By Amaechi Agbo

Ordinarily, one, even as a kid, most particularly, eagerly longs for Christmas. A day, in those days and years, and even now, we adored. Even though the level of adoration has tilted this time, back then, when Obi was still a boy, it is one of, if not, the greatest day in the world.

As kids then, we looked forward to Christmas for two critical reasons – our new clothes (which must be up-and-down) and the well-prepared rice we would savour. These two things, no matter what, cannot be missing on the Christmas Day.

No matter how lacking in finance the family might be, there must be Christmas cloth and sumptuous rice to eat, to make merry and rejoice.

I do not know how my Mama used to do it, but weeks before Christmas, she would take us to a tailor, to take our measurements. Thereafter, she would ask us to choose the cloth of our choices to be sewed for us.

I recall, vividly, that the last “up-and-down” my Mama sewed for me was a cloth with the Sun and the Moon patterns on it. I admired the cloth with joy so I did not dilly-dally in selecting it.

One thing about the choosing or selecting of cloth during this period is that my Mama would use it, henceforth, to intimidate and even victimise us. If she sends you on an errand, any slightest grumpy face will be met with one rebuttal “if you don’t want to wear you Christmas cloth, don’t go.” That would do the magic and I would disappear within seconds to get the errand done.

On the Christmas Day, she would call of us, and one-by-one, give us our new sparkling Christmas clothes. That day, our gait would automatically change. Our joy would exceed our expectations. After the giving of the clothes, all of us would start going for errands unsent. We would wash dishes, both the dirty and neat ones. We would sweep the compound, front and backyard. We would fetch water, firewood and participate actively in cooking the rice. When she asked us to bring salt container, we would come along with pepper container too.

One other thing we do without being asked to, was to catch the fattened cock meant for the day. Every year, a cock must be raised, specially, for Christmas. Sometimes, it would be turn-by-turn. Because all of us “owned” fowls, that kind of ownership by name, we would donate one cock for each Christmas and New Year. I recall the day three of my cocks were sold on one Afor Market day and when I asked my Mama, boldly, about the money, she had looked at me suspiciously before saying “I can see you have grown wings.” With that, she stretched out her right hand with the open palm to me. I was confused. “Put it here!” She had ordered.

“Put what, Mama?” I asked trembling with fear as tears kept my cheeks company.

“Put all the money I have been using to feed you since your birth in my palm, osiso!” She thundered. I kept mute, feeling dejected and humiliated.

“Mama, biko, gbaghara m,” I pleaded.

She looked at me sternly with such anger that made me kneel to beg her more, holding the edge of her wrapa. That was the day I knew that “my fowl,” popularly called “okuko Amaechi,” was never mine.

As we run errand for the Christmas rice, we had drawn our itineraries for the day. With my younger sister, Njide, we knew where we would be going later. A visit to our grandma, maternal; a visit to uncle Joe who always comes home for Christmas from Lagos; a visit to aunty Nkechi who was a business lady doing well; a visit to uncle Fidelis, who my father told us that “Fidelis is my brother because his great-grand father and my great-grand father were step brothers. So we are great-grand sons.” Whatever that meant, I did not bother to know. Once we visited Uncle Fide, we are sure of plenty money.

Funny enough, it is not as if these visits or destinations are close by like unborn twins. They are kilometres apart and we must meet up because any of them we failed to visit, means lesser money and bad market for us. So we must meet up.

And that has always been the problem. On a day like Christmas Day, apart from the new cloth and the special rice, we also prayed for one thing, a longer day.

I had argued this very prayer point with my sister a million times.

“Since we are celebrating God’s ONLY Son’s birthday, God should extend the day so we can enjoy it very well,” I had argued one of those days. But among all the prayers I said then as a child, that’s the ONLY prayer petition God refused to answer.

We would eat our rice with joy. Everyone eaten to one’s satisfaction. The Christmas Day remains the only day that my Mama would ask you to go to the pot and fetch more food if you had not “bellefulled”. Every other day it is either she went to the kitchen to add more for you or she would sit in her “Ulotaa” (personal room) and call you glutton, if the food was not much.

The moment we were done eating, we would dash to the bathroom, wash ourselves and put on our new magnificent clothes. We would look radiate and immaculate, neighbours and friends would admire us.

Then there would be argument on whose cloth is the best when we met our peers. I recall how my mother and her best friend, Mama Oge were arguing on one Christmas Day over whose children’s Christmas clothes were better. The argument was so bitter that while I was peeping through the door, listening to and watching them, I felt they could fight until they burst into laughter.

One other thing that happened on Christmas Day was “betting”. Local betting. In this betting, you and your opponent would hold your second finger together and declare “Let’s bet up-and-down.” In up-and-down betting, the rule is simple – if I first saw anybody wearing up-and-down, I would shout to Njide “up-and-down!” And Njide was bound to do whatever I would ask her to do.

I recall on one Christmas Day when we had the bet and Njide won against me. That day, she demanded for my Christmas meat and ate all of them. I carried long face throughout the day until my Mama saw me and asked what the problem was. She gave me more meat to eat that day but not without warning Njide not to be wicked and never to do such again

“But Mama, it was a bet. And he too used to treat me badly. Last week, he collected my share of the okpa you bought from market because we had a bet that you would buy moi moi. But he said you would buy okpa. We then agreed that if you bought moi moi I would eat his share or if you bought okpa, he would eat my share. Mama, he ate my share that day. How would I not eat his Christmas meat?” Njide had asked, sobbing.

“Amaechi! Amaechi!! Amaechi!!!” My Mama was calling but I went to the backyard where I hid to dismember the meat

“Even at that, you should learn to forgive him. He is your brother. But don’t worry I will buy the okpa for you in the next Afor market day,” I heard my Mama telling Njide as I entered her Ulotaa.

Usullay, our Christmas cloth, or what my Uncle Fide would call “Christmas regalia” would be made up of new cloth, plastic sunshade glasses, plastic wrist watch, face-cap, canvass and a locally made “gun” to complete the attire. The “gun”, is fabricated with iron, with a pointed head where I would put in the black head of a match stick, cover it with a nail. When hit on stone, it would produce the “sound of a gun”. The gun would announce our arrival to any house and the people would come out to welcome us.

During the visits, our target was to make money especially from Aunty Nkechi, Uncle Fide and Uncle Joe. They would bring food but we would protest that we needed meat. Once we are done with the meat, they would all dash us money and we would disappear.

The last Christmas I visited Uncle Fide, my Papa told us to go because he bought a new car. On our way going, when we reached the junction leading to his house, I collected money from Njideka, went to a nearby kiosk and bought razor blade.

When I came back, I removed my canvass and used the razor to cut it. Then I falled on the ground and roled myself two times. As I got up, Njide started crying “I will tell mama what you did. You cut your new shoe. Mama will beat you.”

“Please,” I said to her, holding her hand, “don’t tell Mama. I want us to make money…”

“How?” She cut-in.

“My plan is this. When we entre Uncle Fide’s house, he would ask me what happened to my shoe and cloth and I will tell him that I was running to meet you but hit my foot on a stone a fall…”

“How would that give us money?”

“Don’t forget Papa said Uncle Fide bought a new car. He has been given us plenty money before so he will give us more money today to buy new shoe,” I said.

Njideka looked at me with a doubt and her last words scared me. “If he did not give us plenty money, I will tell Mama,” she threatened.

As we entered Uncle Fide’s house, the wife welcomed us. But was shocked to see me crying with one of my shoes in my hand and my cloth dusty.

“What happened?” She had asked.

After my narration, she asked her son, Ekene to give me his second Christmas cloth to wear. We were of the same age and size. So she asked me to follow Ekene. Ekene, to my surprise, was happy to give me his Christmas cloth. A thing I could not contemplate. He also gave me his pair of shoes to wear. When I came out, I looked different and Njide was envious.

As Uncle Fide came in and welcomed us, his wife explained to him what happened. After we had eaten meat and drinks, the drink tasted different from coke or fanta we took at home. I did not know the name and the bottle was very beautiful.

As we were leaving, Uncle Fide requested that we spent the night with them but because we never told our parents, we said no. He then gave us N1000 as our Christmas gift and also gave me N3000 to buy a new shoe and a new cloth. The money was the highest we ever made during Christmas. It was as if we were millionaires. We jumped, celebrated and were ecstatic.

When we reached home, Njide called me “onye oshi.” Unfortunately, our Mama collected the whole money from us and we never heard about it till today. We dared not to ask her about it.

Each time Christmas approaches, even as you are reading this today, I had always asked God to extend the 25 day of every December to enable us to enjoy the joy of celebrating the birth of His only Son but it appears He does not want to answer my prayer.

Funny enough, it even appears as if Christmas day is the shortest day on earth because the last Christmas I celebrated with my up-and-down, I did not visit Uncle Fide because before we could eat rice at home, it was evening already.

Because Christmas day appears to be short, just like today, cutting short my joy and celebration for the day, I HATE CHRISTMAS.