My Harmattan Christmas

Christmas Eve
It's almost midnight eve of Christmas and like all the few Christmas eves I have known, I battle insomnia. Uncontained excitement tugged furiously at my insides leaving me giddy with anticipation. From my bed I could hear Akin Euba's Black Bethlehem album undulating on the phonograph in the living room. I tossed and turned ceaselessly, I wasn't sure I wanted to sleep but I knew sleep was the only thing that could make time speed by.
This Christmas was extra special, I was undecided why it was so.... maybe because Christmas fell on a Sunday or perhaps it was the gorgeous blue iridescent dress I will be having the ultimate priviledge of wearing tomorrow. I hadn't seen anything as magnificent as this dress in my entire childhood.

The  Christmas preparation had reached a crescendo and I was knocked up with expectations. Thankfully sleep was merciful at some point and it took me to the land of dreams filled with Christmases from faraway land.

 The Making of Christmas

The Christmas narratives in the 80's was a different ball game. Everything;  The weather, mood, anticipation, preparation...EVERYTHING! was amplified back then.
 Once the dusty wind in its fierceness rolled in from Sahara, it heralded the long awaited harmattan, Foggy chilly morning and hazy dawn, the fog blanketing visibility leaving lips chapped, skin dry and flaky. Weather so arid, Auntie Arike would apply a thick coat of Vaseline on our bodies so that "harmattan will not carry us".
Corrugated roofing sheets became coated with layers of powdery dust and as the layers of dust thicken, so was the awareness of Christmas.
The spirit of Christmas had descended on Lagos saturating the whole town with the Christmas whiff... The smell that provoked the feeling of happiness, the feeling that sent lagosians into a blinding and buying frenzy.
The economic terrain was quite progressive in the 80's but that didn't mean folks didn't experience any form of financial discomfort throughout the year but they always had reasons to be thankful for making it to the end of the year.
It seemed the harmattan not only overcame the heat but also overrode people's disappointment and non accomplishment in the year, giving folks renewed hope to press on in the coming year.

My parents were passionately committed to the making of Christmas, they took their roles in ensuring beautiful Christmases /beautiful memories very seriously. My dad and the kids would take turns to decorate the plastic pine ball that hung in the living room with Christmas lights, strung Christmas cards on a line or intricately arranged tinsel across the room.  He would go to great lengths to ensure that our yearly visit to Bar beach went without a hitch and the buffet at Federal Palace Hotel afterwards was always something to look forward to.
In what seemed like a competition to outdo each other, my mum will unleash her "Christmas itinerary": from shopping to visits of different father Xmas grottos within the metropolis. My siblings and l could never get tired of climbing Tejuosho market's stairway or combing the busy streets of balogun market looking for the perfect Christmas dresses.

Our visits to the numerous Father Xmas grottos were like pilgrimage. These visits made us "sages" in Santa Claus deliberations. From Apapa Amusement park, Channel 10, Channel 7 to LTV 8 we went to all... paying our homage to the fathers of festivity. I still remember the long queues at the" request corners"  and although I was an introverted kid, I always got nominated by my siblings to send out the yuletide greetings.
There was always a tussle on who will accompany Auntie Arike (later on Auntie Tawa)to the market to dress the Christmas chickens.

Christmas  day
I woke up with a jolt almost dissapointed with myself for sleeping for that long (how could my body betray me like that?). It was almost 7am and the whiff of golden fried chicken had enveloped the whole house. The Black Bethlehem record was still playing and the sonorous voice of Art Alade belted from the phonograph, his rendition of my all time favorite Carol "Gbo ohun awon angeli ti n korin"(Hark the Herald the angel sing) made Christmas magical. There was something so genuine...so sincere about his voice that made me believe without doubt that he actually heard the angels sang. I looked outside the window, it was as if the white clouds had descended.... Harmattan Christmas...
.
I pranced out of bed with such swift speed, It was time to get the show on the road. I almost bumped into my dad, I barely mumbled "Merry Christmas sah" before racing to the bathroom. I called out to my mum to help with the "special Christmas spa sessions" which included blowing out my extremely tightly curled coarse hair which seem to be stunted in growth throughout the year.
I quickly swallowed my breakfast which included boiled yam, corn beef stew, fried eggs and chicken (today is not the day for chewing). By this time I could hear the trumpeter and organist from church which was a stone throw from our house rehearsing for the Christmas service,I realized I was pressed for time. As if on cue l heard the faultless rhythm of the talking drum from drummers who came from Iseyin every year to Daddy"broda ladi"s compound to add color to the festivities. Daddy "broda Ladi" would always recipocate the gestures by spraying them with wads of 50kobo. Now it's time to get  the show on the road.... Literally...

 It was barely 10:00am when we stepped out of the house garbed in our Christmas finest and efficiently marshalled by Auntie Arike. By the time I made my grand entrance to the street in my blue iridescent ball dress, white socks with trims and black court shoes...it was as if the glimmerings of the dress dispelled the foggy weather.

 Now the walk to church is usually like 3minutes but each Christmas felt like a 50minutes runway walk. A motley crew of little kids and sometimes older ones playing with fire crackers  paused momentarily to yell "omolodun yerawo" in admiration. I tried to keep a straight face as we were accompanied by these yells to church
As we turned the corner, we were greeted with a solemn call to worship hymn "E wa ka lojuba re "(oh! come on ye faithful) rendered whole heartedly by the faithfuls. We hurried into the church to take our place.
After the day's excitement, running around, receiving visitors, escorting Auntie Arike to drop food at the neighbors', I was tired as a worn out shoe, I cuddled up like a ball on the sofa drifting in and out of sleep trying hard to listen to animated voices of Yinka Craig and Patrick  Oke on NTA's Newsline wishing Christmas was everyday.... I couldn't ascertain the exact moment I dozed off ....

Epilogue
To mummy.... for making it hard... extremely hard to rival or replicate the beautiful magical memories you created at and around Christmas.You are a legend.. Mummy.

Picture credit :Google Images