The village Christmas I knew and how the feast has evolved

Growing up, I remember that the week before Christmas was when our relatives working in Nairobi would travel upcountry, lugging large bags with their fancy clothes and loads of supermarket shopping that invariably included wheat flour, cooking oil, sugar, bread, orange juice and such supplies.

The young women particularly, used to cause quite a stir because they looked more radiant, their skins lighter, their skirts shorter, their trousers tighter, their hair glossy and their lips shining with lipstick. They were the envy of their rural counterparts and the objects of desire for many a young man in their prime.

Accompanying them to fetch water in the river a day after their arrival was always an honour and not just because of the stories they regaled us with. Never mind that most of them were working as househelps or shop attendants and the well-to-do ones as secretaries.

The young men from the village would congregate around their city counterparts who smoked and us, their junior relatives, would complete the circle, listening to stories about their escapades in the city with no one from upcountry contributing except to interject with a question.

Back then, we heard more about Jesus Christ and hardly anything about Santa Claus. Today, my one-and-a-half-year-old son sees a photo of Santa holding a bottle of Coca Cola and proclaims “Christmas!”

STAR-LIT NIGHTS
On the night of December 24, all young men and women in the village would meet at an agreed point — usually a nearby school or football pitch — after which they would walk from farm to farm singing carols and hymns in vernacular while banging drums and tin cans.

Of course, the star-lit nights provided the perfect rendezvous for young lovers for whom the occasion would be a highlight of the year. Back in the day, one’s friend also happened to date one’s sister and so, the duty of making sure the sister was available to one’s friend rested on the shoulders of her brother.

It was he who convinced the parents that he would provide all-night security for his sister so that she could be allowed to venture out for what we called “Murekio” or “Mutiume”.

The first referred to the night when the angel appeared before the shepherds while the second was derived from a chorus urging families to open their doors and give alms to the bands of young men and women who walked through the village singing, kissing and loving.

During the years when the phrase “Kenya njeru” (New Kenya) made its way into the public discourse, these wakes were banned because criminals would walk from farm to farm singing the same carols and robbing the patrons who opened their doors to give alms.

Today, Christmas Eve in the village is quiet, with only the song of the occasional drunk or a howling dog punctuating the silent night.

December 25 was always ushered with a beehive of activities, mostly revolving around food. The patriarch of each household would offer a ram or goat to be slaughtered for the congregated family.

Usually, that job was left to older men who used the occasion to teach the following generation the skills of killing, skinning and slaughtering a goat. No sooner had the ram or goat been slaughtered than the men would make a big fire on which to roast the meat and prepare the head and hooves to make soup. Most of the meat ended up being eaten at this phase.

The matriarch of the homestead would offer her biggest cockerel. It, too, would be slaughtered and when it had been cooked, there was always competition over who would get the thighs. Most times, that honour went to the patriarch and his eldest son. If there was a notable guest, the eldest son would miss out.

The young women would usher Christmas Day by kneading the dough for chapatis, cleaning the rice, chopping meat and generally preparing the food that would be eaten that day. Usually, they made enough chapatis for every person to get at least two.

NO ONE WENT VISITING

As a rule, no one went visiting on Christmas Day. Everyone spent the day with their family, running errands, eating, playing music on the radio cassette player that the men from the city brought with them.

The afternoon of Christmas Day was the highlight for young boys and girls. At about 3pm, they would be taken to the local shopping centre where each would be bought a bottle of Fanta. That was the time to show off one’s new clothes and shoes to their peers.

Of course, Boxing Day would be lazy for everyone. The young men and women were nursing hangovers, the dutiful ones were busy cleaning up the previous day’s mess, the children had bloated stomachs and everyone else was busy eating the excess food prepared on Christmas Day.

That was the day for visiting, largely because as a guest, the chances of landing a decent meal, complete with meat, rice and chapati were higher than when one remained at home.

By December 28, the city workers were ready to depart. Usually, the young women were the first to leave because they were needed back in their work places. Besides the big dragging bags carrying their clothes, they would also be given three debes of dry maize, half a debe of beans and peas, arrow roots, sweet potatoes and sometimes sugarcane.

Usually, the men, many of who did not reveal exactly what they did in the city, would leave after New Year’s Day. When no one was looking, they would ask their mothers for fare back to the city.

By the time they were leaving, their big radios would have fallen silent and the packets of Embassy would long have disappeared to be replaced by sticks of Rooster wrapped in transparent plastic paper. For us in the village, this was the signal that the Christmas holidays were over.