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.
