Christmas Day

 While we were eating Christmas Eve supper my host father, Romano, warned me, “Tomorrow there will be a lot of people around here looking for a meal and something to drink.” I looked at him curiously and cautiously answered, “Wow, okay!”

Christmas morning came quickly and I rapidly prepared for worship at the Church of Uganda. When I arrived the church had been specially decorated with red, white, and purple flags fluttering back and forth over the congregation. A special drama, and a number of Christmas songs had been prepared by the youth, and Bishop James preached about seeing Jesus in everyone we meet. Even though it was a special service I was anxious to return back home to see the preparations my host family was making, and to see for myself what Romano had informed me of the prior evening.

When I returned home I was not disappointed; the front compound had been prepared with four mats under shade trees, many guests had already seated themselves in the shade, and they were all enjoying home brew from large plastic pitchers and plates of food. I greeted a few and hurriedly entered the house to see what my host family was doing. Almost everyone was preparing food so I watched, helped a bit, and tasted a bit too. Everyone who came to the compound was given something; and my Christmas dinner was a feast of rice, beans, chicken, potatoes and eggplant, cabbage, and steamed greens.

While our Christmas dinner was digesting two visitors, Karamjong women, dressed from head to toe in beads, and traditional goat skin skirts came to the compound. They sang and danced about the miracle of Christmas, it was only after they left that I realized Karamoja also has Christmas carolers.

Later that afternoon, my host sister, Catherine, proudly brought out a Banana Cake she had baked for Christmas. As Romano cut the cake everyone else sang Happy Birthday to Jesus; singing always leads to dancing at my house, and dancing always leads to more singing. When the singing and dancing had subsided and we were all enjoying Jesus’ birthday cake, Peter, one of my host brothers, asked me a question; “How old is Jesus?”

“A little over 2,000 years old”, I replied.

Peter looked at me with a look of confusion, but having been satisfied with receiving my answer he did not press with further questions. In that moment I cherished the understanding of child-like-faith, of cultures celebrating with goat skins and beads, and most of all, I celebrated the 2012 year of Jesus’ birth. 

Singing Happy Birthday to Jesus