Playlist: O' Holy Night(Home-Free), That's Christmas To Me(Pentatonix).
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It's the most wonderful time of the year for ten-year-old Ihotu, a season of love and an endless joy. She always felt that at heart but not so much at sight, but this year she hoped that for once, she could experience both.
Ihotu walked inside the house with an oily black cellophane in her hand and headed straight to the kitchen, where she could hear a dull, persistent beat of what seemed like a wooden spoon against a plastic bowl.
Ene, Ihotu's mum, who sat on a small stool, stopped stirring the pap she had made for breakfast when she heard the footsteps of her daughter.
"You took too long," Ene said. "Pour them in a plate and take it to the living room," she added before Ihotu could tell her about the many customers that the woman who sold akara had, which caused her delay.
Ene joined Ihotu on the old sofa in their tight living room, holding two plastic cups of pap. She offered one to Ihotu and, after she said a short prayer of thanks, they started eating their breakfast.
Ihotu scrunched her face after filling her mouth with her first spoon of pap. The lumps reminded her of the pus her mum had one time squeezed out of her knee. It grossed her out and she hated it.
"What?" Ene barked. "Are you making that face again? Lumps or no lumps, it'll give you the same nutrient. So you better not waste it." She scolded, and Ihotu continued eating, forcing the thick, lumpy liquid down her throat while trying to keep a neutral expression so she doesn't offend her mum any further. Most times she wondered if her mum cooks with love, and why she gets too cranky at this time of the year.
"You can't be picky with food when we don't have enough, and then gossipers will start saying I starve you because of your weight." Ene grumbled while she ate. Indeed Ihotu looked below her age, so small and skinny. But at least her tiny frame didn't come with a round stomach that could have minds wondering if she suffered from kwashiorkor.
"Why are you covering your head with that cap? Don't you like the hairstyle?" Ene asked as she made to clear up the table after they were done eating, but Ihotu was still struggling to finish her pap.
"I don't want my Christmas hair to get old," Ihotu finally let words in through her mum's nonstop questions and rhetorics. The tips of Ihotu's tiny, three-steps cornrows which fell out of her red beanie were clad in colourful beads and rubber bands.
Ene chuckled, one that didn't come from her heart as she stood up with the dirty dishes. "You and Christmas." She muttered.
"Am I getting the bicycle you've been promising me for years this year?"
Ene stopped and turned around. "Ihotu, please... Your education is more important, and I'm sure you're not blind to see how hard I've been struggling. A bicycle can wait."
"But, Mummy, you promised me, and my classma-"
"Ihotu!" Ene cut her off in a harsh tone. "You're not a baby. And make sure you finish that pap and do the dishes." She gestured at Ihotu with the hand that held her empty cup, and then she stomped to the kitchen.
Ihotu subtly eyed her retreating back with a pouted-mouth frown.
Christmas preparations was a big deal in the small street of Mobi. It was more like a competition of who killed the biggest goat or who wore the best clothes for the season. But the same couldn't be said for Ihotu and her mum who made little to no preparations at all.
Their neighbor had more kids and elders and youths in their house than usual, and the extra vehicle that had been sitting outside their yard meant their relatives had come to spend the holiday with them. The children chased each other, the parents chatted heartily, the young men scrapped the whole, roasted Christmas goat and the elderlies sat tasting the meat the young women had cooking in their huge, three-legged pot. They hadn't just killed one goat for Christmas, but two.
Ihotu wondered if she had any relatives at all as she watched them through their living room window. For all she knew, she only had a runaway coward dad like her mum always called him.
"I see the children play outside, like angels in the snow. While mum and daddy share a kiss under the mistletoe. And we'll cherish all these simple things wherever we may be. Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me..." Ihotu sang her favorite Christmas song, wondering if their neighbor cherished what they had. Perhaps they did, with all the laughters and smiles they had dancing on their faces.
She also wondered if they would receive a share of their neighbor's food this year, because no one ever knocked on their door with a Christmas food to share on Christmas. Ene being a cranky woman, the people of Mobi were sure to receive a pretentious welcome smile, and then have their food dunked in the trash when they weren't looking.
Ihotu left the window to welcome her mum who just came in from the market.
"Here's your Christmas chin-chin." Ene removed a pack of chin-chin from her shopping sack and gave it to Ihotu, who received it with yet another disappointment. It was a festive snack that families made together in large quantities with leftovers to last even after the New Year celebration. But Ene would rather buy her daughter a processed one than knead the hard chin-chin dough, which could serve as a reminder of how difficult their lives were.
Despite not having all she would want a Christmas to be, Ihotu was grateful for her mum who worked so hard to give her a better life, even though her mum's mini, and almost empty provision shop only attracted less customers. She was also grateful for their small parish which gave her a true feel of Christmas with the carols, where she would sit in a front pew with her mum, and listen to the angelic voices of the choir as they sang Deck the Halls and Silent Night.
Ihotu was taking a stroll one evening, clad in her favorite, red puffer jacket and red beanie, like a Little Red Riding Hood. She felt like a child in a cold winter, but hers was a cold breezy harmattan, without snow and loads of dust. Perhaps dusty-man could fill in for snowman.
Ene had just arrived from the market and met the house empty. She called and searched until she started screaming her daughter's name in panic, running and asking Ihotu's whereabout around the neighborhood.
"How can you be this careless?"
"A lot of kidnappings happen in ember months."
"Remember Mama Nkechi's son that went missing at this time of the year."
"People are desperately looking for money."
Everyone gave Ene more reason to worry, but her worry didn't stop the Christmas food aroma in the neighborhood from floating in the air. But to Ene, it felt like a funeral party, because her daughter's life could be endangered somewhere.
Ihotu continued her stroll, oblivious to her mum's terror back home. Beside the road she walked on, she saw something she'd never seen before and stopped. Long before now, Ihotu would think that there couldn't be any less privileged human being in the street of Mobi than herself, but now she was staring at a homeless person. Meeting a stranger was risky in Mobi Street, but her curiosity took the lead.
"Hello...?" Ihotu called out in a soft voice, almost tripping backwards in fear when the stranger raised his head. His dark, wrinkled skin was flaky. His gray beard was entangled and dirty and his eyes were a mustard yellow.
"Hi." His brown scattered teeth was no good when he smiled, but Ihotu felt at peace and moved closer to him, because his smile was welcoming, it lit his dim eyes, and added a touch of beauty to his creepy face.
"Who are you? Where are you from?" She was starting to sound like her mum with her questions.
"What's your name?" The stranger asked as if he hadn't heard her, quivering from the cold under his torn, faded blanket which he'd used as a cover from his head, down to his feet.
"Ihotu," she said. "It means love," she added, seeing the confused look on his face.
He smiled. "That's a beautiful name."
"What's yours?"
"Call me friend."
"Friend?"
"Yes, friend."
Ihotu sat next to him and tucked in her feet, not minding the dusty ground. If he could sit on it, then she could too.
"Where's your family?" She asked him.
"I don't have a family," he answered, his voice so pure for someone so unkept.
"So how do you plan to celebrate Christmas?" Ihotu had never been a girl to ask questions. Although she had a lot of questions to ask about everything, but there was no one to listen. At least not her cranky mum. So she felt comfortable with the stranger who called himself friend. And he did seem like a friend, unlike her classmates in school who made fun of her old stockings and torn school bag.
"What's the essence of Christmas?" He asked like one who seeked knowledge, and Ihotu looked pleased to share.
"It's about receiving gifts." Her smile disappeared after she said that. "But my mum wouldn't get me the bicycle she'd promised me for years."
He chuckled at her innocence, and Ihotu raised her head to look at him. "That's not the essence of Christmas," he said, and Ihotu looked curious to hear what else he had to say. "It's about giving. Remember God loves a cheerful giver. He gave us His Son. And the poor widow in the Bible? She gave out her last coins."
Ihotu stayed quiet, meditating on his words. She'd never thought of Christmas that way. She'd always wanted.
"You should go home now, little one. Don't trouble your mum any further with your absence."
Ihotu slowly got up, pondering on his words about Christmas and how strange he seemed. She made to leave but then she stopped. And then she dipped a hand in her jacket pocket and took out the Christmas chin-chin her mum had given her.
"Merry Christmas." She offered it to him, practicing her first Christmas lesson.
He slowly received it with an amazed smile and, before he could utter a word, Ihotu ran off, excited to share her experience with her mum, and loving how great she felt over that one simple act of love.
Worried looking Ene spotted a cheerful Ihotu running towards her. Relief washed over her face at the sight of her daughter, and then anger took over.
"Mummy! I met a-"
"Why did you leave the house like that!? Do you know how worried I've been!?" Ene forcefully grabbed her hand, and the cheer on Ihotu's face immediately wiped off as she tried to keep up with her mum's fast and aggressive pace, while enduring her scolding in harsh tones all the way back home.
Ihotu laid on the mattress she shared with her mum, drowning in melancholy. She had forgotten all about her old friend, and she was back to feeling miserable about her state of being.
"The fire place is burning bright, shinning all on me. I see-" she stopped singing for a moment and let out a sour breath. "I see the present underneath the good old Christmas tree..." Tears rolled down her cheeks. They didn't have a Christmas tree, much more a gift underneath it.
Ene who had been standing by the door, watching and listening and feeling guilty, strolled inside the room and sat next to Ihotu.
"The only gift I'll ever need is the joy of family. Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me..." Ene sang, with a voice so passionate and sweet, without any trace of the anger she bore in her heart. Ihotu, whose tears had dried up as she stared at her mum, astonished, slowly sat up with a warm heart. Ene was singing her favorite Christmas song, and that meant heaven and earth to her.
Ene smiled and continued singing. "I've got this Christmas song in my heart. I've got the candles glowing in the dark." Ihotu felt giddy because indeed, there was a candle glowing in the dark room. "And then for years to come we'll always know one thing, that's the love that Christmas can bring. Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me." She sang the parts that related more to them, because they didn't have a fireplace, or stockings hanging by a nonexistent Christmas tree, nor could they hear the thud of reindeer walking on the roof.
"And we'll cherish all these simple things wherever we may be. Oh, why? 'Cause that's Christmas to me..." Ihotu sang along with her mum as she ended the song in a trailing, quiet tone, both of them holding each other's gaze and smiling.
"You know," Ene spoke up, placing her hand on Ihotu's tiny ones, "there's one good thing about our situation. We get to feel the essence of Christmas, because we're not blinded by material things. And Christmas isn't just about receiving, it's more about giving.
Ihotu was surprised at her mum's words, which reminded her of her old friend. "And forgiveness," Ihotu chimed in.
"Forgiveness?" Ene's face scrunched in confusion.
"Forgive Daddy," Ihotu said. She didn't know her dad, but she was convinced that he had a lot to do with her mum's bitterness.
Ene chuckled. "Okay, I forgive Daddy." She sounded sincere and Ihotu smiled. "Let's get you ready for your play." She stood up before Ihotu could open her mouth and tell her all about her old friend.
Ene dressed Ihotu in a maxi blue dress. A pretty secondhand dress with puff sleeves that she had bought on Mobi's market day and pressed with a charcoal iron. She finished off Ihotu's look by placing a white veil on her head, and then they both left for the Christmas Eve event which took place in their small parish.
The children had finished the Christmas Eve play and were now on a standstill at the alter, waiting for the soloist to round up the play with O' Holy Night. Ihotu sat on a hay, holding Baby Jesus in her arms; a plastic doll covered in a white cloth. Little Joseph sat beside her. And the little three kings of Orient were before them with their gifts. They were all surrounded with stuffed, farm animals.
"O Holy Night, the stars are brightly shining, it is the night of our dear Savior's birth." The soloist sang beautifully into his microphone, and the choir backed him up in their angelic voices as he went on, while the church listened in attentive silence.
Ene's eyes were fixated on Ihotu at the alter who had played the role of Mary, and she wished that Ihotu, like Mother Mary, would be blessed amongst women. Then she literally imagined her ten-year-old daughter as a mum and let out a quiet, hearty chuckle. But she wanted nothing more than to watch her daughter grow up and live a better life than hers. Because Ihotu was an obedient child, she helped her out in her shop after school, and so she deserved all that she unfortunately couldn't afford to give her.
"Fall on your knees; O hear the angel voices! O night devine, O night when Christ was born." The soloist's voice rose up from the depth of his heart as if to reach the heavens. Ene wiped a tear with her scarf. It was moments like this where she forgot all about her misery and connected deeply with God.
On an errand to buy akara for breakfast on Christmas morning, Ihotu opened the door, and laying beside the door was a pink, brand new bicycle. Surprised and excited, she ran back in to call her mum.
Ene was just as shocked when she saw the mysterious Christmas present. And then her eyes caught a note that was attached to the bicycle which Ihotu hadn't noticed. It read... From your old friend.
Ihotu then remembered the stranger and told her mum all that happened that day. But something didn't quite add up. The homeless stranger who looked hungry couldn't have afforded a brand new bicycle. But they were about to find an answer to this mystery. So Ene took the bicycle in, locked the door and followed her daughter's lead to meet her old friend.
They were yet again met with another mystery. Her old friend was no where to be found, and worse, it didn't seem like the same ground Ihotu had sat on with the stranger yesterday. Wondering, they walked back home, Ihotu hoping that the bicycle hadn't disappeared too.
They met the bicycle in the same way Ene had left it. Ihotu rushed to get on it without a care in the world while her mum kept on wondering, and not knowing what to make out of the mystery, she called it a Christmas miracle...
The End.