When I was a child, windows were large. Whether of glass or wood, they were designed for tropical Africa —to let in light and air, countering heat and darkness while fostering community. They made homes welcoming. Now, in the pulsating hearts of Lagos and Abuja, new buildings come with pinched tight windows, mere slivers of glass. These slit like windows, tribal marks on the cheeks of painted masks, may glitter but they are not gold. How did we fall for them? The world is warming due to climate change, yet houses in our country are spurning air and turning into ovens. And nobody appears bothered. 

Wander through Lekki or Guzape where new designs gleam with ambition. Places where money could be used to marry function and nature with style. Because houses are indeed cushioned nests and should be both practical and beautiful, not blind to the climate. Stroll through Ikate, Amuwo Odofin, or Port Harcourt, and you’ll see a rash of temperate designs in a tropical region. Why do we import and innovate without thinking? These houses don’t just have slim windows—they lack balconies. When did balconies become so old-fashioned in stifling air? Windows and balconies are lifelines. Yet fad drives us to mould concrete flasks for homes. 

Even with reliable, affordable electricity, these houses with slot-like windows would still be unbearable. But our power supply remains wretched, and fuel prices have soared beyond the reach of most households. So how do builders consider it hip to deliver sweltering mansions that cost fortunes? In middle-class enclaves of our cities, many homes designed for controlled ventilation can no longer run their generators. If homeowners can’t bear the generator burden, why are new houses becoming huge chicken pens? Why do building regulators prescribe a number of floors but not windows? 

In Europe, houses can cope with relatively small windows, as the style suits the climate. In ancient England, King William III had introduced the window tax, making windows a badge of affluence. The more you had, the more the state collected from you.  It may have also helped save heating costs because people bricked up their windows, leaving pinholes to glimpse the world. In that country that is perpetually blanketed by clouds and where summer lacks the will to linger beyond five days energy bills may undermine Healthcare funds. So houses without windows might be healthy. But the doctors in England couldn’t restrain themselves. They cried that sunless homes caused ill health, and the window tax crumbled after nearly two centuries. Are doctors in Nigeria troubled by the airless and shrouded homes sprouting across our country today? If they are, how about prescribing a minimum number and size of windows for rooms and houses in the country? 

In the past, rains didn’t just bring water for humans and their farms, rains sang joy and their cool breath swept through open homes to soothe heads and hearts. Now rains usher floods, sorrow, tangled traffic, and only fleeting and beleaguered breezes. That is why once the clouds thicken, many start to sing, ‘Rain, Rain, Go Away.’ Because between the downpours and the disruptions they cause, stuffiness persists in many homes. High humidity and absent cross ventilation make living in these expensive homes a poultry pen-like experience. There are no balconies for families to sit out, to watch birds, or wave to neighbours, to relish the soothingness of rains and the comeliness of a languid morning sun. 

These new mansions are gilded cages.

New  homes don’t just lack windows; they’re often crammed like sardines to maximise space. Building regulators seem more concerned with revenue generation than well being and health. In many new estates, neighbours in duplexes can practically shake hands through their windows. Developers squeeze housing units into tiny plots, leaving no room for air and sanity.  On some posh streets, a hundred polished homes stand shoulder-to-shoulder, each with slim windows, no balconies, a borehole, and a sewage pit pressed close. Our disdain for health when we chase wealth is comical. 

In many countries, buildings look alike. Most houses in America, like the roads, are similar. The standards are tested and firm. Nobody cuts corners. Building control takes responsibility for public well being. Research decides designs. Nothing is left out. Nothing is left to the caprices of greedy developers. The builders follow approved templates. Everybody masters it from repetition. Building-to-land ratio is strictly enforced. Yet cities have parks where people come to luxuriate and get new air. Only Abuja still has parks in Nigeria. Everywhere else parks are hunted like bushmeat by our greedy leaders and sold. This is why  tiny windows in this country are inexcusable.  Regulation has failed. But doctors should speak up. 

For a communal society, like ours, the consequences go beyond rising respiratory woes or allergies. These airless homes could spark tempers, fray marriages, and fuel unrest. They bake people. Houses without profuse ventilation are not our natural haven. We are not supposed to live in ovens.