Christmas

Despite a few invites to spend Christmas in Angola this year, I decided I couldn’t face the holidays without the cold, woolen blankets, duffle coats and the family. But before heading north in a couple of weeks, I’ll pack my suitcase full of memories. I’ll take Teresa’s loud voice with me, when she tells stories about her family and I need all my concentration to follow the words that seem to run out of her mouth. I’ll think of tia Luciana’s proud smile when I appreciate her latest “experiment” in the kitchen. Lino’s laughter when the “white woman” asks him for the fiftieth time to do something he just can’t be bothered to do. Luzia’s stories about being a nurse during the civil war, and losing a husband and finding him again 10 years later. Dona Maria’s happiness when I told her that the dress she made for me was a huge success “out there”. The songs in church. The taste of a mango just taken off a tree. The silence in the mountains and the chilly breeze of the evenings that smells of eucalyptus. Mario’s voice when he recites his poetry about love and life and politics. Girls plaiting each other’s hair. The huge dark eyes of my little godchild. The smell of lemons and tomatoes in the kitchen. And many many children’s hands waving goodbye.