“Back in the Day…”

“Back in the Day…”

“Back in the Day…”

If your neighbor owned a television, it automatically became the community center. That living room would turn into a stadium, a cinema, and sometimes even a United Nations meeting point.

By 6:30 p.m., every child on the street had gathered. Some squatted by the window like soldiers spying on the enemy, while others perched on stools, holding onto the wall as if their parents built it. You’d hear whispers:

“Shhh… the movie has started.”

Meanwhile, one stubborn child would always complain, “Please move a bit, your head is blocking the TV!”

The television itself was rarely clear — the picture shook like an old man’s hands, and sometimes it turned black and white like an obituary poster. If it started to rain, that was another problem entirely.

Someone had to perform what we called a “human sacrifice” — usually a small child standing on a chair, holding the antenna in midair until the movie ended. And if you were unlucky enough to be sent to buy petrol for the generator, you could forget about seeing the first half of the film.

The real heartbreak came when NEPA cut the power right in the middle of a Jackie Chan or Jet Li fight scene. The whole place would go silent for a few seconds, then you’d hear one mother shout from the kitchen:

“All of you, pack your things and go home before I pour water on your heads!”

Within seconds, everyone scattered like cockroaches caught in flashlight beams.

Those were simpler, happier times — better than Netflix. No data, no subscription — just laughter, sweat, and that one kid who always blocked the TV with his big head.

We didn’t have remote controls, but we had remote friendships.