When the morning wears a garment of mist
And my skin feels the twist
Then I know you are near
When my eyes squint at the haze
And my nose drinks painful breath
Then I know you are near
When the wind dances dryly
Bringing the Sahara to my feet
And the clouds become barren
Then I know you are near
When the jingles fill my ear
And red lighted caps crown my head
Then I know you are near
When the chickens convulse with fright
And their bodies lose sight
Then I know you are near
When fireworks laugh without reserve
And the clock clangs @ Twelve
Then I know you are here
I wrote that poem years ago to recapture the festive mood of my childhood years. With nostalgia, I recall when the year was coming to an end. The ambiance was different, the mood electric and the weather eclectic.
Christmas time was so much different than it is today. Even though I no longer celebrate Christmas, I can fondly recall when I did. As December approached the shift in the weather sets the mood for the festive season as the tropical rains retreated to give way to the dry, dusty, north-easterly wind arriving from the Sahara.
The wind named harmattan was our own snow time, but instead of snow falling from the sky, we were greeted by a dry, cold, and dusty wind which made breathing painful as you drew in harsh dry air through your nostrils. The dry air cracked open our lips and feet and made our faces ashy.
We ignored all that discomfort, because, it was Christmas time, schools were closed, and our Christmas clothes bought about a month earlier, lay in our mother's closet waiting for December 25th to be proudly worn. Sometimes the attire was repeated for New Year's day, other times we had a separate one for New year's day.
Other accessories such as rubber eyeglasses and fake rubber wristwatches usually accompany the attire. We couldn't wait to wear them out and show who had the best Christmas/New year clothes.
On the eve of either day called a watch night, there was no sleeping for anyone. We all went to Church for prayers till it rang twelve announcing Christmas/New year. A few minutes after midnight, worshippers dispersed to their homes to continue the watch night.
At this point, the fireworks which had been mild become more intense lighting up the clear night sky with artificial thunder. My grandfather forbade us from using the more extreme fireworks, but we still had fun.
By early morning just before the sun awoke, we crept up on our beds to catch an hour or two of sleep while our mothers began cooking for the festivities. The standard dish was rice and chicken with salad and other dressings.
With the rising of the sun, we dressed up happily in our new attire. After gouging on our parents' food, we set out—with other kids in the neighborhood—on a pilgrimage to visit every house in the neighborhood and sometimes beyond. Usually, one or two kids knew someone in each house we visited. We all went along and were welcomed in, given food and drinks with some change money. After collecting the money, we waited a few minutes and set off to another house.
The ritual was repeated till evening time when we had become bloated with food and drinks and our pockets filled with change from our benefactors. It was fun, but such activities are no longer fashionable, the world is changing fast and such communal traditions that brought smiles to kids' faces have quietly died out.
Such was the nature of my childhood at this time of the year. The new year allowed us an opportunity to start afresh, to make resolutions that we mostly did not keep, till the cycle was repeated 12 months down the line.
One resolution this year for me though that I intend to keep is to publish three articles monthly, to feature interesting guest writers, and to bring diverse perspectives to my audience. I'm forever committed to questioning everything through the voice of my pen.
I appreciate everyone who supported me last year by reading my articles. That anyone finds them interesting is an honor to me. In that spirit, I would be launching paid subscriptions to support my writing. However, most of my write-ups would not be behind a paywall. I intend to share my thoughts for free, and if you feel so inspired to support me financially, I would be more than grateful.
With that being said, I wish everyone a very prosperous 2023. HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Charles Ekokotu (Pharm. D.) is a bibliophile, prose fiction writer, poet, and playwright. His first self-published novel, Hotel Shendam—a crime fiction novel featuring a debate on race and colonialism—is available on Amazon. A very fun read! Grab a copy now!
Follow Charles Ekokotu on
A VERY AFRICAN CHRISTMAS
Weird question... Why don't you celebrate Christmas anymore? I mean, I'm an atheist and I celebrate it. Which, the irony is intoxicating lol.