Papa had gone back downstairs, and I was still sitting on the sofa, watching Aunty Ifeoma talk to Mama, when my cousins arrived. “Okay, the children and I will come on Christmas day.” “Eugene…” Aunty Ifeoma took a deep breath. “What do idol worshipers know about Christmas?” “You know that the children and I spend Christmas day with their Papa-Nnukwu.” “The children can spend time together then.” “Why don’t we all have lunch on Christmas day?” Papa asked. “I have heard you, Eugene,” Aunty Ifeoma said, with an exaggerated formality. If you drive past mmuo, keep your windows up.” They can go with you, but you know I do not want my children near anything ungodly. Papa looked at me and then at Mama, searched our faces as if looking for letters beneath our noses, above our foreheads, on our lips, that would spell something he would not like.
Imakwa, my little one, Chima, does not even know Kambili’s name.” “Is it not Christmas that we are celebrating, eh? The children have never really spent time with one another. “Eugene, let the children come out with us!” Aunty Ifeoma sounded irritated her voice was slightly raised. He spoke English, while Aunty Ifeoma spoke Igbo.
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