“𝐹𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡𝒉𝑒 𝒉𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑁𝑖𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑎 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝒉𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑡𝒉𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑, 𝑚𝑎𝑦 𝑡𝒉𝑖𝑠 𝐶𝒉𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑐𝑒, 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑦.”

• • •

The sun rises earlier than usual, or maybe it’s just the excitement.
By 5 a.m., the house is alive with movement.
Mama is already shouting:
“Bisi, go and fetch water! James, why you still dey sleep?
You no know say today na Christmas?”

The kitchen becomes a battleground.
The aroma of frying onions, boiling rice, and grilled chicken
Spreads through the house.
The sound of mortar and pestle echoes—
kpom-kpom-kpom—pounding pepper for the stew.

⁎ ⁎ ⁎

The children are the first to bathe.
Today is not for ordinary soap—Dettol is the MVP.
They scrub as if they’re washing away the whole year.

After the bath comes the main event:
The unveiling of Christmas clothes.
Bright, shiny, and new,
Each child wears their outfit with pride.

Their shoes, polished to a military shine,
Make loud kpoi-kpoi noises on the floor.
Even if the tailor’s work doesn’t exactly match the chosen style,
Nobody complains.

“Ah! See as I fine today,” one child says,
Admiring themselves in the mirror.
Mama warns:
“If you stain that cloth before church,
Na koboko you go collect.”

⁎ ⁎ ⁎

By 8 a.m., the family is at church.
The choir sings, “Joy to the World,”
And the congregation claps and dances.

The pastor preaches about love, hope, and Jesus’ birth.
But the children are distracted,
Eyeing other kids’ Christmas clothes.
“Her own fine, sha, but e no fit reach my own,”
One whispers to another.

The service ends with loud shouts of “Hallelujah!”
And the children race home,
Their thoughts already on the food waiting for them.

⁎ ⁎ ⁎

At home, the real celebration begins.
Relatives—some you’ve never seen in your life—start arriving.
“Ah, Bisi, na you be this? You don big o!
When last I see you, na small pikin you be!”

The dining table overflows:
Jollof rice steaming hot,
Fried rice garnished with vegetables,
Chicken fried to golden perfection,
And, of course, chin chin and puff-puff for the kids.

The children form a queue for food.
The fastest ones grab chicken laps,
While the slower ones settle for pomo.
“Pomo na meat,” someone jokes,
And everyone bursts into laughter.

Soft drinks flow like water.
“Mama, I want Fanta!”
“No! Take Coke—Fanta don finish!”

⁎ ⁎ ⁎

By afternoon, the children are outside, playing.
The girls jump and clap in ten-ten,
While the boys organize a football match.

From a distance, the boys set off fireworks.
“Knockout!” someone shouts.
The braver kids light and fling them,
While the rest scatter, screaming and laughing.

Meanwhile, the adults sit in clusters,
Gisting about life, work, and politics.
“Na only for Christmas you go see this kain crowd,”
One uncle says, sipping his malt.

⁎ ⁎ ⁎

As the sun sets, the streets come alive.
Music blares from speakers:
“Last Last” by Burna Boy or “Ameno Amapiano.”
Neighbors gather outside, exchanging plates of food.
“Take this rice and turkey from us.
No worry, I go return the plate tomorrow.”

⁎ ⁎ ⁎

By nightfall, everyone is exhausted.
The children doze off in corners,
Their new clothes now slightly rumpled.
The adults, full of rice and stories,
Begin to pack the leftover food.

Despite the hustle and noise,
Despite the unexpected relatives and banger scares,
Christmas in Nigeria is unforgettable—
A day of love, laughter, and tradition.

No matter the tribe or tongue,
Christmas always feels like home.

Written by Vanessa Kolawole.