Zina lay on the couch as she scrolled through Instagram, swiping at different posts, from pyjama-clad families by Christmas trees to renditions of ‘Mary, did you know?’ Zina scrolled until her eyes burned.

She looked at the Christmas tree her best friend and roommate, Abeni, got this morning. It was nothing like the ones on Instagram. First, it wasn’t green. It was a myriad of colours that blended in with each other as if a rainbow was pushed down a mountain and tangled in on itself.

That morning, as harmattan dust assaulted the air and made it smell like Christmas, Abeni entered the living room, lips dry and dressed in black sweats. ‘Look at what I got,’ she had said, eyes wide as she held a ‘tree’ that was barely four feet tall with both hands above her head like a trophy.

Zina had stared at the contraption, unsure of what it was. ‘Am I supposed to guess what it is?’

Abeni’s eyebrows furrowed. ‘What do you mean guess?’ She dropped the tangled rainbow on the floor and caressed it. ‘It’s a Christmas tree.’

Zina looked at Abeni, then the tree in question, then back at Abeni.

Abeni sighed and held the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger. ‘It’s made from recycled materials.’

Zina eyed the tangled rainbow. She could spot a gala wrap. ‘I can see that.’ 

Before Zina could argue that the tangled rainbow should be left out to continue tumbling down the mountain, Abena announced, ‘I’m going to get lights and tinsel from the vendor close to the junction,’ and disappeared.

Zina had been waiting for her when she was accosted by people’s normal-looking Christmas trees on Instagram. Zina knew she shouldn’t complain. Especially considering all Abeni had done for her in the past three months. 

This year had been hectic for Zina. She dropped out of medical school and her parents had kicked her out when they found out. She could never forget the anger that morphed her father’s usually calm face into a contortion of rage. His eyebrows were so furrowed they basically shook hands, his eyes were reddened by vexation, his nostrils flared and spittle flew from his mouth as he said, ‘No child of mine is going to be a dropout. What kind of nonsense are you spewing?”

She couldn’t believe after all she had told her parents about how she barely survived the last two years, this was their reaction. ‘Daddy, I’m not going back.’

He had turned his back to her and breathed hard. Her mother held his shoulder and said, ‘She doesn’t mean it, she’s just a child.’ She shot Zina warning glances that said “Swallow your words.” But she didn’t.

In her father’s words, as she chose to make these choices that weren’t for a child to make, she could make more adult choices including finding where to live. Zina packed as her mother’s begging—directed more to Zina than her father—faded into the background.

From there, Zina’s couch surfing journey in relatives' houses began. Then her father threatened them and they bowed to Big Brother. They apologised and closed the door on her face as they advised her to return home. Her mother called every day, begging. Zina told her she was begging the wrong person.

She had reached the end of her rope when Abeni told her to come over. Abeni’s story was very different. Her parents were the supportive kind.

After secondary school, when Zina’s parents carted her off to one of those faith-based private universities that had elite medical programs, Abeni’s parents agreed to a gap year to figure things out.

During that gap year, Abeni explored creative advocacy. After the gap year, she moved to a small town in southwest Nigeria developed enough to live comfortably in to pursue a year-long voluntary role with an NGO focused on tackling plastic pollution. 

But Abeni barely made any money, so she grudgingly accepted her parent's offer to pay for her accommodation. Zina was lucky Abeni’s flat was spacious with a big bed. She was lucky that Abeni’s parents encouraged her to stay after their failed conversation with Zina’s parents.

The day Zina arrived three months back in August, she opened the door to see Abeni in a party hat standing under a “WELCOME HOME ZINA” banner and holding a cake. Just the day before, she said to Abeni on the phone, ‘I have no home anymore,’ as tears rolled down her eyes.

Zina had burst out laughing as tears rolled down her eyes again and said, ‘This your party dry sha. Where are the balloons?’

Then Abeni hugged her and carefully explained how balloons were bad for the environment.

Zina met Abeni’s NGO colleagues once and avoided meeting them again. They were mostly chirpy and hopeful—two things she wasn’t right now, and she envied their direction and purpose. But now, they were planning a Christmas get-together and because they barely knew anyone else here, those were their guests. 

Zina had tried different approaches to make this get-together a two-people thing to avoid spending Christmas day with people who weren’t family or friends who were like family. But Abena had thwarted every excuse Zina came up with as if they were annoying mosquitoes.

Abeni burst through the door again and emptied her reusable shopping bag on the floor. Red, yellow, and green tinsel poured out with a pack of LED lights.

‘It’s time!’ Abeni pressed play on the Christmas playlist they made last month. The first song that played was Ronke the Red-nosed Rooster, a remix of Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer. Zina smiled. Nigerian Christmas songs were scarce but they found this artist who did remixes of classics. 

As Abeni sat on the floor untangling the LED lights, she laughed. ‘This is my first Christmas away from family. No village, no comments about my life’s direction, or my nose ring,’ she pointed at the septum piercing she got this year, ‘No body aches from turning a hundred pots of Jollof.’ She sighed loudly. ‘Freedom!’

Zina laughed. This was also her first Christmas away from home. It was weird. Abeni’s parents had tried to persuade Abeni and Zina to come to the village, but Abeni said it’d be uncomfortable for Zina.

Zina’s father still wasn’t talking to her while her mother bombarded her with texts Zina read at night when Abeni was asleep and cried. They mostly said ‘Please come home and apologise. Your father will forgive you. I miss you.’ But never we miss you.

Both Zina and Abeni loved Christmas. That was why they were decorating and making plans for a Christmas get-together that was over three weeks away.

Zina sat opposite Abeni on the floor, untangling the tinsel. ‘Babes,’ Zina said to Abeni who was focused on untangling a knot on the lights. ‘Hmm,’ Abeni answered.

‘Isn’t tinsel plastic?’ Zina watched as Abeni paused and stared at the ceiling. ‘Huh, that’s true.’

Zina laughed. She felt like Abeni’s #saynotoplastic thing was a bit performative. ‘I’m sure the gods of climate change won’t strike us down this one time. It’s Christmas after all.’ She continued to untangle the tinsel.

Abeni stretched her hands to stop Zina. ‘We can’t wrap a recycled Christmas tree with plastic.’

Zina looked up at Abeni and laughed. But Abeni didn’t join her. ‘You’re being serious?’

‘Girl, yes!’ Abeni tangled the tinsel into a big mess again. ‘This is our chance to do Christmas our way and save our planet.’ She threw the tangled ball of colours to the door. ‘I’ll return it.’

‘First,’ Zina said, ‘the tree is literally made of plastic. I spy a gala wrap right there, next to a plastic bottle. And I’m sure these lights,’ she pointed at the lights Abeni untangled, ‘have some plastic in them. It’s not that serious.’

‘Zina, it’s the little things that matter.’ Abeni didn’t look up to see Zina roll her eyes. Another thwart at Zina’s suggestion. She wondered if she could shift the tree to an inconspicuous position but decided to focus on the details of the get-together for now.

Zina opened her notes app. ‘Okay, as we were saying. Music, check.’

‘Our awesome Christmas playlist is going to blow their minds!’ Abeni said.

‘Yeah, it is!’ Zina said. ‘I was thinking for food, jollof and fried rice because who eats white rice and stew on Christmas?’ Zina scrunched her face. At home, white rice and stew were Easter food. ‘And then small chops. Samosas, spring rolls, stick meat and puff-puff. For drinks, Zobo and red wine are a must.’ These were also Christmas traditions at home because they were red and so was Christmas. ‘We can throw in some juice, ouu malt! Malt is important.’ She tapped the finger on her lips. ‘What am I forgetting?’

Abeni finished untangling the lights and wrapped it around the tree. She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I think we should make our own menu from scratch. Do a total overhaul. I mean,’ she stood upright and stretched her hands wide. ‘We’re free, Zina! We can do what we want.’

‘This is what I want, Abeni.’

‘Is it? Or are you doing that thing where you hold on to your parents' desires as the ultimate truth?’ She continued wrapping the lights around the tree. ‘I mean, you’re not under their roof anymore.’

Zina knew Abeni was referring to all the times she claimed studying medicine was her choice and not her parents. It wasn’t true. But this was different. It was Christmas. It had always been this way.

Zina raised an eyebrow. ‘And are you sure you’re not doing that thing where you try to deviate from the norm just for the sake of being different; not because you actually want to?’ 

Abeni stopped just as she turned on the switch and the lights flicked fast. Green, yellow, red, blue. ‘What is that supposed to mean, Zina?’

‘Abeni, you got a nose ring after you said you never wanted to go through the pain and you didn’t even like nose rings. And why are you even here? Society says do something and you do the complete opposite just because!

‘You’re doing it with Christmas. Look at that tree, Abeni. It’s fucking ugly! Who wants to see a gala wrap and Lacasera bottle on their Christmas tree? You’re going out of your way to make sure you don’t do things the normal way.’

Abeni laughed. ‘Normal way? And what’s considered normal? Going to study medicine solely to please your parents? That’s not normal, babes. And who said jollof rice and zobo is a normal Christmas? Where does it say that? Christmas isn’t even a Nigerian holiday! AND THERE IS NO ONE WAY TO CHRISTMAS!’

The silence that followed was excruciating. There was no noise, just flickering lights that doused the living room in green, then yellow, then red, then blue. Abeni’s chest rose and dropped in shallow breaths.

Zina stared at her friend as the words echoed in her head. There is no one way to Christmas. She thought of how she kept trying to urge Abeni’s ideas towards familiar traditions she wasn’t sure she necessarily liked. They just felt like home, and she missed home.

‘I’m sorry,’ Zina said. ‘It’s just really hard. You chose to have Christmas away from home. I didn’t.’ Tears clouded her eyes, and the room looked more weird in the changing lights.

‘I know,’ Abeni said as she walked up to her. ‘I’m sorry too. I was going a bit overboard. But I’m here. I’m home too. And we’ll figure it all out.’ Abeni chuckled and held Zina close. The embrace felt warm and familiar. And though it wasn’t her mother’s own, and she wasn’t cutting chin-chin or hearing her father sing, she was here, and she had Abeni, and that was something. That was Christmas, too.