Christmas in Nigeria

After an eventful journey, I arrived with my friends Cherie and Ebere (an American and Nigerian respectively) to the village of Awoide Mmili, Imo State in the South East of Nigeria. Ebere had invited us to spend Christmas with her family in her father’s village and we were happy to accept. It was a welcome change from the city and comforting to be amongst the Ezeunala family for Christmas.

Christmas morning, a mournful cry awakens me from my slumber. The goat’s throat was cut. It was 8.00 am and preparations for dinner were under way. Following a light breakfast, I turned my attention to slaughtering the goat. I have to admit a passive observation of the process rather than active butchering. My friend’s brother carefully dissected the animal after burning off the goat’s hair and removing the skin. This was all carried out under the careful supervision of his father. Thus the skills of rural life are passed on from generation to generation. I cannot imagine the same rituals being revived at home; such practices reside in the fading memories of our parents.

In good style, after the slaughter of the goat, Ugo, the girls and I shared a few glasses of palm wine. This was a very special occasion, sharing and drinking of palm wine is deeply ingrained in the cultural life of many rural Nigerians. On Christmas Eve we took a walk through the village. Our passage along the sandy lines, illuminated by the half moon light, we spotted a figure rising purposively up a tall, slender palm tree. It is a most peculiar sight; a figure with a candle affixed to his head ascends the tree. Earlier in the day, the man would have visited his trees, tapped a small pipe into a tree branch and the palm wine would have seeped through the pipe into a container. Many hours later, the bounty is collected and delivered to expectant patrons the following day.

Christmas is a time for family, to meet and share. Millions of Nigerians travel home for Christmas, clogging up each road artery throughout the country. For many, this is the only time they will travel home in the year. It was simply nice to sit back and watch a family reuniting, catching up on stories and family affairs. During conversation the family switch readily between English and Igbo, for I was staying with a friend in the South Eastern part of Nigeria, the ethnic stronghold of the Ibo people. What can appear as trivial or innocuous conversation can hide a great deal; should they cook five, six or more cups of rice? Essentially the family are not sure how many neighbours might turn up for dinner. The family will offer food to those who come around, unannounced. Christmas is not a time of plenty for all.

Despite more than forty years of independence, many rural areas of Nigeria have no electricity or at best a flicker of intermittent light. The electricity service has been privatised over the past few years and has by necessity changed names from NEPA to PHCN. Reflecting a particular sense of humour and adroit use of English, the entity formally known as ‘Never Expect Power Again’ has re-emerged as ‘Problem Has Changed Name’. Nigerians don’t expect a lot from their Government. Recurrent experiences strengthen such expectations and the gap between citizen and state grows ever wider.

Christmas was fun. It was peaceful and relaxing. My time was spent reading, eating and talking while wondering what temperature the bottled beer would be in the local road-side bar. It is a strange feeling to be a minority. Walking through the village, children stop and stare at you, each and every day. Older people, whatever the level of English will though, without fail say ‘you are welcome’. I do not seek to overly romanticise life in the village, for many life is a great struggle. I will always remember the warmth of the welcome and innumerable sights and sounds of village life.

Happy New Year folks!