Someone asked me what my holiday plans are. I don’t have a lot. My ideal Christmas would have a fierce harmattan, and find me curled up in an armchair with hot Bournvita and a good book. The problem with harmattan is the drying out of my hair. Yeah, I’m wearing my hair out. All the salon women keep inviting me to come and do “Christmas hair” but I’ve outgrown such societal pressures, thank God. My earliest memories of Christmas are of feasts. Food, food, food. Peppery jollof rice, cold Coca Cola, peppered chicken, chin-chin, buns, cake. To honour that tradition (and my obsession with good food), this Christmas, I plan to cook. I think there’s something spiritual about cooking for the people you love. There’s a connection it forges, from your hands to their stomachs. And watching their eyes light up with appreciation, is priceless. Instead of giving out hampers, I plan to give out boxes of cookies, cakes and muffins I bake myself. Mostly I’m giving to friends of my family who have been more …