The Chicken Story

Memories, it can be sometimes painful. When you close your eyes, and between your eyelids, pictures emerge and remind you of things. You are old now and you wonder about the years, the pains and you wonder why they were so painful. What did they call it? Hindsight? Hmmm, never mind. Another festive season approaches, you watch the activity, the excitement that starts building. You remember the weather. It has gone a bit hazy now.
You remember walking the streets as the harmattan winds bit into your skin. The sun already hot, at nine in the morning. The little dust clouds your feet make as you skid across the street, the Earth in your nostrils.. Your head feels stuffed and your nose runs. It doesn’t matter, it is Christmas and you hear the songs. The carols they call it. It is time to dream of Jesus. You ask Him in your mind as you flip the pages. Did He ever celebrate Christmas too? You have read of Santa Claus in strange lands. They don’t understand about dust or dust haze, your fingers numb with cold nor about the chicken. Ah yes, the chicken as you wonder if you will get a fair share this time. Father has not even given any sign that they will be chicken this Christmas. You listen as hard as you can but everybody seems mournful and you return to your corner by the bed as you whisper the question to Jesus.
‘Please send one chicken to us. I know your father is a carpenter, but this is your birthday as papa says and it is the only time we eat chicken…and rice’. You say your Amen and wait trustingly. There are still two more days to Christmas. As you sneak out from your corner, you remember one more thing so you return
‘It is me again Jesus, please do something about the rice too, not that I like it. It is such a bother sitting still and picking the stones out of it. I prefer pounded yam really but the women make such a ceremony out of cooking rice and chicken. Papa prefers hot pounded yam on Christmas morning and he tops it with palm wine. I prefer that too’.
Prayers complete you return to wash the toilets, sweep the yard and wait to see which of your friends are ready. Chicken has started arriving in the barracks now. The clucking and squawking add to the excitement. No chicken yet in our house and a pair of brown eyes look trustingly to the east. In my heart, I knew the chicken will come. I watch Father’s eyes each night.
Today is Christmas eve, Father has gone to work and there is no sign of chicken but I am playing confidently in the yard. Father’s wives are going about their chores. They are making a huge pot of soup. No chicken as Father said it was too expensive for him to buy.
The children are seated around a calabash tray picking stones away from the brown rice. My heart skips a beat. I am holding a quiet conversation with my unseen friend. He is Arab but his colouring is funny. I mean, I think he is Arab like Ajide my friend but I know Him different. Then the knock comes at the door and a voice requests to know if Father is home. One of the wives answers the door.
She returns moments later a big grin on her face as she carries the biggest and fattest chicken we had ever seen.
A note was attached to its leg. The note was kept on the table for father as the children chased the squawking chicken into the yard and got it ready. We were all excited and danced around the chicken as our big uncle was fetched to kill the chicken.
Later in the evening when Father came back from work he listened in amazement as we told him how big the chicken was. He read the note, read it again. Quietly went into his bedroom and lay there reading the note. Father kept that note for the rest of his life. He still never went to Church, but he always celebrated Christmas and we would put palm wine in a goat’s horn to pray for us each Christmas morning, However, he would read the note to himself every morning.
One Christmas morning, Father called me into his bedroom and gave me the note to read. It was a simple note
‘Love is available to all human beings. When we learn to give of ourselves, then the celebration of His birthday is assured.
The chicken has been paid for by Jesus two thousand years ago.
Have a loving celebration of His birth’
Your grandson tugs at your hands and you jerk into the present, smile at him as he shows you his own picture of Christmas.