As a child, Christmas was without a doubt my favorite time of the year. My earliest memory is when I was nearly 5, living in Brussels with my mum and sisters. Christmas was always one thing you could guarantee I would fully participate in.

With tales of Santa coming down the chimney holding bags of goodies for well behaved kids, why wouldn’t I cooperate? Not even the wealthy rat that gave me money in exchange for my teeth could surpass the excitement I had for Christmas. It was special.

At the age of 4, I was well passed the ‘baby Jesus’ story and felt it was better suited for kids still learning how to talk. I wanted Santa and Santa alone! Towards Christmas, I was always on my best behavior lest my mum called Santa warning him against bringing me a single thing. Because apparently she had his phone number (at least she said she did).

I never really bothered to check and see what was on that piece of paper she claimed had Santa’s number but at that age, you believe just about anything! So my bed was always laid, I took my shower without a fight, food was almost finished from my plate (had a bit of a struggle in that department) and just to be extra good, did my homework without being asked to!

So you see; I was virtually Santa’s favorite girl. I remember that Christmas morning like it was yesterday. The first thing was to look out the window for snow (and maybe even Santa’s footsteps which he so conveniently forgot to leave). But snow or no snow, Christmas was Christmas. Though, many times I prayed for snow so I could build a snowman but it didn’t happen and it was okay because Santa didn’t base his visits on snow!

Now, let me make it clear that it really wasn’t about the presents (well at least not all of it). It was more about who gave me the presents! I was just so fascinated with Santa. I mean the man wore a red and white suit with black boots and a black belt (who does that?). He had a beard so white, the snow was jealous. He rode on a sleigh pulled by reindeers (who has that?). He has a house at the North Pole with elves as his helpers. And the winner; he had a treat and toy making factory in that very house. Need I say more?

Anyway, I had spent the entire night wondering what I was going to tell that great man come morning so you can imagine my frustration when all I found was a well decorated tree with presents beneath and my mum standing goofily beside it with no Santa in sight. My mother’s attempt to tell me I had over slept and Santa was in a hurry fell on deaf ears. I had been good. That’s all that mattered. He should have waited for me because I had been good.

I had been dying to tell him everything I could possibly talk about. I had rehearsed all night (hence my over sleeping perhaps). Now my chance was gone and I would have to wait another year to get it. Plus, I wasn’t good at being good all the time if you know what I’m saying. Next time, I told myself.

Later that afternoon, my mum gave me something she said Santa had asked her to give me. A letter.  It read,
  
Dear Rachel,
I am truly sorry I couldn’t be there when you woke up. I had errands to run around the world as you haven’t been the only good little girl. I really hope you liked your presents and I promise to make a personal visit even if it’s not Christmas just to come and see you.
                                                                                                                               Love Santa
I’d like to say, that every Christmas was the same after that, with me questioning Santa’s presence and my mum writing the same old letter. I later became sharper and realized that Santa was none other than my mum. But the question till I was 6 was ‘where in the world is Santa’?
rachelgaruka@yahoo.co.uk