My worst Christmas Ever

I remember those days when we were small kids, Christmas use to be a day to remember for us. In fact, the thought of the name alone feels our hearts with every sense of excitement  that comes with it. Usually, it is a day to differentiate between the poor families from the rich, regarding how expensive or cheap their children’s clothes are and how much food, drinks and gift they can share. Some families even go the extra mile borrowing just for the day to ‘save their family’s face.’

For us, my mother had a tradition of buying all our clothes and all that are necessary few months before Christmas in order to avoid the usual hike in goods during the yuletide. As usual, when you get your Christmas  cloth, you  will neatly arrange it  at the bottom of your box and guarded with  as much ‘ white konfors’ as you can find. Only your best friends would be allowed to peep through your box just to get a glimpse of what you are going to put on that day. It is actually a time to remember best friends, which could be measured, by how much information you are willing to give out as regard to how your Christmas is going to be.

On one fateful Christmas, December 25, 1995 to be precised, Twenty year today was a day I will never forget. As usual,   My mother had bought my clothes for both Christmas and new year. My clothes were regarded the best, few friends I made privy to see them had carried the story to other kids in the village, and I became the talk of the town among kids. Some old friends came to tell me how I have forgotten them and those I had fought with had to come for reconciliations.  I was more like a celebrity within weeks I got my clothes. I remember having countless sleepless night weeks before Christmas in anticipation on how the day will look for me and places I would go and the days I actually slept, I dreamed on how the kids around paid homage to our house just to see me and my new cloth. The Christmas eve was the worst for me. Of course, I did not sleep a bit! I had rehearsed in my mind how I was going to put on my wonder cloth and my new pairs of shoes.

Then the D-day came. After my usual morning chores (you cannot skip that with my mum around), I could not even wait for the meal to be ready, I took my bath and put on my long anticipated cloth and shoes. Before I could finish, other kids where already waiting for me at the compound. I announced to them that I was going to the other village to see some friends, everybody was willing to go with me, and then we left.  my elder sister, three years older than myself was among my encourage. On our way, someone suggested that in order not to allow dust from motorists to stain my cloth and coat my shiny shoes, we should take the next possible short cut and avoid the main road. I accepted his suggestion and we took a very short part to the village of my school friend. However, to get to our place of destination, there was one big drainage to cross with tiny, frenzy pathway made of wood. At the other end of the drainage houses number of cassava grinders who we usually called operators in our days and this drainage does not only houses the fluids that come out of the cassavas but was also the chamber of other filths around the area. In fact it is said that no spirit, demon, witch or wizard could stand the stench of the area and one that actually did at night, was found dead the following morning.

This was the drainage we had to cross and when we got there, a friend to my sister, Mary by name ( she is married with kids now), in the spirit of the season and in order to tap from my newly found status of a celebrity, made the most fatal suggestion; she would carry me on her back to the other side of the drainage and my sister will in turn carry her own young brother who was also among my encourage. It was more like a trade by batter. After some insistence that I would like to cross on my own, i was convinced to accept the offer and we had to go one after the other so as not to get the wood path with too much weight. Mary and my little self-right at her back led the way. Just  at the middle of the path, few foot steps to cross over to the other side, I don’t know how it happened but I just noticed I was struggling within breathe to take enough of the milk at this dungeon with just a companion: Mary “mother of Jesus.”  That was the least I could remember inside my stench of comfort. I only woke up a couple of hours later, all stripped and naked with a plate of palm oil waiting for me to drink. I noticed my newly found   girl friend lying at the other side of the bed and a good Samaritan  woman was busy washing my clothes and shoes. It was then, the most dreaded reality came to me: Christmas was over this year! I was told later that some group of men rushed to our aid when my sister and other members of my encourage shouted and we were removed like fishes from the ocean. But not until we had taken more than enough of the content of the drainage that they had to force out some of the content through our mouths.  The woman took it upon herself to take care of us. Like the proverbial frog that fail into a pit for others behind to take caution, my sister and others could not cross but ran home to call my mother.

My mother came running minute later after I woke up from my unconsciousness and myself together with my girl friend had to go home naked with bruises because our clothes were not dried.  I got myself a new name in school few weeks later when school resumed.  

Merry Christmas to you all!