Building a communal home: Our shared space to heal and grow

What does true sanctuary feel like in a world that never stops demanding? Where can we be both strong and vulnerable without judgement? How do we build spaces that honour our need for both community and autonomy?

I used to be inactive in my old girls association, but life's pressures brought me back. These girls knew me before I knew myself. They remembered the girl with scraped knees and big dreams, long before I became the professional with responsibilities. In their eyes, I found something rare. A space where I could be fully human. Where my vulnerabilities became strengths rather than weaknesses.

My grandfather, an exiled prince, understood this need deeply. His community built him a home that was more than shelter. It was a living ecosystem of connection. During holidays, nearly a hundred people would fill its rooms. Each person found their place in this intricate web of relationships. The architecture itself facilitated human interaction. Large common areas encouraged gathering. Multiple bedrooms welcomed extended stays. This was the original blueprint for communal living. Spaces designed to serve people rather than people serving spaces.

The weight of obligation versus the freedom of choice

When does family duty become soul-crushing obligation? Why do we accept relationships that drain us rather than nourish us? What if we could design communities that honour both our heritage and our autonomy?

Modern life has systematically designed genuine connection out of our environments. We inhabit apartments with doors that close permanently against the world. We work in offices that discourage authentic gathering. We have traded vibrant communal compounds for sterile private fortresses. Yet even as we navigate this isolation, many of us carry the heavy weight of familial expectations. The pressure to kneel before elders we do not respect. To open our homes to relatives we do not like. To provide endless financial support that leaves us depleted.

My family maintained traditions even after my father's traumatic disappearance. Men dragged him from his office into a car boot, never to be seen again. Our home remained full of life, but also full of unspoken rules and obligations. The house was so vast that my cousin once got lost in it. She sat in a corner crying until mealtimes when someone would notice her absence. This constant presence of others created comfort, but also confinement. A paradox many African families understand deeply.

Your modern village in action

What would a community built on choice rather than obligation feel like? How do we create spaces where participation is voluntary but meaningful? Where can we find people who choose us daily, not by blood but by shared values?

Today, I am designing my modern village with intention. My old girls association has become a chosen family. We support each other through parent losses and marriage challenges. We celebrate children's birthdays and baptisms together. Unlike biological family, our bond is renewed daily by choice rather than duty. We create clear rules of engagement that we all subscribe to voluntarily.

I find similar freedom in professional communities like GATNET, the Gender and Transport Network. Here, I connect with peers who understand my work's unique challenges. I can be intensely active during crucial projects, then step back when needed. A flexibility rarely possible in family dynamics.

The literacy circles I work with across multiple countries show how chosen communities evolve. Strangers become family through weekly meetings. Their trust deepens until some groups naturally grow into sustainable savings associations. These bonds endure because they grow from authentic connection rather than obligation.

I witness powerful sisterhoods in women's movements and specialised associations. The Mothers Union provides spiritual nourishment across generations. The Catholic Women Association offers practical support through life's transitions. Muslim Women Associations create spaces of strength and sanctuary. These groups understand that community is both refuge and resilience.

Traditional networks like golf clubs and Rotary clubs serve as professional spaces where relationships form naturally. My uncle observes these clubs help individuals advance professionally. Before COVID, gyms and bars served as organic gathering spaces. They represented friendships by choice rather than circumstance.

Your blueprint for authentic connection

Where will you draw the line between duty and choice? How will you design communities that reflect who you are rather than who you are expected to be? What rules of engagement will honour both your needs and those of others?

Start by recognising the communities you already have. That old school association you neglected might hold the seeds of your modern village. Those colleagues who share your passions could become your professional sanctuary. Create spaces where people can show up as their full selves. In my old girls association, we make room for both the professionals we have become and the schoolgirls we once were. We celebrate career achievements with the same genuine joy as we celebrate children's milestones.

But understand the fundamental difference between these modern villages and the families we are born into. Our biological families come with unchangeable ties and often unspoken expectations. We may be asked to kneel for elders we do not respect. We may need to open our homes to relatives we do not like. There can be constant pressure to provide financial support. This responsibility can feel heavy and obligatory.

A modern communal home is different. It is a conscious choice. You decide to build it, and you can choose to leave if it no longer serves you. These villages typically have clear rules of engagement, agreed upon collectively. Your participation is voluntary. You can be proactive or quiet depending on your interests and capacity.

I appreciate this structure and logic. In my own associations, I am most active when there is a specific issue with a clear timeframe. I know I will contribute intensely for a given period. I am selective about what I share. I avoid empty forwards and focus on what adds real value. When WhatsApp was new, I received the same good morning message from over ten people daily. I stopped responding until the senders understood my preference for meaningful communication.

This is the power of your modern village. You curate it. You define your role within it. It is a sanctuary not just for connection, but for autonomy. It is a space built on mutual respect and shared purpose, not on obligation. It reminds us that while we honour our inherited families, we can also choose to build new ones. Spaces that reflect who we are now and who we aspire to become.

Remember that these spaces serve multiple purposes. They provide practical support like the savings associations that grew from literacy circles. They enable professional growth like GATNET that opened new opportunities for me. They offer spiritual nourishment like the women's associations that sustain members. But most importantly, they provide the human connection that sustains us through all of life's challenges and celebrations.

The need for communal homes remains as vital today as it was in our ancestors' time. They remind us that we do not have to face life's pressures alone. Our burdens feel lighter when shared by choice. Our joys grow when celebrated with those we truly select. In consciously building and nurturing these modern villages, we create the most personal sanctuaries. Spaces where we can all heal and grow on our own terms.