Christ being born in Bethlehem wasn’t a reason enough to leave my site this time, I couldn’t afford an air ticket to witness this historic event in Israel. This is why I chose to spend it at home, with my community, which generously reimbursed my sacrifice with love. I have only been here for three months but it feels like forever, I have testimonies of good and bad ordeals. The smiles on the faces of the lives I have touched, the tear marks on my bedroom mirror that I hope will be washed away.
I wasn’t woken up by cock crows today but by kids shouting and celebrating the birth of their savior. Perhaps the cock that was to wake me up had already found its way into the evening stew. Christmas isn’t the time to spare even the family clock, maybe that’s when we all discover that they don’t even crow loud enough, or maybe they are too loud which makes them annoying.
No fireworks, just smoke dancing above the thickets, signifying the celebratory mood in the village. For those who are lucky enough, they can celebrate without having to cry, courtesy of my charcoal briquette initiative that takes you directly to the scene. Experiencing the gift of cows that provided a hideout for a king, one of the not-so-important dairy products, cow dung, and yogurt was previously a once-in-a-lifetime experience. It’s a festive season, and my beneficiaries over here are being crowned dukes and Duchess of Tharaka, enjoying the palatial treatment of a modern African oven that can bake and cook with limited firewood.
To me, Santa came early, not in a Coca-Cola caravan, but in a basket, made from the fresh leaves of the palm trees that grow on the banks of the Tana. Filled with delicious porridge, sweet potatoes, and honey that comes from the baobab flowers. Seeing kids flocking the market yesterday, on Christmas Eve gave me nostalgia for my childhood, each grabbing something for baby Jesus. You see, birthdays aren’t a thing in the countryside, most of these kids don’t even know when they were born but they get to celebrate this international holiday, thanks to the CorpsAfrica initiative, they can now bake from home.
And with every gift, comes with precise caution, each signifies a deep meaning, just like the fragrances brought by the wise men from the east. Even the givers whisper a prayer to Santa, food in the Tharaka culture could signify wishes and prayers for things that are to come. Porridge isn’t just an ordinary meal, it signifies truce and acceptance. When a Tharaka woman offers to make this traditional porridge for you, every stone grind is a prayer to make you their in-law. I was dumb all along until I heard suggestions like, “You should visit more often, their sister, who works in Nairobi will be here for Christmas”.
The men aren’t left behind in this celebration, they sing hymns of praise to the bottle, the famous ‘muratina’, a special local drink brewed with honey and the sausage fruit as a catalyst. It’s a family custom, a man must make this Liquor during every harvest season. In the olden days, before civilization, they could tell it was Christmas just by watching how a bee danced its way back to the hive. It’s time to go back to the party, just in preparation before the January bees start to sting, I promise to keep some of my honey stories till then. Merry Christmas from CorpsAfrica, Tharaka Adult Learning Center, and me.