Wednesday December 23
Nigeria is said to have one
of the highest populations of fervent faithful. Even the crows wear priest collars,
a band of white at their throat.
As I write this carollers stroll
just beyond the compound wall. Their voices rise in delicious harmony: “We wish
you…a merry Christmas.” I love the subtle pause, a slight but noticeable
difference from back home renditions.
The festive season here is
not the same as the accepted norm in Canada. A couple of market stalls carry
tacky plastic trinkets for kids, castoff toys that never made it under North
American or European xmas trees and will probably break after a few hours of
play. But I don’t see shoppers clambering for these things. Preferred gifts, if
any are given, are the likes of yams and groundnuts and new cloth to dress
women and children fineO.
At this time of year
families gather in huge numbers. Most of the Nigerians I’ve come to know are
one of five or seven or ten plus siblings. Add in extended families and you’ve
got a major brood. Christmas day is all about going to church for three or more
hours of halleluiahs and hymns, then for some hosting guests or for most
carrying on with the daily grind. I’m surprised to learn vendors in my
neighbourhood expect to be open by mid-afternoon the 25th though I’m
told items will be four-fold the regular price.
The real festivities come
towards the New Year when masses board public buses or pile into beat up Audis
and Peugots or sparkling new Mercedes and Prado SUVs to head to their homestead
villages. It’s here that storytelling revives around outdoor kitchen fires.
Traditions and memories regale children, songs are sung, praises are given to
the Lord Jesus Amen! and thanks offered up for whole roasted goats and bowls of
egasi soup. Gallons of palm wine and cases of Malta wash it all down.
As a voyeur, it’s
refreshing. Crude commercialism has long
worn away any enamour of Christmas getting, giving way instead to relishing the
season the way it’s celebrated Nigerian style: surrounded by family, close friends
and delicious foods. Though I’m far away from my daja’s Leah and Kaleigh, my parents,
my brothers and their families, and my kinship sisters Elaine, Leah (with a
soft e) and Pat their spirits transcend oceans and time zones to buoy my own.
In a handful of days five guests
will arrive from Illorin, Lagos and Abuja. Plastic cones of fresh roasted
cashews bought roadside in Benue state are wrapped as gifts for each. I’ve
decorated with cuttings from plants I can’t name. The house sparkles after spending
much of the weekend mopping concrete floors with bleach and leftover laundry
water, wiping grime and dust from shelves, kitchen counters, toilet and sinks, and
scrubbing away bits of this and that from the fridge.
Tomorrow it’s to the
hairdresser for braiding. I’m going blue. Not old lady blue but
Carnival-colourful blue. “When in Rome….”
Signing off and not be back
until Internet resumes or on return from adventures in Uganda and Rwanda. Christmas loving xxxooo
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