Christmas day was honestly a very civilized affair

– I went to an amazingly colourful church in the morning with three friends. There was bunting strung up from beam to beam over the small wooden benches which were packed bottom to bottom. Babies bound to the brightly clothed backs of women – and girls. Clashing colours mix on the same patterned cloth that is wrapped around the waist. But they are always incredibly well-tailored to exact measurements with incredibly flouncy sleeves and intricate waistbands. Skirts are flared, fishtailed or tubular, short or long and tops are sleeved or strapped, laced around the neckline or sliced straight across. The mix of bunting, baby and blaring colours created quite an intense atmosphere inside, doubled, if not trebled by the vibrant singing and dancing shared amongst choir and congregation alike. Anyone who has been in an African church will probably be nodding their head as I mention this. I don’t want to labour a point – partly because I don’t want to step into the arena of patronising exoticism – yet sometimes just listening to the deep voices bandying about beneath the church’s corrugated-roof gives you that fluttering heart-expanding feeling.


We joined up with some other friends over on the other side of the bay, where I produced possibly the most exciting and necessarily element of the day – Christmas crackers and mini mince pies, courtesy of a package from mum. There were 12 mince pies and twelve volunteers (a set of parents and a UN worker were deigned to be unworthy of receiving one). Six crackers worked out perfectly – though I did threaten to steal a hat if I didn’t actually win one (It’s ok, my strength and natural skill at Christmas cracker pulling shone through despite little festive practice this year and I didn’t have to commit the first sin of Christmas day).

We went swimming in the lake before feasting upon tasty Nile perch and sharing the small Christmas presents we had bought for each other, Secret Santa style. In fact we were so comfortable in this small lakeside restaurant we didn’t really leave – we were playing charades in camp-fire light right up til about 11pm (which for us is massively late out here!), most of us having been able to speak to family too back home.

This is just really to prove that I can do classy. Because the next few days couldn’t really be classed as being too chic...