A Very Merry Christmas - Short Stories from Rwanda

It's this time of year again. Everyone is buzzing about, preparing for the holidays or trying to fix the remaining tasks, before the year comes to an end. While all around people are busy, some of us experience the magical atmosphere that seems to be all around us throughout December: Christmas is here!

Golden lights make the streets sparkle, music fills the hearts, and people grow closer together. In my homeland, biscuits can be found in every house, the smell of mandarins, apples, and cinnamon caresses your nostrils, and you are enjoying the biting cold at the lively Christmas market, while warming your frozen hands on a cup of Christmas punch, enjoying time with the family. People finally find time for each other again, calling and sending Christmas wishes to long forgotten friends and relatives. For those who can look past the end-of-the-year stress, the bad weather, and all the expenses that come along with buying a bunch of gifts, it's that time of year that brings nostalgia of childhood days full of joy and laughter. When life was still carefree and easy. 

Personally, I love Christmas very much, for all the things described above. In a world that is constantly changing and you never know what might happen next week, it is this one thing that always stays the same. However, sometimes, very rarely, there is this one memory that sticks out. This one Christmas that we experienced in a certain way making us look back full of gratitude, love, and sometimes mostly amusement. 

I know how we celebrate Christmas at home and I love our small familiar traditions that make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. At the same time it is nothing that offers a decent plot line to write a story about. What I was looking for was peculiar stories, special memories that made its way through the hippocampus into somebodies neocortex. I found three people who were willing to share their stories with me. Since memories can be very intimate, I will be discrete about their identities and out of respect I will write them down in English, so they themselves can read the original version and not the AI translation. 

That said, lean back and enjoy this series of short stories about somebody's very special Christmas memory.

Awaiting the Birth of Jesus

My family are Seventh-day Adventists and Christmas at home used to be a calm and joyful time. On December 25 we went to church, accompanied by friends, neighbors, and other acquaintances. We would listen to prayers and teachings from the Bible, spending the day in joyous serenity. When evening came, we returned home, to enjoy a special dinner at our parents' home.

Those were good times and I liked it a lot. However, there was something on my mind and I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like. Eventually, curiosity got the better of me. I went ahead and asked my parents if we could spent the night of the 24th at the catholic church, experiencing the festivities from a new perspective.

In Rwanda, Christmas ceremonies start already on the 24th for catholic believers. They go to church in the evening, hear prayers and sing until midnight, awaiting the birth of Jesus. I'd heard friends talk about it so much, that I wanted to experience this tradition as well.

So it came to be that in 2018, for the first time in my life, I spent the night of December 24 at our local catholic church. I was joined by my sister and a friend, so I wouldn't be alone. It felt a bit unusual. My family normally went to a different church so this was already something very special to me. It was 6 p.m. when we reached the place and entered the church. Not only did we listen to teachings by the priests and sang Christmas songs. A play was also performed, telling the story of Jesus' birth in Bethlehem. Witnessing those scenes of baby Jesus crying, as well as the simple life in which he was born into, a particular emotion emerged within me. This play was an incredibly humbling experience, which felt so real and touched me in a very special way. 

New Old Family 

I remember, it was in 2022. That year, we celebrated Christmas with my father's family. It is a very fond memory for me, because it was the first time both my mother's and my father's family met. To be together like this on Christmas, we have never had the opportunity before. There were special Christmas decorations, even trees, and it was my first time seeing the family celebrate Christmas in such a way. Seeing all of this, seeing everyone, felt so very special to me.

There was a fire sparkling and all of us gathered around it in a circle. The party started around 3 p.m. and the flames would just keep on dancing until midnight. My auntie's daughter lives in Canada. She couldn't make it on time, so we waited for her, told stories and enjoyed the time together, until she could join us. Naturally we had also prepared gifts. Most of them were clothes. Of course, the children definitely expected new clothes. After all they play around all day using up the ones they have, so what better occasion to buy them new ones? Anyway you look at it, it is a good gift, useful but also thoughtful and considerate, since you you're not giving your loved ones something they will never wear. Therefore, most of the presents that were handed out that night were clothes and shoes.

It was a very enjoyable night and it goes without saying, that it was also quite emotional. A campfire always invites people to cuddle up together and share stories. Made up fairy tales, horror stories, or simply tales from the past. Before that day, I didn't know a lot about my parents. Their background, how they found each other, barely anything. But that day, that Christmas night, my stepmother, who had also gathered the family and arranged this beautiful evening with my father's siblings, sat down with us at the fireplace. And then she told me the story of how my parents met and I learned about my own origin. 

This was a very special Christmas for me and it will stay with me in my memories for a very long time.

No Christmas Tree 

This is a memory from my childhood. A lot happened that Christmas and back then it was not at all enjoyable. However, growing older, looking back on it, it is quite amusing, actually, and it's a very special memory to me now.

I was a child, maybe 9 or 10 years old, and didn't grow up with my extended family. Most of them were living in Burundi, scattered across the country, some in the city, some in the rural areas. That year, my father, my mother, and me decided to spent Christmas together with our family in Burundi. It had been three or four years since we last saw them, so it was a good occasion to visit and catch up on both ends. 

Shortly before Christmas, we arrived in Bujumbura, where we spent a few days. So far it was nothing new to me, since we also lived in the city in Rwanda and were used to the busy life there. Then the Christmas day arrived and we decided, we were going to spend it in the country site. You have to know, that in the rural areas, not many places had electricity. Not many places had running water. Not many places had Christmas trees, and there are generally not many places that had all the things you can find in the city. And so my parents and my very young self went to the village to celebrate Christmas with my grandparents.

Of course, as a child, you know when it's Christmas: It's the holidays, you hear the songs, everywhere you find Christmas decorations, and on December 24, I was used to seeing a beautiful Christmas tree, set up and sparkling to welcome the Christmas spirit into our house, and everything that it carries along. So the 24th arrived, but the Christmas tree was nowhere to be seen. I didn't think much of it, after all the day is long and maybe the tree would be prepared later in the afternoon. I was watching the adults. Everyone was busy working, buzzing about, going after their normal daily chores. I was watching the children. Kids my age, playing around, singing, nobody seemed to be aware that it's Christmas. 

You see, I was the youngest in the house, the little darling. So naturally, everyone was very keen on catering to every wish, making sure I am alright: "Do you want something to drink?", "Do you want something to eat?", "Do you need anything?" What they didn't know was, that all of this was none of my concern at the time. I didn't care about the drinks, the foods. I wanted to see a Christmas tree. Well decorated, well set up. The way I was used to see them in the city.

A little confused I went to my mother and asked shyly, "What about the Christmas tree?" My mother shifted her gaze towards me. She looked me dead in the eye and without emotion, she said, "No Christmas tree this year." And that was the start of my Christmas nightmare.

It was unacceptable to me that there would not be a Christmas tree. After all, how are you supposed to celebrate Christmas without a tree? How are you supposed to even know Christmas is there? What about everything that the Christmas tree stands for? The lights, the meals, and most importantly: The presents. Consequently, no Christmas tree meant no gifts, no new clothes, no meals, no nothing. How was my small self supposed to process this aside from throwing a tantrum?

So I did just that. I made a big scene, throwing all the tantrums at people, that I had at my disposal. And it worked. As all adults were walking on eggshells around me anyway, trying their best to please the youngest, everybody rushed to my rescue, asking why I was crying. Everybody, except for my mother. She was watching from a distance, knowing exactly why I was crying, deciding she would not bother to indulge in this nonsense.

"My mama refused to give me a Christmas tree, so there is no Christmas gifts, so there is no Christmas meal, so there is no Christmas...." I was throwing fists, crying, complaining, trying to make it clear, that I needed to have a real Christmas. I was convincing enough for my grandpa to decide to try and find something for me that at least held some resemblance to a Christmas tree. Only where to find it, that was the big challenge.

My grandparents were living in the village, where there were a lot of banana trees, banana trees, and even more banana trees. Banana trees are usually cut after they produced fruits, since they can only do so once in their lifetime. Cutting them before and using the tree as decoration occurred only on very special occasions, signaling all around that there was a major celebration, a party, and everyone was invited to come. Now, that posed a problem. Was a spoiled kid insisting on bringing a tree inside the house and putting stuff on it, just for the sake of having it there, special occasion enough? And was it worth risking the whole village joining them in their house on Christmas day? My grandparents and my father debated for a long time, until the latter finally came up with a creative solution. The only tree we had available, we could not cut, but we had something else that could stand in as a substitute: A branch with a bunch of bananas. 

It was the perfect solution, killing two birds with one stone. Making a tree out of the bananas and still being able to eat them afterwards. A very efficient way of thinking. Of course, little me didn't think efficiently and so I was not very happy with that idea. Nevertheless I went along with it, not seeing any other option and also falling victim to the curiosity of a child. There was something, so let's do something with it and see where it goes.

You should have seen a banana bunch becoming a banana tree. No lights, no Christmas balls. My mother just looked at me, saying, "You wanted a Christmas tree, now do whatever you want with it." But she saw that I was very upset, so she took me outside to look for decoration. Of course, it was the village, so all that was there was food. Fresh food and a lot of it, coming from the fields. We found some green beans which we started to tie together to a garland. I don't even remember how we did it and the colors were horrible. Some yellow, some green, it just didn't match, never mind looking like Christmas.

We continued decorating the tree, adding to the "garland" dolls and colorful socks, that my father bought and which I rolled up to resemble Christmas balls as closely as possible. It was not easy to make the banana bunch stand, so we put it in the corner, where it would be supported by the walls. I was a bit bothered by the tail that was the bent end of the branch, but what was I supposed to do?

I went outside and sat down in a corner, thinking about this nightmare before Christmas. As I was sitting there, sulking, other kids from the neighborhood came, curious about this strange child from the city. They started playing with my hair, intrigued by the braids, since most of them were wearing their hair short. My grandma was watching this scene and started to get worried I wouldn't be able to deal with them and they might put sand in my hair. Next thing I knew, I was locked under the arm of my grandmother shaving me. I screamed in shock and my mother came running out, but it was already to late.

Here I was, shaved bold and crying again. the other children coming to comfort me. Still, I just couldn't help but feel miserable. After some time I had calmed down a bit and ended up bringing the other kids inside. There they saw the Christmas tree. Well, it was a banana bunch stacked with random things we could find around the village, but for them it was the first Christmas tree they had ever seen. They stood in awe, asking, "What is this strange thing?" and I felt a sentiment of power washing over me. You know, this feeling of superiority you have as a kid, when you know something the others don't. Proudly I explained them the purpose of a Christmas tree, thinking to myself, "Hehe, you should see a real one."

There we were, a bunch of kids, looking at the bananas, while all the adults were out shopping for the next day's Christmas celebration. We started playing with the makeshift Christmas tree. Well not really with the tree, but with everything that was on it. We picked the socks, put them on, different colors on each foot, started to take apart the bean garland, cut the bananas into pieces. It wasn't particularly fun, but it offered a way for me to vent my frustration from everything that had happened that day. All the efforts the adults went through to give me any kind of Christmas feeling, were completely obliterated. It comes as no surprise that they were not at all happy, coming back and finding bananas, beans, and socks scattered all across the house.

Of course they were mad, but I was mad as well, so all the anger just started to overflow. "It's you who brought us to the village for Christmas, you let my grandmother shave me, you let all of this happen, ..." and so on. I was so angry, I didn't even consider the consequences of my outburst, punishment far from my mind. Luckily, you cannot punish kids on Christmas, so I got away with it, my grandpa saying, "Come on, we are adults, we didn't really lose anything. But her, she lost something important to her."

I felt somewhat relieved, getting all of this off my chest. Still, I wasn't content. I lost my hair, there was still no Christmas tree, and a cold and awkward atmosphere hang over the dinner table that evening. My father made sure to let me know that there were gifts for me, but he would not give them to me. My mother didn't talk to me and my grandparents tried their best to gloss over it, cuddling up to me, who was still sulking.

The next day, December 25, was Christmas day. All of us went to church, only my father stayed behind. We attended the mass, as usual on Christmas, and then went back home to celebrate there in the privacy of our home. We reached the house and when we opened the door and entered, I was overcome by surprise and pure happiness. Inside the house, there was a tree, with a glowing light bulb on top and a bunch of gifts at its foot. To this day, I still don't know how he did it, but somehow my father managed to arrange a Christmas tree and bring the Christmas spirit back into the family. I felt pure joy, forgiving my grandma for shaving me, feeling gratitude towards my father and enjoyed a lovely Christmas celebration with good food, games, and a new understanding of what Christmas is all about. 

I would like to encourage every reader to examine my reports about experiences and perceptions critically and to comment if you find any content inappropriate or factually incorrect. For me, as for everyone else, learning about a new place and its culture is a process in which misconceptions and misunderstandings are bound to happen. Over time I will understand things better, or at least differently. I welcome feedback and, above all, look forward to have you join me for more stories.

Furthermore, I want to thank the three colleagues who were open enough to share their very special Christmas memory with me and through me with everyone who reads my stories. All of them are beautiful, showing different perspectives of Christmas and what this time means to different people. Be it our believe, family, a Christmas tree, ... It's all part of the whole thing and I am almost certain that most readers will find themselves in at least some of the passages. 

Have a very merry Christmas and enjoy a happy new year!