By Faith Ngabirwe
This month last year saw many of us cancelling plans of making journeys to our villages to ‘eat’ Christmas with our loved ones because of the pandemic. Personally, I was so afraid of the disease that even stepping out to go to the kiosk felt like I would catch it on the way.
For most people though, it was the lack of funds. Every penny qualified for the savings box. The economy was already going down and yet the next month was the election period. Everyone wanted to be prepared because word was, this was going to be a very tough time. All this seems like yesterday.
I feel this Christmas came too early. For a girl like me who hoped to be with someone’s son arm in arm, dancing to Azawi’s love ballads, smiling and waving to whatever guest, this year has run so fast.
Today is the last Saturday of the year and no one’s son even asked me to go and meet their parents. Today is Christmas and I am here sleeping on my mother’s couch wondering how we jumped from the days of “He will not swear in” to “Schools to open in January 2022”.
A quick scan through social media reveals different sets of women. There’s the slay squad that moved to their in-laws for Christmas with many pairs of gloves. They are not ready to spoil their gel nails, so they plan to hide in the banana plantations and do the peeling from that side with the gloves on. Others have decided to tactfully stick to chopping vegetables and washing plates.
Then I see the group with stubborn women that did not come to play or impress anyone. They boast of laptops fully charged and movies, as well as folders with series. That they will tactfully play with the kids and lure them into helping with their supposed chores. They plan on using this time to get some rest since they do chores at their homes all year through. They expect to be pampered and looked out for as opposed to the culture of daughters-in-law breaking their backs, trying to avoid being topics of gossip.
This group has hardened hearts and reminds me of that suicide bomber at CPS. No retreat, no surrender. They go in head first and they have hardened over time. They, however, do not, cannot and will never overtake the group of the chosen few; the ones dating married men.
Christmas rudely reminds you that he belongs somewhere else and you are on your own. I hope you sent the pictures of an empty fridge and had him do the needful.
Whereas I am a little saddened that no one’s son has invited me for Christmas this year, and all the years ever since I began wishing for it, it gives me joy to know that I still get to spend quality time with my people and no man is going to beat me up because I asked him for some money to shop stuff for my family, given the state of the economy.
Another Christmas, alone.