Growing up, I remember that the week before Christmas was when
our relatives working in Nairobi would travel upcountry, lugging large
bags with their fancy clothes and loads of supermarket shopping that
invariably included wheat flour, cooking oil, sugar, bread, orange juice
and such supplies.
The young women particularly, used
to cause quite a stir because they looked more radiant, their skins
lighter, their skirts shorter, their trousers tighter, their hair glossy
and their lips shining with lipstick. They were the envy of their rural
counterparts and the objects of desire for many a young man in their
prime.
Accompanying them to fetch water in the river a
day after their arrival was always an honour and not just because of
the stories they regaled us with. Never mind that most of them were
working as househelps or shop attendants and the well-to-do ones as
secretaries.
The young men from the village would
congregate around their city counterparts who smoked and us, their
junior relatives, would complete the circle, listening to stories about
their escapades in the city with no one from upcountry contributing
except to interject with a question.
Back then, we
heard more about Jesus Christ and hardly anything about Santa Claus.
Today, my one-and-a-half-year-old son sees a photo of Santa holding a
bottle of Coca Cola and proclaims “Christmas!”
STAR-LIT NIGHTS
On the night of December 24, all young men and women in the village would meet at an agreed point — usually a nearby school or football pitch — after which they would walk from farm to farm singing carols and hymns in vernacular while banging drums and tin cans.
On the night of December 24, all young men and women in the village would meet at an agreed point — usually a nearby school or football pitch — after which they would walk from farm to farm singing carols and hymns in vernacular while banging drums and tin cans.
Of
course, the star-lit nights provided the perfect rendezvous for young
lovers for whom the occasion would be a highlight of the year. Back in
the day, one’s friend also happened to date one’s sister and so, the
duty of making sure the sister was available to one’s friend rested on
the shoulders of her brother.
It was he who convinced
the parents that he would provide all-night security for his sister so
that she could be allowed to venture out for what we called “Murekio” or
“Mutiume”.
The first referred to the night when the
angel appeared before the shepherds while the second was derived from a
chorus urging families to open their doors and give alms to the bands of
young men and women who walked through the village singing, kissing and
loving.
During the years when the phrase “Kenya
njeru” (New Kenya) made its way into the public discourse, these wakes
were banned because criminals would walk from farm to farm singing the
same carols and robbing the patrons who opened their doors to give alms.
Today, Christmas Eve in the village is quiet, with
only the song of the occasional drunk or a howling dog punctuating the
silent night.
December 25 was always ushered with a
beehive of activities, mostly revolving around food. The patriarch of
each household would offer a ram or goat to be slaughtered for the
congregated family.
Usually, that job was left to
older men who used the occasion to teach the following generation the
skills of killing, skinning and slaughtering a goat. No sooner had the
ram or goat been slaughtered than the men would make a big fire on which
to roast the meat and prepare the head and hooves to make soup. Most of
the meat ended up being eaten at this phase.
The
matriarch of the homestead would offer her biggest cockerel. It, too,
would be slaughtered and when it had been cooked, there was always
competition over who would get the thighs. Most times, that honour went
to the patriarch and his eldest son. If there was a notable guest, the
eldest son would miss out.
The young women would usher
Christmas Day by kneading the dough for chapatis, cleaning the rice,
chopping meat and generally preparing the food that would be eaten that
day. Usually, they made enough chapatis for every person to get at least
two.
NO ONE WENT VISITING
As
a rule, no one went visiting on Christmas Day. Everyone spent the day
with their family, running errands, eating, playing music on the radio
cassette player that the men from the city brought with them.
The
afternoon of Christmas Day was the highlight for young boys and girls.
At about 3pm, they would be taken to the local shopping centre where
each would be bought a bottle of Fanta. That was the time to show off
one’s new clothes and shoes to their peers.
Of course,
Boxing Day would be lazy for everyone. The young men and women were
nursing hangovers, the dutiful ones were busy cleaning up the previous
day’s mess, the children had bloated stomachs and everyone else was busy
eating the excess food prepared on Christmas Day.
That
was the day for visiting, largely because as a guest, the chances of
landing a decent meal, complete with meat, rice and chapati were higher
than when one remained at home.
By December 28, the
city workers were ready to depart. Usually, the young women were the
first to leave because they were needed back in their work places.
Besides the big dragging bags carrying their clothes, they would also be
given three debes of dry maize, half a debe of beans and peas, arrow
roots, sweet potatoes and sometimes sugarcane.
Usually,
the men, many of who did not reveal exactly what they did in the city,
would leave after New Year’s Day. When no one was looking, they would
ask their mothers for fare back to the city.
By the
time they were leaving, their big radios would have fallen silent and
the packets of Embassy would long have disappeared to be replaced by
sticks of Rooster wrapped in transparent plastic paper. For us in the
village, this was the signal that the Christmas holidays were over.
No comments :
Post a Comment