But Christmas today is different.

It has become a commercial
enterprise for many families and investors, with little or no
emphasis on the spiritual dimension.

I don’t hear too many
children going from house to house even in the same old town
where I grew up, singing Christmas Carols.
This new
generation does not know Mebo.

But they know Santa in Naija
on their phones and similar animations.

In our time, we talked
about Father Christmas; today’s children refer to him as Santa
Claus.

There is no sense of community anymore, only a sense
of rising expenses and religious isolationism.

Christmas looks so different these days from what it was when I was growing up.

It is so different it is almost unrecognizable.
In
this same country, in the 70s, Christmas was a season of
celebration, but also of spiritual upliftment, joy abundant, hope,
reaffirmation of faith in the certainty of Salvation, and the ritual
of that which begins, and that which ends, as a New Year
beckoned.

We were brought up on a steady diet of Sunday
School lessons, and so Christmas and Easter were very much a
part of our growing up.
We always looked forward to Christmas
with excitement. It was that time of the year when we all wanted
to act one role or the other in the re-enactment of the drama of
Nativity.

The preparation for this drama, which was usually staged during
Christmas service, to the sound of melodious songs and priestly
excitement, was the high point on Christmas Day of the
celebration of Christ The Lord.

Weeks earlier, the church
organised Christmas Carols.
If you made the special choir, you
felt as if you had won a lottery.
Everyone was a songster of
sorts, belting out Christmas Carols in both English and the local
language.

Parents singing. Children singing. Everyone dancing.
The feel-good mood was so intense. You could run into people
on the streets and the standard greeting, be they Muslims or
Christians, was “Merry Christmas!”

The official church Carol
team went from one church member’s home to another to
deliver the good tidings of the season and to announce the
coming birth of the Saviour.

Christmas strengthened our sense
of community, and our Christianity and faith as well.

It was also that time of the year for the reinforcement of family
values.
People whom you had not seen for the whole year
travelled home from their stations to be part of Christmas.

You
got the chance to meet cousins, make new friends, and sing till
you almost went hoarse.

I wasn’t much of a singer or drummer –
my friends used to laugh each time I missed a note or a beat and
we would spend weeks afterwards mimicking each other.

In
short, Christmas was real fun. But it was relatively a simple,
inexpensive celebration, year after year.

Our parents did not
have to borrow, or go bankrupt, or agonise, for Christmas to be
meaningful.

We got one or two new clothes and shoes: those were the usual
Christmas gifts.

On Christmas day, after church, lunch didn’t
have to be anything extra-ordinary: it was no more than rice and
chicken.

In those days, chicken was a special delicacy, reserved
for Sundays, or special occasions like birthdays or Christmas,
very much unlike now that every child acquires the taste for
tasty chicken from the womb!

On Boxing Day, we either visited
friends or stayed home, and played with firecrackers and
bangers on the streets.

Those children who could not afford
bangers were not left out.
They improvised with local devices
made by blacksmiths. That contraption produced even better
effect.

Our Muslim friends usually joined us, but they always teased
us.

In those days, Muslims and Christians celebrated religious
festivals together, without any hang-ups about the difference in
faith.

Virtually every family had Muslim and Christian
branches.

Give it to Muslims, however, their own seasons were
usually more elaborately and colourfully celebrated.

They
slaughtered rams during the Eid el-Kabir and were generous,
handing out gifts of fried meat to family friends and
acquaintances. During that festival also known as Ileya, the
major Muslim festival, you could acquire a whole bucket-load
of meat to sustain the family soup pot for weeks, without being
a Muslim and without buying a ram.

Christians were not known to be that generous.

Every Christian
family was governed by rules of restraint.

And so, Christmas
restricted themselves to the killing of chicken or turkey; some
families did not even bother to slaughter anything at all, and
they did not violate any religious code, and in any case,
Christians didn’t feel obliged to share meat with neighbours.

The effect was that Muslim relations and friends had this funny
song, which was a friendly way of accusing Christians of being
stingy.
“Ko s’ina dida nbe;
Ko s’ina dida nbe,
K’olorun ko so
wa d’amodun o,
ko s’ina dida nbe”.

The truth is that nobody
took offence,nobody considered the songs derisory, instead the
teasing by Muslims attracted shared laughter.

Even if there was
no meat to share among the entire neighbourhood, there was
more than enough fun to go round as many Muslim children
joined us to shoot the bangers and make lots of noise.

Many of
them in fact knew the Christmas songs; they also joined us to
stage in our own neighbourhood then, what was called the
Christmas masque, or in Yoruba: “Mebo”.

The Mebo was a simple enactment, a blend of the secular, the
profane and the religious, drawing its elements from a syncretic
base. The Masque or Mebo was dressed like a Masquerade: his
face was not supposed to be seen.

He was the main attraction,
backed by drummers and singers: we used pots and pans and
maybe our mouths as drums.
The masque danced and led the
songs:
“Iya Kaa’le o
Wa dagba wa darugbo
Baba Ka’ale o
Wa dagba wa darugbo
Mebo yo robo
E ba mi wa so mi soro
Mebo O yo robo o
E ba mi wa so mi soro.

There is nothing Christianly about this type of song, but for us,
growing up, we celebrated Christmas in the neighbourhood,
mixing elements of all the religions and all the available modes.

Even children of Egungun worshippers joined the Christmas
celebration. And so we could start with Mebo yo robo, and shift
to
“We wish you a Merry Xmas…
Good tidings we bring…
Hark! The Herald Angels Sing…
E lu agogo E lu agogo,
E lu
agogo o Olugbala de o,
e lu agogo…
Keresimesi,
Keresimesi,
…” followed by other songs in Yoruba, which connected well
with the community and did not attract any objections.

We went
from one house to the other and some people would give the
Mebo money, which we shared thereafter and used to buy more
bangers and firecrackers. We went round night after night until
Christmas Eve.

Our parents did not discourage us, knowing that it was all in the
spirit of the season. They also did not have to worry about
anyone getting kidnapped, or getting into any form of danger. It
was a different Nigeria in those days.

Those were the days of
innocence when children were brought up to shun any form of
ostentation and conspicuous consumption.
It was the season of
joy and contentment.

Just as we celebrated Christmas in the
town, there was also as much excitement in the villages.
The
prospect of a New Year, a week after, always made the season
special.

But Christmas today is different. It has become a commercial
enterprise for many families and investors, with little or no
emphasis on the spiritual dimension.

I don’t hear too many
children going from house to house even in the same old town
where I grew up, singing Christmas Carols.

This new generation
does not know Mebo. But they know Santa in Naija on their
phones and similar animations.
In our time, we talked about
Father Christmas; today’s children refer to him as Santa Claus.

There is no sense of community anymore, only a sense of rising
expenses and religious isolationism. Many churches cannot
even organise house-to-house Carols.

Parents are reluctant to let
their children go out to any stranger’s house, be they Christians
or whoever.

They don’t want their children kidnapped; they
don’t want their daughters to be raped.

Some of the churches
have no buses, or they cannot even afford to buy fuel at N130
per litre. If anybody shows up at anybody’s door, singing
Christmas Carols, these days, the door is likely to remain shut.

The times are truly different. You can never know who the
visitors are: they could be a band of armed robbers, dancing
their way to your doorstep, to gain entrance and inflict harm.

I don’t see the excitement of old anymore. Many average
families cannot even afford to travel home for Christmas.

The
cost is too high.

The city of Lagos used to look deserted close to
Christmas, because virtually all the non-Lagosians would have
returned to their villages to celebrate Christmas and New Year
with their kith and kin.

This year, Lagos traffic is still as busy as
ever.

People are staying back.

Even the more privileged families
also don’t want to go to the village.
They are afraid of being
mobbed by all kinds of relatives looking for help.
It is easier to
tell people you did not see their text messages, or the account
numbers they sent, even when you have not announced that you
have surplus money to give away, but to go to the village and
see them face-to-face, could be quite an ordeal.

I have listened
to various tales of harassment, reported by persons who have
had to tolerate that cousin who has just taken a third wife, who
wants to be supported to maintain the woman, or that in-law
who wants to buy a motorcycle and his body language is like if
he doesn’t get the support he wants, he’d be tempted to recall
his daughter!

I really haven’t heard those peals of laughter that used to be the
main feature of Christmas anymore.
What I see is the sheer
anxiety on people’s faces. Christmas has become so expensive.

Many parents are practically panicking!

The children of today
are not interested in Christmas rice and chicken: that stopped
being a special delicacy a long time ago.
They want expensive
gifts.
And there are many capitalists cashing in on the taste of
today’s children, to provide a variety of services and items that
dig holes in a parent’s pockets.
One parent remarked that he
really does not know what to do.
His salary has not been paid.

His children would like to experience Christmas.
His wife wants
a special gift.
His children look like they don’t want their
Christmas to be “inconclusive.”
But in January, he will also
have to pay their school fees for the new term.

On top of it all, our society today is more divided than it was
even after the civil war. Our laughter is shorter; our hopes are
slimmer. We will celebrate Christmas all the same because we
are a people of faith and hope..…
Well, “don’t worry, be
happy!” Merry Christmas.

Source:http://blogs.premiumtimesng.com/?p=170133

Things on earth are getting wrapped up.