“A man who calls his kinsmen to a feast does not do so to save them from starving. They all have food in their own homes. When we gather together in the moonlit village ground it is not because of the moon. Every man can see it in his own compound. We come together because it is good for kinsmen to do so.”
― Chinua Achebe, Things Fall Apart
A time before now, before I was who I am now, when community mothers held new-born babies upside down by their legs to stretch them or slapped their backs with early morning cold water to ensure their strength, in the days when we read Enid Blyton books and ate dozens of mangoes for lunch, it was a time when things we did not understand were either explained as being the workings of obeah or the result of bad prayers of our neighbours. This was a time when relatives gathered in white-washed yards in good accord to celebrate the joy of the Christmas season.
Perhaps more than the day of Christmas itself, I looked forward to our yearly family reunions in early December. Cousins, aunties, uncles, sisters, brothers, nieces, nephews, mothers, fathers, and grandparents came together over great food, rich sorrel drink, and loud laughter to reminisce on the past. This was a day of great merrymaking; but if your relatives are anything like mine, your family reunions were not without its fair share of drama. In the Bible, Jesus used two fish to feed a multitude of people, however, at my family’s reunion the distribution of fish was what caused many a bone of contention. One relative would place herself in the kitchen and she would act as the fish messiah and would even resort to brute force to ensure that anyone she deems unworthy would not be given a fish.
Jerked pork, curried goat, and chicken in all its forms were readily available for all the second-class members of the family, but they dare not touch the fish.Then there was that cousin, who was always overdressed and conceited who behaved as if the chip on her shoulder was too heavy for her to walk around socialising with mere mortals. Maybe my cousins reading this is probably asking, Why is she talking about herself? But my dear cousins, maybe I used to be overdressed for the event, but I was never conceited. (Give unto Caesar what is due to Caesar). This cousin was so highfaluting that she would sit with the same cup of ram goat soup for most of the day, and for sure, her next meal would have to include a fish. Sometimes she would claim a full stomach and the meal would be carefully covered in Tupperware for her to take home.
My uncle seemed to have made a pact with the god of youthfulness and even though he was entering the eventide of his life, he never behaved as if he was a day older than thirty. He made himself in charge of entertainment and the distributor of strong drinks. In a way, he was the life of the party and easily got along with everyone. He was perhaps one of the few people who was lucky enough to be acknowledged by the highfaluting cousin.
My mother’s cousin was a religious zealot who seemed to have had a direct telephone line to God to receive his many prophecies and visions. He was barely tolerated by the youngsters who did not care to hear what the spirit had told him to tell them. His own life reflected the fallibility of his visions and because of this, he was the butt of many a joke. His presence would immediately remind us of our need to be elsewhere helping someone with a task. Of course, he would not be offered a fish.
No reunion can be complete without the squabble for food to take home. As the day draws nigh, the fish messiah would have already packed all the leftovers in her bag. Pots of food would mysteriously go missing, and tempers would be running high. The elders would be complaining that the amount of food they had eaten did not match their contribution and so should have been given priority for a takeaway plate. My mother would normally try to act as intercessor, giving orders about who should help with cleaning up or pleading for a plate of food for a relative who had arrived late and had not eaten.
Despite the chaos of what usually marks our reunions, this was a day we anticipated every year. The laughter and the disagreements were something that connected us and gave us an opportunity to reflect on what really matters. What really matters is that this family is mine and we will always be a loud, rambunctious lot who love each other even more than we disagree.
This Christmas season, get together with your relatives and celebrate the joy of the season. Come together, because it is good for kinsmen to do so.
