The December Hosting Olympics: Why Every Nigerian Home Becomes a Mini Hotel
- Sean
- Dec 11
- 3 min read
If you’ve ever wondered why Nigerian homes start looking like unregistered Airbnbs once the calendar hits December — a true December Hosting Culture that every Nigerian household knows too well — don’t stress, it’s not a curse. It’s tradition. A sacred seasonal ritual. A cultural sport. By the second week of the month, every hallway sounds like a hostel corridor, every bed space is occupied, and every mother is shouting, “Shift for your cousin now, is he not family?”
December turns normal homes into guest lodges, hosting everyone from actual relatives to “family friends” nobody remembers.
December has a way of dragging out relatives from nowhere. People who haven’t visited since Goodluck Jonathan’s era suddenly remember your parents’ address. Even worse are the mysterious “family friends.” You’ll hear, “Ah-ah, don’t you remember him? He carried you when you were small.” Meanwhile, you’re looking at a full-grown man with beard connecting and wondering how he entered your family tree.
Understanding Nigeria’s December Hosting Culture
Every December, Nigerians move like migrating birds — from Lagos to Owerri, from Kaduna to Ibadan, from abroad to the village. With this movement comes the universal expectation that someone’s house must turn into a lodge. And somehow, it’s usually yours.
Before you know it, mattresses are multiplying like rabbits. Your father is bringing out those old foam beds from the store, the ones that have suffered since 2004. The living room becomes an NYSC orientation camp, with people sleeping at angles only geometry students can explain.
And don’t forget the early-morning bathroom queue — a queue that forms before daylight, with people wearing wrapper, boxers, Ankara, and prayer mood, all waiting for the one functional bathroom in the house.
“December in Nigeria is the only time you need a timetable to use your own bathroom.”
The “Just Two Days” Lie
Nigerian guests have one thing in common: they never stay for “just two days.”
They’ll land on Thursday, drop their bags, smile sweetly, and say, “I won’t disturb you, I’m just here for Friday’s wedding.” By the next Wednesday, they’re still around, using your WiFi, adjusting your AC, and asking what’s for dinner.
There’s always that uncle who suddenly becomes extremely comfortable. Shoes off, remote in hand, telling your father the news he already watched. Or the aunty who starts giving home training to children that are not hers.
And if they’re village guests? Forget it. Those ones will settle in like tenants awaiting allocation.
The Kitchen Becomes a War Zone
Every December home-turned-hotel ends up with a kitchen that looks like a small buka. Pots everywhere. Random people cooking random things. Somebody boiling rice while another person is frying plantain inside the same pot you used for stew the night before.
There’s always an Aunty Ngozi in the kitchen telling everyone, “Leave it, you people don’t know how to cook for crowd.” This same woman will also be the one to hide the good meat in the bottom pot.
Meanwhile, the fridge becomes a battlefield. If you don’t label your drink, forget it — your Tropicana is gone.
“A Nigerian December kitchen is where recipes, boundaries, and ownership all go to die.”
The Guest Types Nobody Talks About
December brings a special lineup of characters:
The Silent Stayer You won’t hear them. You’ll just see their slippers multiplying in the corridor.
The Social Butterfly Always going out, never contributing, but somehow always bathing the longest.
The Foreign Returnee Came from UK or US. Uses their accent to ask where the bucket is.
The Emotional Blackmailer “Ah-ah, so I cannot stay in my sister’s house again?”
The Spiritual Guest Prayers at 5 AM. Loud ones. They will wake the whole building, angels included.
By the time the house hits full capacity, even the dog is confused.
Why We Actually Love It (Even When We Complain)
As chaotic as it gets, there’s something sweet about the Nigerian December hosting culture. The noise, the bustle, the shared meals, the random stories, the late-night gist, the catching up, the feeling of “people wey dey for you.”
We complain — loudly — but deep down, the December crowd makes the house feel alive. And once January comes and everyone returns to their base, the silence always feels a little too heavy.
“The same guests that stress you in December are the ones you’ll miss when life goes quiet in January.”
December hospitality might be madness, but it’s our madness. It’s the season where Nigerian homes become mini hotels, complete with free Wi-Fi, unlimited food, uninvited guests, and that chaotic love we secretly enjoy.
Because no matter how full the house gets, one thing is guaranteed: someone will still shout, “Make space — your cousin is coming tomorrow.”
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