A childhood memory from Yola — and what it taught me about raising children
Some childhood memories stay with you forever. This is one of mine. It is funny, dramatic, and surprisingly relevant to everything I now teach as a parent and teen coach.
So sit back. Let me take you to Yola.
Locked In — Literally
Growing up, our home had one rule above all others. The doors were locked with a key. Not just at night. All day. Every day. Three hundred and sixty-five days a year.
My parents were protecting us. I understand that now. But I was not the kind of child who sat quietly with that arrangement.
I was hyperactive. I had energy that my siblings simply could not match. My immediate younger sister was the complete opposite of me. She was calm, quiet, and perfectly content indoors. I would beg her to come outside and play ten ten with me. She would say no without even looking up.
We were a personality clash from the very beginning. I say that with nothing but love.
My Solution? The Fence.
Our neighbours had children who were also our schoolmates. Their compound was full of life and laughter. I wanted to be part of it.
So I found a way.
I scaled the fence.
Every afternoon, I climbed over and played next door. I also climbed every dogon yaro tree in the area. One day, I even accompanied our neighbour’s daughter to a farm to buy vegetables and tomatoes. Mum and Dad knew nothing about that trip.
That same day, we came face to face with a mighty python on that farm. It turned and ran. I believe to this day that our parents’ prayers went ahead of us. Allah was watching over two adventurous girls who had no business being on that farm.
My Escape System
I had a very reliable early warning system. The moment I heard the horn of Dad’s car, I was back over that fence. Within seconds, I was standing with my siblings chanting — “Daddy oyo yoo!” — which means Daddy is here!
My siblings were young. They had no idea what I had been up to. And Dad never suspected a thing.
That system worked perfectly. Until the day it truly mattered.
The Day of the Python
I was at the neighbours’ compound — via the fence, as usual — when one of my siblings called out to me. There was a snake on our premises. Not a small one. A python. A large one. It had entered through the back gate, which was made of iron bars you could see through.
My quiet, unbothered sister later told me she had seen it and was not particularly worried. I genuinely did not know how to respond to that. But that is exactly who she is.
However, I knew one thing for certain. My three younger siblings needed to get out of that compound immediately.
The Skills Nobody Knew I Had
So I did what I had been quietly practising for years without realising it.
I got every single one of them over that fence.
One by one. All three of them. Safely.
The men in the neighbourhood then came in and handled the python. They left the carcass exactly where it was. This was deliberate. My parents had to see it. Without evidence, the story would have been very hard to believe.
The Night Everything Changed
When Mum and Dad came home that evening, our neighbour went straight to them. She told the story the way only a Nigerian woman in pidgin English can:
“Na Latifah carry those small ones to climb the fence before they come kill the snake; we no know wetin for happen.”
My parents stood there completely shocked. And then, very proud.
They had not known their daughter was capable of any of this. The fence-scaling. The tree-climbing. The calm thinking under pressure. None of it had ever been visible to them. I had made sure of that.
But when the moment came, the skills were there.
Our Key to Freedom
From that day on, everything changed. We were no longer locked indoors. We were allowed to visit our neighbours after school — through the gate, like normal children, without any fence involved.
The python was, quite literally, our key to freedom.
A Story Shared Across Generations
My sister and I talked about this memory just yesterday. We laughed. We shook our heads. Our younger siblings who were not yet born could not believe it. The ones who were there remember nothing at all.
Only she and I carry this story.
That in itself is something worth pausing on. Shared childhood memories are a kind of treasure. They hold the version of us that existed before adulthood arrived with all of its responsibilities.
Hold onto yours.
What This Means for Parents Today
I work with parents and teenagers every day. And I often think about what children lose when every hour is structured, supervised, and screen-based.
The skills I used on the afternoon of the python were never taught to me. No one planned them. They came from years of climbing trees I was probably not supposed to climb. From crossing fences I was definitely not supposed to cross. From being bored enough to be curious, and free enough to be physical.
Children need unstructured time. They need to encounter the world with their bodies, not just their eyes. They need to make small decisions, take small risks, and build quiet competence — in ways that adults do not always see.
Because that competence becomes the resource they draw on when something real happens.
I am not suggesting you let your children wander freely near pythons. 😄
But I am saying this. The version of me who got three children safely over a fence that afternoon was built during all those ordinary afternoons when I had nothing to do but climb, explore, and figure things out for myself.
Give your children those afternoons. You may not always know what they are learning. But they are learning something that matters.
Let’s Talk
Did this story bring back a childhood memory of your own? Or are you thinking about how much unstructured play your child gets today?
Leave a comment below. I would love to hear from you.
Latifah Ajetunmobi is a certified Parent, Teen and Life Coach, Registered Nurse, Midwife, and published author of The Phone-Free Teenager and Beyond the Goat Pen: An African Woman’s Journey. She helps families build stronger communication, healthier boundaries, and real connection in a distracted world.
📩 Visit latifahajet.com to learn more.