When I was in high school, I got home one day and there was a lady with her 5 kids in the lounge and my parents said they were staying for a while. We hid her car in the neighbour's driveway. She was hiding from her abusive husband. She taught me how to make donuts. https://twitter.com/LuckyGordy/status/1254633614714843138

It was 6 kids.

5 boys and a baby girl, a few months old. I said 5 because I know one of the boys died in a motorcycle accident a few years later.

The abusive husband is dead. Heart attack or something. The lady is living with her girlfriend and their younger kids.

I have a lot of stories like this.

I have an "adopted" brother, older than me, who lived with us from when he was 14 until he was 25. He reverted to Islam and needed a place to stay because his entire family was non Muslim and he wanted a Muslim family.

My father's eldest brother lived with us for years before he moved out again. My father went to fetch him three years ago, and he lived with us until he passed away last year. I'll always be grateful to my father for going to get him and letting him pass with dignity.

When my mother's siblings got divorced, their kids lived with us until they figured out how their lives were going to go. One set of cousins lived here for three years, another set, one of them a small baby, lived here for about 8 months.

My mother's youngest sister lived with us for a while. Between her and my father, they cultivated my love for pop music and 90s RnB.

Every Ramadaan a different person lives with us. Usually a revert woman who doesn't have other Muslim family.

Zainuddeen lived with us from when he was four months old, until he was 6 years old.

My whole life this house has been filled with people who need help. We're not rich, but I've never felt poor in my life. I've never felt like I was getting less.