Christmas is usually a hot, humid affair for those of us southern-hemisphere dwellers.
It's a far cry from the snowy, wintery depictions fed to us by Hollywood and the like.
Year in, year out, we sing about Jingling bells and dashing through the snow and all sorts of things that mean NOTHING to us. We've tried to adapt some carols to match our seasonal limitations, you may have heard the "10 Days of Christmas" remix which goes a little something like this,
"On the first day of christmas my true love gave to me,
a crow in a Baobab tree."
What a classic!
So anyway, i decided to throw a Christmas in July party at my place over the weekend so we could experience the frosty chill togetherness of this festive event...(read: I just wanted to throw a party and my favourite colours are green and red, so what the heck). Twas a festive gathering indeed. My place was decked out in full red, green and gold regalia. It was downright gaudy, as i kept telling people, "It looks like Christmas threw up in my place." The drinks flowed, the food was chowed and gifts where exchanged...some dodgy ones even (handcuffs anyone).
All in all, the night was a resounding success and i can't wait for December, for a repeat performance...
Just not at my place.
Do you know the mess that ensues when green and red streamers mix with spilt wine and get dragged across cream tiles? Wow, it was a disaster! The carnage was real come Saturday morning, after much procrastination i decide to draw on the domestic teachings of my mother (yes mum, i actually was listening when you were stating the finer points of floor scrubbing) and rid my place of its red/green alcoholic hue and generous spritzing of tinsel.
Where were my helpful friends at this point, you may ask? As T.I.'s song goes:
"I turn my head to the east,
I don't see nobody by my side.
So i turn my head to the west,
still nobody in sight."
Moral of the story: Stay clear of colourful streamers, remove the carpet before hand and make sure the maid is coming in the next day!
Ja maican'ing me crazy! This Thursday, Jamaica celebrates its independence, or rather is emancipation (you have to say that word in a Jamaican accent, its fantastic). I spent yesterday in the company of my caribbean chomies learning all about what being "Irie" entails.
Being the accent slut that i am, i think i may have even started talking like them, lilting tones and everything! It was great mascarading as a Jamaican, i had given myself the name, "Marcelline" and was scoffing on fish cakes like my life depended on it. Sadly, i was ousted when it came to real introduction time, there's nothing Jamaican sounding about the name Vimbai, apparently.
My consolation was that everyone thought my name sounded exotic (clearly they haven't met the other 1 million Vimbai's frolicking on the earth's surface!).
Either way, i love all Jamaican folk and wish them a very happy and Irie independence!
Chickens, have an awesome, lekker Monday and behave ;-)