MY FIRST CHRISTMAS IN THE VILLAGE

Nothing can match the fact that my first Christmas in the village left lasting memories in my childhood and it helped me to learn to be humble, to survive and why goats should never be trusted.  In 2007, my parents made the decision that we should go to the village, reconnect with our roots and visit our grandmother who is very old. To them, the children of today do not know their origin, I was very happy as they also claimed that there will be plenty of meat in the village and being a Lagos boy who had been living on chicken wings. On arrival, there was a lot of excitement in the whole compound, aunties were crushing yam, uncles were roasting meat and children were all over running like hyper charged batteries. Then I behold it, the Christmas goat. A huge and strong animal which had the appearance of a well fed animal with muscles. It was tied under the mango tree and was eating some food as if they were running away. "That is our Christmas goat" said my cousin Chibuzor, “Ah! So they will kill it?” I asked, “Yes,” he said proudly “Tomorrow morning.” I don't know what came upon me but I suddenly pitied the goat so I decided I would save it.  That night, when they were all asleep, I snicked out of the house, untied the rope holding down the goat and I said "Go, my friend and run for your life!”. The goat stared at me, then he winked at me and ran away into the cassava field belonging to my uncle. The following morning there was riot. The goat was lost, the cassava farm had been destroyed and my uncle was screaming like someone who had lost his pay. "Who untied the goat!!!" he shouted, every one began to suspect each other. My cousin the snitch of the century, Chibuzor, pointed at me and told them "Uncle, I caught Precious near the goat last night". That was the way I got the most unforgettable flogging of my life. My uncle would take his long broomstick and kept on saying "You want to do freedom fighter abi?, you go free goat I go free your skin!". My mother was so pained for the beating but she could not come to my rescue, my beloved grandmother was the one that later stopped my uncle from beating the hell out of me. I sat afterwards under the mango tree, bleeding as they took another goat from the next compound. This was smaller and angrier as though it was seeking revenge. When they killed it the next morning, my uncle looked at me and said "You see, Goat wey live long go still enter pot". I was about to cry but as they brought the goat meat before me, all my feelings disappeared. That meat was heavenly, even angels would have licked their fingers, I consumed a lot of food to the point that the stomach was singing Christmas carols. The house was full of food, family, love and laughter. Later in the evening, when the compound was quiet, I laid on the mat outside watching the stars. I was still sore in my body but full of heart. Nevertheless, it was a joyful holiday despite the play, family laughing, games in the village, and smoky jollof rice by the moonlight. When my mother was packing up to take us back to Lagos the following day, my uncle came and patted me on the back, he grinned and said "Next time you come, no go dey free goat again o".  I laughed and replied, “Thanks Uncle, thanks to the memories". Since then I can never forget that Christmas, the merriment, the fuss, the goat run, and the lesson that good intentions may cost you premium flogging. Until now, every time I see a goat walking freely on the road I only smile and say under my breath, “Run o, unless them go use you do Christmas". Unfortunately years later, my grandmother died and we didn't have any cause to go to the village again since then but the memories remained with me since then. Thank you for staying with me this far, I hope you had a good read, see you next time 🤗 Noted: All pictures are generated on Meta AI