THE PLACE CALLED HAPPY

You know there's something magical about home, the feeling of contentment, and the salty-sweet taste of my mother's Ofe Nsala. My heart will do so many somersaults when NEPA restores electricity, and I hear the voices of Mama Nkechi's children declare it just opposite our house. I like to think of myself as a lover girl; maybe not romantically. I love home; I love everything in it.

Christmas is my favourite season at home. My parents will make arrangements for enjoyment. My siblings and I will prepare our minds for the ton of work, the overeating, and the running stomach afterwards. I think of when I'm the happiest, and Christmas comes to mind. Family and friends will come around, and my enthusiasm will be served based on how I rate everyone. Don't judge me; live with a Nigerian mother first.

It's my first Christmas away from home, and I sincerely want to sit down on the floor and weep for fifteen hours. I know that I am older, but my heart breaks every time I remember that I have to experience Christmas outside home. My home.

I remember Uncle Bayo, my mother's younger brother. He would come with dried catfish for my mother and chocolates, biscuits, and money for us, the children, when he visited during Christmas. Uncle Bayo was pretty old at the time, but he was still single, and my mother would complain and rant every time, pestering him to bring home a wife. Uncle Bayo suddenly stopped coming during Christmas about six years ago, and I can not help but think that my mother's nagging is the cause of it. And honestly, I miss the chocolates.

My parents have never been the kind to travel to their hometowns during Christmas. When I was much younger and my friends would resume school with details of their Christmases in their villages, I could not relate. I always wanted to, though. I wanted to feel what it was like to live in the village, which felt, at least from the stories everywhere, like a place five decades behind time. Now, I don't think being in a village appeals to me anymore, considering what I faced in a village in Kogi state during my service year. The village is for the strong-willed and stone hearted, both being mutually inclusive. Strong willed, I am. Stone hearted, I am not.

A series of events have led to me remembering Christmas in Surulere. And I know you want to ask why I can not go home. Well, Christmas is in the air, and I can not help but think about Christmas at home. And to your question, I can not jump up and go home because I'm in a country on the opposite side of the equator. No need to feel sorry for me; the comforting cries of the owl at night tell me that I am not alone in this grief. No new clothes, no new shoes, no new hair. It's the price for being independent, I will gladly pay it. Okay, maybe not gladly.

As I listen to Christina Perri's Arms dance across my room in some salsa travesty, I remember the Christmas parties, the jollof rice, the many bottles of soda and the house visits. I remember my parents who gave me and my two older siblings a home and not just a house. I remember Boney M's Jingle Bells and Christmas carol at my local church. Christmas. Home. Words that are intertwined in ways only God could have orchestrated.

Suddenly, I have a different answer for Yaremi's conclusion that joy is of the Lord and happiness comes from things and people alone. While I agree with the joy part, I beg to differ the latter. Happiness does not always come from people and things. Mine comes from a place. My place. A place twenty three hours away. A place called home. The place called Happy.

Christmas is here again, and I really want to be happy. The good thing is, home isn't a building. It is abstract. I will create a home everywhere I go and find happiness. It is what every strong-willed-not-stone-hearted-person does. I will be home. I will be happy.

There's one bad thing, though. Even if I try to find a home now, I won't before Christmas. The search for a home is like the drilling for diamonds. Home is where your heart is, where you find peace and contentment. It is where you're your happiest and, most probably, your saddest. It is where you don't have to hide or be scared. It is where you find and exhibit strength, weakness, and everything in between. You can not find that in a hurry.

My name? I am Kelechi.

#ikochristmas23