Chicken and New Clothes for Christmas

I want to share my lovely South Sudanese Christmas.  All is not doom and gloom here. 

Every year it’s the same.  Clothes are the big thing at Christmas in Nimule.  Food also, but clothes reign supreme.  Unfortunately, due to my plastered arm I was unable to compete.  I wore the best of my kitenges (African print dresses) which would fit over my arm.  The dress I had intended to wear was made for me by a girl whose tailoring classes I paid for.  I know she was disappointed that I couldn’t wear it.  As soon as the plaster comes off, I will post a photo on Facebook.

Cooking the chicken

My day started with Mass.  As I was leaving for church I saw Concy, who is a member of Cece Primary School and lives with us, cooking our Christmas dinner – a chicken which had been squawking in our compound the day before.  Chicken is a major luxury here.  It costs half a teacher’s monthly salary, so we only eat it on high days and holidays here.  However, I am luckier than most.  I usually manage to eat chicken when I visit Uganda.

The church was packed with at least a thousand people all dressed to the nines.  By way of celebration the priest had decided to perform forty-five baptisms.  He didn’t cut any corners with the sermon and the choir was unstoppable too.  The Mass was therefore nearly four hours long.  That’s the way everyone likes it here - the longer the better, particularly on a special occasion such as Christmas.  I have to admit that I find it trying, but hey, I am in a minority of one.

After Mass I walked back home.  Pascalina was finishing the cooking.  In addition to chicken, there was goat meat.  In celebration of Christmas, there were no vegetables.  This is in complete contrast to our normal diet in which we rarely see meat. 

Pascalina’s grandchildren were visiting from Moyo, a small town in Uganda.  They had brought with them a large quantity of rice harvested from their own smallholding.  This is the very first time I have ever eaten rice grown by people I know.  I found that rather exciting.  It may be pure imagination, but it seemed particularly delicious to me.

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Children eat together

fter eating, the large herd of Pascalina’s grandchildren and great-nieces and nephews played happily all afternoon, before a second round of eating the remaining food.  Two days later, as I write, they are still playing.  Although they are all related, they live far from each other.  Some have never met before, but you would never know it.

We adults sat on the veranda facing the road and watched the world go by.  This has become my favourite part of Christmas.  Children and teenagers divide themselves by age and sex and parade up and down wearing their swanky new clothes.  The teenagers are hilarious.  This year they are all wearing identical black stretch jeans, covered in white patterns and sometimes adorned with handkerchiefs which they tie around their knees to complete the effect.  One young man stood out, dressed in bright yellow from head to foot, and I mean ‘from head’ – he was wearing a bright yellow wig!  I think they all thought they were looking ‘cool’.  I love teenagers.

Children pose in their new clothes

A lot of the younger children came up to us to say ‘Happy Christmas’.  They were given handfuls of sweets.  On past Christmases, Pascalina has handed out homemade shortbread, but this year she wasn’t up to it.  Her health has been poor and baking without a real oven is a major struggle.

Late in the afternoon we heard drums and Dinka singing.  One of the Dinka churches came through the town in procession, led by people dressed as Joseph and Mary, with Jesus in Mary’s arms.  The major festivals of Christmas and Easter are always marked in this way by the Dinka community.  The procession was a reminder of the tribal divisions in South Sudan.  Some churches segregate themselves.  Many of the local Madi community are deeply suspicious of the Dinka, justifiably when it comes to the many atrocities perpetrated by the Dinka army.  However, the Dinka residents of Nimule are mainly women and children who have fled genocide in their own tribal areas.  The feelings aroused remind me of the Northern Irish Catholic distrust of the Orangemen parades in Belfast.  Thankfully, those are becoming history.  Hopefully the same will be the case here too, in the not too distant future.

I hope you also had an enjoyable and restful Christmas and that 2020 will be a good year.