One Christmas morning, a cold harmattan morning, my dad woke up and decided to give some food to the poultry he reared.

All around him he scattered corn, and greedily the hens and cocks and chicks ate. The hen to be used for the festivities of the day received more corn, which fell closer and closer to the feet of the broadcaster.

Slowly, father bent, spreading generously more and more corn. Then with one master move, bam! There! The poor hen was in his hands. Its head and wings were soon found in father’s armpit whereas its feet were firmly planted in his right hand.

By this time, the water on fire was boiling, bubbling like the joy of the kids that had gathered on the compound, deliberating in advance which part of the hen will be theirs. Some kids had started demonstrating how they were going to devour the thighs if they were fortunate to be given the honor.

Preparations towards a memorable Christmas began. Chopping of vegetables, steaming of meat, frying of fish, buying some missing ingredients that the chef thought were still in the kitchen cabinet, cooking of rice and other meals like fufu on standby for those who prefer the local meals.

All this while, some music was in the background. They started with Christmas songs and somewhere along the lines switched to afro music, powerful and vibrating the entire house. A few tenants in the house were soon sweating themselves into a proper Christmas mood with their killer dance moves.

A little over 1pm, all cookings were brought to a halt! The Christmas party was on. Meal time!

On a large tray the meal was served and around it families gathered to give thanks to the Almighty Allah for a successful year. We ate as one big family. On top of the large mountain of rice was the roasted chicken, standing tall like an Egyptian pyramid.

We ate and ate to our satisfaction.

Unfortunately for us, we had taken a certain minute detail for granted : the slaughtered hen had an incessant cough. This didn’t seem very important to us. It wasn’t the first time we had eaten a hen suffering from some headache, or toothache or any of the fake illness they put up to dissuade us from killing them.

But we were dead wrong! Soon after eating, we started coughing one by one. It initially seemed a coincidence. But soon, it got serious.

Seemed this hen was determined to the avenge the blood of its predecessors.

As we coughed and coughed, trying all medicines with no success, we knew in our heart of hearts that the ghost of the hen we slaughtered was standing in heaven, looking down with a broad smile on an achievement worth recollecting for ages, a sweet revenge.

Merry Christmas to you all my cherished readers, especially to you, Sadje♥️, for the constant encouragement.