Merry Christmas to you all!

I woke up this morning reminiscing how Christmas day was spent in my childhood. Christmas in Nigeria was all about reconnecting with family and eating good food. We often travelled to my ancestral hometown, which took about ten hours to get to from our base in Northern Nigeria. The hours that it took to get to my hometown varied and dependant on a number of factors from traffic to the road condition. It was a different atmosphere and way of life in my hometown. Almost everyone spoke Igbo and had some sort of idol from our ancestors in the compound. Even though many converted to Christianity, there were remnants of our ancestor's artefacts dotted about in our homes. I loved that side of the Igbo culture. The traditional mode of worship, the tales of the rainmakers, the masquerades and the spirit world. We were discouraged from knowing and understanding the ancient way of worship, the culture that celebrated that way of worship and made to see it as a fearful practice. Christianity in some way eroded our pride in our tradition. It told us that our practices were evil and there were repercussions for even asking about it. It was a huge shame when I heard that some of the edifices have been destroyed by Christian pastors because it was demonic.

I loved the journey to my ancestral hometown even though the journey was a long one. I looked forward to seeing my grandmother and cousins. Once we got there, my grandmother and cousins would be waiting for us with big hugs and cuddles. My grandmother always had Christmas presents for us. It was either handbags or pieces of jewellery to wear on Christmas day.

There was also the ritual of sharing meat and foodstuff to extended members of the family and community. During the early hours of the day, we would all wake up to start preparing food for the day and all the guests that would visit our house.You could smell the aroma of different dishes and the of burning wood. I love the smell of burning wood. My siblings and I always said that food cooked on wood tastes the best. My favourite meal on Christmas day was ofe akwu, soup made out of palm concentrate and eaten with rice. There was also lots of fried meat, pepper soup and spiced up offal. We would all eat with our relatives and then go out to visit all our extended relatives eating and having fun with them.

It was just a joyous and innocent time. You could enter the house of anyone in the tiny village and they would know who you are, feed and bless you.

It has been years since I visited my hometown. After the death of my dad, Christmas has never been the same. I miss all those times because it was Christmas with my dad. My dad made Christmas magical. He drove us to our ancestral hometown. He made us understand our culture and tradition, something I hope to pass down to my children. I don't know how things would be if I returned there, how people will react to me, would they remember me? Would they accept me? Would I fit in?

Pictures were taken at my ancestral hometown. This is my dad's house were I spent some of my most memorable Christmas growing up. Sorry the pictures are not too clear. But I am in all the pictures.

Me, at home

Me, relaxing 

Home sweet home. My dad is buried by the side. 

Me, dad and younger sis