Feliz cumpleanos to me

So this birthday was a memorable one, that's for sure, if only for how uneventful and, I'll admit it, downright depressing it was.

I had been bothered for a few days by a cough and head and body aches, but I woke up on Saturday, my birthday, feeling worse than ever. It was a gray day and already drizzling outside, which is a bad sign. Rain in the afternoon in Guatemala during the rainy season is an almost certainty, so when it rains in the morning, it means you're in for a full day of rain.

In an attempt to celebrate, I fixed myself some yummy French toast. Then I was determined to do laundry, despite the rain, and after breakfast, got started scrubbing in the outdoor (but thankfully covered) pila. None of the family members I saw wished me a happy birthday, but I wasn't too concerned. I figured we might have a little celebration at dinner, and perhaps it isn't the tradition here to wish a person a happy birthday various times throughout the day as it is in the States. I felt confident that they knew it was my birthday because I had mentioned it a couple of times to the sister as we did the dishes earlier in the week, and I had seen her tell the older mother. The sister had even told me, “We'll get you your birthday cake to celebrate.”

After a while of washing, I was feeling quite crummy and exhausted and dispirited by the rain, so I contented myself with washing only undergarments and socks and left the rest for another (perhaps sunnier) day. I passed the afternoon coughing in bed, sleeping and reading, and the rain continued. As the day wore on, I became less confident that the family was aware it was my birthday, as no one said anything.

My fears were confirmed when I was called down to dinner and there was no cake in sight. To make matters worse, for dinner I was served my absolute least favorite dish, in fact the only thing they make that I truly dislike. I don't know what the Spanish/K'iche' name is, but privately I call it “Pig Skin and Fat Chunk Soup”, which is basically what it is. A thick, greasy tomato-based soup filled with bits of tough, chewy pig skin and chunks of fat or tendons. Everyone else seems to really enjoy it, but it's a hard one for me (especially considering I've been mostly vegetarian for the past couple of years). The one perk was I also got a baked sweet potato. After finally getting down the soup, I relished the sweet potato and pretended it was my birthday cake. I also didn't have to wash the dishes, but I think this was due to the fact that they could tell I was sick and I finished eating later than the others.

I really can't feel too sorry for myself because, considering the number of mis-communications I've dealt with here in Guatemala, I shouldn't have trusted that mentioning it once to someone several days beforehand was good enough. It's also possible that this family doesn't celebrate adult birthdays because of their religion (I've heard some Evangelicals don't). And although I saw them celebrate the small girl's birthday, I haven't seen an adult birthday celebration in the family yet. Still, I find it odd that no one said anything. I don't think a friendly “Happy birthday!” would have really done too much religious damage.

I did get some wonderful phone calls throughout the day, including one from my first host family that almost made up for everything. They passed around the phone so every person could enthusiastically exclaim, “¡Feliz cumpleaños Yessica!” And of course my family back home called and were wonderful and sympathetic and serenaded me over the phone with “Happy birthday to you...”. And technically, I had already celebrated my birthday a week before, out dancing and drinking with my fellow volunteers in Panajachel, which was a great time.

Still, this rainy, coughy, clothes-washey, lonely birthday is not going to make my top 10 list.