The Rejected Gift by Maureen Kambarami

I grew up in a very poor family. I seldom had new clothes, not even on Christmas day like the other children. Most of my clothes were hand-medowns from my rich cousins. At home, we neither had a television nor a radio and when we wanted to watch TV, we had to go to the neighbor’s house. We had to wash our legs and feet with soapy water first before being grudgingly allowed to sit on the carpet. I don’t blame her at all; we were an obvious nuisance, invading her house daily like that. Because of the economic situation at home, I had to learn to crochet when I was 9 years old so I could help my mother raise enough money to buy food for the house; crocheting by candlelight until the dead of night while my peers slumbered.

By now you must be thinking, where was my father in all this? He was very much around and partly the cause of our poverty because of his love for the bottle, which made him stumble into the house during the wee hours of the morning daily. This nocturnal partnership that he had with the bottle also made him very abusive. Despite this toxicity in my family, my mother stayed in this lethal marriage for a good 14 years until one day she called me and my brother and sat us down. While I was still asking myself, what was the purpose of this meeting, she started crying and I knew that she was the bearer of dreadful news. However, nothing could have prepared me for what she uttered next.

Yes, I had expected that day to come, but I had also done my part begging, pleading, bargaining, negotiating with God in my little mind, and with my limited understanding. Tears started flowing down my cheeks like a waterfall. I was only jerked to reality as my mother shouted my name when she realized I had slipped into another world. She continued with the specific instructions of what I had to do the following day; instructions which I tried unsuccessfully to block from my ears. However, the more I blocked my mother’s words, the more they rang non-stop, repetitively. That night, sleep evaded me completely. I tossed and turned, changed sleeping positions many times, but the fear of the unknown petrified me and would not allow my mind to rest. The following night, the same insomniac pattern repeated itself. It is only when we were finally on the overcrowded rickety bus, that rattled and shook so much that we all had to hold on to the railings for dear life, that sleep came to me like a thief and I resignedly fell into a deep slumber. A new chapter of my life was about to begin; my mother had finally decided to end the sham of a marriage. It was frightening for me as a child to leave my comfort zone, my friends, and all I was used to, and embrace life in a remote rural area where my maternal grandmother lived.

Upon arrival at my grandmother’s house, she welcomed us warmly, only for her demeanor to change once she heard the reason for our visit. Unfortunately, I continually had to endure her animosity and hostility as I was a constant reminder of how my father had wronged her daughter. Most of the time I felt as if I was sandwiched between a frying pan and a blazing fire. Adjusting to rural life was one thing and trying to survive without money was another. We found ourselves at the mercy of family or friends, and we had to do all kinds of odd and menial jobs for survival. Towards Christmas, when all my cousins and friends were busy chatting excitedly about their Christmas presents, I remained silent, for I knew that there was no way I was going to get a present unless a miracle happened. All I wanted for Christmas was a pair of shoes and an unending supply of food for my family. I was lucky because, on Christmas eve, one of my mother’s sisters came from the city for a visit. I prayed so hard that she would give me the present that I wished for. We all gathered around the fire as she opened the presents, she had brought one by one. I kept my fingers crossed, waiting for my turn in anticipation, fidgeting uncontrollably. Then my turn came, and she handed me a packet of sweets… A packet of what? Was this a joke? For a moment, I thought she was teasing me to evoke a reaction, but when she moved on to the next person, it then sunk in that it was not a joke. Suddenly, there was a clatter as if something had fallen and everyone looked down. I also did the same, and when my aunt saw that I had thrown her gift down, she lost it. She told me a whole litany of the depth and breadth of my ungratefulness and at that moment, something in me broke. “Ungrateful? For what? Buying me a present I do not need? Did it ever dawn to you to ask me what I really want for Christmas? Just because I am poor, I must accept what you give me regardless of what I need? We do not even have food in our house, and now I must be grateful for a packet of sweets?” I then stormed out and left everyone thunderstruck by my outburst.

I reminisced about this childhood incident recently as I was preparing my Christmas gift list. 2020 has been an exceedingly difficult year; many people have lost their jobs, cars, houses, or businesses, and the struggle to survive is very real. Some people just want money to pay their most pressing debts as a Christmas present. Others just want food to feed their families. Some families would be so happy to receive help with their gas bill, telephone bill, school fees bill, or clothing account bill. Before buying someone a present they do not want or will not use, it is better to ask them what they really need for Christmas. Yes, there is more joy in giving than in receiving, but there is greater joy in giving a present that will truly bring joy to someone’s Christmas and make a difference in their situation.

Maureen Cresencia Kambarami is a Social Worker with extensive experience in family counseling and therapy. A woman after God’s word and principles, she is passionate about writing Christian articles and believes in telling authentic stories to inspire and uplift others.