Christmas in Jamaica is by far like no place else on earth. The economic blues notwithstanding, Jamaicans will find ways to enjoy this special season. For it’s more than the zenith of Advent, it’s more than the bustling streets and crazy shopping, and certainly it’s more than white-washing stones and trees. It is the community, the joyous contradictions between biblical teachings and strong cultural traditions that make this season particularly special. Yet, it is the diverse flavours, fun and family that make the Jamaican Christmas traditions and experience unique and awesome.

But there is more. Christmas is kind of a homecoming; it’s a time of giving and sharing. And although a few vagabonds have tried to hijack the festivities, the spirit of Christmas has survived. For it is not just a time for people to practise polite generosity as its purpose is never to sanction the fake feeling of happiness by investing in and exchanging humongous gifts. It is the culmination of Advent and the season set aside by Christians to meditate on God’s divine providence. But for the rest of us, it is the time for celebration, and merriment, when dietary indiscretions and excesses could lead to serious bouts of colic and bellyache.

The last time I spent Christmas in Jamaica was almost 18 years ago. Still, things from that, and prior experiences, streak like meteors across the firmament of my memory – memories that are gloriously sustained. And what makes them eternally incandescent are the uniqueness of family, the warmth of community, the infectious vibes of selflessness that accompanied Christmas activities. And while I enjoy living abroad and have maintained some cultural rituals, there is no place like home for the holidays and certainly, there is no place like Jamaica for Christmas. Come hell or high water, I will be home next Christmas.

It’s not only Christmas Day that is exceptional, but also the ubiquitous presence of red sorrel; which provides great colour contrast to the green of gungo peas. And I do not know what Christmas would be like without our Jamaican women. They are quintessential financial planners whose industriousness and programmed frugality take a back seat to the acquisition of new clothes, furniture, multi-chromatic curtains and bedspreads and other niceties, all made possible through the ingenuity of “partners”, as “throwers” ask for last “draws” to finance Christmas spending. But there are always exceptions, because some unscrupulous “bankers” make it a tradition to disappear at Christmas time, leaving much weeping and wailing in their wake.

However, Christmas Eve is perhaps the busiest and most exciting day of the year. From baker to dressmaker, shoemaker to tailor, everyone toils way into the night to deliver before the crack ‘o dawn; they labour in love just to make everyone happy; however tight the trousers crotch or short the leg may be. Then the arrival of Jonkanoo does more than to reaffirm our Afrocentric heritage, as the prancing and dancing in the street scares the dickens out of little children. Then there is grand market – the mother of all markets, a fitting culmination to Christmas-Eve shopping. This provides opportunity for young men to get gifts for their sweethearts, and for adults to get last-minute bargains.

Some of this last-minute shopping ends up causing all sorts of podiatric pain on Christmas Day. For, inevitably, in the rush of things, the wrong-sized shoes are bought and like it, yes or not, there are neither refund policies nor any at-home stock to choose from, and everybody wants to make an impression on Christmas Day to the pain of “corn-toes”. Rum drinkers are usually at their best, for no amount of “whites” seems to satisfy their spirits. Not true, says a good friend, who recommends that a half flask of “John Crow Batty” can do the trick and often sends many drunkards straight to bed until after Boxing Day.

In many households, certainly in mine, Christmas Day started with freshly made eggnog. Minors (boys) were given just enough to reinforce their manhood, but never too much to motivate their raging hormones, since Jamaican-style eggnog is known for its powerful aphrodisiac qualities and is supposed to be a big man’s drink. But my dad violated this rule every Christmas. He did so to the delight of my older brothers, but to my mom’s displeasure, since her aversion to all things “force-ripe” knew no bounds. One of the things that has always struck me about Jamaica is how traditions vary from parish to parish. Six years ago, while attending a Christmas luncheon with my friends, I learnt that “gratto” bread was also called “man-tan-up”. I wonder what a few slices of “man-tan-up” would do to a little boy struggling to be secretive about his transition into adolescence?

And judging from what my friends tell me, women consume ample portions of “man-tan-up”, so it is not gender-specific. And speaking about this sort of specificity, fish is not a popular choice at Christmas, not in St Mary at least. It’s only in Jamaica that “fish” is a double entendre and a pejorative moniker. So, be careful, especially in our homophobic society, when and where you order a fish! But the fishy thing about all this is that it stinks, as some people who like the combination of “man-tan-up” and fish cannot enjoy Christmas in the open! Happily, there are alternatives, chief among which is cow’s liver. For those women who abhor the St Ann nickname for “gratto” bread, roast breadfruit could suffice, complemented with “cook-up” ackee and salt fish.

Christmas would be incomplete without opening gifts. I hark back to my boyhood days when gift-giving took on added significance, especially in schools. It could not be more than what happened to me one year. After draining my father’s wallet to buy gifts, I received the heaviest gift of all from one of my classmates; four pre-owned, rubber-covered, board wheels and a nicely painted, but seriously dented “gig”. The amazing thing about the entire episode was the fact that I delayed my disappointment until I reached home. Sure, the “cow bawling” went unabated for several minutes as my brother Joseph and sister Sharon “laughed me to scorn” as the cart wheels laid prostrate at my feet. To this day, I still hear my father’s deep, oesophagal and stinging laughter; it was so strong and sustained, that I ended up laughing too!

However, the gift-giving incident reinforced the true meaning of giving and confirmed that it is not so much the gift, but the thought that matters most. It is important to give to those who cannot give in return. In the true spirit of Christmas, let us do the best we can, by giving love. Christmas in Jamaica can be better if we move to embrace love, community, tolerance, forgiveness and kindness. It must not stop there, but should follow throughout the year and form part of our daily lives. I wish you all a joyous Christmas and the very best for the New Year.

Burnscg@aol.com