By Scheherazade Ishoof Khan

WHENEVER the holidays roll around, most families have at least one person who ensures that the festivities, food and family are gathered and treasured. That togetherness and love are always the prevailing underlying tenets, regardless of any grinchy-ness that may occasionally spice up the celebrations.

In our family, that was always my grandmother, Jastina Khan. She absolutely loved Christmas and pampered her family with whatever she could, disregarding infirmity and the maladies of age. Her Christmas tree was a jumble of branches most of the year, but when December started, she would extract it from storage and have the dust shaken off and the sections reattached.

Usually this process took some time as the tree was always hastily stored from the year before.
Although I am not much of a black cake aficionado, as a child, it didn’t escape my notice that she soaked her fruits, usually carambola, raisins, cherries, an assortment of ripe, sweet fruitiness that was steeped in a potent brew for some time.

Then, out would come her hand grinder, and the bucket of fruit metamorphosed into a deliciously fragrant paste that would then be used to bake her specialty: black cake. A tiny slice of that usually made for a happy, slightly giddy child! One of my grandfathers was a crotchety old Portuguese gentleman named Jerry DeNobrega.
He was married to my grandmother’s eldest sister, and throughout the entirety of his life, he played an important role in our family.

More than likely, I gained an early appreciation of coffee, as he would brew the most delicious local coffee, liberally lacing it with sugar and milk. For many years, I thought this was simply ‘Portuguese tea’ which was how he explained it to my skeptical grandmother when we would be running around, unwilling to ‘take on’ her threats of bringing out the wild cane if we didn’t get to bed.
Papa, as we affectionately all knew him, would snicker, fully well knowing he had played a part in our endless rambunctiousness. But, this special treat was only during the holidays, as our parents certainly were not going to serve their children Pomeroon coffee disguised as tea.

He was constantly tinkering with his car, so much so that years later when I read Naipaul’s short story about ‘Uncle Bhakcu’, one of the denizens of ‘Miguel Street’, I could have sworn he knew Papa. Except that my grandfather definitely knew whether or not the ‘tappet was knocking’, and would definitely be able to fix a loose tappet; testimony to the superior skills of our Guyanese mechanics!

Every Christmas he and Mama (our great-aunt) would bundle all of us children into his latest masterfully repaired vehicle and drive us downtown to look at the showcase windows at the Fogerty’s and Bookers stores. We usually went at night, stopping at Brown Betty afterwards for an ice cream cone. Once, I saw the most amazing lifesize doll in the windows, it was literally the most fascinating thing I’d seen in my life, all 6 years of it. But, now that I think back on that, there was something slightly creepy about this pale doll who bore a vague resemblance to some of our modern day horror movie dolls…alrighty then, let’s move off of that particular memory! Papa would set garlic beef several days before Christmas, consisting of generous bits of garlic, local thyme and vinegar.

That marinated until it was thinly sliced and fried on Christmas morning, the fragrance unlike any other. Eaten with slices of buttered fresh plait bread was easily the most heavenly breakfast one could imagine. This particular tradition was transplanted to Miami when we migrated, as my father then took up the mantle of chief garlic beef fryer. There will always be those who, in an attempt to adhere to the faux piety of some self-imposed orthodoxy, claiming that Muslims should not celebrate the dubious, possibly pagan-linked birthday of a Prophet whose original teachings actually constitute part of our belief system. Many in my family would vehemently and immediately disagree with this notion.
Religious holidays create memories and remind the young of how beloved they are.

Though, my grandmother Jastina was the main Christmas guru, insisting on taking us to the stores and buying whatever fanciful sartorial choice we made. She was from the school of thought that we girls should dress in lovely pastels and colours that reflected happiness.

She regularly scolded me for my penchant for wearing black, perhaps in an attempt to dissuade me from future fashion faux pas. While her homemade black cake was easily the most intoxicating scent in the kitchen, she also prepared the staple, a truly Guyanese pepperpot. It was a dense stew, richly flavored with large pieces of beef and the omnipresent wiri wiri pepper. She had spent a considerable amount of time in the Northwest, helping to build the business she and my grandfather founded, and had a uniquely knowledgeable understanding of what went into a ‘proppa’ Guyanese pepperpot.

Her other specialty was the most succulent crab soup possible. Although most of the time eating it was spent cracking the claws, amassing a large pile of shells and a well-rounded tummy, topped off with ice cold Icee soda or swank. So much of my best holiday memories are of food, it’s no wonder that we’ve never been known as a ‘skinny’ family! When we migrated to Miami, the other activity that then became a tradition was our Christmas expedition to Lionel Playworld, which was rebranded as Toys r Us.

My parents would set us free, a bit like opening up the gate to a wildebeest paddock as we tore around looking at everything, evaluating what seemed like a limitless number of choices before finally settling on what our little hearts felt would bring us the most joy. While we can all relate to the endless foodie choices, chocolates, lights, visits, the excitement tangible in every bit of air; what makes Christmas in particular so special is that it is a commemoration and celebration of one of civilization’s most humane, benevolent people.

It doesn’t require a belief in divinity or miracles to appreciate that goodness, kindness, compassion, giving of what one has been blessed with, sharing with those less fortunate, in every way, are universal values we can try to inculcate in our lives. Setting aside negativity and greed, even for a small instant is certainly something we should all make an effort to do. There is a need for more humility, simplicity, honesty, and less arrogance and selfishness in our world. Those values make us better humans, regardless of the faith we choose to follow.