A Christmas journey around the world

The new flowered curtains hanging in my bedroom windows were no match for the chill of the December breeze filling the tiny bedroom and causing me to crawl further and further under the thick blanket which Aunty Celie had just sent to me from England as part of my Christmas package. Receiving barrels filled with goods, both used and brand new, from relatives overseas, was always a major part of Christmas for my family. It was the night before Christmas Eve and mom and dad were busy in other parts of our house adding the finishing touches to our Christmas celebrations.

I could hear the rustling of the wrapping paper and the excited chuckles of my parents in the kitchen and living room of our home as they prepared the ham and turkey which I and my two other siblings would feast on, on Christmas day. Mother had already, earlier in the day, put plans in motion to set up the dining table with the glasses, plates and cutlery that resided in the special glass cabinet in the dining area. She had also laid out her favorite white lace table cloth which she only used at times like these.

My heart warmed as the wonderful aroma of baking fruit cake spread through the house making me yearn for that glimpse of sunlight which would indicate the start of Christmas Eve.  I closed my eyes picturing the day that I had been waiting for all year; Christmas Day.

The sound of chimes interrupted my dream. I sat up on my bed wondering whether my overly enthused mind was playing tricks on me. My eyes quickly fell on a bright array of lights pouring in under my door. Fear was the furthest thing from my mind as I became convinced that I was about to encounter the ever popular Santa Claus doing early deliveries.

With every step closer to the door the feeling of anxiety grew and the hairs on my body stood straight. My fingers wrapped the gold-coloured door knob and my palms got sweaty as I excitedly flung the door wide open.

What greeted me on the other side of my bedroom door had me in awe.  Music filled the room. Although it was not the type of Christmas music that I was used to I found myself moving to the synchronized sounds of the Cuatro, (a guitar with four strings) a ‘Tambora’ (a Venezuelan drum), the ‘Furro’ (a type of drum with a stick coming up through the middle of the skin of the drum) and the ‘Charrasca’ (a ribbed tube that you rub a stick up and down). Immediately I realized that I was no longer in Dominica and slowly it dawned on me that I was in fact, participating in Christmas celebrations in Venezuela dancing to their traditional Christmas melody referred to as Gaita.

The singers known as ‘Gaiteros’ had the entire household moving to the Spanish version of “Jingle Bells.” The lights of fireworks shone brightly through the tinted windows of this small Latin home and as I drew the curtains back I became fascinated with the multihued fireworks which lit up the sky. I was even more amazed when I saw the several individuals on roller skates on their way to the early morning church services.

I sat at the family table preparing to indulge in a common Venezuelan Christmas meal called Hallacas which was a mixture of beef, pork, chicken, capers, raisins, and olives wrapped in maize and plantain leaves and tied up with string into a parcel. My eyes grew wide as the Pan de Jamón – a type of bread that’s made with puff pastry, filled up with ham, raisins, olives and bacon and shaped like a ‘swiss roll was placed on the decorated table . Armed with knife and fork, I attacked this delicious meal, savoring every bit of my first bite which was soon interrupted by the 4 month old baby sitting near me.  In an attempt to keep the properly decorated house neat, I bent to pick up the bits of food which he had dropped, only to find that I had moved again.

This time I was standing in the middle of a Pakistani street. Christmas day or Bara Din as it was known locally was not celebrated on December 25^th like the rest of the world and since only a small part of the population were Christian the celebrations were on a smaller scale.

All around me, young Pakistani children were excitedly speaking about Santa Claus whom they referred to as Christmas Baba. One woman dressed in a vivid outfit greeted me in the traditional Christmas greeting “Bara Din Mubbarack Ho” which I understood to mean the blessings of Christmas upon you.  I became drawn to a church service going on at the end of the road. From where I was standing I could see crowds of people in the church yard enjoying food from different stalls.

My tiny feet raced toward the yard as I was drawn toward the exhilarating atmosphere there. I was one step away from the first stall when I unfortunately stumbled on a piece of metal used to tie the white tent to the ground.

Brushing myself off, I noticed that the scene had changed once more. The yard had transformed into a campsite and from the little I had read about how Christmas was celebrated in other parts of the world, I realized that I was in Australia. School was out for summer break and families were spending their Christmas on a campsite.  The words to the Carols about snow and the cold winter did not apply since the Australian Christmas weather was far from a white one. I saw one family huddled around a campfire telling stories of Santa giving his reindeer a rest when he got to Australia and using a kangaroo while changing his clothes into something appropriate for the summer.

Soon after one young boy carrying a small fishing rod invited me to go diving in the lake for seafood which his family would use for their Christmas meal at lunch time.  He explained that most people now have a cold Christmas dinner, or a barbecue with seafood such as prawns and lobsters along with the “traditional English food.”

Without any hesitation, I stripped off my shirt and headed for the water. Head first I dove in. My new found Australian friend followed right after. Hundreds of fishes and other sea creatures seemed to be aware that it was Christmas day and swam past me in an excited, almost celebratory type, movement.

As I was getting ready to swim to the other side of the lake I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning around I saw my little brother, Toby, standing over me, pointing out that it was time to wake up since we had to get ready to go to town early.

I crawled out of bed, elated to find myself back in my humble abode. Mother had already hung up the clothes which we would use for Christmas Midnight Mass later on in the day.  I ran to the kitchen to see that she had already laid out the sorrel juice on the table and that breakfast was being served.

My nocturnal Christmas adventure around the world had been an exciting and enlightening one but I was somewhat comforted to know that it was only a dream. I was finding out that for me, there’s absolute truth in the sentiment, “There’s no place like home for Christmas.”