I heard the doorbell chime in its annoyingly possessive way, and I reluctantly dragged my drowsy body to the door. Who would visit anyone at this ungodly hour? I slowly unlocked the door to find Summer, the hurricane of an individual standing cheerfully behind it. If ‘the name and the personality don’t match’ were a person, it would be this lady. Summer, my friend of twelve years.
‘Are you not happy to see me?’ she asked, and I stepped aside, gesturing to her to enter. She entered with a storm of suitcases trailing her, almost destroying my poor door.
‘Why aren’t you ready? Don’t tell me you haven’t packed?!’ Summer blasted, but I have grown immune to her dramatics over the years.
I walked to the kitchen to fix myself a cup of hot chocolate. I needed some energy to start with her antics. She followed me, shouting and jumping around like the world was going to come to an end just because I hadn’t packed.
‘GETTY!!! Why are you doing this to me? We are going to be late for our flight. And if we miss our flight, we would have to reschedule, and if we reschedule and there is a snowstorm-’
‘The time is 4:25 AM, not PM,’ I said, pouring two scoops of cocoa powder into my mug.
‘That doesn’t mean we should be late!’
‘Summer,’ I turned the kettle on and moved over to where she was standing, ‘look at the time. Look at it really well. I repeat, the time is 4:26 AM, and the flight is 4 PM!’
It’s ironic how she is more excited to visit my home country than I am. But I couldn’t help but afford her some understanding.
Ghana was a wonderful country to unwind into the warmth of the season, surrounded by family and delicious delicacies like Jollof, Fufu, and grilled meat. The majority of my extended family lived in Ghana, so every Christmas was a wonderful opportunity to see my family and reconnect with my roots. Ghana has a large Christian population, and it is always wholesome to attend Christmas services as we remember the birth of our saviour, Jesus Christ.
I had grown used to Summer’s excitement, as I still remember the Christmas that started it all.
When I was ten, my Uncle brought me to New York from Ghana. During my first few days here, I was already awash with homesickness. I felt out of place in a new, perhaps strange culture with confusing accents. Summer’s family were our next-door neighbours, and, after many failed attempts by our families to make us friends, we eventually ended up as the best of friends.
How we made it work still baffles me. We had opposing personalities. She was fire, I was water. She was winter, I was summer. She was a storm, I, the calm after the storm.
I spent a few more months with my Uncle and Aunty, yet my emptiness and longing for the warmth of my Ghanaian family home persisted. My Uncle then promised to let me spend our Christmas holidays in Ghana. I was so excited about it that the next morning, on our way to school, I let it slip to Summer. And Summer did with the news what every storm does best. By evening that day, her parents were already in our house and had requested an audience with my Uncle. Their mission was simple. They wanted Summer to go with us to Ghana.
‘No!’ That was all I said when my Uncle told me. I wanted to enjoy my Christmas vacation without the accents and the weird American antics from Summer, but somehow, my Uncle convinced me to agree. So on the day of travel, there I was with Summer, overdressed, sitting next to me on the plane, babbling with questions.
‘Is Ghana the capital of Africa?’
‘Africa is not a country, Summer.’
✥
‘I should have pulled my parents along. I totally forgot. Do you know my mom still thinks Africa is a country?’ she said, her voice pulling me out of my musings. The hot water was ready. I picked the kettle up, poured the water into my mug, and smiled. That was how she always got me to lower my defences. With memories. And the memories from that Christmas, as I was recollecting, returned to me.
✥
After nine long hours of enduring Summer, we got to Ghana. I remember how dry the weather was and how great the sun felt when we stepped out of Kotoka International Airport.
‘Okay, you weren’t joking about the weather. What’s it called again?’ Summer asked.
‘It’s Hamatthan, or you can simply call it the Dry Season,’ my Aunty answered, as I was busy applying lip balm to parch my lips before the weather affected it.
‘But doesn’t it snow? Is there a story behind it? Like a curse of the evil queen? And is that why your skin becomes black? My dad said all black people are from Africa-’
‘Do you ever stop asking dumb questions?!’ I said out of frustration.
‘Getty, behave,' my uncle said, and I let out a sigh.
‘Sorry, you asked too many questions. I don’t know which one to answer,’ I said to save the situation, and Summer got right back to babbling like a generator during dumsor. I tuned her out to drown the noise.
She continued screeching about everything from the street hawkers to the traffic on the road. When we reached our family house, everyone began to fawn over Summer and the way she spoke English, and I felt invisible to my own family. She received everything first, from toffees to toys, and I would have enjoyed those privileges alone if she hadn't followed me to Ghana. Then some bitterness germinated in me. It got so bad I couldn’t hide it.
‘Getrude, why are you so moody? It’s Christmas,’ Summer said at some point, and I couldn’t believe her pretend ignorance. That she wasn’t aware of her attention-seeking shenanigans. I exploded.
‘Because you are stealing my Christmas!!! This Christmas was supposed to be about me, but everybody only cares about you!’
‘That’s not true. My mum always says that Christmas is about sharing, and I thought you wanted to share your Christmas with me.’
“When did I say that I wanted to share it with you? You are so full of yourself.’
‘Getty!!’ I heard my Aunty say, and I rolled my eyes before storming to my room to get away from everyone.
I don’t know how long I had been crying, but my aunt opened my door and entered with a plate of jollof with goat meat, but I didn’t feel like eating.
‘Punishing yourself is not going to change the fact that what you said to your friend is wrong.’
‘She is not my friend.’
‘Getrude, do you know why I agreed for her to come along? ’ my Aunty said, and I shook my head.
‘Her parents are working during the Christmas holiday, so she would have been on her own for the holidays.’
‘Doesn’t she have any other family members she can disturb instead?’
‘For that, I don’t know. But I know that she sees you not just as a friend but as family. Just like how Jesus saw you as family and came to earth to die for you. So stop being moody and get into the spirit of the season, my aunty said, and though I hated it, she was right.
‘Fine,’ I said before climbing off my bed and taking the plate of jollof before exiting my room.
It’s just one Christmas holiday with her. It’s not like it was going to become a yearly affair.
And how wrong I was. Summer spent every Christmas after that with my family to the point that she was assigned the chore of preparing the Christmas cake, whilst I assisted by teasing her throughout.
In the end, she didn’t steal Christmas; she brought more joy to my favourite holiday. Memories from last year’s celebration placed a wider smile on my lips.
‘The cake is ready!’ Summer screamed before rushing to my side as my nephew came in, walking slowly whilst carrying the cake. We all cheered for him as his father took the cake from him and placed it on the table before my Aunty began to cut the cake. I brought the tray closer for her to place the pieces on it. I started sharing it with my family members.
Just as Summer had said before, Christmas was all about sharing. Sharing cakes, sharing the good news of Christ’s birth, sharing happiness, sharing love, sharing friendships, and sharing family.
‘Thank you,’ Summer said when I brought the tray towards her. But before she could take a piece, I picked one up and shoved it into her big mouth, running away as she pursued me.
✥
Now, holding the mug to my mouth, the memory of all past Christmases with Summer washing over me, I decided to indulge her. Christmas in Ghana meant so much to her. I wouldn’t ruin it.
‘Ok,’ I said, looking at her coyly.
‘Ok, what?’
‘Let me finish my drink, and I will start preparing, if it makes you happy!’
She jumped in glee, laughing like that young girl I met twelve years ago. At heart, Summer was still a young girl. She was still the girl who stole my Christmas and redefined it.
Lois Emma Ewuraesi Taylor is a Ghanaian postgraduate student and creative enthusiast with a deep love for learning and self-expression. Curious by nature, she explores ideas across technology, business, politics, and history. An avid reader, she enjoys genres ranging from science fiction and fantasy to romance and comedy. Lois writes fictional prose, poetry, and plays, and designs creative templates for social media, book covers, and backgrounds. A budding software developer, she enjoys turning ideas into web applications. She also loves photography and capturing her environment, and occasionally posing for the lens.
Instagram: ewuraesitaylor
Wattpad: emmalicious101
Twitter: emmalicious101