Celebrated Xmas without presents - that was the most wonderful thing I did for myself

On Christmas Day in 2012, when I was 14, I didn’t get a single Christmas present.
This wasn’t a surprise. It was what I had asked for. A week before we returned to Nigeria for the Christmas holidays, I decided that instead of presents, I wanted donations to buy presents for the children in the local orphanage close to my family home.

When I told family and friends my plans, there were a lot of raised eyebrows but also support. However, it was only on Christmas Day that the reality hit. While my baby sisters ran out of bed, singing carols and opening presents, I lay there feeling jealous, and making a list of all the things I really wanted for Christmas that year. New clothes, new books, an iPod nano. I was convinced I’d made a huge mistake.
As I knocked on the door of the orphanage that morning, I felt weary and uncomfortable. I was a ridiculously shy, geeky 14-year-old. And as I waited to be let in, I realised how unprepared I was for what was coming. I felt anxiety and shame. Anxiety, because I didn’t know what to expect, and shame because the urge to drop the bags of presents outside the orphanage and flee home was strong.

 

It ought to be a right, but it is a privilege to feel safe and loved at Christmas.

 

I almost turned away, but then a plump woman opened the door and smiled as she ushered me in. I’d heard a lot about how homes and orphanages were poorly built and underfunded, but the reality was still a shock. I instantly hated it. The orphanage felt devoid of love. There were no smiles when I arrived. It felt harsh, isolated, neglected; a bit like being in a huge house filled with forgotten, unwanted kids. A part of me regretted not having left when I had the chance.

I was taken to a room full of children, and was suddenly angry at how empty it felt. I wanted the room to ooze warmth and kindness instead of fear; I wanted to see kids playing and having fun; I wanted to will these children to smile. I felt powerless – I was powerless

But then something happened. As the aunties in the orphanage handed out presents, the atmosphere in the room changed. I could see the excitement build in the eyes of the children, and their bodies fill with hope. I stopped feeling so powerless. A little girl, Daniella, ran up to me and hugged my legs. I carried a little boy in my arms and he kissed me on the nose before lying gently against my shoulder. I didn’t know I was crying until Ugochuwku asked me, “Auntie, why are you crying?” This only made me cry more.

For many of us, Christmas is one of the best times of the year, spent with loved ones, with food abundant and love present and potent. It’s the time that is supposed to be filled with the most comfort, where we want to be happy and expect everything to be perfect, forgetting that life happens and we will never be in full control.

We are sometimes so concerned with excelling at Christmas that we forget how lucky we are. It ought to be a right, but instead it is a privilege to have good food, warmth, love and a roof over your head. It ought to be a right, but it is a privilege to feel safe and loved at Christmas. The time I spent in the orphanage was a much-needed punch to my gut; it taught me that the happiness I felt at (most) Christmases was not something to be taken for granted.

It taught me to try and value everything that was mine.

A Nigerian friend joked that visiting a children’s orphanage was what every Nigerian politician and “big man” did in the runup to Christmas. They used the same hands they’d used to harm and hurt to give out bags of rice and cartons of noodles. They did this to make themselves look good, not out of actual kindness. Her point was that these things don’t make a difference and don’t change the status quo.

And, to an extent, she is right. But she is also wrong. It is the norm, but only because of our choices. We choose to be greedy and unkind, to ignore when we have the power to help. We can also choose to stop doing these things. Random acts of kindness will not solve insurmountable problems, but they can give people hope, and that is powerful – sometimes it’s just enough to enable people to take the next step, to not give up on life, to keep going.
 
That experience taught me to be kind, mindful, to give what I can when I can, and to remember the small gestures. It is Christmas, after all.

The Guardian