Imagine seeing Christmas on TV. The snow and fat man who came down a chimney to have cookies and milk. This was what you thought Christmas should be. Then you realise no snow falls in Malawi and our homes barely have chimneys, and if they do, they’re shined with red polish and used as a display. Yet you still ran around telling mum and dad about it. Oblivious to the efforts they put in; to make your fantasy come alive. A fantasy they didn’t learn as children but saw as adults as they bought TVs just so we could dream of things like Santa and his reindeer. That’s what Christmas is about.


A love that did whatever it could just so you believed that Santa does come to Africa and enters via the kitchen window . Where dad left the plate after eating the cookies and forgot he was meant to leave it by the tree. But you didn’t care. You had toys and thanked Santa for it.

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