OPINION
Dr. Abati |
By
Reuben Abati
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 unrecognisable. 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.
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.
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