while turning chin chin in the oil. My dad trying to fix Christmas lights that, for some reason, never work right the first time.

I remember last year, we all sat in the living room watching TV overnight, my dad fell asleep, yet didn't retreat into his bedroom to sleep. The house didn’t feel small then. It felt like the whole world. That’s the magic of home.

So yes, give me the smaller house that doesn’t need repairs. Give me the one where I don’t have to wait years to feel settled. Because I’ve already learned: it’s not the paint on the walls that makes memories. It’s the laughter, the quarrels, the Sunday rice and beans with ofada stew, the little everyday things.

You can give your response to this prompt too, I'll love to know what you thinnk.

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