Christmas day.

The fresh breeze and the bright blue morning light of the tropics looked like a simulation of a fairy world. We woke  up to fireworks, amidst “Feliz Navidad” and “Jingle bells” from different corners of our neighborhood.

Our first task in the morning as kids was to sweep the rooms and our compound. Before we were done with the routine morning chores, mother had set fire in a stove and placed a huge pot on it. We could smell butter melting in the pot as she grated coconut. There was a sack of rice by her side as she asked us to bring carrots, cabbage, green pepper and other ingredients from the kitchen. We had never seen those combinations in her cookings. What a special Christmas this was going to be!

The previous day, dad led us to kill a goat, and in an old aluminum barrel converted into an oven, the meat was roasting on gentle heat. We made some chips too, and dad brought in crates of soft drinks: Fanta, Malta Guinness, Coca Cola, Sprite and Pepsi. The only time of the year we saw such volumes of drinks.

In the course of helping mom in the preparations, we were interrupted by a visitor. A teenager brought us some food in a basket. It was the custom here to exchange food with one’s neighbors, friends and relatives on festive occasions.

“Tell your mom I thank her very much,” mom told the teenager who had identified herself as Afia. Daughter of one of the deacons in our church.

“Wait! Don’t go yet…” She made us bring some of the chips and a bottle of Fanta for the girl to take home.

“Thank you, Ma! ” she said, and took her leave.

When all the cookings were done, we left the food at home and went for a short special thanksgiving service at church.

We thanked God for a successful year and for protecting our lives from harm and evil. People hugged one another as they exchanged Christmas wishes before dispersing to their various homes.

Our parents stood at the church grounds a bit longer, having incessant conversations with  people they haven’t seen in a long time. Some people only showed up at church on such occasions and for the rest of the year, we never saw them.

When we finally got home, there was more music, dancing and merry making. Visitors trooped in and out of our house throughout the day, especially people we haven’t seen in a while. There were also calls from distant relatives checking up on us, some promising us gifts that never came.

Unfortunately, we couldn’t get to watch TV as much as we wanted because when our parents were chatting with visitors, we stayed outside the living room. Sometimes we peeped through some opening in the window but we needed to stay alert. Once a visitor had a phone call and was stepping out to receive it or mother had to enter the kitchen to serve someone, we must vanish and reappear when all was well.

The good news about Christmas day was that, we could sneak in and steal a drink or some meat and no one noticed. Our parents simply assumed they were served to some visitors.

My siblings and I convinced ourselves we too were visitors, although we did not know in what way…