FCYU-Feature Story

The First Good Christmas
I finally found a home for the holidays

By Aquellah Mahdi

Even as a young child at home with my family, I never had a good Christmas. I was told we were Muslims so we didn’t celebrate Christmas. But we didn’t celebrate anything else, either.

When I came home from school with a toy from Santa Claus one year, my aunt said, “Christmas is a lie! No wishes come true, especially not for naughty kids like you.” That’s when it came to my attention that Christmas must be a fairy tale. I think that’s when the hopes my sister and I had for a true Christmas were smashed.

We had believed that Christmas was supposed to be a time when you got a lot of nice things from your loved ones and sat around a big tree decorated with gifts, or even like a Christmas on TV where something wicked happens but good prevails. But our aunt let us know that wasn’t for us. She acted like we were dirt, like we didn’t matter. As I got older this was the reason the holidays seemed like days of torture.

Alone for the Holidays

In the last four years my sister Taheerah and I have been in 11 foster homes and three group homes. We were always in a new home around the holidays. We were unexpected guests in people’s homes, and they never had time to buy us anything.

I would tell my sister “Merry Christmas,” or we would just try to forget about it. We did try to buy each other gifts, but we had hardly any money. We would buy a lot of cookies, ice cream and cakes and blame ourselves for telling about the abuse that put us in foster care. After all, if we hadn’t talked we wouldn’t be alone watching Lifetime for the holidays. We had no one but each other, and occasionally that was not enough.

Over the holidays, we’d be sitting in the group homes or foster homes with different people walking in and out, looking at us like we were some kind of disease. It was hard. Many of the kids in our group home had someone to come get them, but my sister and I had no one. All we could do was just stare out our window and wonder what it would be like to wake up on Christmas morning with gifts, hugs and smiles from everyone.

I imagined a big breakfast with eggs, bacon, pancakes, waffles and fresh juice. The fantasy was so real. I could just smell the aroma, but then I would hear a voice: “Aquellah, wake up, come get breakfast. It’s cereal.” My dream was over. Just like that I had to wake up and face the real world.

Those Damn Sweaters

I remember one group home in particular that treated us on Christmas like we did not mean anything to anyone. The staff cooked the little we had in the house for our dinner and made rude comments about how they had better food at home, which made me mad.

On Christmas day, each girl was given a sweater. Only a sweater! Taheerah and I were given the same damn color—purple—and the staff’s excuse was, “It’s because you’re twins.” Those purple things were hideous; they were big and made you look like Barney or an old grandmother who sits all day knitting those sweaters.

The girls got so mad that they started cursing, mainly because they had all written wish lists and were hoping to be getting at least one item from the list.

“I hate this insulting house. You people treat us like animals! All we get is a damn sweater!” one of the girls yelled.

“Calm down or I will call the police!” the staff yelled back. “I’m going to write you up. Don’t make me go and get my book!”

That night, many of the girls violated curfew or ran back to their abusive parents’ homes. On Christmas you just don’t want to be alone, be insulted or feel like you don’t have family.

No Home but the Group Home

My sister and I were thinking about going home to see our family, too, but we had to stop and think of what could happen if we did. We wanted so much to have a safe place to go home to, but we really didn’t have that.

Our dad could abuse us physically and our mother could abuse us emotionally with her accusations about how we broke down a happy home. Our siblings could just reject us. We hadn’t seen our brothers that entire year and our mother had brainwashed them to believe that my sister and I were either crazy or just wanted all of us kids to be taken away for no reason.

We came to the conclusion that it was for the best that we stayed put. We had nowhere else to go, no home but the group home.

A Precious Place

The following year we were blessed to be placed in a foster home with Yolanda Crosby, who I call Precious because she is just phenomenal. But when we first came to her home I thought I’d be out of there in about two months. I was doubtful about her rules.

Yolanda made me do different chores like cleaning the bathroom, kitchen and living room. Then she’d be on my back about my education.

I worried that if she was that strict, she wouldn’t accept me as I was. I didn’t realize that having someone care about my education would make me want to do more to pass. I didn’t realize that I would wake up to the Christmas that I’d wanted since I was a child.

Actually, as the days of December came, I got a little anxious. Yolanda was talking about presents but I hadn’t bought presents for people in years. I thought, “What if they don’t like them?” I was scared. Yolanda never did tell me what to get her for Christmas. She just said, “I want to make sure everybody is happy.”

The Christmas I’ve Always Wanted

I stopped feeling scared as the days got closer to Christmas. The tree was put up: white with colorful lights and ornaments. A music box under the tree played Christmas carols that I’d never really heard. As the hours counted down to the big day I’d waited for my whole life, I could only sit in front of the 87 gifts and imagine what was inside the ones that had my name on them.

On Christmas Eve, Yolanda allowed my foster sisters, Taheerah and me to open one gift each before we went to bed. “Here Aquellah, this is yours,” she said. It was a cute bra and panty set. I had never really had my own gift before, without sharing it with my twin. I was so happy. I thanked her and gave her a hug. I felt like crying.

In the morning, Yolanda gave my sisters and me the rest of our gifts. We were so nervous we didn’t want to tear the wrapping. Afterwards we all tried on our clothes like we were America’s Next Top Models preparing for a series of photo shoots. We had bacon, eggs, and pancakes for breakfast—it was a feast made for a queen, I must say.

Then we went to Yolanda’s mother’s house for a big dinner. When I entered the hallway, the smell of turkey, ham, macaroni and cheese and all kinds of pie filled the air. I couldn’t believe it. It smelled like my dream of home.

Inside it looked like Christmas with her white tree, just like Yolanda’s only the ornaments were red and blue. She greeted us with kisses and hugs. We all exchanged gifts and sat around to hear stories about Yolanda when she was a little girl. It was wonderful. It felt like something I’d missed, but was starting to learn.

A New Perspective

That Christmas changed how I view the holiday. I didn’t see it as another day for my sister and me to punish ourselves, but a time for us to be around people who care for us. It meant a new start.

Hopefully this Christmas will be as joyful and tranquil as the last. I believe that my wish came true and Santa Claus gave me a complete family for Christmas, and blissful times to remember.