THE NIGERIAN LESSON

It was that time of December where the atmosphere was heavy with the anticipation of excitement and buoyancy.

Wherever the birds failed to chirp heralds, the Christmas lights droned in relentless monotony and where there were no bright stars and flaky snows, the lights sparkled on in different places.

But in all these excitement, my home wrestled with the elbows of gloom like a trapped fighter. My Dad was locked in his room brooding over a book while my Mum was lounged in the couch glaring at the ceiling. I and my siblings shuffled through the house restively in search for some sort of mind numbing activity to quell the hungry vortex in our stomach.

Normally by this time of the year our kitchen was filled with the tantalizing aroma of different flavors and our stomachs with anticipation of endless indulging but this year ended badly for my Dad financially and so we were stuck at home with nothing but hunger and depression for company.

Suddenly my Mum sprung from the couch and launched into a tirade that stunned every one of us. Said she:

“Why are we all acting so sad like our happiness depends on what we eat and drink?” she asked no one in particular

I wanted to tell her that she was stating the obvious but decided against it hoping she would take our silence as a cue and shut up.

At first it was easy to blank her out and focus on our gloom but soon it became increasingly difficult as some of the words she was saying began to make sense to me and my siblings. I still remember words like:

There will always be other Christmas

Is rice, chicken and salad new to any of you, don’t we eat those on normal days?

What if we decide to have our Christmas next week when your Dad gets enough money?

Have we not been good parents to you, have we not done our best to make sure you guys are happy?

Even to our young minds that made a lot of sense and we soon found ourselves enjoying the simple niceties of mundane tasks like playing football in the compound and eating curry rice while reminiscing days of better meals and basking in our own righteous deference to the vanities of small minded people.

 Mum’s word gave us good reason to see the beauty in breaking the norm and feeling satisfied in doing things others do not.

I remember that Christmas because everything had a heightened sense to it. Fanta tasted like champagne and our simple rice tasted like the best of catering service.

We spent that night in my Dad’s room and watched movies while joking about everything from my Dad’s popular sermons on good characters to my Mum’s loud prayers at night.

I soon realized that unlike other Christmas where my Mum would usually be in a sour mood after much cooking, I enjoyed that day because there was a sense of freedom and every one spoke without fear of sparking any resentment or punishment and that meant more to me and my siblings than the best meals which were always accompanied by loud shouts and complains.

Like every other Nigerian we were plagued with the curse of trying to do things because others were doing same and not because we wanted to but that day taught me a lesson that I have held on in life.

It is better to be poor and be yourself than to pretend to blend in and go beyond the reach of your personalities and possibilities.