Image is mine
Family is the smallest unit in society, as taught in social studies. Family is the foundation for every human who comes into this world. The base of development. Over here in this part of the world, family is critical to your survival. We have many children roaming the streets today due to the outcome of a dysfunctional family. Many are neglected and worse, left to fend for themselves.
In all this, I grew with a family. I have only had my mother and my mother’s family as support for a long time but I have received unconditional love from the one parent I have. Mom and I do not particularly have traditions that we follow at home except for birthday celebrations and all. However, I have had the opportunity to live with other families in the past and have gotten a glimpse of what it is like to be fully engaged in family activities.
I remember staying a few weeks with a family I found fascinating. Why? To my young mind, life with the ‘Oyibo’ (Foreigner) was magical. I was a legit drama queen. I made a friend in church, Michelle and had a crazy crush on her brother, Rueben. Their mother was European (cannot remember from where exactly) while their dad was Nigerian (or was it Ghanaian?). Her hair was a source of mystery to me then. It was long, glossy and thick. When I asked her why her hair color was weird, she replied that she was born blonde. This was way before I started watching operas and all.
Unlike their mother, Rueben and Michelle took after their dad in terms of hair. However, Michelle was as fair as her mother was with honey colored eyes. Rueben was a mix of both, skin dark enough to tell of his origins. He was chocolate milk. The other two kids, I cannot remember much of them. I only bonded enough with the eldest two close to my age.
There was the Sunday Ice tradition where Daddy – as I called him – would take us out for ice cream and other treats. I mostly remember the ice cream. In addition, we had to use cutlery to eat and eating in your room was prohibited. I struggled for some time learning to use those things but then I got a hang of it. There was also the tradition where Daddy would always bless us before bed and kiss us goodnight. Michelle and I shared a bedroom. I had experienced fatherly love for the weeks I lived with them until I had to leave and they left the country.
I also stayed with my Grand Aunt for a while and there are traditions that have fizzled out but then others, still going strong. Example of dead family tradition is the Ice cream Sunday. Yes. The A.K family also had ice cream Sundays with fish rolls and doughnuts. We were taken to the Ostrich bakery after service and served cups of ice creams and doughnuts. Of course, this only happens after lunch.
As for the thriving tradition, we have the Family Prayer Meetings. This is a tradition from my Grand Aunts' husband family passed down for generations. Every first Sunday of the month, all the A.Ks (as I refer to them) would gather at the family home based in Kaduna. The Matriarch who is still alive today is always present (over a hundred years old she is) and the uncle who is a pastor leads the prayer. All the daughters, sons, in-laws, children and grandchildren gather this day. This tradition is still in existence and I find myself there once a while. After prayers, the cousins (distant and close), children and grandchildren find ourselves in one room. We catch up over the well-served plate of jollof rice and fried chicken.
The third I remember has nothing to do with me but my cousin. I wanted to eat the gizzard of a chicken when she screamed bloody murder and sent the meat flying away from my hand back into the dish. She explained further, when I expressed my confusion that it is tradition to serve the gizzard to the head of the house or something bad would happen. My first thought was how ridiculous superstitions can be.
I asked my mom this morning if there was any tradition our family had. None. I rephrased and asked if there was any tradition we had as an Igbo family. She told me that the eldest must be married first before the juniors can. They believed that when the eldest of a family is married off first, marital blessings follow the household. Ah well, I do not know how I feel about that one. With my children, first come, first served. Age does not matter.
