Wednesday, October 21, 2015

I don't celebrate Christmas; never did, really.
Christmas in our homestead was mostly sarakasi(a circus)
When everybody came together and old grudges  resurfaced, and the differences in opinions become quite distinct.

By 26th December all had found different exit routes.
 I can't account for for everybody's emotions, that would be based on mere observation.
 What I can describe with no trouble of recollection is my own reactions to the going-ons.

 See, my mother works in the hotel industry, for as long as I have known her. That means holidays are busiest, and a divorcement from social life. But a single mother doesn't have too many choices.

When in the city, I watched TV all day long, Scooby Doo re-runs on Cartoon Network.
When at plot 65, I would be in a murderous mood.

One Christmas day, me and sister had been scrubbing dishes all  day long, interspersed only with running errands for our visiting city relatives.
In the afternoon, different people got invited to different homes and some went to sleep.

We took a bath, brushed our hair and decided to take a walk  about the village.
I must add here, that any ventures out of plot 65 were limited to the school route and the church route.
We returned slightly after 6.30 to find cũcũ arũrĩte ta igi (grandmother ready to sting like a wasp). I remember wondering what Christmas was all about then.

Another Christmas went by in a similar manner. It got to me, and I had a bright idea to have some fun by raiding the Christmas goodies and hiding them until the last guest had left. About 30th December I woke up sister in the middle of the night to have a biscuit and juice party.
 As you can imagine, I didn't look forward to holidays. The last one I acknowledged was the year after high school.

Someone had boiled a chicken.
Grandmother had been invited by her brothers to eat a goat; and she left about mid-morning, with strict orders that she would like to find work started on the foundation; for the extension of her sitting room.
I was feeling stressed, and under pressure to prepare family and friends that I wouldn't score an A in the K.C.S.E. I was dropping subtle hints.

We sat in the compound after eating the chicken, mentally wondering how do get out of digging the foundation and still have a place to live the following week.
I declared:
"Next year, I'm gonna study Spanish and be a model."
"You cannot be a model, you have no boobs and your teeth are brown." Brother  communicated his viewpoint, which lead to a shouting match.
Our older mother tried to break us up, apologising on behalf of his son.
Sister was saying "Aaai, that's mean." 

All the pent up anxiety came out in the manner of "the coward of the county."
Uncle, too embarrassed by this turn or affairs took a hoe and spade and we heard him start to dig noisily behind the house. 
It was about 2p.m.
Someone got the wheelbarrow. Mwingine akatafutana na magunia(someone else found and passed the gunny sacks around) and we started to move soil.

Birthdays were no better. Mother would bring a bag of candy the weekend that followed.
One time, I must have been seven. I decided to cook chapati for my birthday.
 The concept, however was not mature in my brain yet.
 I boiled water in a sufuria then poured in a kilogram of wheat flour and  stirred. Yeah.

Uncle rescued the disaster and we had chapos about midnight.

I later learned kumbe these holidays don't even have christian origins. And the two mentione in the Bible had someone killed(too much for a celebration of life).

No wonder we were all so joyless
No wonder laughter only came after.

Good riddance I say.

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