Christmas has always been that time of the year I have always been so excited about since I was a child, and my anticipation of this period of the year has not reduced, even though I am no more a child.
I have always cherished the beautiful memories I have had during Christmas seasons from my childhood up till now, and I don't think I will ever let those beautiful moments slip away from my heart.
There are many things that make Christmas memorable to me. It is a custom in our family that as a family member, you must find your way home no matter how far away you are from home for a family get-together party.
It has always been a time I look out for because it gives me the opportunity to see my immediate and extended family members that I have not seen for a very long time.
The delectable meals I often enjoy during those christmas get-together parties is another reason I can't wait to visit home this christmas. We normally take turns to cook during this time, and each of the family member must prepare the cuisine of the country they live in.
Some of those cuisines usually have a delicious taste. Others did taste so strange, but we managed to eat regardless, because it was our way of identifying with the culture of other people as we were taught. We were always warned against despising those cuisines, even when the taste was not too good on our taste buds.
My paternal grandmother was also responsible for all the memorable christmas that I have had, as she was so fond of us, her grandchildren. I remember my father making a solemn promise to his mother, my grandma, on her sick bed many years back that he will never delay our travel to the village during christmas. My grandmother had fallen sick when my dad told her we will not be coming home that year.
"Etim, be ready to bury me this December if you do not bring my grandchildren home",
I overheard her conversation with my dad on the phone because the phone was on loudspeaker.
"Mama, you know that these children are already taking their holiday lessons, and I cannot withdraw them because I have already paid so much. I'm really sorry, mama, I know they are going to miss this year's family christmas get-together party. We will not miss next year's edition",
my father had pleaded solemnly with his mother.
My father only realized how dangerous his decision to stop us from going home for christmas holiday was when he received a phone call the next morning from one of our relatives who lives in the village.
"Etim, you must hurry and come home now. Your mother's health has badly deteriorated since yesterday evening. She does not speak or respond to anyone as I speak, you have to come down here as fast as you can",
the voice who spoke with my dad on the phone said nervously.
"Has she been admitted in any hospital?" , My father questioned.
"Yes", replied the voice.
"We will be there shortly, look after her till we come. Thank you".
Straightaway, my father knew what the problem was. He knew that the only medicine that will resuscitate his mother was the presence of her grandchildren, so he quickly put a call across to our holiday lesson teacher, informing him to discontinue the lesson until we come back from the village.
By the time we got to the hospital, grandma was encircled by my cousins and two of her daughters. We were told she was revived when she heard the chattering of her grandchildren.
It was in that hospital that my father vowed never to restrain us from traveling to the village every Christmas.
The moonlight tales from my grandmother is another thing I cannot miss. She is a wise woman who uses tales to inculcate moral values into her seeds. Whenever the moon is out, my grandmother will sit on her small chair with her children and grandchildren spread on the floor in an open space, all desiring to hear the wisdom buried in the tales she shared.
Story story!, she had begun in one of those nights. That was her own way of beginning a story, and she always expected those whose eyes are not wearied with sleep to chorus story! in response.
Once upon a time, there were two young boys who were so fond of each other as friends. One's name was Peter, the other was Philip. On a fateful day, both of them were coming back from school when Peter mistakenly hit Philip with a fold of paper he intended to throw into the bush. Peter apologized to Philip, but Philip became so hardened and could not forgive his friend. So he went into the bush to find a stick he would use to hit Peter, but while he bent to pick up the stick, the protruding edge of a stump jabbed his eye and he lost it in the process.
Those were the beautiful moments I always look out for whenever I hear the "jingle bell".
We are already in the 14th day of December and everyone including myself is already in the village ahead of the Christmas get-together party. It's been four days since our arrival and we were lucky to have the moonlight yesterday,
but there were no more moonlight tales because the moonlight that rose shone upon the mound of my grandmother's grave, not on the small chair she used to sit on to tell tales.