My first encounter with Father Christmas took place in the unlikely setting of Kabul. It was in the 1970s and my family and I were visiting my grandmother, who lived with my uncle and his half-Australian son. Apart from his blond hair and the fact that he called his father daddy instead of baba, my cousin was an ordinary Afghan child. He spoke our language, had a Persian name and was involved in fights like local children. Nothing seemed unusual about my cousin until the day I discovered Father Christmas through him.
That day I saw my cousin playing with an exotic toy. The toy seemed perfect for him because like him it was a mixture of the east and the west. It seemed eastern because it was a bow and arrow, a traditional Afghan weapon. It seemed western because it was made of plastic rather than wood or tin, materials normally used in making Afghan toys. I became excited and envious. Who gave you that? I inquired. Baba Noel, answered my cousin matter-of-factly.
Also by Nushin Arbabzadah on openDemocracy:
- An Afghan perspective on the British monarchy (May 2002)
- Multiculturalism in medieval Islam (December 2004)
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Baba Noel? The Noel part of the name was unfamiliar, but the baba bit was normal enough. In Afghanistan, children often called their father baba. The most famous baba was Ahmad Shah Baba, the founding father of Afghanistan, whose poetry we children recited at school. The matter-of-fact tone of my cousin suggested that this Baba Noel was also well-known and that I was stupid not to know him. So I assumed that he was one of our numerous family members. When did he come? I inquired, fearing that I had missed him and the presents he seemed to have brought for us. I didnt see him, my cousin replied. He came in the night when I was asleep and left the present under my bed, he said, sounding as if such behaviour was natural.
It was not unusual for kids in Kabul to receive presents from relatives. At Eid at the end of Ramadan, we often received new clothes from our parents. And the safe return of a relative from abroad was an occasion on which gifts from foreign countries could be expected. But receiving a gift outside these occasions was unusual, especially when the gift was given only to one child. But its not Eid, I said. Yes it is, my cousin answered to my surprise, Not here but in Australia, and there everybody is celebrating. I had no choice but to believe him.
That day, my cousins connection to Australia seemed advantageous for the first time. It provided him with an additional holiday and the exotic presents that came with it. Are you the only one to whom Baba Noel has brought a present? I asked, hoping to hear that he had left me presents too. No, he said naively, Baba Noel brings gifts to children all over the world.
This clumsy introduction to Father Christmas caused the following emotions: excitement (since there was the prospect of receiving plastic toys); anger (since the Baba had forgotten me); envy (since he had not forgotten my cousin). It was unfair; I had to tell my father about it. Why did Baba Noel bring my cousin presents but not me? I protested. Instead of becoming angry with the rude Baba Noel, my father simply said, Baba Noel doesnt exist. Your uncle put the toy under the bed because its a custom in Australia. He told me so himself. And so in turn, the discovery that Father Christmas did not exist caused another series of emotions: relief (since I had not been forgotten) and triumph (since the real baba had won against the fake Baba). Baba Noel does not exist! It was your father, I informed my cousin the next day. To my surprise, the proud young warrior with the plastic bow and arrow burst into tears. I, by contrast, felt reassured because life was back to normal again. There was no mysterious baba who came in the night, leaving behind gifts for some children and forgetting others.
*
A decade after my clumsy introduction to Father Christmas so swiftly followed by his demystification my family fled Afghanistan and sought refuge in Germany. For me, Christmas then became a time of loneliness. My German school-friends, who usually disliked the company of their families, changed their attitude at Christmas. They dutifully visited their grandparents and spent the whole festive season ensconced with their families. So at Christmas, my new friends became unavailable for cultural reasons and I realised that even though they believed themselves to be radically individualistic, in reality they were part of a society. They shared a culture of Christmas which brought them together and excluded us non-Christians.
But my feelings of isolation didnt last long, because I soon discovered an unexpected link between myself and Christmas. It happened on a freezing day at a Christmas market in Hamburg. Looking for a present, my eyes fell on a red hairclip displayed on a stand. I decided to buy it. Its a birthday gift for myself, I said to the vendor. Ah! You are a Christkind! he exclaimed with a smile, and gave me the hairclip, refusing to take any money for it. He told me that because I was a Christkind, I should have it as a present.
I later found out that the word Christkind referred to people whose birthday coincided with the birthday of Jesus. Years after learning about the Eid of Baba Noel, I also learned that Christmas was about celebrating Jesus birthday. I held the hairclip, a gift from a stranger, in my hand and for a second it seemed as though what my cousin had said many years ago was true after all: Baba Noel did give presents to all children around the world.
Kabul, Gerry Geronimo
