I DIDN’T BELONG, UNTIL I DID
Christmas was Quiet
In Nigeria, Christmas is noise, laughter, new clothes, neighbours knocking on your door with rice and meat. You wake up to music, shouting, and someone frying meat outside.
In Ireland? It was silent. No buses. Shops closed. The streets were empty. It felt like I had been put under house arrest.
I tried to be festive. Made rice and chicken. Played Nigerian gospel music. But it wasn’t the same. I remember being wrapped in a blanket on my bed, just staring at my phone. Scrolling through pictures of friends and family celebrating without me. My phone became my best friend that day, my connection to everyone and everything I missed.
I won’t lie, I cried that Christmas. Not because I wasn’t grateful, but because I was grieving something I hadn’t realized I lost: the feeling of belonging. That loud, joyful chaos that only a Nigerian Christmas can bring.
Since then, I’ve learned how to take care of myself better, how to recreate little pieces of home in my own way.
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