“Have Yourself A Merry Christmas”
By: Nnebuugo Paul.
Tags: Christmas, Christianity, Music, Grief, Church

Dear Corper,

Have yourself a merry Christmas. I can almost envisage the shock on your face as you read this letter. I am a learned person corper, I am. I speak very little words because I don’t see the need to speak more. I look tattered because that’s what grief induced suffering does to you. Something in you breaks and you no longer care how you look, it’s just not important anymore.

The day you left, you looked at me with so much brokenness in your eyes and asked “what did the church do you?” and I walked you out. I did not walk you out because of anger, during your stay at my village, you were beyond kind to me and no amount of anger could erase your kindness, I walked you out because I did not want you to see my tears.

Corper, the Church took EVERYTHING from me. My time, my money, my son Nnamdi. I can still remember the day Nnamdi died, he died in my arms after selling all I had and giving the money to the Church so that my son would be healed. I did not ask for a million dollars, I did not ask for my husband to come back to me, I did not ask for cars nor houses. I did not even ask for another child, I only asked that the one I already had, ofu nwam be healed and it didn’t happen. I was hurt, so hurt and so I shut my heart.

Last seven months, a priest came to our village. He looked nothing like the others before him and his ways were weird. He was so young and walked like he was on a runway. He was not so good looking but he had Charisma, Ah, the only other person I had met like that was my husband. Chigbu my husband never had to talk too much, people held onto every word he said. Even when I met him, all he did was smile at me and I went home and told my best friend that I had seen the man I wanted to marry. Ah I am deviating so, I would get right back to my letter.

I learned that his name was Nduka but they called him “Priest Ocha” because he was fair. He fascinated me and so I started to watch and follow him about, I was so drawn to him that I was tempted to go to Church. One day, on my way to the stream, I saw him coming in the opposite direction. I stared at him till I tripped and when he came over to help, I violently shook his hands off and ran leaving my pail. Needless to say, he found my home.

He brought my pail to me and sat for a while, he talked to me about his life, his mother, and how he joined the ministry. Even though I said no word, I laughed a lot because he was funny. The next day, he stopped by and every day after that. I became really comfortable around him and in no time, I opened up to him and we spoke like old friends, we hung out a lot too.

You know our village now, people started to talk especially since he was “fada” and I was the sad woman that hated Church but he didn’t care and so I didn’t care too. I loved him, no, not that way, I loved him the way a sister would love her brother, the way I loved Nnamdi, the way I love my best friend even though I don’t know where she is now.

One day, I asked him why he never tried to make me come to church with him and he just sucked his orange and smiled. Another day, I asked him why God allows bad things to happen and he smiled and said nothing. The day I asked him why God allowed Nnamdi to die, he asked me why I started going to church in the first place and I told him it was because I loved music and my mother sang in the choir. He asked me why I continued to go even after my mother’s death, I said it felt like a safe place. He said nothing after that and we walked to my home together.

When we said our goodbyes, he said and I would never forget “what if I tell you that God has already given us everything?” and I laughed out so loud. God couldn’t even give me one thing and you stand there telling me he has given me everything? How? When? He smiled and dusted the sand on my hair and gave me a brief hug.

The next day, he told me about a man whose only son died like my Nnamdi in fact, his only son was killed. He said that this man’s son was the sweetest person ever. He went about doing good and everyone that knew him could testify to this. One day, the people he loved and was always doing good for, ganged up and killed him. When he said this, I was angry. “Where did this happen? When? How?” I had so many question and then he looked me in the eye and said “that Man is God and his son, well you already know him, Jesus”. I didn’t know how to react to this.

He broke the gospel down in a way that I way I’ve never ever heard before. He told me that God permitted the death of his son Jesus Christ because he loves us so much and want’s us to live eternally. He said he cannot lie and say that he understands how I feel because he has never experienced the joy of fatherhood but that God understand and he loves me and that because of the sacrifice of Jesus, one day, I would see Nnam again. I cried hard Corper, I cried hard.

“Priest Ocha” was transferred out of our village after a while and another took his place but today Christmas Day, I’m standing somewhere at the back pew of the church “Priest Ocha” pastored, singing “Have yourself a merry Christmas”. Yes, I still miss Nnam, I don’t think the pain would ever go away. I still hurt, badly, but I take solace in the fact that Chim a mara go. My God understands.

Maybe, you can stop by our village one of these days, I promise to cook you Starch and Banga. You said you would be praying for me, I am certain that you did, thank-you.

Nne Nnamdi,

Ko me si e.