Merry Moments: Glühwein, McDonald's & Memories

30 October 2026

Stories from my first Christmas abroad Christmas is over, or is it? In today’s news or media cycle, it feels like the moment a date passes, the ability or responsibility to digest or contend with said day/month/season is over. At least, that’s how it feels to me. So the holidays came and went. Gifts exchanged, meals shared, arguments entered and hashed (hopefully), champagne popped at midnight, a new year began. Yet, for me, I’m still there. Being away from home for my first Christmas brought on some VERY strong feelings. Maybe because 2025 changed my life so drastically, the ripples of each action I took are still visible and felt. I’m still processing the holidays, still understanding my experience, how it shapes my outlook on integrating into Switzerland. And so, I hesitated to share this piece, because everyone is solidly in 2026. But I am not. I wrote this piece before the holidays and then spiraled so deep I couldn’t post it, but here it is… an honest glimpse into how I felt holidays went. Happy Holidays…. I hope. It’s the most wonderful time of the year. I’ll be home for Christmas… if only in my dreams. This year, I made the decision to stay in Switzerland for the holidays. It’s my first Christmas with my husband (yay!) but it’s also the first one away from home. When I made the decision, it felt right to commit to being in Switzerland a full six months before returning to the U.S. And between you and me, I worried that if I returned during the holidays, I wouldn’t get back on the plane. As I sit here, so far from home, and reflecting on Christmases past and present, I have a new sense of understanding of all those sad holiday songs. I also have a sense of awe about our ability to create the lives we want to live and how sometimes, happiness and contentment are simply in our ability to be exactly where our feet are. Christmas Traditions, Past As a bit of background, Christmas is a big deal in my family. Without any extended family (grandparents, aunts, cousins, etc.) in the States, my holidays growing up consisted of a patchwork quilt of other African families from the diaspora, be it Zimbabwe, Malawi, Lesotho, etc. We would gather at each others homes for big, loud celebrations with traditional (and American) food, comforting each other in the years money or time didn’t stretch enough to fly home to our various countries. Everyone was welcome. One year, for either Thanksgiving or Christmas - I forget which, my parents hosted eight or nine families when they expected four or five. We welcomed the “extra” families, friends of friends of friends, and I remember looking at my mom’s face as the doorbell rang for the seventh or eight time, and I could tell she worried about how the food would stretch. That year, we celebrated with over 50 people, the food managed to stretch, and it remains one of our most memorable holidays. For years, these loud, chaotic celebrations felt ordinary because it was our only way of celebrating. I know they were special, in part, because of the chosen family we created each season. Then 2020 came, COVID hit, and our celebrations became small and intimate, just our nuclear family. Even then, perhaps to compensate, my sisters and I filled our house with off tune singing, silly stories of our adventures in adulting, and all manner of self-made joy. On Christmas Eve, we would scramble to finish wrapping presents without being seen, and on Christmas day each of us prepared a dish for Christmas dinner. Over the past five years we got used to our smaller celebrations, although each of us quietly missed the larger celebrations. Christmas Traditions, Present Which brings me to this year. My first Christmas in Switzerland away from my parents and sisters, but with my husband and my new family. And while I knew, I KNEW this would be the hardest period of my first six months, I did not quite grasp how it would feel. New Christmas Traditions One of the beautiful things about being newly married is starting your own family. And before my parents and sisters get too excited, I mean, just me and my husband as our own family unit. We develop our own traditions, blend our cultures and our customs to build something new. Naturally, Christmas is the perfect place to test this blending. The key to our success to this point has been understanding and managing expectations. While I expected to put up a Christmas tree after Thanksgiving and fill the apartment with Christmas music for a month straight, that is not the Swiss way. Here, most families put their Christmas trees up for just a few days. So we agreed to put our tree up in early December. (As we put up the tree, I cried for the first ten minutes when I realized putting up my own tree meant I would not be home for Christmas.) While I expected many Christmas party invitations, instead we often congregated at outdoor Christmas markets, filled ourselves with glühwein, and reminisced over the joys of the year. Fries and Feelings: A Quick Tangent The other night, after German class, I found myself feeling particularly sad. The class went well enough, but I walked out of the building feeling particularly heavy. One week from Christmas, and I missed home. And then I saw them, the golden arches. A little sign of America and familiarity after two hours of German. Before I could think twice, I crossed the street, my mouth watering at the thought of just a small packet of fries. Mmm the salty, potato goodness. I entered my order at the kiosk, too sad to even lament at the absence of human contact and waited for my take away order — medium fries with ketchup and garlic sauce. I stood just the counter so I wouldn’t have to worry about listening for my order number zwei-tausend-sieben-hundert-und-zwei or 2702. I thought “I should eat them now, they’ll get cold and soggy before I get home.” Happy with my logic, I opened the bag, took a deep breath and for once, gave thanks for American capitalism that created a uniform McDonald’s experience. With the first bite, I felt the tears spring to my eyes. Finally, something familiar. I crossed the street to the bus stop, got on the bus, and continued to reach for the fries, the motions almost automatic and slightly frenzied. In those bites, I tasted holiday shopping with my mom and sisters, movie dates with friends, late nights on U Street all at once. As I approached my stop, five minutes later, I wondered, had I stopped eating once? Had I had a coherent, conscious thought? Nope. In that moment, my inner narrator popped her head up, cleared her throat, and took her position stage left. “In that moment, Noma wondered if she had just had her first binge eating experience? As she stepped off the bus, she reached blindly into the bag, expecting more fries, more comfort and none came. A cold feeling, having nothing to do with the 34 degree temperature, swept through, and the emptiness returned.” (The Narrator is a little dramatic. Like a loving grandmother — quick-witted, far too observant, and eager to judge, with love.) In that moment, I realized … oh shit, I’m really sad. For whatever reason, the McDonald’s fries had conquered my emotional damn and everything came flooding out, even a narrator. In that moment, all the sad Christmas music and sad Christmas movies made sense. When I got home, I let myself cry it out only briefly. I had too much to be thankful for to cry for too long. I busied myself with a few tasks, numbed a bit with some Netflix and felt sure I would feel better the next day. When my husband came home I shared my McDonald’s moment. At first I shared it as a funny anecdote of succumbing to temptation, but when I quietly whispered, “it reminded me of home,” I began to cry. In that moment, and in the many moments to come, I realized (yet again) what moving abroad meant. Christmas Eve Eve The morning of December 23rd, exactly six months after moving to Switzerland, I woke up feeling down. My heart longed for familiarity of my family and our house at Christmas. And I felt guilty. Guilty for feeling sad, and guilty for feeling ungrateful. I worried my husband would think my sadness reflected my feelings on the move or worse yet, on our relationship (spoiler alert: he’s too emotionally intelligent for that). I cried again, resolved to be true to my feelings, and yet remember my gratitude. That afternoon we arrived at my in-laws place, as they graciously hosted us despite the fact that we live a 20 minute train ride away. In the evening, we went down the road to celebrate what I call “Cousin Christmas,” a tradition among my husband’s paternal cousins to gather for gift exchange and food. My husband’s youngest cousin had just moved into his family home. In an effort to be light hearted (fake it until you make it) and “be where my feet are,” I joined a game of Mario Kart with the kids. I was squarely trounced. Yet somehow, losing to a 10 and 6 year old respectively, really did lighten my spirits. The conversation flowed and everyone eagerly welcomed me to the tradition. As we sat down by the Christmas tree (lit with real candles!) for the carol signing and the gift exchange, I felt even lighter. With the off key carols, each gift opened, each giggle and each hug after exchange I felt my heart lift. We laughed loudly (for Swiss people), played the jukebox, and marveled over the local cheese maker’s spicy raclette cheese. This was it. The building of something new, with a new chosen family. The next morning, Christmas Eve, I woke up with a happy heart. Photo: Noma Ndlovu Photo: Noma Ndlovu Christmas Eve & Christmas Day In a new tradition for me, my husband’s family celebrates Christmas on December 24. We had a relaxed morning and enjoyed breakfast together, after which I drafted two versions of this post. When my father-in-law knocked on the door to offer me a glass of wine first in German then in French, (note to self, learn all German vocab associated with drinking), and I joined my mother-in-law in the kitchen to prepare the night’s meal. We worked well together, pairing my simple High German with her simple English, both content (and me slightly excited) to make this new Christmas memory together. In the evening, we all got dressed, my brother-in-law arrived and we popped the champagne before beginning our gift exchange. As we sat around the table for dinner, my heart filled with gratitude. I felt blessed to have the opportunity to have not one, but two Christmas dinners and to create Christmas memories a new. Generously, my mother-in-law accompanied me and my husband to church for midnight Mass. Although my family and I stopped attending church years ago, the universal experience of catholic mass warmed my heart. I didn’t understand a single word of the Mass celebrated in High German, but managed to kneel and stand and sign in English at all the right times. :) Photo by Noma Ndlovu On December 25, we woke up on the last day with my in-laws and celebrated with a lovely Christmas breakfast. After that, we quickly packed up and returned home. Although my heart was full, it felt strange to have an open calendar on Christmas Day. In what I’m hoping will become a new tradition, my husband and I opened the gifts from my family while listening to Christmas music and seated beside our tree. We video chatted with the family and packed for our trip to Milan the next day. Reflections Looking back with a little perspective, I can see the beauty and blessing of this first Christmas away. I see the generosity of my in-laws and cousins-in-law (is that a thing? Let’s make it one.) I see and feel the wonder in building my own traditions with my new family. In the moment it felt heavy and hard. Now, it’s a cherished memory of bonding and welcome. I share my experience at Christmas not to share a “woe is me” tale, but to share a part of my journey authentically. Even when you get what you want, and are deeply happy living in an answered prayer, moments of hardship still pop up. And that’s OK, that’s the balance of life and the beauty of it. How did you spend your holidays? Did you try something or celebrate in tradition? Share your story. Originally published on Substack on January 12, 2026.