Christmas 2017

I am officially the family's executioner. Not only have I killed all the chickens we ate in the last 3 Christmases, but today, I slaughtered a turkey and a goat as well. A goat!

Best Christmas ever!! Even though Zoe and her Father nearly ruined it.

At 7 am, Dad was telling Mom how he caught Zoe sneaking back into the house at 2 am (Zoe claims it's an exaggeration; she says she returned before midnight) after she had snuck out for a party. He was so animated that his volume woke me. When he saw I was awake, he asked me if my sister had woken up too. I answered "No." That annoyed him even more. He instructed me to kill both the chicken and the turkey while he went upstairs to wake Zoe.

Everyone knows wake-up time on Christmas is 8 am, with food preparation beginning around 10 am after breakfast. My job is to choose and slaughter the two fattest chickens from the six we keep penned for the holidays. This year, though, Dad's boss had gifted us a turkey on Friday. We'd planned for me to slaughter one chicken while Dad handled the turkey, but now, he demanded I kill both, and given his mood, I didn't dare argue.

Dressing the birds was agonisingly slow. Dad and I worked on the turkey, while Mom and Zoe handled the chicken. Our progress was constantly interrupted: Dad kept stepping away to take Christmas calls from family and friends, Mom made pancakes and tea, and we ate. The real delay wasn't the distractions; it was the atmosphere.

Dad was Israel, Zoe was Syria, and Mom was the poor UN representative trying to broker a ceasefire.

Thankfully, the family's DJ came to the rescue. I knew some Christmas lullaby wouldn't do the trick today, so I connected to the speaker and played Bob Marley's Exodus album. Something about The Wailers' sound energises the natural mystic in the air.

By the time "The Heathens" came on, we were done dressing, and Dad had chopped both the turkey and the chicken into sizable pieces.

"We Jamming, we Jamming…"

The energy was electric, and the birds were boiling on fire. Mom was already picking out the ingredients for Jollof rice, and Zoe was washing the rice. She still had a frown on her face, but I caught her singing along. Dad was breakdancing—at least, that's what he thought he was doing.

As is the family tradition, once the jollof rice is up and running, everyone leaves Mom alone in the kitchen until it's time to cook the fried rice. So before the album reached "One Love," everyone had dispersed. Zoe had gone back to sleep, Dad had gone out to meet some friends, and I was watching TV in the sitting room.

It was at this time that Uncle Joshua, Mom's immediate younger brother, brought the goat, his Christmas present to my family. By the time Dad got home 30 minutes later, he had decided we were going to kill the goat today and make asun. He even brought two of his subordinates from work, Mr Dauda and Mr Mayo, to help us with it. After tying it up, Mr Mayo turned to me and asked, "Do you want to kill it?" as if I could ever say no.

I looked the beast in the eye and slit its throat.

The Jollof was done; it was time to prepare the fried rice. But I was bound to the goat; I had taken its life, and now I had to see it through to the end, watch it go from goat to Asun. I couldn't help with the fried rice. Zoe had to wake up to cut the ingredients. Again, Dad decided to do that personally. He went upstairs, and in less than a minute, we were all upstairs with him because Zoe was screaming, "Leave me alone."

Apparently, she was refusing to get out of bed to help with the cooking. Looking at Dad's face, I finally realised what had angered him so much, and it wasn't because Zoe broke the house rules by sneaking out of the house, or that she was disrespecting him now. What had my father so angry was that he was powerless, his little girl had outgrown spanking, and now he had no weapon for her tantrums. In that moment of frustration and confusion, he discovered the nuclear option.

"Fine." my Dad said. I swear, his face lit up as the following words came out of his mouth, "but you are not going to eat out of any of the food we are making today!"

BOOM!

Right then, I felt so much resentment for both of them that I could have killed them. I am 14 years old. Already taller than Mom, by the end of next year, it would be awkward for Dad to use a belt on me; that was good news until now. I could take 20 lashes, hell, I would take 50, but I can not, will not, and shall not go to bed with an empty stomach. Especially on Christmas.

All the hard work Bob Marley and I had done to bring back peace went down the drain. I had to leave the asun with my Dad's subordinates and help Mom dice the meat and vegetables needed for fried rice.

I was halfway through when I found Mom's eyes fixated on me. She had tried everything she could to restore peace and had failed; now she needed my help. I went upstairs, knocked on my sister's door, and her face was so frowny that I had to say;

"You look like a refugee."

"What do you want?"

"To make sure you don't starve to death."

I pulled out a piece of chicken I had snuck upstairs for her. She scuffed, but she let me in, and ranted to me for 5 minutes about how our father is a control freak. When she was done, I said;

"What do you expect? In 3 weeks he would be shipping off his favorite child to Ukraine to study."

"Favorite child?"

That was what she needed to hear.

"Yes."

She pulled me into a tight embrace and said, "I am going to miss you so much."

"I won't." I lied.

She went downstairs, met Father, and they had their peace talks while I continued chopping ingredients. About 10 minutes later, I was done, and so were their peace talks. They both came out of the room hand in hand, smiling from ear to ear as if they had not just unleashed the worst weapon known to man. I could already see Father abusing the nuclear option just like he has abused the belt.

I returned to the Asun! By this point, the goat had been chopped into bite-sized pieces. They had soaked the meat in Maggi, curry, paprika and dry pepper. They were leaving it to marinate. A process that takes at least 3 hours. Mr Dauda made a hot, sizzling sauce, and Mr Mayo set up the grill and started the fire. When the flames were high, we placed the seasoned meat on the rack. They turned it consistently until it was charred to perfection. Then we poured it into the sauce.

The rest of the day went on like any regular Christmas. Once all the food was done, we put the portions in a serving dish for Grandma—my Dad's mom—and another for the Ali's. We had an unofficial contract signed with them: we give them food on Christmas, and they bring us food during the Muslim festivals.

I volunteered to take food to them because I found out sometime during the year that Sade was one of their tenants. I snuck into the kitchen to make a dish for her family as well; I made sure to put enough asun in it so she would know I kill goats for Christmas.

By 6:30 pm, the table was set, and all four of us were seated. Dad said grace and then gave a speech;

"By this time next month, my firstborn would have travelled abroad to further her studies. I am proud of you, but I am sad that it's time to let you go. Zoe, Yobo, I want to remember this moment. From now on, we would be lucky to have all four of us sit together at a table and share a meal. Once upon a time, I had a father, a mother. My siblings and I would sit at a table with them. Your mother also had her family. Now we are here with you, and our siblings are with your cousins."

Zoe suggested we make a toast to that. We agreed.

Usually, Dad and Mom shared Four Cousins' wine, while Zoe and I shared the Chamdor. Today, Dad poured out of the Four Cousins for Zoe. I stretched my cup to him, but a look from Mom shut me down. Their loss, the three of them shared a bottle of alcoholic wine; I had the entire bottle of Chamdor all to myself.

"To family and Memories!" Zoe pronounced

"Cheers!"

Then we served the food. Our next-door neighbour, Mrs Onabowale, had made peppered snails and sent them over, so I had chicken, turkey, Asun, peppered snails with Jollof rice and fried rice all on the same plate. I had never felt closer to heaven. I was so close that Dad nearly pushed me inside when he announced:

"Who else knew Yobo had a crush on Sade?"

The shock, the pepper from the Jollof rice, snail, and asun, the involuntary cough—I nearly died. It took about 5 minutes to resuscitate me. And they didn't stop; they traded stories like I wasn't there. Zoe told them she had known since last year—even I didn't know I liked Sade this time last year. Mom told me I had to get her dish back.

Appendix: Glossary of Nigerian Delicacies

Asun: A spicy, smoky delicacy made from goat meat. The meat is typically seasoned, grilled until charred, and then tossed in a hot, flavorful sauce made with habanero peppers, onions, and spices.

Jollof Rice: A popular one-pot Nigerian rice dish cooked in a rich, aromatic tomato, bell pepper, and scotch bonnet base, infused with spices like curry, thyme, and bay leaves.

Nigerian Fried Rice: A distinct dish made by stir-frying rice with diced vegetables (such as carrots, green beans, and sweet corn), often including liver, meat or shrimp, and a savoury, curry-based seasoning blend.

Peppered Snails: A savoury, spicy delicacy typically served as an appetiser. Large land snails are boiled, then cooked in a thick, fiery, and flavorful tomato-and-scotch bonnet pepper sauce.