René Roberts

Every Christmas song paints a picture. Whether it’s Boney M’s Little Drummer Boy or Sarah McLachlan’s Wintersong. There’s always mention of snow and mistletoe. It’s time for eggnog and sleigh rides. Stockings are filled and fruitcake’s on display. Christmas carols are sung by sweet angelic voices on every sidewalk. It’s Christmas time!

In America.

Now, I’m not sure who decided that that’s what Christmas looks like. Maybe Americans decided that’s what it looks like. They make the movies and they set the scene. They paint what they know. No harm done. I happen to love those American Christmas movies. Personally, I wouldn’t be able to tell Mistletoe from Cannabis. I’m okay with that.

It’s very possible that I’ll never experience a white Christmas. I probably don’t know the words to one single Christmas Carol, which is a great thing for the human race as I’m tone deaf. Fruitcake I can relate to. I am one.

Christmas in South Africa looks a little different. It’s sunny and we mostly have clear skies. The shopping malls are grossly overcrowded and traffic is a nightmare. Unless you’re on your way to work. The highways leading anywhere besides a holiday destination or shopping malls are eerily quiet, because your fellow race rat contenders dropped out. They made their way down to the coast for their yearend break with the kids. Finding parking anywhere near a shopping mall is a fine art.

We have no sleighs, we have no snow. If we’re lucky we have a little rain to soothe our sun kissed shoulders. We don’t have eggnog, but beer seems to be the only thing to quench one’s thirst in this heat. Families huddle around a fresh, juicy watermelon by the side of a swimming pool.

We know how to eat in this country. Our ovens are burning all day long, in spite of Eskom’s load shedding. Switch off our power, South African’s were born with a plan. We have gammon, potato salad, pork belly, leg of lamb, rice salad and truffle. We have homemade fruit cake, custard and Malva pudding. It’s an outdoors celebration of all things beautiful and we shall eat until we drop.

So, it’s the total opposite of an American Christmas. Or any other, for that matter.

Trivial things, like climate, seasons and decor are not universal. Emotions are.

The unbridled joy of a family gathering is universal. This festive occasion brings to our doorsteps those loved ones we never get to see during the year and we talk and laugh and cry into the wee hours. The excitement all around us is almost palpable as children fight to stay awake on Christmas eve. This is true all over the world. The deep seated gratitude that fill our hearts as we look around the room and take stock, realizing we’re still all here. The sense of wonder when we know that in each other we have the greatest gift one can ask for. This is all universal.

Unfortunately, so is the dull ache of emptiness when we notice that one open spot at the table. The overwhelming need to go to sleep and wake up in the new year for those attempting their first Christmas without their mother. The cruel burden of digging deep inside to find some comfort, just enough to make it through this one year, because people expect it from you. The horrifying finality of what will probably be your last Christmas with that loved one soldiering on in his or her battle with the big C.

Death, disease, misfortune and sorrow are not afraid of Christmas. It strikes randomly.

I don’t think it makes a huge difference, whether you’re shovelling the sidewalk just to make some space for the kids singing Carols at your front door in America, or you’re pulling out the umbrellas to hide from the sun in South Africa. I think the universal things are more important.

I think we should honour those we’ve lost along the way by living the shit out of this life. We’re allowed to celebrate their lives instead of mourning their deaths. I think we should stock up on sympathy and make space for gratitude. We should gather some tolerance and hand out some understanding.

It takes a second to let someone know that you care. People don’t always expect you to make things better. Just to tell them that you wish you could. You don’t have to say a word. Just share a tear. You don’t have to cure a disease. Just crack a smile.