By Oyinkan Medubi
I am hoping that the smile will take me through the absurdities of the coming year. So, Happy New Year, Reader. May nothing heavier than laughter hit us this year.
Today, reader, we’re tripping the light fantastic: we are not going to talk politics or sing our usual national blues of how nothing is working in the country. Instead, we are going to have an end of year waltz consisting of light matters such as going over what we did for Christmas. Me, I slept. What about you? The waltz also includes what you did to get ready for Christmas. For many of our men, it consisted mainly in opening the purse like a good Santa. For us ladies, there were all those endless shopping trips to get Maggie Cubes.
I have post-holidays blues on account of the Christmas. Now, I do not only not want to go back to work, I find that the sight of the sun shining bright and clear is too hurtful for me. I have no idea what it has to smile about; nothing is that amusing. I even resent the fact that the birds are singing too freely. Why on earth doesn’t someone think of instituting visa programmes for the skies? If birds had to get visa to fly into other people’s countries like the rest of mankind, then I would have less trouble from that long-tailed swallow that has migrated down to the warm south just to chirp me awake in the mornings.
I tolerate his royal chirpiness enough the rest of the year, but one has to draw the line somewhere. You know how it is. As Christmas approaches, everything looks possible. Everywhere you go, you breathe in this air that appears to be filled with helium and laughing gas because everyone’s face seems to be bristling with hope. One can almost read their hearts and thoughts. Hopefully, that contract money will be paid before Christmas then it will be ‘hello turkey…’; maybe they’ll pay salary two weeks before Christmas…; maybe they’ll eventually pay that thirteenth month salary they’ve been promising forever…; I hope that lace will now be affordable… I hope that shoe will still be in the shop….
I’m telling you there’s so much hope in the air you can ignite it. Honestly, when the Aussie fires started, I wasn’t a bit surprised; it was all that Christmas hope that did it. Anyone can tell that too much hope causes fires. That was why I kept my own hope to a minimum. I refused to be drawn in by all that Christmas cheer. Instead, I quietly surveyed the market and kept my peace, especially when the turkey hissed at me because of the price I named and the chickens clucked at me twice in severe anxiety at the price I called. Was that all they were worth to me, they seemed to chorus in indignation? I apologised, to the seller, not the chickens, and left. There was no point in letting them know they were worth much less than the price I called; the chickens, not the seller.
I waited. Somehow, I believed a chicken or two would jump into my pot. You know what they say: a tough duck is hard to eat; however, an absent duck is said to be harder. I was not too keen on an absent duck so I kept my, err…, hope alive.
Dear reader, before long, a chicken-giant did jump into my pot. It was so big it had a thigh on it nearly as thick as a cow’s. From my puny height, I looked up and waived at it. It clucked down back to me. That was friendly enough. Sad to say the friendship did not last long because the knife came out. Reader, have you heard that popular introduction to that horror story: ‘It was the night before Christmas…’? Well, that horror happened again, the night before Christmas.
As soon as Santa’s Kitchen Assistant brought out the knife and made to move towards it, the chicken changed the tune of its clucking from ‘Hallo’ to ‘Hell, no!’; and a duel ensued titled ‘Man versus Chicken-Giant’. Needless to say, man won, but what a victory. Obviously, the chicken-giant died in protest but it really should not matter, should it? The long and short of it is that that knife ended the friendship between me and the chicken-giant, enough to bring on the blues.
Right, with the chicken under my belt, I turned my attention to getting the house ready for Christmas, starting with the ceiling; you know, the top-down approach. Armed with the spider broom, I craned my neck into all kinds of contortions to reach corners never reached before by mankind. I took giant steps up ladders and down slopes to make sure that my broom swept all of the year’s accumulations off. Naturally, the spiders fought back; I had a sneaking suspicion that as soon as I dislodged a spider, it simply relocated. I was sure that I took stabs at the same spider in three different places. And that happened multiple times. For the life of me, I could not find it in me to kill the blighters. I think it’s that Charlotte’s Web experience.
After what I thought to be a well won fight between me and the spiders which they were sure ended in their favour, I turned my attention to the windows. I don’t know if you notice that somehow, the climate has quietly changed. Where I used to have the rains wash my windows for me at least once a week, I have now moved to having them bathed by the dust at least once every minute. In short, the harmattan seems to have come down on us ‘plenty heavy’ as someone says. So, determined to have them windows shining again for Christmas, I brought out my duster and bucket of water. First, I had to get rid of the dust on the duster and I found that the water was covered by a film of dust. I also had to wash that.
Anyway, by the time I was through with the windows, the appliances did not let off shouting ‘me, me next’ until I found myself bringing out the scrub brushes. Going through the contents of the fridge proved very daunting indeed. Many of the items were total strangers to me. I had over the year piled up a whole community of leftover stews, sauces, vegetables of all shapes and colours – red, green or mostly blackened with rage. I would be angry too if I had to suffer such neglect. By the time I was through, we were able to locate the refrigerator door handle again after being rescued from the third-layer grime. Look, I could even see my face in it.
Then, it was the turn of the floors. For them, I needed to bring out the heavy equipment – grader level. Scrubbing was not going to cut it; oh no, they needed some serious intervention. To start with, I could not remember the original colour of them tiles. So, I called in the superior power of pretense: I pretended that it had gone round the cycle of colours and had come back to its original colour. He knows no difference who knows no pain.
Finally, it was Christmas. I had been so busy making ready for it that it met me exhausted when it came. So I slept. Now, I have resolved to greet the new year with a smile, like the sun, and a cheery heart, like the birds. After all, it is not the fault of the new year that I had to go through those hassles to get to Christmas. I am hoping that the smile will take me through the absurdities of the coming year. So, Happy New Year, Reader. May nothing heavier than laughter hit us this year.
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