The Meaning Of Christmas
An Igby Prize for Nonfiction essay about what Christmas means to a young woman raised as a Muslim by Deaduramilade Tawak
Growing up in a Muslim home, Christmas held no special meaning for me. We didn’t get new clothes, we didn’t buy a tree to decorate, although occasionally, we’d string Christmas lights around the house. Asides from the change in weather from humid, sometimes rainy days to dry, dust filled, cold air, the sound of kids throwing knockouts outside was the most visible (or audible) reminder that it was the season.
It was only while I was attending what people would consider a Christian primary school and what was definitely a Christian secondary school, that I started to care about Christmas, and even then, I only cared for the Carols. This was the primary reason I decided to join my school choirs. So I could sing Christmas Carols at the end of year event to celebrate Christmas and close the school term.
In primary school, Christmas was closely related to Valentine’s Day. Red decorations would start popping up sometime towards the end of November. Each member of the class was expected to bring in something to decorate the class with. We also made decorations out of cardboard paper, glitter glue and glitter in the Arts Room. This was the highlight of the term.
During assembly, we sang Christmas songs from our Songs of Praise booklets, which contained songs for almost every Christian practice you could think of. For the Christmas Carol, the teachers in charge would put on a nativity play featuring us kids, and then excited children would scream out lyrics to selected Christmas songs. Regular favourites were Joy To The World and While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks By Night. Of course, there’d be a Christmas song in Yoruba.
In secondary school, there was less exuberance. Maybe it was teenage angst or maybe it was because there was no such fervour for decorating the school. Christmastime was marked by talks of fundraising at every school assembly, which reached a peak on Charity Day. There’d be beautiful and better renditions of Christmas Carols, selected senior students would be given the opportunity to visit an Orphanage, and towards the end of my stay in the school, we’d host a charity car wash. The best part of the car wash for most students was splashing one another with water and dancing and singing along to songs while we pretended to wash cars. Of course, we were always reminded of the most important thing — Jesus, the reason for the season.
After secondary school, there was no authority figure to enforce Christmas traditions. Then, a group, brought together by social media, started a thing where we’d go to Makoko, a community on the coast of Lagos, and attempt to bring Christmas cheer on Christmas day. There’d be food, gifts, toys, books, clothes for the kids and their parents. There’d be a DJ to entertain.
So, every year, for the past four, I know it’s almost Christmas when we start to raise money to get enough food and toys to the community. When I start tweeting about donating clothes and toys and books. Christmas has come to be associated with giving, trying to bring cheer and joy — even if temporarily — to people who live lives that are harder than what I can imagine from my relatively privileged middle class status.
Deaduramilade Tawak is a Nigerian researcher, reader, and writer. Her flash fiction, essays, reviews and interviews have been published in Brittle Paper, Athena Talks, Arts and Africa, and elsewhere. She was the second runner-up in The CREETIQ Critic Challenge 2017. She lives in Lagos, and tweets from @deaduramilade. She is also on Medium Lade Tawak.
