On Monday, the 25th day of
December, I woke up to the
early morning harmattan
chills, with my teeth clanking
together and my skin as white
as Snow White’s. Our
neighbors were preparing for
church service while Christmas
songs blared loudly from their
stereo systems. Suddenly, I
remembered it was time to set
off to my hometown. Some
weeks ago, I had discussed the
best and most suitable
destination to spend the
Christmas holiday with my
elder brother. After a few days
of serious arguments, we
finally decided it would be the
village; after all, that was the
only opportunity to visit home
throughout the whole
year.Traveling on the bumpy
road that leads toward home
had always been a bad
experience for me. I realized
that the solution to this
persisting problem was always
to keep myself busy; so this
time, I loaded songs of
different genre into my iPod
(omo, this gadget chop my
pocket moni no be small) and
placed the ear phones firmly
over my ears. I guess the trip
was better than before!
As we entered our hometown,
we could sense Xmas
everywhere; the nicely
decorated shops, the well
dressed kids in their
‘Christmas clothes’, the smell
of fresh air and the
masquerades trying to scare
everyone. All these made one
reminisce on the memories of
past yuletide seasons. Soon, we
beheld the sight of our old
uncle, Dee Gregory. He had
worked at the railway
corporation and always tried to
reflect the lifestyle of the
colonial masters both in the
way he dressed and in the way
he spoke. We genuflect on
approaching Uncle Gregory and
he gushes out the yearly
utterance, “You guys have
grown so big, welcome!” I
shoot a disapproving glance at
my elder brother. For God’s
sake, we knew we had never
added an extra pound since we
saw Uncle last. Anyway, we
forcefully smile and walk home
with him while inquiring about
his health, chickens, goats and
everyone at home.
On Tuesday, the swooshing
sound of the harmattan wind
wakes me up yet again.
Nobody needed to remind us to
cut down the overgrown
grasses, clean the hall for
kindred meetings and buy
some fresh palm wine for the
elders. Of course, we’ve been
doing these ever since we were
young; it’s a pity we didn’t
have any sisters to take over
the tasks. In the afternoon, we
had many visitors and Uncle
Gregory called us to say hello
each time a visitor came and
also to say goodbye when they
left. In some cases, we would
be summoned to partake in the
traditional breaking of kola
nuts. In the evening, we finally
had an excuse to go visit some
friends and eventually chilled
at a local bar.
The next day seemed as long as
the word ‘Wednesday’ because
we had a lot of activities lined
up, both tiresome and
interesting ones. We visited
our mother’s town, watched
local matches, and eventually
attended the local church
bazaar. The church officials
mistook us for some rich
fellows that came back from
‘overseas’ and called us up to
the‘high table’. Thanks to God
for eventually providing an
opportunity for us to sneak out
of the premises undetected
(after wining and dining with
the rich) without donating a
dime.
On Thursday, we literally spent
the day resting at home and
deliberately didn’t entertain
any visitors. But we didn’t
miss the ‘custom’ of hanging
out with a few friends in the
evening. On arriving at the
local bar, we discovered a lot
had changed at home. Instead
of enjoying the tingling taste of
palm wine while watching the
theatrical displays of the local
artistic dancers, we found
ourselves watching a bunch of
rapper wannabes as we were
served bottled beer.
Friday ushered in a new and
better day. A friend of Uncle
Gregory’s got some bush meat
minced into small pieces,
together with a local delicacy
we’ve never tasted. As it was
the custom, the man tasted the
meat before anyone else. We
waited patiently for any
sudden jerky movements and
the screams that would follow.
Eventually, nothing happened
so it was safe for the others to
do as he did; we all partook in
enjoying the lavish meal.
Saturday was nothing
compared to what it would
have been in the city; it was
just like any other day in the
village,characterized by hard
work and visitors trooping in
to say us well. A lovely lady
came to our house in the
company of an elderly woman
and we all spent the next
couple of hours discussing
different issues, together with
Uncle Gregory. Before they left,
uncle (in his sly manner) called
the lady aside and did an‘extra
introduction’ between the two
of us. I understood what the
‘extra introduction’ was all
about so I complied by
collecting the lady’s mobile
number, with the promise of
calling her and probably taking
‘it’ to the next level. After all, I
was an eligible bachelor and
she was single.
On the final day of the year,
we all prepared for the
traditional ceremony of
ushering in the New Year. The
kids were busy breaking their
piggy banks and buying
fireworks with the money, the
women were preparing the
food and dishes, the kinsmen
were holding meetings for the
welfare of the kindred clan
and the young men were
buying the drinks for the
'ichu-afo' ceremony. In the
evening, the merrymaking
commenced amidst fanfare.
Enemies rejoiced with friends,
mothers hugged stubborn
children and fathers shook
hands with 'godless' sons. The
celebration lasted well into the
night and at twelve o’clock
midnight, the sound of
firecrackers, bangers and
gunshots were heard in the
distance. It was another year.
A few days later, we packed
up to leave for the city. Uncle
Gregory was at hand to offer
an impromptu advice to my
brother and I – the type a
father usually gives a child he
won’t be seeing for long. At
that instant, it crossed my
mind that a lot of families
across the nation would be
doing same as we were doing;
leaving their respective villages
for the city. Soon, the whole
villages would be left desolate,
like war-torn areas.
I never regretted the time I
spent in my hometown. This
particular yuletide season
could be termed my best
because I really came to terms
with my people’s tradition.
Exposure to the city life at a
tender age and the stress
associated with work doesn’t
allow one time to ponder deep
into his roots and traditions.
But this special season made it
possible for me to do so.
Most Africans do not realize
that part of civilization,
refinement and development is
in coming to terms with their
traditional values. A person’s
tradition is his, no matter
where one finds himself and
nobody would perform
another’s traditional duties for
him. Indifference to one’s
traditional values is a never
ending character that eats
deep into a lot of lives.
Someday, the necessity of
coming to terms with one’s
traditional values would be
glaring and obvious to
everyone. It is therefore in
every individual’s interest to
make sure that the day would
be a remarkable one.