Deda Mraz at the Embassy

festive-pensive

Growing up in socialist Yugoslavia in the late 80s, we did not do presents around Christmas, we did them around New Years. We did not have Santa Claus, we had Deda Mraz (Grandpa Frost). It was not a Christmas Tree, but a New Year Tree. After the gift giving, the parents would be happy to leave the kids with their new toys and go out somewhere to usher in the New Year with their friends.

While in Sarajevo, the places where your parents work would also organise presents from Deda Mraz. Those were fun afternoons, with snacks, sweets, plenty of other kids and a present that you would get to go on top of the ones you would get at the family celebration. One year, through my mom’s work’s Deda Mraz, I got a large raised relief globe. I loved that textured spinning sphere.

This particular end of year celebration was in Addis Ababa, at the Yugoslav embassy on Tito Street in Kazanchis. The entirety of the small Yugoslav community in Ethiopia was invited to celebrate and wish for the best in 1992 (ironic considering what was in store). Even though not all the kids’ parents worked for the embassy, they organised a Deda Mraz (don’t know about the mask), with a box full of presents, one for each child, and the obligatory and always awkward “Sit on my lap while I ask if you were an obedient child comrade this year.” Back in 1991, with those huge specs, I at least looked the part.

I remember the Yugoslav embassy being huge: a mansion, a large central staircase, acres of garden space. It was both residence and office - a classic estate. I believe it was a present from Emperor Haile Selassie to Yugoslav leader Tito at the height of their relationship as the non-aligned nations during the Cold War. As a family we spent many social engagements here until the siege of Sarajevo began. Then we never drove through the embassy gates again even though we stayed in Addis till 1999. It was not ours anymore.

While we were ushering in 1992, outside the embassy it was the fourth month of 1985. Ethiopia has its own calendar, due to their orthodox Christian heritage and a different calculation of Christ’s date of annunciation. The land of “13 months of sunshine” also marks the start of their new year around the 11th of Gregorian September. And so this Yugo gathering was in a little time bubble, ahead of the present and out of sync with the rest of the land. Yugoslavia existed more in 1985 than it was going to in 1992.

I have a feeling I was not overly excited about my present that year. A sword, even with it being able to light up in multicolours, was not the weapon of choice of my favourite Ninja Turtle-Donatello. Neither was it a He-Man sword, which I could have been excited about. This was also a rare time in my childhood that I got a toy “weapon” as a gift. My mom was not a fan of such things. This Yugo embassy Deda Mraz really did not do his research.

Is there a word out for our key individual timeless thought/emotion expressions? Something that doesn’t change with time. Some sequence of facial expressions that we can’t hide as we mull over thoughts and feelings. Even as our looks age, even as our context shifts, this stays the same. Something that is a key performance of who we are. It is undeniably us. Our “tell”.

What is happening here: Was I wondering what my Muslim ancestors would think of this New Year ritual? Was I sad that the year was over? Did I know what the next one was going to bring? Was I bemoaning the fact that a year is just an arbitrary construct? Did I feel existential before I knew what it was? Disappointed with my present? Discover melancholia? Or maybe I just wanted to leave the party and go home…

I always had this particular “tell”. At 19, 29, 39, all years in between, I have gone through it. Maybe someone even witnessed it, something recorded it. Seeing this is like traveling back to the source - to its first ever performance. But even if I could go into some kind of dialogue with this 9 year old me (there is a word for that - daguerreologue) in the hope of making an adjustment, there would be nothing to say. Nothing to be done. This was going to be me.