My Christmas Culture

Piece submitted by Amaka Sakpere

First comes the presence of the dragonflies,

Blanketing the air around

I wish I could touch their

see – through paper weight wings

Then

The absence of rain, for the reign of dust

Dry and draughty air now sweeps across the streets of Lagos

Where I was born.

Quick

I dig out my favourite knitted shawl

The dust has begun to cover the trees

It canvasses the cars, paints the windows

It washes my feet.

At home

Mother is cooking, you need not be told

She gathers all of her children with her big cooking spoon.

She is passing on to us

Centuries of culture, seasoned with what

Her mother taught her and what

Her mother’s mother taught her mother

“Ne – ne” - grandmother,

My mother sprinkles into the air.

Here, you, chop the ugu and you

Pound the cassava

Mother is making Egusi soup with akpu

But that’s not the best part.

Every year,

On Christmas Eve, all the children make a bonfire

With the dried and fallen mango leaves.

We are setting on fire, old and rubbish items

That will no longer be a part of us.

At night we wait eagerly

To be summoned into father’s room

For our Christmas gifts.

New clothes, New shoes.....

Father was our “Father Christmas “

It’s Christmas

And our home is brimming with life

Loud music echoes from the stereo

From father’s favourite collection

We all come to the dance floor

Clicking fingers to the beat, gyrating and

Moving our bodies to the rhythm

Of Afro, Highlife and African music.

The dance moments we shared with father

Would forever remain a golden memory.

As the year comes to a close

I lie on my back against the hard tiled floors

Of our parlour and recount my favourite moments

Of this annual festive period I never tire of

Was it my mother’s cooking pot?

That was big enough to feed my cousins,

Neighbours, aunties, relatives I had never met,

And that only show up at Christmas, strangers, even

The dog that lives on the street,..... everyone always had a stomach full

Along with a soft bottled drink of coke, fanta or sprite.

Or was it coming home and being around

My family once again?

But at last,

It was in every laughter shared, every embrace given

Every handshake, every meeting of the eyes.

That conceived fond memories of the Christmas festive season for me

Something I will be passing on to my children

And my children’s children.