Every December, I tell myself the same thing.“This Christmas, I will stay disciplined.” And honestly, the month always starts well. My gym routine is steady, my meals are controlled, and I convince myself that this year, I will balance fitfam life with the festive season.
But this Christmas, Aunty Sade peppered chicken calls my name, I will take just one…I said to myself , it’s even protein, I’m safe, I muttered again, would just add another one, okay two more after all, my gym instructor says all the time “go heavy on the proteins” kicking off good today, but a Naija Christmas has its own rhythm.
The plan was simple, gym in the morning, well let’s just say I skipped this part, stay committed, stay focused. But Nigeria has its own way of rewriting December routines.
By afternoon, the noise coming from daddy’s music gets louder, his guests laughing and clicking glasses, this wine is good they echoed.
I should have known,why am I going downstairs, I asked my feet, uncle Chima saw me on the stairs and said , “ehen, Ada ,your Aunty baked cake for you just the way you like it”, she said.
“it’s special for my baby girl”. Awwwnnn..thank you uncle, my regards to her, will call her…I told my uncle….”the both of you”, he said laughing as he pointed to where he kept the cake and went to where my dad and his friends are, carrying a plate of chinchin.
Uncle Chima’s wife that’s so caring of her ,how do I not eat my godmother’s cake, that would be very rude… I thought to myself and that particular cake I couldn’t say no to it, her frostings was always so smooth and glossy, it had that light, creamy finish like she had taken her time with every swirl, the layers were always thick, soft, and not even dry, nor crumbly, just perfect.
I could smell the warm vanilla before I even cut into it, that gentle buttery scent that feels like comfort, I rushed to the direction of the cake and I ate it all , all of it without looking back. Will I regret it? I don’t know for now maybe later in Mr Jude’s gym running those treadmills.
Later, that day, the invitations start rolling in, my friends kept calling me and saying “we outside” and I totally shunned them with “oooh I can’t” , I am helping mum in the kitchen”, well I did that by taking all the edibles I could find, especially plantains; it’s not possible to resist hot plantain coming out of oil, so don’t blame me ,I tried my best but it wasn’t good enough.
Turn that jollof rice it’s burning…. my mum shouted, I immediately reached out to the wooden spoon and began stirring, I turned and turned until the smoky aroma filled the room one would think I’m making “eba”. At least this one thing I did I might as well do it well.
My first serving was for me obviously; afterall, man must chop …I will eat oooh , I told myself, until i heard my mum footsteps as she strolled in to the kitchen, go and bring plates let’s serve your father’s guest I quickly dropped my plate and began working, so you are eating,I thought you are doing fitfam? she said after seeing the quantity of rice in my plate on the kitchen counter…..ahhh mummy today is Christmas..Hope you are not trying to make up for past days of starving yourself? , bring the moi moi your father likes it, let’s give him two wraps.
After daddy saw his guests off and said his goodbyes, he came into the kitchen to tell mum to tidy up quickly, so we can get ready for the carol service, we hurried and left.
This carol service was different not the regular, the songs hit, not quiet and calm but the gbedu just dey enter, I totally forgot myself and danced until the scent of jollof rice , small chops, hit my nostrils, as the ushers swayed their trays towards my direction , those Samosa’s and tiny little puffs- today, my fitfam promise, suddenly is more than negotiable.
I reached to grab my plate and that’s all I can remember from Voices of Christmas.
This Christmas year was a beautiful mix of laughter, family, parties, and plates piled a little higher than expected. Next year, I will sought out this self control issue, looking down at the weight scale not bad after all, we go again tomorrow, but I hate doing burpees; that’s punishment.
