Christmas at D10
All six of us under one roof, rice and chicken, Eudora winning every argument, and a thing I noticed about Papa.
Everybody home. Francis from Enugu with a bag of stories and a new phone he will not let Charles touch. Eudora winning every argument at the table by being right, which is exhausting for the rest of us. Charles, taller than me now, which is not allowed. Mama up since four, the compound smelling of frying since five, chicken for once, real chicken, and the neighbours in and out all day with plates.
Papa prayed before the food, a long one, and in the middle of it he thanked God for each of us by name and when he got to me he paused, a half-second, the kind of half-second I know everything about, and then said my name and went on. I do not know what the pause was. I have decided not to know.
In the afternoon we took a photograph, all six, by the mango tree, the way we do every year, and I am the one who always looks at the camera too hard. Next year I will try to smile like Charles.
Twenty-one, nearly twenty-two. Three years of notebook. One person knows. One room walked out of. A small notebook of numbers that is not enough yet. Merry Christmas from D10, Army Housing Scheme, Obinze, where for one day a year nobody performs anything and the rice is real.