December is always the coldest and driest month of the year in Nigeria, due to the parching dust bearing land-wind called harmattan. In some other part of the world, December is seen as a period of snows falling and a period to create snowballs or a period to shovel the snows from the road, but here in Nigeria, December is a period for lips to crack and for skins to turn white like they had been bathed with bags of cements. Snows do not fall here making our Christmas a snowless celebration. Instead the whole of the country is covered with mist especially in early mornings. Mist spreads all over the earth like smokes hanging on the sky and this makes it difficult to see what’s happening ahead. Everywhere looks dull as dust coats the whole of the earth making everywhere look dirty (but it’s not necessarily dirty). Even flowers lose their beauty because of the dust. In harmattan season, people wear socks on their feet to prevent it from getting dusty. Dust is a major feature of harmattan. Christmas is always celebrated in December so due to all these, Christmas is often dry, cold and dusty. Despite all these features, I love harmattan for I feel it contributes in making Christmas very unique.

To me, December is a time to rest. It’s a time to fall back and relax from the stress of the past eleven months. It’s a season for countless celebrations by various organizations. Many social gatherings throw parties on December to bade the year good bye forever (be it a good year or a bad year). It’s a period of eating and drinking, and a period of so many visitations from families and friends. Maybe, it’s for this reason, people become lazy, even the sun rises late, like it’s been forced out and the moon shine dully in the night, like it’s tired and weary. Sometimes, the moon refuses to shine. At night, the sky looks like it’s weaved up by threads of dust. It becomes grayish and devoid of stars. This makes me think, the heavenly bodies are planning to go on vacation for the holiday (maybe travel) since December is a period of traveling here in Nigeria. I guess it’s a period of traveling because it’s the last month of the year. Many families return back to their states to spend the Christmas holiday with their families and relatives. My family not exempted. We have also decided to travel to Anambra, the state I’m from, to spend the Christmas holiday.

In anticipation to the traveling, my mum and I went to a boutique to shop for new clothes. It’s very essential to shop for clothes on this festive season because traders export the best of clothing materials during this period. December clothings are very unique and of high quality, that’s why it’s a tradition here to get new clothes often tagged as Christmas clothes and to get petroleum jelly named Vaseline to apply on the skin, to make the skin less dry and rough. We also apply Vaseline on our lips to protect it from cracking. Even our hairs become dry and strong like sponges. Petroleum jellies and hair creams are very essential for Christmas celebration or else the dryness will make you very uncomfortable.

As I tagged along the back of my mother in the boutique, I stared at the hustle and bustle of the marketplace through the window. The market place is often crowded as people troop in and out to purchase foodstuffs, clothing materials and fowls (oh yeah! Fowls. Christmas season is the time to slaughter animals especially fowls to prepare delicious meals for Christmas).

I smiled within myself while watching people purchase various items for Christmas. Christmas this year is gonna be wonderful, I thought. I was already drafting out things I’d like to do this Christmas with my family. I had arranged various movies to watch and gifts to give to my friends and relatives but then, something tragic and unexpected happened shattering all my plans and expectations. One morning, during our normal morning devotion, my father got a call from a relative. He bowed his head the moment the call went off. We were confused and wondered what it was that made him react that way. He stared at my mum and shook his head. He then broke the news and that was how we got to hear about the shocking news of my uncle’s death. My uncle, which was my mum’s younger brother, had been a victim of cancer for three years now. He had been admitted to a hospital at India thrice for various operations and he had been responding to treatment. There was a time he and his wife came to visit our family, he looked very strong and healthy. He was even fatter and we were all glad to see that he was getting along well. Everyone thought he was going to make it out of the sickness for he was a strong man and above all, he had immense faith in God. Unfortunately for us all, he gave up the ghost and surrendered into the cold hands of the unsatisfied death.

At first, it felt like a dream, a movie, something unreal. I couldn’t believe it. I thought if I slept and woke up, everything would fall back in place and it would be a nightmare but I’ve been sleeping and waking up to the bitter truth that he’s gone forever. The reality of his death keeps dawning on me each day. I still can’t accept his death. I expected him to live longer.

My uncle (my Santa Claus), chose to leave us on December, a period of celebration, to an unknown land. I call him my Santa Claus become every Christmas, he always dress in a Santa Claus attire (red cap upon red attire, a fake white beard, a ball hidden under his shirt to make his belly protrude). He would dance around just to make us laugh. He loved children but never got the opportunity to have one to call his. His wife had once took in but lost the child in a miscarriage. Those who saw him before his passing away talked about the lingering pain in his eyes and unspoken words in his silence while laying on the hospital bed fighting for life.

I don’t know what my uncle expects of us now. I don’t know who he wants to decorate the christmas tree now that he’s gone or who he wants us to call father christmas. I can still remember how he sang some christmas songs for me and my brothers last Christmas. I guess we’d be singing an elegy for him in return The gay and mirthful season of Christmas has become so gloomy and moody in my house because of his death. My father has called off the traveling, so I’m stuck here at home wondering how my Christmas will be. Will it be joyous and fun like every other Christmas? Or will it be mournful with lips humming an elegy? I’m yet to find out.

Only in my heart

Do the beats skip

Do the flutters flip

When you kiss my lips

Warm and tender

I surrender

This I’ll remember

Across time

Feeling sublime

Never mind

My soul does shine

Connected to your eyes

All lost in a moment’s embrace

My heart wins the race

Close to your face

Never have to chase

Love fills my soul’s place

my body is now only touched by the rain

my replacement for your hands

my face is now only kissed by the sun

my replacement for your lips

my mind is now only naked for the moon

my replacement for your ears

i am replacing you

with the sweet earth

that runs mix-matched with my blood

you thought

i would cling to your air

forever

but here i am

breathing on my

own

We glance(d) at each other from across the room.

I look(ed) down at the floor.

You snicker(ed) at my shyness.

We head(ed) towards the door.

I accept(ed) your flirtatious offer.

We snuggle(d), grab(bed) a few drinks.

A few years went by like nothing.

A marriage on the brink.

We elope(d) out of nowhere.

Scary, yet exhilarating fun.

I figure(d) this euphoria could last forever.

You seem(ed) to be the one.

...

But she also seemed to be the one.

The one who won over me.

The days that once felt so alive

Are now ancient history.

And now I’m alone in this empty room.

When we met, what we felt was true.

But I guess someone else caught your eye.

But I still really, really, love(d) you.

From the alley, I peer around the brick wall,

Watching her

Just as I do everyday

She walks along the crowded sidewalk,

Her ruby red heels clacking against the cement

She dodges person after person

Her steps are hurried, carrying a sense of urgency

From this I know,

She's rushing to work, nearly late again

Like every other day this week

And for weeks, even months before

As she hurries along,

The pleats of her pale blue skirt follow the movement

The fabric rustles softly like the tail of a kite,

While her jet black hair billows behind

It glistens like a sheet of obsidian,

Appearing flawless

The legs shooting up from those heels

Are long, gorgeous, going on for days

The skin is slightly tanned, without blemish

I imagine it to be soft, silky and smooth

Like the finest of materials

In a moment of weakness, I find myself hungering to touch it

Oh, how I want it

To caress that beautiful flesh,

Flay and collect it for myself

To keep it forever

I desire nothing more

But I shake my head, clear those thoughts

It's not time for that,

Not yet

For now, I keep following from a distance

I watch, track, observe her

My own personal delight

To relish in her beauty and elegance

Is what fuels me day to day

It's not yet time

But soon,

It will be

Looking into the eyes of someone with Alzheimer’s is not something you ever forget. I’m staring at my grandma, who once used to cook for me after school and watch Jeopardy with me. I swear, she knew all the answers. I don’t even know how that’s possible. She’s got freckles all over her face, sun spots down her arms, wrinkles galore, and her peppered hair is blossoming out around her on the pillow. I want to say she’s beautiful, and she is, but there is nothing beautiful about the disease keeping her trapped. Her eyes are staring at the ceiling, darting back and forth, and there’s fear on her face. Shifting her gaze, she stares back at me, and that’s all. She’s not looking at me, just staring. For a brief moment, I can see emotion, a shimmer of recognition. But then I realize that’s just me hoping. She’s gone. Her mind is diseased. She doesn’t know who the fuck I am.

My grandpa is being taken care of elsewhere. His is dementia. Same damn thing. I look at him, he stares back and he looks like he’s about to cry. I want to think it’s because he’s happy to see me. But I can’t read the mind of someone whose mind is broken. He’s in a reclining chair, “watching” basketball on television. I smile,r eminiscing, because if it wan't Jeopardy at Grandma's house, we were watching Papa's sports. Good 'ole days. The veins in his legs are popping, and even sitting, he still looks tall as ever. He used to have hair, a big bald spot in the middle with the rest of it neatly combed down on the sides. But he's just completely bald now. He's not even wearing his glasses. I mean, what' the point of seeing if you don't even remember who you are I guess.

Take me back.

Bring me back to their house.

Papa just picked me up from school and now we're sitting in the living room watching Jeopardy.

He's in his usual green, worn out chair. It doesn't recline, but I like this one better. Grandma is popping off the answers before the contestants can.

When they look at me, they see me. They talk to me. They call me by my name.

I just wanted to relive this part one more time. I don't want to forget like they did.

In order to know what love is, you must first figure out what it is not.

Love is not controlling, it is not suffocating.

Love is not demanding or a chore to be done.

Love is not distrusting or questioning.

Love is not something that takes the backseat.

In other words, it does not in any way feel wrong and it is of the utmost importance.

My gosh, Love is the source of everything that makes the world not go insane.

It feels...right. When the rest of the world is collapsing around you, where do you go? Running to the arms of people who love you. When anger takes over, what is the only thing that calms it down? A show of love. What is it we are all searching for in this god forsaken place? Love.

What is love?

It's the only damn thing that makes sense.

Laying back on the grass

Gazing at the azure blue sky

The fragrance of nearby jasmine

The aroma of cookies baking

My puppy wagging her tail

Her soft smooth fur

The pretty birds singing

My flowers blossoming

My knitting coming together

My sewing coming to life

Beautiful photography art

My ability to write

The pleasure of reading a book

The magic of a glowing fireplace

Raising my voice in song

Friends singing along

These are a few of my favourite things

They bring joy to my life

When I was down and out

These precious moments and memories

Saved my life