Birthday Disaster

Remember how I thought my sisters understood the 15,000 CFA goat? Remember that time, not so long ago, when I though my goat-related troubles were over? My dreams of a happy birthday, Chadian-style, were dashed against the mud wall when I returned home from school on the 19th and contentedly strolled to the kitchen hut to see how the preparations were coming along. I was greeted, not with cheerful, “Joyeux Anniversaire” or even a “Ah! Kate! Bonjour! No, it got turned backs and passive aggressive silence. When I ventured a “Comment ca va?” I got in response, “Ca va pas” - translated to “hey, how’s it going?” “It’s not.” And then the storm was unleashed-

“Kate, what kind of birthday is this? There’s no soda, there’s no haloo (whatever that is…), there’s not even peas (for some reason, they were really mad about the lack of peas). Give Adoum the money and he’ll go get the sodas. Serious, this sucks, give us more money.”

“Girls, I told you – I don’t have the money. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t do anything. Go get the money.”
“Isn’t this enough? I’m content with this good food.”
“We’re not.”

At this point, I walked out of the kitchen hut with tears of frustration in my eyes. I went back to my house, plopped down at my desk and sniffed and snuffled for a few minutes, trying to see it all through a multicultural lens, but missing my family and my home where birthdays mean angel food cake and quirky cars.

We ate the feast – okra sauce, some other meat sauce, Peas (I know! There were totally peas – maybe the girls were mad because they wanted more?) and Kissar (delicious crêpe-type things made from corn) – making strained small talk. Finally, Saphia said, “Kate, Give me money for batteries for the boom box. Our friends are coming soon and we want to dance.” Oh god- nooooo! The dreaded Fanani Sudanese crap music and the 5 other high school aged Chadian girls – a combination that always incites my sisters to yell at me to get up and dance while the whole assembly laughs at me. They love to make an ass of the nasara when there’s an audience and I hate it. So, I gave them the money for the batteries, put in my obligatory 20 seconds doing a mocking exaggerated Fanani dance for the crowd and retreated to my house, feeling tired and sad.

But, fear not, the birthday was completely salvaged by the party thrown for me by the rest of the Bol Nasara club last night. I was under the impression that we were going to the Haberkamps’s (the missionaries) house. But when Mary’s (development worker) chauffer came to pick me up, without Mary, we went to her house to “pick her up.” So, I walked into her deserted living room, figuring she was getting ready, and out popped the missionaries, Mary and Louise and Margaretta, the linguists! It was a surprise progressive dinner! So, it was salad and Karkanji (delicious local drink made from some flower) at Mary’s and then pizza at the Haberkamp’s. The grand finale was Margaretta’s house, which is a mud hut not much bigger than mine. She had made origami cranes and twirly bobs and hung them from the ceiling, making her little hut into a colorful, cheerful birthday oasis. AND, Monica Haberkamp made chocolate birthday cake and ice cream (milk, sugar, and gelatin- it wobbled as it melted!) Photos were taken, candles extinguished, and Happy Birthday sung. It was a really fun and sweet evening and made me feel very loved. Gifts included a kerosene stove, lotion, body wash, and homemade cards.