There’s this strange little ache that creeps up on you when you’re scrolling through TikTok at midnight, right? One moment you’re laughing at a meme, and then bam!—some genius decides to hit you with a video that plays a soft piano melody or the sound of kids laughing in the background while showing clips of the cartoons you grew up with. Ben 10, Tom & Jerry, Takalani Sesame, K-TV, those bubble TVs that weighed more than your uncle’s bakkie. You know the ones.
And then suddenly, you’re not on your bed anymore. You’re back in your old neighborhood, barefoot, with snot on your face, jumping rope or spinning a hula hoop like your life depended on it. You’re eating niknaks without wiping your hands and proudly staining your fingers orange. You remember that exact moment—when life made sense, when you didn’t need a debit card to enjoy a Saturday.
If you were a 2000s kid—especially if you were born between 2000 and 2009—you get it. We were the lucky ones. The in-betweeners. Not quite 90s babies, not full Gen Z. We had the best of both worlds: outdoor games and dial-up internet. We ran around until our skin turned two shades darker, and when the streetlights came on—you knew. That was your cue. "Yoh! Streetlight’s on! Mama’s gonna shout!"
That was the code: the streetlight code. And I remember the last time I ever followed it. The last time I ran inside after playing outside because the public light turned on. It’s burned into my memory. The reason? There were rumors going around about people stealing kids. The kind that made your mom grab you by the arm and say, “Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t even talk to your cousin if he doesn’t knock properly.” Fear crept in like the evening breeze, and just like that… playtime ended. Not just for me—for all of us.
That fear became our new curfew. The gate stayed closed. The street became quiet. And our joyful screaming? Replaced by cartoons watched alone or games played inside. We didn’t notice at first—we just adapted. But deep down, something changed. We lost that daily dose of freedom, that magic of neighborhood chaos where someone was always crying and someone else was always laughing too hard.
And you know what hurts the most?
It’s knowing that you can’t go back. Ever. Those days are gone. The innocence. The “Can I have R2?” and getting it. The way life was set up—you didn’t pay for anything, you didn’t worry about anything. Your biggest problem was your mom not buying you those ice pops from the spaza shop or not letting you play after sunset because “it’s late.” The same “late” that was only 6:30 PM.
We grew up in a world where skipping rope counted as exercise, singing “Kumbaya my Lord” in a circle made you feel like part of a sacred ceremony, and watching YoTV after school was non-negotiable. You were either outside, or grounded. No in-between.
Now? We’re paying bills. We’re sending emails. We’re dealing with load shedding schedules. Who signed us up for this?! Honestly, who pressed fast-forward?
But still... I’m grateful.
Because at least we had those moments. At least we know what it’s like to run in the rain just because, to sit under a tree and talk nonsense with your friends, to go inside with dirt between your toes and feel no shame. We lived in those golden hours.
And while TikTok might sneak attack us with nostalgia sometimes, maybe it’s okay. Maybe it’s how we remember the best parts of ourselves. The loud, dirty, joyful, fearless, barefoot versions of us. The kids who knew when the streetlight came on—it wasn’t the end of the day.
It was the memory of one more great one.
