The forgotten magic of Christmas time needs to be resurrected

WHEN you grew up in the rural heart of Zululand without running water or electricity, and people herded cows and worked in the sugar cane fields for a living, Christmas was a magical and exciting time of the year.

It was not just a day, but a month filled with festivities, games and, of course, family – even those longlost aunts and uncles who worked in big cities and only returned home for special occasions.

You know, the ones who came back home and bragged about the city.

Years later, I still remember my grandmother’s morning call to watch the sunrise.

She would wake us all up to see what she used to call ‘the dancing sun’.

Believe it or not, until my teenage years, I believed the story of the dancing sun told by my gogo.

She used to say Christmas was so magical, that even the sun celebrates through dance.

This is probably a story I will tell my children – just to keep the spirit of wonder alive.

Years later, I realised the tale was to ensure we woke up early to prepare for a lengthy, but exciting church service.

First, we got dressed in our new clothes.

We couldn’t wait to show off what our relatives and those aunties had brought us from the cities.

Christmas day was such an exciting time that we would sing songs, surrounding the Christmas tree with cheer, and my favourite event was the lighting of the candles.

We didn’t have a Father Christmas or anything like that, and presents were nothing to rave about – mostly it was school socks, books and just a basic toy.

We cherished those tiny presents though, because they came from the heart, and my grandmother had saved a portion of her pension grant to buy them.

After we had eaten the lunch cooked on the open fire, we would drink colourful soft drinks that left our tongues and lips red – and then play indigenous games until dark.

My heart weeps when now, as an adult, I know that Christmas has become a show-off time for many young people and a period where they consume alcohol like there is no tomorrow. Sometimes, sadly, there is not. Liquor shops double or triple their profits during this time.

The youth go through so much trouble just to exhibit a lavish lifestyle they can’t afford.

Some even rent cars and cruise around the township, just to appear cool to their peers.

They have fallen into a trap of overspending on unnecessary things with no regard of budgeting for the coming year.

People do not have that old spirit of ubuntu, where neighbours treated each other like one big family.

With the festive season upon us, I long for those old days.

I am still searching for the way back to that magical time.

ZO journalist WELLINGTON MAKWAKWA remembers the true spirit of an African Christmas as a child