Yeah! It's Christmas

I remember going to see Father Christmas as a child. That was the apt caption for our ghetto version of Santa Claus. Father Christmas unlike Santa Claus could scare life out of you.  Children cried on seeing him, with his big belly that might have been padded with 2 big sized mouka pillow, beards made out of cotton wool, dark shades covering his eyes and the traditional red clothes and cap with a black belt strapped around the waist.  This to us was father Christmas!


That day Mum had announced that we would be going to see father Christmas, after we were done doing the dishes, tidying every room, sweeping the compound and washing dad's 504 Peugeot salon. That was typical of every African parent,  they ensured that every money spent on what they deem as luxury was adequately gotten back in errands. But the thought of seeing father Christmas made the job look very menial. With a swing, my elder brother made a duty roster and assigned everyone to his/her duty.  In 2 hours time our house was even unrecognizable to me. I was later to hear stories that Jessy my elder sister washed the paint on the wall of the room of our parents just to convince them beyond every reasonable doubt that we were ready. Well she definitely cried! Shocked?  This is Africa remember?

Mummy we are done!  My brother our superimposed spokesman told mum. 

"You people should go and get ready. " Mother said as she came out with a big black nylon bag containing our 'CHRISTMAS CLOTHES'.

Dressing up, Jessy asked me, "If father Christmas should ask you to sing for him what would you sing?"

"We wish you, a merry Christmas..... And a happy new year" I sang lightheartedly as I pulled my folded the legs of my oversized trousers.

Me I will sing "Father Christmas, who give you bear bear, father Christmas who give you mujemu" My sister sang. It was a derogatory song aimed at mocking the beards of father Christmas.

I laughed at her little did I know that yours truly would later be the one singing that song to father Christmas with tears dripping down my eyes in serious fear!

Christmas in the ghetto was serious fun as a child! Share yours!

The very first!

The day a medical student chose blogging was the day I realized the gripping power of boredom.

Boredom could make a movie of a colony of ants making a return trip back home with their tribute to their queen. Who will get to mate the queen? Boredom will equally make you put on your 5D detective glasses and follow them to their anthill to find out.

It could make a football match of a drop of water trickling down a glass window. Unconsciously, you will see that water drop dribble past several tackling opponents and score a goal. Your shouting GOAL!! would probably not be boredom's fault but your village people's.

Just today I looked at the wall and I started seeing Wedding party 2. The only problem was my inability to know what the storyline was after 1hr 24mins 38secs.  Yeah! You guessed right. Boredom has equally made me an accurate timekeeper(I miss primary school debate).

Well I know I might probably be the only one reading this story today,  but  every story starts with a word.

Welcome!