The harmattan brings dry leaves, dry skin and a feeling of excited expectation. It’s not a feeling that is very easy to describe. You wake up to the shrill whistling of the trees and the dryness in the air. Maybe it is the coldness of the early morning showers. Or the haziness on the town’s roads. But everything seems so much more exciting. Christmas songs start blaring from the large speakers positioned just outside record stores on busy junctions, and you can see it if you look hard enough. The excitement seeps out from the people in funny ways. The spring in the step of the watermelon seller. The uncharacteristic high pitch of the trader in the market. The excited conversations in the taxis.
In traffic, young boys are hawking Christmas lights, and all sorts of props with blinking colourful lights to attract the children. At night, the occasional banger goes off in the street. They will become more frequent as Christmas Day and New Year’s Day approach. Churches and state governments organize big concerts and Christmas carols. The streetlights are adorned with other red and green lights that bring the whole city to life. Nothing has changed, but everything has changed. Family dinners and cross-over services have been planned well in advance. People are arriving the country after a long spell out. Others are getting married. More still are packing their bags and traveling to their villages. Robbers and armed bandits are more desperate to grab as much as they can. They also need the money to buy stuff for the season. They also need to celebrate. They also feel the feeling in the air.
In another two weeks, we’re back to January. The burnt tyres will soon be removed. Every phone call will be headlined with “Happy New Year” and “When are you going back?”. No one will light bangers anymore. Traffic will re-emerge on the city’s busy roads.
The feeling slowly wanes, and we all privately begin to look forward to the next one.
