We lived at No. 19 Fakorede Street in the heart of Shomolu, Lagos, Nigeria, Africa, Earth. Our face-me-I-face-you building was a riot of colours, a masterpiece that looked like the paint cans threw a wild bash before deciding to redecorate. Cream, wine, purple, green, red – they all mingled on the walls, and just a hint of yellow joined the party, like a guest who arrived fashionably late.

Walking by, you couldn't help but feel like the walls were telling a tale of a paint-can fiesta gone wild. The hues on our building were like gladiators in an epic showdown, each one vying for supremacy and attention. It was a colourful clash that put even the infamous Twelve Neighbors of Doom we lived with in the building, to shame.

In our group of twelve neighbours, Mama Uche lived too, like a character from a funny TV show. She was a friendly lady about the same age as my mom, with a strong Igbo accent and a smile that never left her face. Even though my mom never said it out loud, Mama Uche was like her secret best friend. We could tell because every Christmas, when Mama Uche took her kids – Uche, Nene, and Victor – to the village, my mom felt really lonely. It was sos, like a thick cloud you could almost touch.

To cover up her feelings, my mom would make fun of Mama Uche's quirky choices, like using Indomie seasoning instead of the usual Maggi cubes to cook her stew. She acted like she didn't care, but we all knew better. It was a bit weird that Mama Uche used Indomie seasoning for stew, but it wasn’t our business, we just wished my mom would admit she really liked Mama Uche, just like she did with her own sisters.

On the other side, Mama Tubosun was like the neighbourhood villain. My little sis, Aggie, thought she was an evil spirit, my mom called her a witch, and my big sis, Ano, said she was a marine kingdom snake. Mama Tubosun, with her silver hair and not-so-tall stature, wasn't the most fun to be around. But I didn't really mind her because sometimes she'd give me 20 naira for doing things like running errands or getting food from Iya Ramota's place down at No. 3. It was our little secret, though. I mean, if my mom found out, she might take me to Pastor Vitalis' church for a big session where they use holy water, push your head, and blow air with a microphone – I saw it once with my cousin, Alorye.

Talking about Alorye, my mom believed she was like the main target of some marine kingdom princess named Yakuku. She thought Yakuku was inside Alorye's body, making her do strange things. Even my dad wondered why Yakuku always seemed to choose Alorye, considering there are so many people in Nigeria. "Yakuku no dey see another person to enter?" he asked one evening while we were all in our room, eating groundnut soup and semo for dinner. When we talked about this Yakuku and marine spirit stuff, my siblings and I usually stayed quiet, not wanting to say anything about it. They believed only God could save Alorye from Yakuku, not just another pastor.

Then there was Daddy Habeeb – short as a gnome in a world of giants and dark as my mother's church purse – the neighbour my mom loved to hate. She had a stash of hilarious nicknames for him, like the 'short devil,' 'black charcoal,' 'woman beater,' and 'devil incarnate.' But here's the kicker: Papa Daniel, who mummy labelled as Daddy Habeeb's 'slave boy,' was practically his sidekick. He'd assist Daddy Habeeb as if he owed him a fortune, which likely consisted of a gas cooker, a flatscreen TV, and maybe two thousand nairas in cash. This covert bromance was a well-kept secret from our nosy neighbours, except for Iya Tana, the neighbourhood's unofficial broadcaster

. 

Iya Tana was like the local gossip queen, Instablog, and Arise News, all rolled into one. She was everyone's go-to source for the juiciest tidbits and mengemenge, as my mother put it, at No. 19 Fakorede Street. She and her partner-in-crime, Iya Lateef, an Ibadan woman with tribal marks all over her face and body as slim as Mama Tubosun’s walking stick. she had a knack for stirring up drama with our neighbours. They knew it all and made sure everyone else did, too. It was through them that we found out about Daddy Habeeb's dark side, Mama Tubosun's strained relationship with her son, Remi, and the shocking revelation that Victor, Mama Uche's youngest, had a rather peculiar hobby at just 13 – he was a "porn addict."

Iya Lateef was a thorn in most people's sides, except my mother who didn’t care about her existence. but it all ended that one time Iya Lateef called my aunt Scholar "Aunty Schoshi" which irked my mom. It's funny how a simple nickname can unleash the full force of maternal indignation. 

Aunt Scholar, being all refined and sophisticated, wasn't one to take lightly to such playful names.

My mother, the ever-protective sister, couldn't let it slide. It was like Iya Lateef had thrown down a challenge to the dignity of our family. This turned into a big argument between them, with mom standing up for "aunty Schoshi" and saying that such a name wasn't fitting for someone in our family.

Mummy Aliameen, our neighbour five rooms down, was an enigma. She was perfectly sane by day but transformed into a nighttime maniac. One night, we were rudely awakened by a chorus of loud Yoruba singing echoing through the building, and it went something like this: 

'E di de di de, mo ni ke di de di de  

Oya di de di de, mo ni ke di de di de  

Aunty Ano di de di de, Mama Uche di de di de  

Iya Tana di de di de, mo ni ke di de di de' 

The noise got everyone curious, so we all went to check it out. Even Daddy Habeeb, who usually keeps to himself, helped by turning on the passage lights. What we found was pretty shocking – our neighbour, Mummy Aliameen, was dancing in her birthday suit (naked), not a care in the world.

Suddenly, my mom covered both my and Aggie's eyes and told us, "Get inside now!" It felt like she almost shouted, and we hurried in, feeling like we were escaping from something big, not just our mom.

Once we were back in our room, we closed the doors, but we couldn't resist leaning in to hear what was going on outside. However, there was only silence. We got frustrated and tired, so we gave up and went to bed, still wondering what had happened.

As our mom walked back into our room, Aggie and I were playing the pretend-sleep game. It seemed like she had been on quite the journey because there was this odd mix of smells around her – a weird combo of vomit and pee. My curiosity got the better of me, and I couldn't help but wonder what went down after Aggie and I made our exit. It felt like there was more to the story, just waiting to unfold. I didn’t dare to ask what had happened, so I kept quiet and let sleep do its thing. We’d all later find out what actually happened that night the next day from Nene and also find out that Mummy Aliameen had zero recollection of it all.

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If there's one thing we know better than the concept of peace at No. 19, it is the concept of chaos. Every morning was a battle royale between two or more neighbours. One memorable morning, it was Iya Tana and Iya Lateef who decided to entertain the masses with their drama. 

I was washing the dishes my mom told me to do by the Suckerway, and having a good time with Victor and Lola, who is the youngest in Iya Tana's family. Then, out of nowhere, Iya Lateef got mad and started screaming. She pulled clothes off the drying line and threw them on the ground like confetti.

The atmosphere swiftly shifted from laughter to shock, as if someone had cast a spell, turning us from a merry bunch to a group of stunned onlookers faster than you could utter "Iya Lateef." A strange stillness settled over us, resembling frozen fishes caught in a moment where movement seemed unfamiliar and locomotion foreign.

Lola, in this suspended state, took a beat to realize that her clothes had become an unintended part of the ground's ensemble, and she was not okay with it. "Iya Lateef, why are you throwing my clothes on the floor?" she demanded an explanation, her voice edged with frustration. However, Iya Lateef seemed to have her ears plugged with drama, utterly unresponsive to Lola's plea. She dismissed Lola's presence as if she were as insubstantial as the wind or a ghost.

Left with no other recourse, Lola, in a move that seemed only logical, sprinted off to notify her mother of the unfolding chaos.

A few minutes later, Iya Tana made quite an entrance, confidently walking towards Iya Lateef, clapping her hands as if she had just won a round of applause. She laughed with so much sarcasm in her tone, the kind of laugh that conveyed, "You've got guts. You have a mind. You don't know your match." Yes, that was the laugh.

“Adebisi, O mọ pe o jẹ aṣiwere? You are very stupid, my sweetheart” Iya Tana started, referring to Iya Lateef by her first name. Now, at No. 19, using first names meant big trouble. It was like having a storm over the Atlantic; you know something serious is about to happen. We were all set to see what was going on, even Mama Psalm and Mummy Silver, who were chatting nearby about probably doing Silver's hair for the 12th time that month. They didn't say anything; they stood beside Mama Uche's blue drum of water, amazed at the unfolding drama between these two close friends.

“Are you crazy?” Iya Lateef spat. “Kilode ti o fi n pe mi ni orukọ akọkọ mi? Who is you, Ronke? Who is you to call me my first name?” Iya Lateef yelled, pointing her fingers at Iya Tana, who still wore a mischievous smile. "Adebisi, pick up my daughter's clothes and hang them back now! maṣe jẹ ki n sọ lẹẹkans," warned Iya Tana, looking serious and devilish. "No, I'm not picking anything. e o fẹ lati lu mi?" replied Iya Lateef confidently.

It was clear that Iya Tana was getting irritated, but we were all taken by surprise when she shoved Iya Lateef, sending her into the gutter. This resulted in a collective gasp from every neighbour watching. By this time, it wasn’t just Victor, Lola, Mama Samuel, Mummy Silver, and me watching. Almost everyone in the house had come outside to witness the unfolding drama.

As Iya Tana started drying her clothes, Iya Lateef quickly got up and pushed Iya Tana, causing her to fall onto the Suckerway. Iya Lateef took the opportunity to throw the clothes on the floor, further angering Iya Tana. In response, Iya Tana gave Iya Lateef a heavy slap that sent her crashing to the ground. Iya Lateef soothed and caressed her cheeks for what seemed like 2 minutes, as we all watched, before standing up to slap Iya Tana back. From then on, the fight escalated as they both slapped each other and removed each other's blouses, with Iya Tana pulling Iya Lateef’s hair as she attempted to tear her blouse as well.

We, especially me were enjoying the fight, it wasn’t every day you saw best friends like this fight. The drama was too interesting to not witness, but it was all ruined when Daddy Habeeb and Daddy Lateef ran to the scene to separate the fight. "Iya Tana, you're a useless woman," Daddy Lateef said, as he pulled his wife away, using his body to cover the torn side of her blouse.

"Iwo!" Iya Tana began, anger evident in her voice as she pointed a finger at Daddy Lateef. "I know your secret! You, this idiot. How dare you call me useless? Am I the one going to Mummy Silver's room every Thursday night when Daddy Silver is not around?" she said, laughing hysterically at the gasps from everyone watching. "Yinka, you are foolish," she finished, calling him by his first name before fixing her blouse.

There we all stood, in awe of what was going on. Eyes shifting from Iya Lateef to Daddy Lateef to Mummy Silver and Daddy Silver. "Yinka, say this is not truth. Ye! Yinka ma se bayii fun mi!" Iya Lateef yelled, tears rolling down her eyes as she jumped and hit Daddy Lateef in the chest before giving him a dirty slap which sent him to

Mummy Silver was already on her knees, begging Daddy Silver as he stood, tall as an electric pole, glaring at her with bloodshot eyes, tears running down his cheeks. Words were failing him. "Iya Tana, why would you say something like that? Are you okay?" Daddy Habeeb chimed in, sounding annoyed. "Oh, shut up! Shut it, you disgrace of a man," Iya Tana spat. "So people are talking, you sef want to talk too?" Iya Lateef spoke up, pointing at Daddy Habeeb, surprising us all. "When did she stop hitting her husband that she is already attacking Daddy Habeeb?" Lola asked, not realizing that Victor and I were in the same boat of confusion she was in.

"You shameless goat," Iya Lateef spat at Daddy Habeeb. "Tell him! He doesn't have a backbone; you're talking," Iya Tana chimed in. We were all confused, everyone staring at each other in confusion. "You that is sleeping with a man?" Iya said before she laughed mischievously at screams of "Ye!" and "Ah!" we heard from one person or the other.

"Emi?" Daddy Habeeb denied, looking utterly bewildered and shocked as all eyes were on him. "So fe paro?" Iya Tana asked. "Should we play the video of you and Daddy Daniel we have? We have it! The two of you making love," she laughed as everyone, including me, screamed. This time, the "Ye!" and the "Ah!" were louder. She laughed before continuing, "If you see the way Daddy Daniel was doing, 'Ye! Awwn! Ah! E sweet!' I said finished men!" she said, resulting in louder "Ye!" and "Ah!" with extra words and curses.

We were all too focused on the reaction of Daddy Habeeb until a scream was heard from Mummy Daniel as she cried, strangling her husband as she screamed, cried, and cursed him altogether. 

Suddenly, a piercing scream echoed from a distant corner, drawing our attention. We turned to see Mummy Habeeb sprinting toward Daddy Habeeb, her hands clutching her head as she jumped and cried. Not once did she dare to strike him; the fear in her eyes spoke volumes. It was a fear that had taken root, a fear we were all too familiar with.

In the midst of this, a loud noise emanated from the communal kitchen we all shared, abruptly disrupting our focus and grabbing everyone's attention. Smoke billowed out, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of burnt offering.

Do you know what happened next?