By Singto Saro-Wiwa
This is a tale of betrayal, and one I will not easily forget. It was to be a pre-Christmas outing of epic importance: first, Mummy was taking me to Leventis, which in 1988, had all the appeal of FAO Schwarz to a Nigerian six-year-old who had never been to FAO Schwarz, and then we were going to see Father Christmas, a global celebrity I could not believe was coming to Africa, much less humble Ikeja.
For days, I peppered her with questions: who had told Father Christmas about Nigeria? Wouldn’t he be hot in that outfit? Could we live in Leventis? She answered with saint-like patience: he was omniscient, he was looking forward to the warmth after months at the North Pole, and no. Satisfied, I studied Saint Nick’s likes and dislikes in my Enid Blyton collection. I prepared my list. I waited with eager impatience.
The cool, radiant aisles at Leventis were filled with toys as far as the eye could see. Imported toys that mimicked real life assets in loud, attractive colours: houses, cars, Caucasian babies. Mum let me run amok, touching and wishing out loud, and when I asked her for a red plastic cooking set, she said Father Christmas would bring it to me himself. What a guy! And before I knew it, it was time to meet jolly Kris Kringle himself.
The details are not important. But my meet-up with the all-star was an epic failure. Instead of the pale skin and rosy cheeks I expected, his were gaunt and the colour of mud. His ‘beard’ was a poorly-constructed cotton fabrication. And the toys! What kind of man gives a girl child an all-green plastic doll with no parts that move? Not the hair, not the arms – nothing!
As I shuffled away from the impostor, my little shoulders were heavy with disappointment and I remember looking at my mother for the first time withdistrust. She said he was coming from the North Pole. She lied to me? It was all a huge scam and she was in on it, because I knew that Negro Santa had no taste and wouldn’t know the first thing about how to get to Leventis.
That Christmas Day was bittersweet. I got my cooking set but the magic of Christmas was lost to me forever. My mother was exposed as a humbug and Ms Blyton, a mendacious scoundrel. To this day, I cannot muster up any enthusiasm for the holiday: the twinkly lights, the lilting music, the good cheer—they converge to mock my innocence and fill me with bitterness. My heart goes out to the Grinch; he alone would understand my pain.
Singto, I understand how you feel. For me, it’s like waiting in excitement on a 12hour flight on the corporate jet to eat rice and stew only to be served white rice with a tiny drop of concoction called sauce – just like salad sauce. Of course I flew 12 hours without eating. But should that make me fire my uncaring support staff or not fly again? Rather than not like xmas, maybe you should take it as a commercial challenge to help bring Santa (to Nigeria) that you once dreamt of to other local kids whose parents can’t afford to experience Santa abroad. After all, HH is all about entrepreneurship ! So, from movie scripting to producing, to setting up Santa shops for kids and some of us adults who love the scent and feeling of xmas! Happy Xmas Singto and I hope you will join my family and I again to spend xmas day…..if your dog will let us have you?.
You’ve turned my frown upside down, sir! TOE for president! 😉