On the trail to an old Zululand Christmas

ZO journalist, WELLINGTON MAKWAKWA remembers the true spirit of Christmas as a child.

GROWING up in the rural heart of Zululand where there was no running water or electricity and people herded cows for a living, Christmas was a magical and exciting time of the year.

It was a day filled with festivities, games family – those long lost aunts and uncles who worked in big cities and only returned for special occasions.

I still remember my grandmother’s morning call to watch the sunrise. She used to tell us the story of the sun dancers, and we believed it.

Wellington Makwakwa

Years later I realised the tale was to ensure we woke up early to prepare for a lengthy but exciting church service. Dressed in new clothes, we would sing jolly songs, surrounding the Christmas tree with cheer.

There was no Father Christmas or anything like that, and presents were nothing to rave about -mostly school socks. We cherished those tiny presents because they came from the heart. It was not about the price tag or brand names.

After we had lunch cooked in the open fire, we would drink colourful soft drinks that left our tongues and lips red – and then play indigenous games till dark. At that time girls and boys played together like brothers and sisters.

There was no fear of any incidents because we treated each other like family. We visited each others houses and ate biscuits until we had stomach cramps.

Now years later, my heart weeps when I realise how the spirit of Christmas has died.

It has become a show-off time for many young people. They consume alcohol like there is no tomorrow. Sometimes, sadly, there is not.

Liquor shops double or triple their profits during this time. The youth go through so much trouble just to exhibit a lavish lifestyle they can’t even afford.

Some even rent cars and cruise around the township, just to appear cool to their peers. They have fallen into a trap of overspending on unnecessary things with no regard for budgeting for the new year.

Now the festive season is fraught with shocking murder cases, and rape incidents. People do not have that old spirit of Ubuntu, where neighbours treated each other like one big family.

With the festive season upon us, I long for those old days. I am still searching for the way back to that magical time – a simple but exciting period.

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