The bells are simply not jingling

‘Tis the season, isn’t it?! Merry Christmas, my darlings! I hope the notification of this publication brought you some joy. Also, I have other Christmas themed stories from years past that you should read/ re-read, right here. Happy reading!

‘Peter can dance? Who knew?’

‘Alcohol can do all things, my friend!’

They were overworked and emotionally abused, but like Kwakyewaa always said, ‘For the time being, it pays the bills’. They had bonded over their shared trauma over the last two years and a friendship was birthed through that.

Now, they were watching their colleague whine his waist in sexually suggestive ways in front of Senior Management and some members of the board. Almost everyone was in a hearty mood, conversing over drinks and grilled meat.

Regina took another sip of her cocktail and whispered, ‘Promise me you will drag me off the dance floor if I ever do something like this.’

‘So long as you don’t spring a surprise resignation on me by March.’

‘Hey, hey. Just promise.’

‘Wow, that sounds like an ‘I am leaving in February’. New year, new role vibes.’

‘Leave me alone. Peter is putting on a show. Focus on that.’

‘Dancing and drinking are always tricky in a work situation. You can very easily go overboard when you get too excited, and there is usually no coming back.’

‘I can already picture HR pushing back when his boss puts him up for promotion.’

‘Right?! Something about him not demonstrating leadership.’

‘-which we all know is corporate for I don’t want a Dancegod Lloyd in management.’

‘I will give it to HR though. They know how to throw a party.’

‘That is how they keep us in this abusive relationship. A party here, a well timed bonus there.’

‘I knew it! You are definitely resigning soon. Only those resigning think about when the bonus will be paid.’

Regina laughed. She didn’t have any offers lined up but she was hopeful that her next Christmas would not involve watching Peter audition for a spot in DWP.

---

It was Christmas Eve but the whole house was quiet.

Last year, there was an all day party at the Asante-Boasiako residence. People were dropping in throughout the day for either breakfast, lunch or dinner. One thing about Madam was that she loved having people around, which is why none of the staff were able to take an actual Christmas break.

Ewuresi didn’t mind. Ever since her mother passed away, she had not been to the village. The way her mother’s brothers behaved had radicalized her and she knew she could never see them as family again. She liked living with the Asante-Boasiakos. This arrangement worked well for everyone.

The house had been quiet since Vice President Bawumia conceded defeat in the Presidential elections. Nobody saw this coming, especially Daa and Madam.

Madam instantly had a migraine and locked herself up in the guest room. Ewuresi could hear her frantically speaking on the phone to a number of people for the 8 hours or so that she was locked up in there.

Daa stayed in the living room with the TV on, listening to the Joy FM folks talk about the election results. He had one arm across his potbelly and his other hand cradling his chin. Every now and then, he would sigh and shake his head.

Ewuresi knew that something had changed when they lost the election but she didn’t expect this much of a drastic change. The worst period before this was when the news of a house help stealing her boss’ money leaked. Madam looked at her suspiciously for about 3 weeks, as if she was an accomplice to the theft. But this- this was bad.

First of all, the people who used to line up with their children, CVs, business plans and fake smiles literally vanished. They were gone and she hadn’t seen any of them since then. Then Madam had her packing all sorts of things into boxes that were going to be shipped away to her daughter’s place in Vancouver. She also dismissed half of the staff at the beachfront property.

Then there was Christmas. No lights, no family portrait session, no party, no hampers. Madam would typically start receiving hampers by the 2nd week in December. They had everything in them- from customized kente and some exotic things she could not pronounce to whiskey and all sorts of gadgets. There were none this year.

Abu made the mistake of watching a Tiktok with the NDC Kwenkwen song playing in the background. He had to go to bed earlier than he intended to. The only thing that saved him from being fired was that he knew all of Dada’s secrets and Madam relied on him to update her on Dada’s extramarital affairs.

---

‘Pick up this phone, you damn liar!’

Nasiba paced up and down, with her phone in her hand. After 30 minutes, her cousins had had enough. This was supposed to be their annual catch up and they had not done any catching up yet.

‘Are you going to tell us what is going on?’

‘No, some of you will never let me hear the end of it.’

‘By some, you mean Barimah and Laura.’

Barimah looked up from whatever was entertaining him on Twitter and smirked.

‘You know I will find out whatever it is, so just say it and let’s move on.’

Laura chimed in, ‘We listen. We don’t judge. We do appreciate the tea though!’

‘My boyfriend is a liar. He just posted his Christmas family photo and his wife is at least 5 months pregnant.’

Hell broke loose. Laura jumped off the bed and shut the door. Their parents were catching up outside but nobody was going to risk them walking in on this discussion.

‘Start from the beginning.’

‘Wait! You have a boyfriend but you don’t seem surprised that he is married.’

‘Barimah, that is not the shocking part. She is Facetiming him on Christmas Day when he is most likely with said wife and kids.’

‘If you guys don’t calm down, we won’t get all the details.’

Every catch up was chaotic and loud, but it looked like Nasiba was ready to set her own Guinness World Record with this one.

‘Fine. I know him from Twitter. We hung out a few times and it became more than that-‘

‘Sister, get to the part where you found out about the wife.’

‘I always knew about the wife.’

‘This girl! When we are breaking demonic patterns, you are here amassing curses for our bloodline.’

‘Relax, he told me they were separated and that he was just waiting for the second child to turn 3 so he could leave. Something about not wanting to affect the child’s formative years. Meanwhile he was busy impregnating her!’

Barimah let out one of those laughs he usually reserves for his God of War Ragnarok opponents.

‘No be small child psychologist oo! So the pregnancy too is for the formative years experience eh? Listen, if it is any consolation, these pyjama pictures are cute but they rarely signify a happy home.’

Naa Djama spoke up for the first time.

‘You people are hating. I personally live for the me and mine content at Christmas time and I can’t wait to recreate them with my family.’

‘Djama, two things can be true. Love is sweet, no doubt about it. That doesn’t automatically mean that these pictures mean that everything is well.’

‘You people need therapists. Everyday, negativity. This is why Jesus came to die.’

‘Ohemaa, rest! As I sit here, I have two children in other people’s Christmas photoshoots. One is 2, the other is 3.’

It was Nasiba’s turn to laugh.

‘I thought my news was chaotic. You have two children?’

‘Yep, and their assistant fathers are posing with them for family portraits. Each of them has my nose. No DNA test needed.’

Naa Djama grabbed her tote bag and stood up.

‘Yeah, I am not sitting with heathens during Jesus’ birthday celebration.’

‘The Jesus you are referencing found time to sit with sinners wai. I am not wrecking anyone’s home. Just keeping wives happy and giving families nice children. Anyway, back to the matter at hand. Nasiba, you deserve better. Take it from me.’

‘Why exactly are we listening to Assistant Satan’s advice?’

‘What happened to ‘we listen, we don’t judge’, guys?’

‘Too late, Barimah. We are judging you, your baby mamas and their husbands all at the same time!’

---

Sigh.

If I hear ‘It is the most wonderful time of the year’ one more time, I will scream. There is nothing wonderful about this time. I am a divorced woman but nothing makes it more glaring than Christmas.

Ethel wiggled herself out of her dress and wore her favourite boubou.

They were right. Once you start wearing boubous, you can’t stop.

The church service had been draining. It was only because she knew God would disapprove of her leaving in the middle of the service that she stayed. She opened the bottle of wine and pushed the leftover noodles into the microwave. She had had the same thing for dinner the night before.

The tears dropped without warning. She knew they were coming but it felt like her tear ducts were betraying her. She ignored the beeping of the microwave and sat on the kitchen floor.

This wasn’t supposed to be my life. I was supposed to divorce this man and move on to a richer, fuller life. Why am I crying?

She noticed the sinking feeling on the last day of work. That had become her escape, zoning in on one project or another. It worsened when she realized that her car had started giving her problems.

How do I explain that I miss my abusive ex-husband at Christmas time, without looking weird? Is it that I don’t know how to be alone?

Her mind kept replaying moments where his charm was irresistible, how he could make all the older women at church laugh, how he would drag her to parties and make a show of dancing with her in front of everyone. She couldn’t talk to anyone about it- not her mother who had insisted she endure the physical abuse, not her friends who were probably juggling their own burdens, not her pastor, not the therapist whose calls and emails she kept ignoring. All the events that could distract her were filled with couples and families. It would be extra depressing to sit there alone. It didn’t help that people kept saying that ‘Afe sesei‘ thing around this time of the year.

Afe sesei what? I can barely get through a week, and they are expecting me to look forward to what the new year could bring?

She opened her mouth and did the only thing she could do these days- pray.

God abeg! Emeka almost killed me. You said you hate divorce but I know you still have love for divorced people. My heart needs to stop hurting. Please make that my Christmas gift.‘

When she was done, the rumbling in her stomach reminded her that she had lunch waiting for her. As she ate, she made a plan. First a nap, then an episode of one of those Netflix shows, and finally a praise jam with that Spotify playlist she got from work.

Nothing will steal my joy.