The brand of Christmas I know feels mathematical. Minus this and/ or plus that. X substituted by Y. Over time, Club drinks were replaced by Malt, Fanta, Coke and Sprite. The oldest Christmas I remember was marked by a cuboidal container of cookies that never seemed to finish on the table, and two crates of assorted Club drinks under the table. Those Christmases had a lot on offer.
Then there was cake. Christmas in our house is incomplete without freshly baked cake. This has been tried, tested and discovered to be true. We all did it together. The mixing, greasing of pans, selection of flavouring, everything. And when it comes to tasting, Daddy goes first. After he’s taken the first slice of warm cake, everyone else can have some, but in moderation, of course. If we ate everything we baked, what would our people, friends and neighbours get? What offering would we bear when visiting to spread the joy and cheer of the season? But we didn’t do everything in one day. When you heard the mixer, chatter in the kitchen and Boney M's Mary's Boy Child in the background, you knew that Christmas had truly arrived in our house.
Christmas can’t be Christmas without a Christmas album in the background. I remember how we’d switch between a vast collection of Christmas CDs. We'd sing along and dance round and round on the carpet, stopping only when we got dizzy. I loved the Sunset Drive hosted by Uncle Fiifi Folson on Sunny FM the most. His Christmas playlist was elite, and he’d always bring up new tracks to add, serving classic and current at the same time.
My worst and best Christmas was that of 2022; the year I went to SHS. That year, Christmas was minus cake, minus visiting Grandpa, minus the radio, minus drinks, minus cookies, minus cousins over. Bland. Christmas was just a day christened by the makers of the calendar that sat on the credenza in the hall. It gave me the space to think, sketch and create on Bandlab and just be introspective. Christmas was really quiet. We didn’t even watch Miracle on 34th Street or the entire Home Alone series together. That was the year we had all been tested and broken the most. We had lost the most. And it was evident. But Tems was there to comfort. Jacob Banks, as well, how could I forget. Spotify held me down during that period. The days after sped by like a blur, and then we were back to school again.
Christmas in Accra is a wonderful sight to behold. Lights everywhere. Kudos to whoever first came up with the idea of decorating the roundabouts. They really ate with that. Even the least privileged, who can’t afford to decorate their homes, get to go to these places and see and experience these beautiful things. Aromatic smells of food linger in the air. The sound of pestle hitting mortar to produce fufu is commonplace.
Accra traffic is even bearable at Christmas. Ok, it’s not. But I mean, there are these “masquerades” that walk around in the traffic and do tricks for coins. I grew up calling them eemaasi and kankamotobi, but much learning has taught me that they’re called masquerades. I find the word masquerade inadequate to fully convey the colour, cheer and spirit of these figures of our Accra Christmas. The word masquerade gives off a serious air and honestly sounds like something an uptight person would call them; someone who has not had much fun and colour in their lives. English is inadequate sometimes.
I went to the supermarket with my dad last, and I saw that they had started selling the little Piccadilly biscuits. There were some children there who had bought some. It excites me that at least this is still a thing at Christmastime. The grandparents have a thing for this biscuit. Every one of them you visit at Christmastime will serve you some. It’s nice, though, so I’m not complaining at all. I’m just glad that there’ll be adults out there one day who’d associate Christmas with the little Piccadilly biscuits.
Grandparents. My grandparents at La have the most wholesome decoration idea in the whole wide world. Here’s why. They create two lines of twine across the living room. Then they hang Christmas cards on the lines. These are cards they’ve received over the years, and each tells a story. It makes a clear statement of recognition of past periods, past people they’ve had relationships with, and it says, “We haven’t forgotten and don’t intend to forget.” The cards have also been well preserved. Some you wouldn’t believe date as far back as the 80s.
Ahh Christmas!
V.A. is a creative polymath who views the world through a deeply introspective and multifaceted lens. Splitting time across disciplines from architecture and graphic design to photography. She brings a unique approach to her writing. A Child of God and dedicated music addict, she often finds the most vibrant parts of life unfolding in her head. She is perpetually down to learn everything and share the beautiful, quiet observations that often go unheard.