The Spirit Of Christmas - Edoziem Miracle (read with me .txt) 📗

The boy sat at the single step in front of the door to his house. Those intelligent brown eyes of his—older than even his fourteen years of age, observed his environment not missing any detail at all. From the leaves that fell from the mango trees swaying in the wind, to the pieces of dirt that soared with the birds in the air, to the lizards that slept on the walls under the shadows created by the silver turned brown corrugated roofs, nothing escaped those intelligent eyes. His eyes scanned the single room houses made of mud so much identical to his. No teaching was needed for the boy to know that they were in abject poverty. Upon their poor living conditions, they still paid rent annually to the landlord.

He looked at the house just opposite his. It housed a family of seven, but with a single room it was difficult to keep one’s children in. So automatically, these children were exposed to the lifestyles of the rogue world. More than thirty percent of children who suffered jungle justice on the streets of the city were from this neighborhood.

He watched as children, even those his age walked about naked because they lacked clothes. He took a look at the dirty patched brown shorts he had on. He had been wearing it for as long as he could remember. The money his widowed mum got from selling palm produce in the ese market was just enough to feed and to pay out the rent.

He heard the explosion of a banger and it brought to thought something he did not want to remember, but painfully he had remembered it already — Christmas.

It was the season of Christmas. He knew out there in the city many would be in a merry mood. To him Christmas bore nothing special. Every year for as long as he remembered, he had hoped and wished that Christmas would bring good tidings as many thought, but Christmas to him was just another day of the year. And so this year he zeroed his mind on Christmas. It was a festive season but he locked every expectation and anticipation in a faraway land.

It was late afternoon. He got up and parted the shredded and dirt caked wrapper that hung over the door of his house as a curtain. He got in and saw his younger sister sprawled on the floor crying. He knelt down and touched her.

“Angelina, why you dey cry?” he said
She looked up at him and said, “ I dey hungry.”

“Food no dey house?”

“I don check, notin dey.”

He went to the corner of the room where he kept his things and took out an old worn out bag. He slung it over his shoulders and walked to the door and stopped at the door.

“I dey come” he told his sister. Saying this he walked out. He was headed to the city.

He walked through the mountain, hills and forests of dirt to the main road that led to the center of the city. When he got to the road he stopped and squinted up at the sun-a round bright yellow orb of unfathomable power, hanging in the middle of the sky. He still had much time. He looked behind him at his neighborhood, a number of houses scattered sporadically like islands in a sea of dirt. This was his neighborhood--the city dump.

…

It was not long before the boy found himself in the city. He walked through the busy roads, full with people and cars. As he looked round in the midst of the festive noise, the buildings loomed above him like Goliath over David. He passed a toy shop and heard a Christmas song playing. The whole city was into festivity, like fishes in the deep depths of a river. He was like a stranger standing out and watching the whole thing from outside the planet.

It was as if he was locked in an iron case he could not join in the merriment or feel the spirit of Christmas. He knew it was there but it was out of reach. He went to a street pole and sat at the foot of the pole. He brought out a small bowl and placed it on the floor at his feet. He took a last look around him, refusing to be daunted by his environment. He closed his eyes and got prepared for his usual task. He sought for a song and when he found one he let his voice loose. Like smooth crystalline water it flowed freely from his vocal cords. His voice worked like magic warming its way into the hearts of the passers-by. Soon coins and currency notes began to fall into the bowl. One particular old woman walked up to him with tears in her eyes.

“You have a very nice voice and a sorrowful song” she said. She then dipped her hand in her red purse and brought out a currency note and dropped it in the bowl. She sniffed and said, “Merry Christmas” and then she walked away. The boy was startled when he saw the note she had dropped. He stared after her in awe and saw her get into a very beautiful car. “She must be one of the rich folk” he thought. His mind wandered back to the note in his bowl. It surpassed all the amount of money in his bowl. A part of him was glad; maybe this Christmas was different after all. He got up and wiped the dirt from his shorts. He emptied the contents of his bowl into the bag he carried and kept a few in his pockets so that he could buy foodstuff on his way home.

…

The boy stooped over his bag as he counted the proceeds from the day’s work. When he had finished counting the money a satisfied look was on his face. He turned to his sister and saw her lying close to their mother. They were both asleep. He lay down softly and began to think of what he would use the money for. Halfway into his daydream, he heard a noise outside. His neighborhood was always noisy, but this noise was different. It was familiar. He sprang up immediately and went to his mother’s side.

“Mama” he said tapping her.

“Hmmm” she said sleepily

“Landlord don show”

Immediately all trace of sleep left her eyes. She became as alert as a lioness protecting her cub. Her brown eyes darted this way and that. She was nervous. She had not paid the rent for two months now. She paced about the room constantly running her palm through her hair until her hair was like a grassland attacked by a storm. Suddenly, she perked up.

“Carry Angelina comot for dis place” she said

“ Mama why na?” the boy asked

“Jus carry her comot. Make una no show face until landlord don comot.” Saying this she walked cautiously to the door and parting the wrapper that hung on the door, she peered out. When she saw that all was clear she ordered the children to move out. When they had gone out she slumped on the mat and wept. Life had not always been like this for her. She remembered the good old days when her husband lived and she owned a local restaurant. Things were moving fine until she lost her husband to cancer. She remembered the day he died. She remembered the way his whole body looked. Cancer had gradually and like Da Vinci—one of the greatest artists of old had artistically transformed his looks. His demise broke her heart, but her heart was torn apart when her husband’s kindred had chased her and her four kids out of the family. She remembered that day like it was yesterday. She saw herself and her children crying at the front of their house. They were chased out with nothing but the clothes they wore on. That was just the beginning of hell in her life. Her life since then had been one long journey through the world of sorrow.

She was still deep in thought when she was interrupted by a croaked voice.
“Na hu dey here?”

She froze.

…

She collected herself as best as she could and stepped out to meet the landlord.

“Gud evening sir” she greeted the landlord, a short fat man with a protruding belly. His head was shaved clean and he had a goatee. He had a tribal mark that ran horizontally from the left end of his lips across his cheek. His eyeballs were yellow and with those yellow eyes he stared hard at her.

“Madam! Where my money na?” he asked

She began to plead asking for more grace but the landlord would hear no more of it. If she did not have four thousand naira she and all her belongings would be thrown out the house. The landlord had already ordered two of the stout boys with him to go in and throw out her belongings when a voice spoke out.
“Wait! No do am. I ge d money”

Her heart lifted and they soared above the eagles. Finally a savior had come. Her messiah had finally appeared to save her from this. She looked with profound gratitude at the messiah but was shocked when she saw her own son. She could not speak, not even a slight sound. Her eyes moved in their sockets as they followed him into the house. Soon he came out with some wads of notes and handed it to the landlord. The landlord licked his lips greedily and counted the money. When he was through, he looked up at her and smiled. “Have a nice day” he said and walked away. She could not contain herself and broke down crying. Why she was crying she did not know. The boy placed his hands on his mother’s shaking shoulders and took her inside.

…

The sun was setting when the boy came out of the house. He needed to think and be away from this environment for a while. His mother had cried herself to sleep and Angelina was still sleeping. He took a look at the setting sun. He knew just where to be himself—the beach. At this time of the day, the beach which was not so far from his neighborhood was deserted and lonely. As he walked, he thought of the episode with the landlord. He had given the greedy pig the whole money he had gotten from begging.

Suddenly his thought went to Christmas. He tried to fight the thought but after some time he gradually weakened and allowed himself to wander in thought and imaginations of Christmas. He wondered why he was alienated from Christmas. ‘Wetin d city people do wey I neva do?” he thought. “ why my own christmas come dey different from them.” He saw in his mind a scene of him receiving tidings of Christmas and being a partaker of the wind of Christmas. He shook his body violently to shake off the thought. He knew it was a dream that would never come to pass. He was going to die this way, he concluded.

He passed a young child crying at the door of a house. He looked at the child and was suddenly filled with pity. He wanted to ask the child the matter with him, but something in his mind told him he already knew. The parents of the child had helplessly gone to work and left the child behind with no food. His hand moved to his pocket and felt the packet of biscuit in it. He tried to pass but the wails of the child penetrated through his ears and hit his ear drums ever more loudly. He could not struggle against the feeling of pity welling up in him and so