The village film show (fiction)

"We'll be spending Christmas at the village this December." My dad announced it after devotion at night. My mood immediately switched from initial uninterestedness at the devotion to sadness and then anger. I gave my dad a quick and objective stare; thankfully, the power outage did not let him see my expression. My dad's words were alpha and omega in the house, which is exactly why I hated to come home during the holidays. At the age of 21, I was in my penultimate year of college, a tall and dark-skinned Nigerian girl open to opportunities to explore what society had to offer beyond the watchful eyes of my parents.

"Must I tag along?" I found myself asking, summoning a courage I did not know existed.

"Everyone, including you, Tolani!" My dad said it in a calm but firm tone. There, I knew my going to the village was sealed, and even though I did not like the idea, the least I could do was keep my mind open. The maximum number of days we would spend in the village would be 10 days, and work and school would resume early in January. That very night, I hissed uncontrollably at every thought of going to the village. I was helpless!

Two days later, my dad drove the family (mom, myself, and my two younger brothers, Kola and Bayo) in his 2011 Lexus Jeep through the 6-hour journey to the village. The last time I came through this route was three years ago, when I needed to obtain my local government of origin at the local government secretariat, which was 2 hours before my village. Coming through this route was not my problem; the fact that the road was bad made the nuts and bolts in me loosen at every entry into a pothole, which happened often. Thankfully, my dad put on the car's air conditioner. I wonder how my body would be exposed to the dust from the road.

It was a Friday, two days before Christmas, and we arrived at about 5 p.m. in the evening to the excitement of welcoming relatives and villagers.

"Oh, my daughter, you've grown so big and beautiful, just like your mother!" An elderly woman with obviously altered dentition in her late sixties said. Apparently she knew me well, but I had no idea who she was, and the least I could do was pretend along with the greeting.

"Thank you, ma." I replied with a smile, kneeling down. My back already aches from the numerous people I had to greet with my knees bent. This is Africa, and the value of culture and respect is held in high esteem. We were ushered into our family house. My uncle and his wife lived in a section of the house that had many rooms. My late grandfather was rich, had three wives, and had many children. I shared a room with my mom, while my younger brothers shared another with my dad.

The following day was uneventful, but by Sunday, which was Christmas day, the village buzzed with activities after the church service ended. The village had only one church, and that was where all Christians worshipped. The village had pockets of Christmas decorations and lightenings here and there, making me wonder how life in the village could bubble so. Here I saw an Igbo man in his shop blasting spirit-lifting Christmas songs with huge speakers, putting the mood of the village into the season. While I toured the trekkable span of the village, which had less than a hundred residential houses, some still mud houses while a few were built from local bricks, I saw many small children between the ages of 5 and 15 going in groups of fives thereabouts, moving from one house to another, greeting and helping out with chores. Most times, these children would be given financial tokens or Christmas chicken meat. This made me blush as memories flooded my mind as I remembered when I was much younger and anticipated gifts during the Christmas season.

"Excuse me, you don't look familiar." A voice behind me said gently, notwithstanding, causing me to startle. I looked back to see a young man in his early thirties, beaming with all smiles. He had a charming look, and his vintage shirt and jeans made me conclude he was also from the city. "He is too cute to be a village boy," I thought to myself as I retaliated his smile.

"And what gave me out, if I may ask?"

"For one, I've been strolling around this village for a week now, and I'm sure I would've noticed the stunning beauty you are if you're a regular."

"Well, you are right. And you are?"

"Femi Johnson, what about you?"

"Tolani Badmus"

"Mr. Badmus, the school principal?"

"Yeah, I'm sure everyone knows my dad." I replied, rolling my eyes up.

"Your dad used to teach here before he relocated to the city; many of our youths in the village were his students. So, how are you enjoying life in the village?"

"Not as bad as I thought," I admitted.

"Okay then, there's a film show I'm hoping to shoot tonight; if it's fine with you, you could come by." Femi said. "It's by 7 p.m. at the market square; I'm sure your dad wouldn't have a problem with that, big girl like you." He continued with a tease.

"Alright, I would try to be there." I replied with a wave as I continued my tour, even though I was directing my steps back home to rest. I knew there was excess food at home, brought by well-wishers and relatives; the food mom ended up cooking was just a little.

I told my dad about the film show, and he agreed with the condition that my two younger brothers go along with me, which I readily obliged. Femi was very excited when he saw me approach the venue. There were many children and young adults seated on locally made benches. I saw a small projector on a table elevated against its board, which played Christmas songs as a prelude to the movie. A generator set was a distance away, with long cords to supply power to the sockets where his laptop was also connected. I could see the excitement on the faces of the audience, and it gladdened me most that someone from the faraway city had the villagers in mind for a beautiful Christmas celebration. Sweets and ground nuts were passed about in a tray, and we all took a little as I settled in with my brothers in the open field. I enjoyed the gentle evening breeze, beating gently upon my exposed face and hands.

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Just a few minutes after 7 p.m., the movie began, bringing quiet and occasional whispers among the audience. The ninety-minute movie, titled "It's a Wonderful Life (1946)," got the audience, including me, glued to the screen. Thankfully, the moon was all bright, and immediately after the movie, everyone dispersed with whispers and murmurs about how interesting and touching the movie was.

"Thank you for this beautiful gesture; I loved the movie, and most especially, your heartfelt Christmas to the village." I said this to Femi before departing home with my brothers.

The next few days I spent in the village were mostly in the company of Femi. He gladly told me tales about our village and different households. Femi was a final-year student in engineering, however, at another college in town. Our friendship has continued even after we both left for the city, and though it's been two years now, the memory of the holiday spent in the village remains fresh.