Christmas Eve

I cannot begin to explain the celebration going on outside – the excitement over Christmas coming tomorrow. Girls singing and dancing and outright screaming, chanting and marching up and down with (I cannot explain it any other way) tribal calls.

There is an intensity in the calls that makes me think of being in the bush and hearing those sounds from afar or sitting around a fire during ceremony. Such strength, ferocity, intensity. Ancient tradition. Cultural heritage.

I sit inside and listen to the sounds, smile at the sheer joy a child can possess, and go out to join them.

The girls have been counting down all week, looking forward to this night without curfew. They sing We Wish You a Merry Christmas over and over with and without words. They perform a play and act out the biblical story (sort of), and then we dance. Girls drum, everyone dances into the night.

As the night comes and the rain stops, large winged bugs come out in droves. The girls jump into the light, capture them, and pop them into their mouths. "They're sweet," they say smiling at this extra Christmas gift. 

We find the Christmas tree and bring it out – it is two feet tall, the base needs to be improvised, and the six ornaments are shabby at best, but the girls respond with glee, “It is so beautiful,” they say. There will not be fancy foods, there will not be elaborate presents, but there is love and celebration and family.

This is the Lord’s birthday.