Face Me, I Face You: Nigeria’s Real-Life Reality Show

 

No eviction, no prize money — just survival, noise, and free drama.

 

 

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They say if you can survive in a Face Me, I Face You, you can survive anywhere in the world.

And honestly, they’re not lying.

 

I remember the first day I moved into No. 14 Okon Crescent — a long building where rooms faced each other like boxers in a ring. The corridor was so narrow that if Mama Chinedu stretched while brushing her teeth, you’d collect foam on your shirt.

 

My room? A 10-by-10 space with a flickering bulb, squeaky ceiling fan, and one wooden door that didn’t always close unless you kicked it.

 

But this wasn’t just a house — it was a reality show.

No cameras. Just neighbors with hyperactive ears and master's degrees in monitoring spirit.

 

 

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Episode 1: The Kitchen Chronicles

 

Every morning, we queued like school children to use the shared kitchen. If you came late, forget it. Your rice would compete with someone else’s beans for space on the gas stove.

 

Once, I boiled indomie and added two eggs. TWO.

I didn’t know I had committed a compound offense. By evening, I heard someone whisper behind me:

 

"Some people don dey chop like Dangote. Indomie with two eggs... na wa o!"

 

 

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Episode 2: The Bathroom & Barefoot Politics

 

To bathe, you had to wake by 4 a.m. If not, by 6 a.m., the queue would look like NIN registration.

 

And don’t forget slippers inside o! One morning, I mistakenly left mine outside. When I returned, they had vanished — gone like yesterday’s NEPA light.

 

That was the day I learned the golden rule: guard your bucket and slippers with your life.

 

 

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Episode 3: The Gossip Olympics

 

In Face Me, I Face You, privacy is an illusion. Your life isn’t just yours — it’s public entertainment.

 

One time, I sneezed three times in a row, and before I could say “excuse me”, Mama Chukwudi shouted from her room:

"This your catarrh don dey go three weeks now oh, you sure say na ordinary flu?"

 

Another day, I opened my door to yawn and stretch. That was all I did. Just yawned.

By evening, someone asked me if I had malaria because "you looked weak this morning when you stretched."

 

And of course, even your fart is not private.

Let one slip by mistake and someone will shout:

"Na who mess just now? I know that sound!"

 

The worst part? They actually do.

 

 

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But in all the madness, there was heart.

 

If you fell sick, Mama Joy would show up with bitter leaf soup and agbo. If you ran out of kerosene, someone in Room 3 would lend you their stove.

 

On Sundays, the whole compound smelled like Jollof rice, fried meat.

 

 

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We were loud. We fought over water. We insulted each other in the morning and shared groundnut in the evening.

 

There was no privacy. No peace.

But there was always community.

 

 

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So yeah, Face Me, I Face You is not for the weak.

It’s hard. It’s chaotic.

But it teaches you how to survive, how to laugh through stress, and how to sleep through other people’s quarrels.

 

It may not be heaven, but for many of us, it was home.

And every day came with a new episode.

 

 

No eviction. No confession room. Just you, your neighbor, and their untrained goat.

 

*More coming*

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