𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐈𝐧 𝐀 𝐁𝐨𝐱 𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞 𝐈𝐈𝐈.

4 - 𝐀 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬-𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲!

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𝐴 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑡𝒉𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝐶𝒉𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝒉𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑢𝑙𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑦, 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑡𝒉𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑚, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑔𝑜 𝑡𝒉𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔𝒉 𝑖𝑡 𝑡𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑡𝒉𝑒𝑟. – 𝑮𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝑲𝒆𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒓.

__~°~__

This time of the year was not in any way appealing to me. Christmas holidays, in my opinion, only meant gossiping relatives, loads of work, neighbourhood kids who never seemed to stay indoors, making noise with endless "Bangers" and firecrackers. (If I could, I'd tie them all up.) Worst of all, the period was characterized by Harmattan—only the most annoying season in this part of the world. The bonus was, that since my husband passed on and left three grown kids with three different mothers (none of which was me) in my care, I'd been unable to host a single successful Christmas dinner. This was the third year.

The girls, Khairi and Toyosi—aged nineteen and eighteen, respectively—had arrived early last night and almost immediately got into an argument over who watched what on the living room television. It'd taken fifteen minutes to convince them to watch whatever they wanted on the TVs in their rooms instead and I was certain that was only the beginning of what I referred to as "Christmas Dreads", the sequence of happenings that eventually led to the failure of my holiday plans.

Skip to this Christmas morning, I'd managed to get the girls to follow me to service without a fight, only to return to Adonis blasting and vibing to vulgar music which shook the entirety of the mansion and threatened to pull the walls in on themselves. Half an hour later, the twenty-one-year-old was drifting off in his father's vintage Aston Martin, promising to be back in time for dinner. My only prayer was that he neither crashed the car nor killed anybody. (Himself included.)

Now, I busied myself preparing a feast for the Christmas dinner while anticipating the arrival of my late husband's sisters; the "Dreads" personified. Three hours into cooking, I was done preparing pots of Jollof and Fried Rice and was in the middle of dipping the chicken wings into my beloved Buffalo Sauce, simultaneously deep-frying the balls of flour goodness known as "puff-puff". Toyosi had even come downstairs to assist me, removing the puff-puff from the boiling oil immediately after they reached a golden brown colour while she briefed me on her first year in university. Of course, I should've sensed by now that my luck was looking a bit too good to be true.

A moment later, the doorbell rang. I glanced at the kitchen wall clock which read 5:27 PM. Toyosi, on the other hand, went to get the door. As expected, they were here. Gripping the tile of the kitchen island, I took a few deep breaths to calm myself and maintain outward composure, even though my thoughts were in a rage, preparing for the worst. Just like it always happened.

"Toyosi!" I heard Dunni call in an exaggerated loud voice, in the process, drowning out what her younger sister was saying. "Ahn! My daughter! You've grown, oh."

Afterwards, she commented (in Yoruba) about how the young girl was filling out in all the right places. Her sister, Ayo, backed her up with talk of impending suitors for Toyosi and a fine young Engineer in Ibadan. I sighed, exiting the kitchen and coming face to face with Dunni in the dining, while Toyosi went upstairs to call her half-sister on the order of her aunties.