December in the Village: The Good, The Bad, and The Un-skippable Family Questions

Sean
Dec 5
3 min read

There’s a specific kind of peace that only comes from entering your family compound in December — that warm breeze, the smell of firewood, the cousins you haven’t seen since last Christmas running towards you, and that first plate of village jollof that humbles every Lagos chef.

But that same peace comes packaged with wahala you didn’t order: aunties that ask about marriage before you even drop your bag, uncles that size your pockets like customs officers, and expectations you didn’t budget for.

That’s the December village contradiction — the home you miss all year and the stress you conveniently forget.

The Good: The Parts of Home That Still Feel Like Magic

Village December has its own rhythm. The mornings feel slower, the laughter is louder, and the sense of belonging hits different. Suddenly, you’re 12 again — sitting on a wooden bench as someone grills suya, listening to stories under the mango tree, or greeting elders who still call you by the nickname you thought you’d buried.

It’s the one time of year where community isn’t a concept — it’s everywhere you turn. Kids running errands, neighbours bringing food “because you’re back,” spontaneous evening gatherings, and the comfort of being surrounded by people who’ve known your family for generations.

And then there’s the food — the overfeeding that somehow feels like love, the fresh palm wine that erases your city stress, the night parties, masquerade festivals, and the secret pride you feel when you realize the village still holds a piece of your identity.

The Bad (But Low-Key Funny): The Stress You Pretend Not to Remember

As beautiful as it is, December in the village will still humble you.

The chores multiply.

Privacy? Delete it.

Every move you make becomes a community announcement.

Your sleep patterns? Forget them — someone will wake you before 7 a.m. for “just a small favor.”

There’s always that one relative who starts hinting at money before you’ve even opened your bag. And if you’ve been doing big boy/big girl in the city? The expectations rise with exchange rate levels. There’s the pressure to “show you’re doing well,” the silent comparisons, and the subtle competition between cousins who came back from different cities — or countries.

And let’s not talk about the weddings, funerals, meetings, introductions, errands, visits — the endless “We’ll just stop there for 10 minutes” that becomes a whole-day trip.

The Unskippable Questions: The Interrogation You Didn’t Consent To

Village December is incomplete without the Q&A session that nobody warns you about. It usually starts harmlessly:

“Welcome! You’re getting big o!”

Then escalates quickly:

“So when are we meeting that someone?”

“How is work? Are they paying you well?”

“Your mates are already married o, what are you waiting for?”

“Do you still remember how to cook?”

“Is that your car?”

It’s wild how the same place that makes you feel grounded can also reopen tabs you closed long ago.

But maybe that’s the power of home — it reflects your growth and exposes the conversations you’ve been dodging.

December in the village - Why We Still Go

Even with the pressure, noise, and unavoidable drama, we still pack our bags every year. Because beneath everything — the stress, the nosiness, the responsibilities — there’s warmth.

There’s memory.

There’s identity.

There’s a part of us that only comes alive in that village compound.

And maybe that’s what December in the village really is: a reminder that home holds both comfort and chaos, and somehow, we need both to feel whole.