This Christmas

As it is with everything ever written, it begins with a story. The tale of a child and how by following a sphere of light billions of miles away, men who claimed wisdom bestowed upon him the title; King. It is the story of Jesus, but since we know it already I’ll just move on.
Years ago, let’s say 2030 years ago, ‘Christmas’ would probably have been a Jewish birthday celebration of some carpenter's kid. Maybe there would have been toys, small wooden figures, horses or camels made in his father’s workshop. A fat uncle here and there, one or two scribes or rabbis, some guys from the Carpenters Association, friends from the neighbourhood synagogue, wine and water and the general spirit of cheer.
Nowadays, it’s an international celebration of feasts with chicken and turkeys and fireworks and parties and worshippers lighting candles and singing “Come all ye faithful”. In this country,[Nigeria], the tradition of holly weaving and sipping eggnog by the fireplace have not really caught on, though I spot a mistletoe twig here and there (especially around my bedroom) and we do sing carols and drink beer.
I have at best celebrated fourteen Christmases with a sane mind and I have enjoyed just about every single one of them. For years, the season was my favorite and the gifts just made it all the sweeter. The taste of éclairs and chocolate bonbons on my tongue and the scratchy Jim Reeves vocals on the gramophone while Mum and Dad danced to “Christmas polka” are among my fondest memories.
Now I am older, I have just graduated from the University and I am accountable. The sounds of “Christmas polka” have faded into the dark of my mind and the onus is upon me to create new memories, so I ask myself; what is happening this Christmas?
In Calabar, and in Lagos, Port-Harcourt and Abuja, the streets are agog with merriment and both literally and figuratively, the carnival is in town. I write from Benin City, the Ancient Kingdom, and one could say, the closest thing to a carnival that this city knows is a couple of local talents screaming out their lungs to an audience already inebriated with alcohol. But there in is fun nonetheless.
Outside my window, in the streets by my house (my mother’s house actually), the people are awake, the sidewalks are crowded and lit brightly. Young and old people sit and tell jokes, even at this time (it is 10:22pm, 24th December), the sound of jubilation is in the air and the merriment is palpable. Firecrackers scream into the heavens giving yours truly a start every now and then, and with them, ‘real’ fireworks light up the sky in an amazing display of colours, making everything beautiful. And I smile and imagine tomorrow.
Tomorrow would be sunny, the air would be bright and in the wind, a sparkle so beautiful. Magical tones would tinkle upon the leaves, and wafting out of every house, the sweet, sweet sounds of carols. Joy would resonate in every heart and ‘jingle bells’ chime in our spirits. In my city, the worshippers would sing praises as the fatted turkeys and chickens would come to rest in our bellies, chased down by healthy quantities of the proper brews. Night would come quickly, and as the dark comes upon us, the streets in my area would light up in sparkles of red and green and Christmas lights. And the carnivals would blaze in brighter colours and the people would be happy and everyone would say “Merry Christmas”, and all tribe and religion shall be one.
But I was wrong.
This Christmas did not dawn sunny. I woke with a sore throat to find a dull morning. The sky was overcast in gray clouds and the air was hazy with the thread of dryness and a hint of smog. The smell of cordite and gunpowder was in the air and the firecrackers continued to explode and startle me half to death. And then the bad news came. In the early hours of the morning, while worshippers prayed and sang, Evil struck and bombs blew up churches in Jos and Yobe. And the day which should have been joyous took on a solemn turn. And the power company refused to restore full power and the generators went on in every compound and soaked the atmosphere with smoke and soot.
But what is Christmas? Is it dependent upon circumstances or travails?
Like it has always been and most probably always will, the Spirit of kindness and love prevailed and the clouds parted and the veil of darkness was rolled away, and rays of sunshine penetrated the gloom and as though at a sign from the gods, everything became warm and I could hear the magical tinkles. From afar a neighbour shouted, “Merry Christmas!” and from every house up and down the street came back the chorus, and the air was filled with joy again.
Later in the evening, as I sat on the floor with family and friends, opening gifts, a holiday movie playing on TV, I could feel a stinging in my eyes as the tears threatened to fall. Whether because of the jet of Champagne that had splashed on my face as I opened the bottle or the joy I felt at that moment I cannot tell. One thing was certain nevertheless, this Christmas was wonderful. It did not hurt that ‘Santa’ had provided most of all that was on my wish list, [“World peace” would have to wait for next year], and it was a nice feeling when, as I was about to propose a toast, I heard a child scream from somewhere on the street, “Up NEPA!”
Merry Christmas!