Christmas felt different every year even though technically we followed the same script—prepare and cook the chicken the night before, play some carols, re-clean the house, prepare some snacks, and take a final look at our Christmas clothes since they had been hidden away after the first viewing.

Despite the hard work involved in preparing all the Christmas meals, it didn’t take away from the intense festive celebratory vibe; that felt so good. The subtle calf ache I endured from countless errands to the grinder, the mallams shop nearby, or within the house had nothing on my plans to rock my new shiny “koi-koi” shoes. Finally, I joined the big league of girls who wore shoes with small heels rather than mama-tie-me-belt, down-to-earth shoes, and fake plastic glasses. This year, I got a skirt suit. I remember how I tried to strut like a peacock after putting on my dress that Christmas morning. I almost had a sprained ankle; surely the Christ child wouldn’t let that happen.

The community church was filled with so much brightness on a day like Christmas, not because the sun shone brighter than usual but from the festive hats that had lights on them, dazzling new clothes and shoes that came with some lighting; indeed, everything lit up just like the constructed manger that stood at a corner of the church.

In our childish minds, we compared shoes, clothes, and accessories with our friends. Trust me to carry my petite frame with grace as if I were the queen of England. I was content with my showoff in church and couldn’t wait to get home to devour a scrumptious meal after all my hard work.

Home smelt heavenly.

On Christmas morning, I woke up to the divine aroma of steaming Ukodo from my mother’s kitchen. You see, the Christmas Day tradition in our home was not complete without savouring a plate of the native pepper soup and yam meal with assorted protein on the cold harmattan morning. That was usually the only morning in my childhood when I wasn’t hounded to do the house chores before having breakfast. Mom always wore a big smile across her face as she called out to us with her large serving spoon. It felt like having people to eat the meal was her special Christmas miracle…but what do I know? When we got back from church, it was fried rice, jollof rice, or pounded yam with Egusi soup. We were usually told to choose from the three meals, but my siblings and I devised a clever way of having all three meals before dinner time—eating small portions with a lot of meat.

Aside from the fact that the festive season gave us access to some of the choicest meats, the sizes were heavenly. We also got to have our favourite soft drinks, and, on a few occasions, we got cash gifts from visitors.

Christmas Day was also the only day we could watch TV almost all day. As long as the food was set on fire and was cooking, we could sit in front of our old-fashioned television watching an array of festive programs.

When the night is drawing closer, we would all sit around the dining table and each mention three things we are thankful for, and then our parents would lead some Thanksgiving prayer. My dad made it a point of duty to end the night with some premium, well-made suya, freshly baked bread from a bakery nearby, and some orange squash.

Those days were blissful.

It’s Christmas Day today, and here I am in my nightwear, staring at the ceiling and thinking of what to do. No decorations, no new clothes, no special chicken, and no ukodo. There are also no family or friends.

How did such a joyous time of the year become so empty?

Adulthood made it so!

Over the years, I constantly chased the bag and forgot I had to live. Bills and billings drained the living daylight out of me to the point where I get too tired to make the smallest attempt at being festive. Whatever little free time I get, I would rather spend hiding away in my shell than put extra pressure on myself.

But can I have the rest without being all lonely and sad? I also want to feel festive just like the old times. I want to have fun with friends and family, eat choice foods, and most of all, have a sense of fulfilment.

While I put on my big girl pants and suck up the loneliness this Christmas, I hope by God that things switch up for the better next year, and just like old times, I will once again savour the joy of Christmas in body, mind, and soul.