Growing up ajepako in Nigeria wasn’t for the faint-hearted. Life was simple but tough, and sometimes, the simplest things carried the most weight. Take the kerosene lantern, for instance. Oh, that lantern! It wasn’t just a lamp—it was a sacred object, a family member. When the electricity went out, and the world plunged into darkness, that little lantern would be the shining star
that saved the day. But one slip, one wrong move, and you’d be walking straight into the ajepako hall of shame.

And breaking it? Breaking the glass globe was like breaking a sacred contract. The instant that glass hit the floor with a resounding CRACK, time froze. You could almost hear the ominous voice of your parents echoing in your head: “Eeee! Who broke the lantern?!”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, and your body went into survival mode. You could already feel the hot slap of a spoon on your backside, like the hand of justice coming to claim its due. You tried to explain. “It wasn’t me, I didn’t mean to!” you’d say, but deep down, you knew—you were doomed.

And no matter how many times you went through that cycle—accidentally breaking the lantern, begging for forgiveness, enduring the beating, replacing the globe, and finally becoming an expert in handling it—you learned a lesson that stayed with you forever: life isn’t always about big things; sometimes it’s the small things that matter the most. And sometimes, life will slap you around a bit until you get it right.

But, no matter how painful it was in the moment, you’ll look back and laugh. Because ajepako was sweet. Even with the serious beatings.