I sit with legs spread wide

a piece of chicken in one hand

a spoon to shove rice and stew into my mouth in the other

 

All the Christmases in my lifetime

none comes close to the ones spent with grandma in the ancient city of Benin

 

The Christmas stew always hits different

curry powder is replaced with fresh curry leaves for better flavour

chicken spices are thrown out, many cocks go to the slaughter before dawn

 

It is a season of joy

every room fills up with voices that sat on the other ends of phones all year long

 

Not missing the bustle and noise that comes with Lagos life

we awaken on Christmas morning to grandma’s humming and dancing

we hum along to the rhythm

pausing to steal a piece of chicken or two from the kitchen

 

the cake sits at the top of a fridge

too far for the children to reach

it is to be consumed under supervision by an adult

or all of them

 

when we tire out of playing around the kitchen we go for the fridge

hoisting one another up in turns to take chin-chin and skim icing off the cake

 

By afternoon we have the house upside down

no corner is pitied in our hide and seek game

Grandma shoos us to bed

and under duvets we plan our next adventure outside the door of the room

 

Evening brings another feast

ice cream flows and sauced chicken is served on plates with salads

we cry for the Christmas rice and stew

it is gone and would only return the year after

that gives us another reason to look forward to the next Christmas at Grandma’s