I really miss Christmas of old. I miss Christmas as I knew it when I was a young girl. I mean before life happened.
Christmases in my adulthood have not been exciting at all. I have had some memorable ones, I must admit; but they are nothing compared to my childhood ones.
Childhood Christmas was to die for. That was the one time I (and my siblings and friends) really looked forward to. The whole year I looked forward to a new dress, shoes and a pair of socks with dolls on the side. Not to mention the unlimited food and drinks: rice, chicken, coleslaw and beetroot salads. We ran some sort of competition to see who would finish their Tarino and Lemon Twist drinks. It sounds strange when I actually say it to my children; they do not understand that there was a time when rice was a delicacy. Or when soft drinks were for ‘special occasions’ or when we had visitors.
My childhood Christmas was exciting. Whether it was in Mpopoma in town or the rural home in Thekwane, Plumtree. My sister Sifelani would bake scones, Swiss Rolls, cakes and all sorts of goodies for the week of 25th December to the 1st of January. All these were stored in the Arenel Biscuit tins from years before. We all gladly took a break from bread.
If we were in Plumtree we would drink tea brewed in the brown Kango teapot by the fire with plenty of Lobels Bread, with Stork Margarine and Sun Jam. We always slaughtered a goat and feasted on the mathumbu. We always had 5 litres of Mazoe Orange Crush for after-lunch festivities. But I miss the Mpopoma Christmas more.
Lunch in Mpopoma was extra special. What with the special plates and the glasses that stayed in my mother’s display unit. Seeing my food in the china plate was an event in and of itself. I do not think anyone can understand this unless they experienced it. That plates could be so significant in one’s life is incredible. They were not just plates. Maybe they were a symbol of what we wanted but we could not get? Or a symbol of something exclusive?
After lunch the ‘real party’ started, for me at least. This was always so predictable but enjoyable every year. We danced to the music of the Soul Brothers and Brenda Fassie and whatever else was new that year (I remember one year there was Thisha and Yvonne Chaka Chaka). But the Soul Brothers and Brenda Fassie were constant. Like they somehow knew that there were families in Mpopoma who were waiting for them to release “Hamba Ntombi” or “It’s nice to be with people”.
My brothers Zwelibanzi (Zweli) and Sipho did not disappoint. Zweli always seemed to have new dancing styles all the time but he always ended each dance with his slogan “Ngiphong’ kwenza nje MaHadebe.” I really looked forward to that.
As I reflect on my childhood Christmas I realise it was more of the same every year. It was like a play with the exactly the same theme, plot and characters. But we all looked forward to it as if there would be something different. As if somehow, the plot would change, but it never changed. But still it was very special, with very special people.
In my adulthood the characters have changed. Zweli is no more. But I think of him at this time of the year as that character who always made the story complete. He would always have a story or two to entertain us. Now the story is like a jigsaw puzzle with most of the pieces missing. Where have those pieces gone; how do I get them back? The theme has been distorted somewhat; what is it?
Somehow Christmas seems to have lost the plot of late. It has lost its glow. I really do not look forward to it. It feels like any other day, as if it does not come after 12 long months. I find myself complaining about one thing or the other. I am already thinking about January and the responsibilities that come with it, especially the school fees. I ask myself how my mother managed to share the Christmas cheer despite the limited resources at her disposal. She had to pay school fees but December was still a joy for everyone, including friends and relatives. Why can I not do the same?
I wish I could have the “original” Christmas spirit back. But how do I bring it back? How do I get it back? More importantly, where has it gone? Am I becoming boring in my old age?
I would like the Christmas spirit back. Just once in my adult life. Just once, I would like to have fun as if there is no tomorrow and share the cheer with others around me. I need to reclaim the Christmas of old. I need to get back Christmas as I knew it when I was a young girl. I need to enjoy Christmas despite all that is going on around me.
I believe that is not too much to ask. Or is it?
Christmases in my adulthood have not been exciting at all. I have had some memorable ones, I must admit; but they are nothing compared to my childhood ones.
Childhood Christmas was to die for. That was the one time I (and my siblings and friends) really looked forward to. The whole year I looked forward to a new dress, shoes and a pair of socks with dolls on the side. Not to mention the unlimited food and drinks: rice, chicken, coleslaw and beetroot salads. We ran some sort of competition to see who would finish their Tarino and Lemon Twist drinks. It sounds strange when I actually say it to my children; they do not understand that there was a time when rice was a delicacy. Or when soft drinks were for ‘special occasions’ or when we had visitors.
My childhood Christmas was exciting. Whether it was in Mpopoma in town or the rural home in Thekwane, Plumtree. My sister Sifelani would bake scones, Swiss Rolls, cakes and all sorts of goodies for the week of 25th December to the 1st of January. All these were stored in the Arenel Biscuit tins from years before. We all gladly took a break from bread.
If we were in Plumtree we would drink tea brewed in the brown Kango teapot by the fire with plenty of Lobels Bread, with Stork Margarine and Sun Jam. We always slaughtered a goat and feasted on the mathumbu. We always had 5 litres of Mazoe Orange Crush for after-lunch festivities. But I miss the Mpopoma Christmas more.
Lunch in Mpopoma was extra special. What with the special plates and the glasses that stayed in my mother’s display unit. Seeing my food in the china plate was an event in and of itself. I do not think anyone can understand this unless they experienced it. That plates could be so significant in one’s life is incredible. They were not just plates. Maybe they were a symbol of what we wanted but we could not get? Or a symbol of something exclusive?
After lunch the ‘real party’ started, for me at least. This was always so predictable but enjoyable every year. We danced to the music of the Soul Brothers and Brenda Fassie and whatever else was new that year (I remember one year there was Thisha and Yvonne Chaka Chaka). But the Soul Brothers and Brenda Fassie were constant. Like they somehow knew that there were families in Mpopoma who were waiting for them to release “Hamba Ntombi” or “It’s nice to be with people”.
My brothers Zwelibanzi (Zweli) and Sipho did not disappoint. Zweli always seemed to have new dancing styles all the time but he always ended each dance with his slogan “Ngiphong’ kwenza nje MaHadebe.” I really looked forward to that.
As I reflect on my childhood Christmas I realise it was more of the same every year. It was like a play with the exactly the same theme, plot and characters. But we all looked forward to it as if there would be something different. As if somehow, the plot would change, but it never changed. But still it was very special, with very special people.
In my adulthood the characters have changed. Zweli is no more. But I think of him at this time of the year as that character who always made the story complete. He would always have a story or two to entertain us. Now the story is like a jigsaw puzzle with most of the pieces missing. Where have those pieces gone; how do I get them back? The theme has been distorted somewhat; what is it?
Somehow Christmas seems to have lost the plot of late. It has lost its glow. I really do not look forward to it. It feels like any other day, as if it does not come after 12 long months. I find myself complaining about one thing or the other. I am already thinking about January and the responsibilities that come with it, especially the school fees. I ask myself how my mother managed to share the Christmas cheer despite the limited resources at her disposal. She had to pay school fees but December was still a joy for everyone, including friends and relatives. Why can I not do the same?
I wish I could have the “original” Christmas spirit back. But how do I bring it back? How do I get it back? More importantly, where has it gone? Am I becoming boring in my old age?
I would like the Christmas spirit back. Just once in my adult life. Just once, I would like to have fun as if there is no tomorrow and share the cheer with others around me. I need to reclaim the Christmas of old. I need to get back Christmas as I knew it when I was a young girl. I need to enjoy Christmas despite all that is going on around me.
I believe that is not too much to ask. Or is it?