Chapter 75: Christmas in Maitama
And finally, it was D-day.
December 25th...
The sun rose over Abuja, golden light spilling into Maitama’s wide streets. Inside the Moses family mansion, Christmas had already begun.
The house was alive before Sam even woke.
From the kitchen came the chorus of pots clanging, wooden spoons clattering, and the aroma of spices thick in the air as Mrs. Moses commenced the age-old Nigerian Christmas ritual.
In Nigeria, no matter how rich, families don’t buy or order food during Christmas, everything is homemade.
It added a touch of home to the celebrations. And today again, on another Christmas day, Mrs. Moses was the conductor coordinating the orchestra.
With her apron tied tight, she was already orchestrating her army of helpers.
"Kayla! Stir that rice, don’t let it burn!"
"Sophia! Stop eating the meat, you think we’re cooking for you alone?"
Well, Kayla knew what she signed up for when marrying into a Nigerian home. She already knew about all this ahead of time.
She didn’t hate it though. Rather, she loved it. It was a rare chance to bond with her husband’s family and she didn’t take it for granted.
Sam’s younger sister pouted when subjected to her mom’s orders, one hand guilty with a suya stick. Kayla giggled, cheeks flushed from the heat of the kitchen.
"Yes, mummy," Sophia muttered, sneaking another piece when her mother’s back turned.
That was the fun of being one of the helpers during Christmas. The food was always surplus, and as one of the helpers in the kitchen, you get to steal as much as you want without being noticed.
The women ruled the morning.
On the gas cooker, steaming jollof rice boiled, red and rich. Beside it was a pot of fried rice, colorful with carrots and green peas.
Chicken roasted golden in the oven while pepper soup simmered, the aroma filling every corner of the house.
Pots of egusi soup and pounded yam stood ready for neighbors who’d stop by. Meat pies lined trays, while puff-puff fried crisp in oil.
Drinks? They were surplus, they stacked tall in crates of Coke and Fanta.
Kayla, hair tied in a scarf, stirred with concentration. "If I fail here, your mom might revoke my wife title," she whispered to Sam when he popped his head into the kitchen at one point.
He laughed. "Babe, you’re already doing better than Sophia".
"Mommy!" Sophia screeched, laughing as she chased her brother out.
On the men’s corner, it was pretense work and more of relaxation.
They pretended to help, carrying crates and setting chairs in the compound, running little errands here and there just to partake in the kitchen theft. With Sophia and Kayla both in the kitchen, Sam and Ian got opportunities to thief.
And so long as their mouth remained busy, they had endless motivation to keep on pretending to work.
But more often than not, they drifted back to the living room.
There, in the living room Sam slouched on the couch beside his father, while Ian sprawled with a bowl of chin chin. The TV blared Home Alone, Kevin screaming as burglars stumbled over traps.
"Classic," Ian mumbled through a mouthful. "Man, Home Alone defined all of my Christmas holidays throughout childhood," he said, reminiscing.
"On another note though, this boy is me every exam period."
Mr. Moses chuckled, sipping malt. "If you had sense like him, you’d have been first in your class".
Ian gasped in mock offense. "Uncle! I’m in med school! If I was dumb, they won’t even accept me!"
Mr. Moses waved a hand dismissively; the rage-bait was so effective.
On the side, Sam laughed so hard he nearly spilled his drink. "Dad, when did you get so good at rage baiting?" He wheezed. "Damn, that was a classic".
They laughed as Ian suddenly stood up, chasing Sam around the living room.
Eventually, with time neighbors started streaming in, dropping off small gifts and leaving with food wrapped in foil.
Maitama was not your regular district in Nigeria, it was a district for the rich. Most of the people living here were either celebrities or billionaire children. They were still starstruck by Sam though as they found any opportunity to visit.
Children ran around the compound, balloons popping, whistles shrieking, even as carols floated from a neighbor’s stereo, mixing with the aroma of grilling goat meat.
For a moment, Sam forgot he was the Football God. Here, he was just Samuel, son of the Moses’s family, brother to Sophia, husband to Kayla, and friend to Ian.
By afternoon, the dining table groaned under food. Plates stacked high, soups bubbling, and meat piled tall. The family gathered, neighbors joining in.
Prayers were said and plates filled.
Sam rubbed his palms together in anticipation before diving in as he devoured jollof, and washed it down with malt as Kayla teased him. "See the Ballon d’Or winner eating like a village boy".
"Exactly," Sophia chimed, puff puff crumbs on her lips.
Sam stared at them, confused. "But that’s the essence of Christmas!" He stressed; they laughed.
Laughter filled the air as bowls passed, meat vanished, and stories flowed. Mr. Moses shared tales from Sam’s childhood, like the time he broke the neighbor’s window with a ball and ran crying.
"Mummy beat you that day eh!" Sophia cackled.
Sam groaned. "Why is it always me?"
By evening, with bellies full, everyone lounged in the living room. Kayla lay with her head on Sam’s chest, Sophia dozing with her phone in hand. Mr. Moses chuckled at an old Nollywood film on the TV.
And then, Ian suddenly sat up, eyes gleaming mischievously.
"Sam," he said, tone dramatic. "I’ve been studying all year. My brain is fried man, I need to let off some steam."
Sam raised a brow. "And?"
"Let’s play football."
The room stirred.
"You mean FIFA?" Sophia yawned.
"No," Ian grinned wide. "Street football. Five-a-side. Real dust, real sweat."
Sam blinked, then laughed. "You can’t be serious."
"Dead serious." Ian clapped his hands. "Come on, Ballon d’Or winner. Let’s see if you still remember how to play like the rest of us mortals."
Kayla groaned. "You just ate three plates of rice!"
"Which is why I need exercise!" Ian shot back.
Sam leaned back, laughter bubbling, but in his heart, something stirred. Dust, street, joy... a smile spread across his lips.
"Alright," he said finally. "Let’s play."
And just like that, Christmas night promised one more memory.