Frankly Told: Still We Gather
The lights from inside gave the church a warm but ethereal glow. The stained glass portraits animated its facade on the cold December night. The parking lot was down to its last cars after a full-belly service.
“Ah, of course,” she laughed with her belly. “Of course. It is unfortunate that you won’t be going back home to your family this year. You know, this time in the city can get quite lonely, are you sure you will be fine by yourself?”
“I’ll manage,” the priest humoured. “Anyway, you best be on your way. You need to get up early tomorrow. You know? That traffic.”
“Ehhh,” she agreed and extended her hand. “Merry Christmas, Father.”
“Merry Christmas.”
The two parted and she made her way some steps to the car where her family sat in nothing but the glow of their smartphone screens. She grabbed the handle and paused. Inhaling deeply, she pulled and opened the door before sliding into the driver's seat with a heavy exhale that almost slipped into a groan. She quickly placed his bible in the centre console and pulled the door shut.
There was a beat of silence and the tension in the air solidified. Her husband in the passenger seat was the first to break.
“That was quite the sermon today, almost got me on my feet and-”
“I am very disappointed in you all.” she expressed, curtly.
The other two screens went dark in the back of the car and now darkness was conquered only by the church.
“Do you not realise how important this is?” she gestured vaguely forward. “Every year it only seems to get worse and worse and worse. It is like a dying animal with no hope of being saved. It won’t be long until I am flogging a dead horse. Singing the same song. Over and over. Am I a broken record?”
Her anger slowly simmered into a brisk boil with every word. Every exhale seemed to increase the temperature in the car and the windows started to fog up.
“Disappointment doesn’t even begin to-” she caught herself with a breath. “Aki ya nani mtaniua. Mnataka kuniua mimi.”
“I’m sorry, Mum,” her daughter quipped in a trembling voice.
“First, it’s the refusing to go and see your cousins saying ati oh there is a party at some friend’s house,” she continued her tirade. “Kwani these friends of yours don’t have families to go and see?”
Their eyes caught contact in the review mirror and she looked away.
“And you,” the glare shifted to her son. “You think just because you are about to leave my house you can just walk in and out of things as you please. You are my son and you must show me respect in the way things are done. When I say service, it is time for service. I don’t care who you were out with or who you are going out with or whatever. Family time is family time. May I never catch you taking these things so lightly again. Tunaelewana?”
“In fact, i think it is also time to mention that coming to church and sitting outside is not acceptable behaviour,” she jabbed a finger in the air. “If you are not going to go in, do not come. But remember, in this family we go to church. Chaguo ni lako.”
“Eh my dear,” her husband started. “Why the hostility?”
“Hostility? This is just anger in response to disrespect,” she shot back. “If you feel I am hostile go call the police. See if I care.”
“These are grown-ups now,” he protested.
“I don’t care,” she trampled. “They are still my children and if they decide to act like them I will treat them like so.”
“We know that this is important to you,” her daughter spoke. “That’s why we are here.”
There was some silence.
“I’m trying,” her son sulked. “If that’s not enough, sorry then.”
Silence sat heavily once again.
“One day, I will die,” she broke out, just above a whisper.
“Don’t talk like that,” her husband reached over and held her hand.
“I hope to go in God’s graces,” she continued. “I may not know when or how or where but I know this. My family will not fall apart in the mighty name of Jesus.”
“Amen,” her husband whispered with a smile.
“I know, now that you are growing up, you are learning new ways to do things. Which is fine. I don’t fully agree but it is the way you are choosing to do it,” she sighed. “When we were younger, my siblings and I would always hate being piled in the back of your grandfather’s truck to go see his siblings. We vowed never to do things like that when our children came. When our children started coming, one by one we fell off from each other.”
“Unfortunately, some of us fell off too far and lost touch. Trying to build new things. I spent so much time with my family that I wanted to replace it with my friends. When we came back eventually, your grandfather was gone.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “A season of plague fell on us. We lost jobs, the house, and your father lost his legs. It broke me. The only ones who came to me were my siblings. The only way they brought back light into my life was by retracing old traditions.”
“Forgive me, if I am so loud about this small Christmas tradition,” she sniffled and wiped snort from her nose. “If I am loud about the importance of family. There was a time that it was all we had. You may not remember it now but I do. Like it was yesterday.”
“Many years have passed… Many laughs were shared and lost. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“… Still we gather.”
