My plans for the weekend surrounded completing last minute shopping and baking. These acts thrust me into my wholly female world. It began when I awoke prior to the sunrise on Saturday morning to bake cakes. As I beat my butter and sugar, I remembered the many Saturdays as a teenager when my mother left me at my recently departed grandmother’s doorstep to help her bake. She took pride in her craft and taught me the art. Her advice was simple ‘it’s all in the butter and sugar. Once those are beaten well, you can’t go wrong.” I follow those sage words to this day. As I stood over the beater and creamed the butter, her words came back to me and my home was filled with her spirit.

I bake for my extended family and a number of friends. This is a bit of a dilemma because my oven cannot hold all the cakes and I have to schedule my baking around my friend’s oven availability. I ran over to her house with my pans filled with batter in a very jovial mood after much tasting and testing of the rum filled batter to ensure that I had the right consistency. Her sisters were visiting and they teased me as I filled her oven with my cakes. The room was filled with laughter of our shopping exploits and our discussion centred on our Christmas preparations. Our words ran from the present to the past. We spoke of memories and most importantly the feast. We reminisced on the preparations and traditions. As we spoke, we realised these were the traditions passed on from our mothers and grandmothers. In that room, as we spoke, their spirits filled the room with the memories of their love.

One of the sisters told me that she would be spending the following day with their mother preparing the black cake. She confided that her mother still refused to use a beater and beat the butter and sugar by hand. We laughed and I said: ‘You’ve got to get her to use a beater. Get her into the modern times.’ She shook her head and said, ‘She thinks it’s best by hand. And she makes a good cake.’

After I had all my cakes in the oven, I met my sister to complete the Christmas preparations with a visit to an elder relative and last minutes shopping. The chatter during the drive was filled with the upcoming day and again, our preparations. What we had and had not done. The gifts we had thoughtfully bought and again we reminisced about the past and the preparation for the feast.

I love Christmas. When I was a child, I loved the gift giving and spending the day with my cousins. There was a table laden with food and drinks I loved. I associated them with that time of year and I looked forward to the season so that I could enjoy those special treats. When I entered my teens, the gift giving was fun but I enjoyed the day as I socialised with my cousins and truly relished the feast. I remember my mother, grandmother and aunts in the kitchen preparing the food and the men on the balcony drinking and talking.

Now, I am an adult and I enjoy being one of the women in the kitchen. I am now one of the caretakers of this tradition, another generation carrying on the tradition and bringing the festival to life. In that kitchen, we talk of life, sometimes we laugh at the gifts from the men that never seem to hit the mark, our children’s love of Christmas and our recipes. There are times when the chatter is gay and other times when it is serious. It is a world that we created as women and when I was allowed into the kitchen to prepare food, I became an adult. I would not have taken such an active role if the womenfolk in my family were not as involved in this tradition. I embrace the day and moments leading up to it. But as I’ve aged, I’ve admired the dedication of the women to traditions and keeping tradition alive. In this day and age, with machines to make life easier, the traditions are easier to keep. In my childhood and before, tasks were not as simple but womenfolk still found the time to make the special foods that keeps the traditions alive.

The simple fact of life is that we, women, have nurtured Christmas and all other traditions to bring them to life. We never ask for applause at the end of the meal. No one ever remembers to tell us thank you and we don’t care. After everyone leaves the table, we are the ones who clean up the mess. Our happiness lay in the joy of our family and the knowledge that we are the keepers of the tradition.

This Christmas, as you wrap your gifts and enjoy the feast, remember the tradition came to life through the hands and thoughts of our mothers, grandmothers, great-grandmothers, our entire lineage. They passed on the importance of the family and the gel that keeps it together through the symbols of the feast and gift giving.

Womanhood should celebrate their contribution to a season that brings people together. Let us enjoy the laughter and celebration of the feast that we brought to life.