Whose Christmas is it anyway?
WHEN I was in primary school, the annual nativity play was the highlight of the year. The star-studded traditional Christmas play would bring the school year to an end with a big stylish bang. The story of the birth of Jesus Christ — believed to have been born in an animal trough, a manger, in Bethlehem in present-day Israel — never gets tired of being told.
We all painfully longed to be selected for the play but only the teachers’ favourites would always be chosen for prominent parts like Mary and Joseph, the angel Gabriel, Herod, the three wise men and the shepherds who came to pay homage to baby Jesus. The rest of us who were not so lucky would always be relegated to the background as carol singers or to the backstage to help with the stage props and run around like skivvies for the chosen celebrity actors.
Most of the Christmas carols were about things we did not know. We sang songs titled “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas” and “Jingle Bells”, which glorify foreign things almost all of us black children had never seen.
We heartily bellowed out songs about Santa Claus and reindeers dashing through the snow to give presents to children who did not live in our world. Our Christmas songs and traditions were quintessentially British and European and largely still are. Harare is currently festooned with replica Christmas trees and black Santa Clauses in shopping malls.
Back in the 1980s, Christmas cards were a very big tradition. From early October, all the stores would stockpile packs of Christmas cards, which would fly off the shelves faster than they could be restocked.
Tonnes of Christmas cards would be exchanged between family and friends. Christmas was the busiest time for the post office, which would employ seasonal staff just to handle and deliver Christmas cards.
In homes, Christmas cards would be displayed on every spare inch of living space until they overflowed all around the house. The Christmas cards always depicted scenes of snow, Santa Claus, tinsel and mistletoe — things which most
Africans had no association with.
Some of the European traditions and symbols of Christmas have since fallen away. It is not clear if this was due to intentional consciousness or the fading cultural influence as the white population decreased. A few symbols persist, like Christmas trees and Santa Claus, despite the ridiculousness of the classic red and white winter garb in sweltering hot tropical weather.
The Christmas tree tradition started in Germany in the 16th century and like every major symbol associated with Christian traditions, it has pagan roots and nothing to do with the birth of Jesus.
The trees symbolised life and fertility for many centuries before the birth of Jesus, when people in the Northern Hemisphere celebrated the Winter Solstice to mark the return of summer. The trademark red and white Santa outfit originated from an American cartoon depiction only in the late 1800s.
Back to Harare. The capital city is a hubbub of cultural fusion and confusion. On Christmas Day, in one end of town, you will see black mothers buying and stuffing white plastic Christmas trees into their sport utility vehicles.
At the other end, some will be hustling in downtown Harare, where it will be business as usual.
The tuckshops and small shops do not even pretend to close, and brisk trading will be taking place, as normal.
Beyond Samora Machel Avenue, Harare, will be teeming with people as commuter omnibuses ply their usual routes and touts hang on precariously, shouting for passengers like they do on any given Monday.
It is in the rural areas and at growth points where nothing has changed and people still enjoy a truly authentic African Christmas. Rural folk have always known their place. They never pined nostalgically for a white Christmas they never saw or cared about Christmas cards or singing carols about Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.
They always enjoyed the simple pleasures of dressing up in their new or best clothes, belting out massive local radio tunes at the local store, receiving and sharing practical presents with their families visiting from the city or from the diaspora, and sharing the early organic harvest from their gardens.
You will find them now like they did in 1964, still sharing a meal of rice and chicken, fizzy drinks, warm beer and just enjoying another day to be alive and happy. That will always be the only authentic African Christmas. Miriam Tose Majome is a commissioner with the Zimbabwe Media Commission.