Christmas, my dear aunt, was fabulous

Dear Aunt Sophia,

I greet you with deep respect and warmth in the sacred name of our Nyamwezi ancestors, led by the great and fearless Chief Mirambo, whose wisdom and courage still echo in our blood, and in the name of Limatunda, the guardian spirit of our people, who watches over our land, our cattle, and our children. May their blessings rest upon you, your household and all who share your roof.

It is with a full heart and joyful spirit that I sit down to write this long letter to you, for my recent journey to our beloved village of Ukumbisiganga stirred many memories, emotions and stories that I feel compelled to share with you in detail.

We began our journey in Dar es Salaam, that restless giant of a city which never seems to sleep. As you know, life there has become increasingly difficult, and during the days before our departure, the city was gripped by a severe water shortage.

Water, the very source of life, has turned into a rare and expensive commodity.

People wake up before dawn with buckets and containers, hoping that the taps might release even a trickle.

Water vendors roam the streets like traders of gold, selling a few litres at prices that would have seemed unbelievable just a few years ago.

The heat, the noise of traffic, the endless honking and the impatience of the crowds all weighed heavily on us.

In those moments, my heart longed for the open skies, the calm rhythms and the familiar smells of home in Ukumbisiganga.

When the day of travel finally arrived, it felt as though we were shedding a heavy skin.

As we moved farther away from Dar es Salaam, the chaos slowly loosened its grip on us. The air seemed to breathe again, and so did we.

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Long hours on the road gave us time to talk, to laugh and to remember stories of our childhoods. Each passing mile felt like a step closer to ourselves.

By the time we entered Tabora region, my heart was already dancing in anticipation. I could almost hear the voices of our people and feel the red soil beneath my feet.

My dear aunt, our arrival in Ukumbisiganga was nothing short of emotional. The welcome we received from our people was warm, genuine and deeply moving.

You know how it is in the village, no one hides their joy. Smiles spread quickly, laughter comes easily and greetings are long and meaningful.

Hands were shaken firmly, embraces were shared and blessings were spoken without hesitation.

I felt truly seen and truly home. My wife was equally touched, and she kept saying how such warmth cannot be bought or found in the city, no matter how modern it becomes.

My dear aunt, we celebrated Christmas in the most beautiful traditional way, just as our ancestors would have wanted.

There was no rush, no artificial decorations and no unnecessary noise. Instead, there was togetherness. The days were filled with preparation, storytelling, and shared labour.

The highlight, of course, was the food. Juicy meat was roasted slowly over open fires, seasoned with skill and patience that only village elders seem to possess.

Alongside the meat, our traditional beer flowed generously. Brewed by village experts who have inherited their knowledge through generations, the beer was rich, wellbalanced and deeply satisfying.

I know you know that for us the Nyamwezi, it was not just a drink, but a symbol of unity, celebration and tradition.

It was during these joyful moments that one of the most unforgettable incidents of the trip occurred, an incident that will make us laugh for a very long time.

My son, Yassin, clearly underestimated the strength of our traditional beer.

Carried away by the festive mood and encouraged by cousins and uncles, he drank far more than his body could handle. At some point in the night, he quietly disappeared.

At first, we thought he had simply gone to rest, but as time passed, concern began to grow.

We searched the house, the yard and even nearby paths, calling his name again and again.

Hours passed and worry started to replace laughter. Eventually, someone suggested checking the cow shed, more out of desperation than expectation.

To our great shock and amusement, we found Yassin fast asleep there, snoring peacefully.

He had made himself comfortable on the ground, using a calf as a pillow as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The calf, calm and unbothered, sat quietly beside him.

It took a moment for us to fully process the scene before laughter erupted.

Even we the elders, who tried to appear stern, could not hide their smiles.

Carefully, we woke him and guided him back to the house, and the story has already become part of village legend, one that will surely be told for many Christmases to come.

Another deeply touching part of our visit was seeing my dear nephew Milambo and his family.

The happiness on their faces when they saw me and my wife was priceless.

We sat together for a long time, sharing news, catching up on life and reflecting on how far we have all come.

Before long, we brought out the gifts we had bought for them in Dar es Salaam.

These were simple things, but they were given with love and thought.

The joy and gratitude with which they received them reminded me that the true value of a gift lies not in its price, but in the intention behind it.

Their children’s excitement filled the room, and in that moment, I felt a deep sense of fulfillment and connection.

My dear Aunt Sophia, I hope this letter brings you closer to us and allows you to feel as though you walked these paths with us, tasted the food, heard the laughter and shared in the joy.

May Limatunda protect you, and may the spirit of Chief Mirambo guide us all. I look forward to the day when we will sit together and share these stories face to face.