By What the Hill?

Making Christmas memories

Dec 24, 2010 | 8:57 PM

Despite the fact that Christmas has lost some of its childhood sparkle, it is still a holiday full of wonder for me, as I try to use this time of year to reflect on how lucky I am.

One of my most memorable Christmases was spent in a village called Ndlike, about 5 hours by minibus, plus an additional 20 minutes by motorcycle taxi away from Kampala, Uganda.

I had been living in Uganda for about four months and the family that I had become close friends with, invited me to join them for their celebrations.

The place was so remote that it was an hour and a half walk for me to find a place to charge my cell phone and little kids still screamed and cried when they saw me — a white giant.

But it is also the most peaceful place I have ever been. Some of my fondest memories of Uganda come from the five days I spent in Ndilke.

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During the day the sun would heat up the concrete steps and small patio around the house until it was almost unbearable to walk on barefoot. This was great though because on that Christmas Eve, when it was too dark to do anything except talk by candle light, we lay on mats on the still-warm steps until long after the cool breeze would have driven us inside.

There were so many overlaps between the Christmas I would have had at home and the one I had with my newly adopted Ugandan family — Christmas tree, huge meals, gifts and church.

In the corner of the living room in that concrete house was the greatest Charlie Brown tree. It looked more like a big branch than a tree, but was decorated with balloons and candies for the kids. Underneath was just enough presents so everyone would get something.

Early Christmas morning we ate mandazi, fried bread that is reminiscent of the North American donut or a Hungarian langos. Like almost every culture, people from East Africa have a variation of deep-fried bread dough.

From there we walked to church, dressed in our Sunday best. Now over the years I will admit my attendance at church has dropped to just Christmas and Easter and every once and a while I even feel like that is too much. I will never complain about the length of a North American service again.

The four hours I attended that Christmas morning, in an unfinished stone church was made bearable only by the beautiful singing that broke up the hours of prayers in Lugbara, a language I didn’t understand.

It made me appreciate my freedom after the service that much more.

Then was Christmas dinner, beef, chicken, rice, potatoes, pasta and many other carbohydrates that are largely unknown in Canada, such as cassava, were all served.

And that evening, in a break from anything I had ever done, we all trooped outside to play soccer, barefoot, on the hard ground.

Admittedly I wouldn’t want to do that here — the snow makes it a little difficult to kick the ball straight.

So while I might not be checking the clock every two minutes to see if Santa was near my house like many children will be, I still look forward to Christmas day, time with my family and friends and the new memories I will make.

ahill@panow.com