Memories Of Christmas and Others

It's 3.00 am this Christmas eve. And I am awake. I'm always up this early because I am a morning person.

They say most successful people start their days early. Well, you can count me as one. I read, write, meditate and go to the gym before the clock strikes 6.30 am.

It's a habit I cultivated a long time ago, back when I was in high school or secondary school as it is called in Nigeria.

I attended a boarding high school and my wake-up time was 5.00 am. The bell would ring and you were required to start your day, take a shower, do your morning chores, and put in at least an hour of reading before breakfast at 7.00 am.

I remember so well because, I was the school's timekeeper, or "Time Prefect" in my senior year. So I was the one who rang that big old bell to wake everyone up. It was my responsibility to let them know when it was time for breakfast, classes, lunch, siesta, evening prep, extracurricular activities, dinner, night prep, lights out, and whatnot. (Evening and Night preps, where the time to do homework and personal study)

So, naturally, I am always punctual and dislike tardiness. And of course, there was my father. My dad is the most punctual person I know. He was always early and on time and he taught us that timeliness was of the greatest value.

I remember back in the day when Nigeria Airways was still operational, this was in the mid to late 1980s. My second sister went to school in Gboko.

Gboko is a city in central Nigeria, or what is often referred to as the Middle belt.

We lived in Lagos, which was in Southwestern Nigeria. Gboko was about 803.3 km (499.14 miles) away.  A travel time of 12 hours and 45 minutes by car, so my sister would fly to school for the semester and back at the end of the semester for holidays. She also went to a boarding school.

Nigeria airways like many government establishments were not a competent entity. Flight times were always tardy! You could always bet your bottom Naira the flight would be delayed and sometimes even canceled no matter how great the weather was.

But my dad always took my sister to the airport at least four hours before her flight. In case of any unforeseen reason, like the horrendous Lagos traffic, they got to the airport late. And as night followed day, the flight would always be delayed, sometimes for three to eight hours.

When my sister returned for the school holidays after a three-month semester, he would be at the airport early to pick her up but of course, the flight would never arrive as scheduled.

He would come home upset with Nigeria airways and how poorly it was run. And my mum would advise that he should perhaps borrow a leaf from Nigeria airways and never be on time. Which riled him up and look at her like doomsday just happened.

The fact that Nigeria airways were tardy did not mean he should join in too. He was trying to teach my sister and all of our valuable life lessons. Just because everyone around you is doing something wrong, does not mean you have to join the bandwagon. He was a role model and set a good example for his children. 

That was my dad, an excellent role model, a selfless man. He always put others before himself. Soft-spoken but firm. And no matter what was going on around him, he remained true to himself. He often said, always be your authentic self. And never be afraid to take the road less traveled. No matter how long it takes, people will always see you for who you truly are.

I miss his wisdom and at Christmas, I miss him the most. Because of the Christmas traditions.

On many Christmas holidays, he took the whole family on a road trip to my village in Southeastern Nigeria. Umuokehi, Umuahia was the land of his birth, although we were all mostly born and raised in Lagos. He always made sure we visited our ancestral homeland.

Umuokehi, Umuahia after the Nigeria/Biafra war also known as the Nigerian civil war was a rural sleepy, peaceful village. Life was simple and the people lived off the land.

The weather at Christmas time was usually cold in the mornings and nights because of the Harmattan, a dry, dusty North-easterly wind on the West African coast that starts in late November to February. The afternoons however were usually hot and humid.

Once we arrived in the village, everything was festive as throngs of visitors would beseech our home from early in the morning. All the villagers needed to hear was De Aham biara ulo (Uncle Aham came home).

"De" is not really the Anglais equivalent of an uncle, Anglais is English, for those wondering, this is me, trying to remember my high school french and make monsieur et madame Keke my high school french teachers proud.

"De" or "Dede" is an Igbo term used as a prefix, a sign of respect to an older male. And for the female, it is "Da" or "Dada"

In the Nigerian culture and pretty much of the African culture, it is seen as disrespectful to call someone older than you by their first name.

As I look back now, I cherish those times. I remember on those visits, it was safe for my siblings and me to wander into the village and beyond. All we did was tell our parents, that we were going to Ama ochie or Uhu ochie which was the homestead where my ancestors had lived and walked the earth.

In the early and mid-1970s, there were mostly mud houses and roofs of palm fronds. And it was always cool inside in the tropical heat. It was like a pilgrimage. These mud houses have all been replaced by cement houses and mansions now. And sometimes, I wish some of the mud houses had been left alone for historical purposes.

My father's house is the first-story building or like the Americans say, a two-floor building in my village and it was built in 1972/1973. And this was a village devastated by the Nigerian civil war. 

My Parents 1980

The first two-floor house in my village, Umuokehi, Ohuhu, Umuahia built in 1972/73 after the Biafra/Nigerian war which ended on Jan. 15, 1970 

So when I read that Donald Trump said that Nigerians live in mud huts in 2017, I chuckled. Donald Trump needs to visit Nigeria, then we will talk. Until then, I can only chuckle.

 Christmas holidays in my village were always fun, there would be dances to Odumodu music and on a designated market day in the Igbo calendar, the big masquerade festival takes place called Ekpe 

Although the celebration of Christmas is foreign to my culture. A festival that came with European missionaries who introduced Christianity to the Igbos, we have managed to infuse our traditions and culture into its celebration. 

And if you read history, you will recall that the festivity at this time of the year was originally a pagan festival to celebrate the winter solstice, a celebration of light and the rebirth of the Sun.

Emperor Aurelian established December 25th  as the birthday of the "Invincible Sun" in the third century as part of the Roman Winter Solstice celebrations.

What is really important is the goodwill of the season, especially for kids!

I always say Christmas is for kids as I enjoyed the holidays best as a child.

Now, my best part of Christmas is the decorations and lights. I love how it makes everywhere so pretty.

So in my village, there is a masquerade festival on a selected day which is not December 25th.

The Igbos have their own calendar before the colonialists arrived on our shores.

The Igbo calendar has 13 months in a year, 7 weeks in a month, and 4 days in a week.

There was always plenty of food, music, laughter, and dances.

Traditionally a couple of goats would be slaughtered for the Christmas lunch and anyone, I mean anyone would drop by the house and would be given something to eat and drink. It is the tradition, people from the village do not need an invitation to visit.

Life was simple and safe.

I will always cherish the memories of the eight-hour road trip from Lagos to my village in Umuahia for the Christmas holidays with my family. The family reunion with relatives, and cousins, because even relatives who lived abroad would occasionally come home for the Christmas holidays

The best education anyone can give themselves is to travel and read extensively.