He goes to the city for Christmas, for the first time, with very high hopes. The buildup ensues with the attendant heightened expectations.

What happens to those expectations? Are they met OR does everything go up in smoke?

Watch out in Christmas in the City

We were in high spirits, I and my twin sister, as we jumped into dad’s Volkswagen Passat, onto the backseat, while struggling for who would man the space between the two front seats. That space was special as it afforded its holder unhindered view of all that went on both inside and around the car – the person saw what the driver saw. As expected, I won this battle, and celebrated my triumph with glee, ignoring my sister’s snorts. I knew that reaction would only be momentary, product of her disappointment and frustration at always having to lose that battle. I wondered why she still tried anyway. I hardly saw the possibility of losing out any day.

“Don’t worry, I will allow you some time here later,” I turned to her, but she turned her face away.

Dad eased himself into the car, the impact of his weight immediately felt as his butt landed on the seat, with a depression motion. He was a big man, and had weighed a hundred and fifty four kilograms the last time we all climbed the scales. Mom had weighed sixty kilograms that day, while I had been two kilograms ahead my sister who weighed thirty-five kilograms. She hadn’t been too happy about it, especially as she appeared much chubbier than me.

Mom took the passenger’s seat, the impact of her weight negligible, as dad raised a worship song. We joined in, my parents’ eyes shut while ours – at least mine – partially so as I observed proceedings through a squint.

“In Jesus’ name,” called dad, scratching his stubble.

“Amen!” We all responded.

The irritation at his stubble won’t leave, and he will continue scratching it until he brought the prayer to an end. He had committed our journey into the hands of God, asking God for so many things that my mind’s eye couldn’t fathom how reasonable it was to ask one person to do so much simultaneously. The same God who was to silence all bloodsucking demons on the highways was also to battle everyone of the forces against our journey’s success; he was also to guarantee a good weather and ensure our car didn’t come in contact with a driver who was destined for an accident that day. This same God was to ensure dad’s concentration was unbroken; and I wondered how that will be possible when he wasn’t alone in the car, when he had his mobile phone on and when he had his fuel gauge to worry about. God had to be really powerful, I concluded in my thoughts, if he could do half those things dad had requested.

“Fasten your seatbelt, dear,” he told my mum while pulling his across his bulging tummy. I wondered how he could be comfortable with his tummy so wound.

My mom made a remark to that effect and we all had a good laugh.

“When I get a bigger car, my seatbelt would no longer be an issue,” dad said, in spite of himself.

“And I will be given this car then, dad?”

“Which one will be given to me?” My sister shot in before dad could respond.

“I was talking to dad,” I said, making a serious face like Oyewole when reporting issues to dad. Oyewole was one of dad’s apprentices in his furniture making profession.

“And I was talking to my parents,” my sister replied without missing a beat.

We exchange hostile glances, but that was all there was to it.

“We will all own all the cars,” said mom, “everyone of us.”
That appeared to settle it, for that moment, my sister drew in a deep breath, exhaled and reclined on the seat.
We were soon out of our street, and into the main road. Dad concentrated on the road now. I didn’t think he was a very good driver; at least he wasn’t as good as Oyewole who could drive, chat on his phone and discuss with his passenger at the same time. My dad had rebuked him several times for this; he would always say it was a bad habit. But I didn’t agree with dad; I thought Oyewole was a better driver...

To be continued shortly...