In my last post in the Hive Learners’ community, I shared about how Christmas “stopped making sense.” For years now, Christmas has become just a normal day. It passes by just like any other regular day instead of being the special festival it used to be. When I think about when Christmas used to be filled with joy and excitement, my mind always travels back to my childhood. Back to a time when everything felt lighter and simpler. Back then, we were younger. We were all together under the same roof, sharing the joy and happiness that often comes with the festive seasons. For today’s Hive Learner’s prompt, the community asks us to share our best memory of the Yuletide season. My best memories of Christmas are of going to my family house in Lagos.
A House That Holds Memories
Growing up, I always looked forward to Christmas. My mom always made sure she took care of her children during Christmas. She would take us to the market and buy us Christmas wear; shoes, shiny clothes, and fancy glasses. All these were just in preparation for the big day to come. Every Christmas, my family and I would travel to my grandmother’s place. To the house in Lagos that holds memories. The journey from my parents house to grandma’s house in Lagos always felt long. Although I have always loathed traveling for long distances in uncomfortable buses, the journey was different because we often took the family car and the excitement of the festive season made the whole thing easy to endure.
The house in Lagos hosts many family members during the festive season. Uncles, aunty’s, cousins, and other relatives from far and near would come together and celebrate Christmas and New Year. Although it was difficult to sleep well during the night, because one would have to cramp up, as soon as it was morning, the whole environment would come alive.
My favorite memory of the Yelitude season is one that stands out. As usual, my family and I traveled down to Lagos. For the first time ever, my dad went with us. Usually, it was just my mom, my siblings and I. But that time, my dad went with us to grandma’s house in Lagos. A lot of things made that particular visit memorable. Cooking, especially. The children would stick around the kitchen, running errands. Of course, we got paid; either they would give us a big piece of fish or meat to share, or they would put tiny chunks in our hands.
Cooking was a big part of those good memories. The kitchen was always busy. Different meals were prepared, and everyone had a role to play. The men were roasting, cutting the meat. Someone was stirring a pot. Someone else was cutting ingredients. Those were the days when Christmas felt like Christmas, when you could taste the “Christmasness” in the air.
Although times have changed, I'm super glad that I enjoyed the moments, and the memories are still fresh in my head like they happened yesterday.
Thanks for reading.
