A Very Happy Un-Birthday

“Cumpleanos Feliz, Cumpleanos Feliz…” As a group of my closest Dominican friends sang "Happy Birthday" to me in their native tongue, I reflected on how very unbirthday-like my birthday was for me this year and delighted in the fact that I was having so much fun in spite of the unconventional celebration I chose to have.

My birthday fell on the same day as the Superbowl this year (Feb. 1st), meaning that most of the people with whom I would usually choose to celebrate my birthday were gathering in the capital anyway for the weekend. It would have been very easy for me join them and have a group of people (some of whom I barely know) sing "Happy Birthday" to me during one of the Superbowl commercial breaks, but this year I wanted something different. I decided to celebrate “campo-style” in my little pueblo of Bayahibe, with the people who have become my closest friends here.

The celebration started around midnight on Saturday night/Sunday morning. I was just getting ready for bed when I there was a knock at the door. I opened my blinds to see one of my friends, Fabricio, standing there, grinning from ear to ear. “Felicidades,” he said, and gave me a hug. He told me that a group of my friends were planning to come “hacer buja” (make noise) outside of my window at midnight, but true to Dominican form, one of them didn’t show up, another fell asleep, and so the other few gave up. So Fabricio decided to come on his own. Just the thought of them planning to sing happy birthday to me outside of my window at midnight (whether or not they came through with it) made my little heart happy.

The next morning at around 9:00, my phone rang. Jovanny, who works with the association and wakes me up at 6:00am each morning to go for a walk, was calling from the capital. “I’m sorry I won’t be there to celebrate tonight,” he said. “Save me some cake.” About an hour later, another knock at the door. My best friend’s 10-year-old son Sendy had walked over to my house just to wish me a Happy Birthday. “Felicidades,” he said, giving me a hug, "que cumplas mucho mas" (and many more). And the warm wishes continued. All day was like that - people coming by my house or stopping me in the street to wish me a happy birthday. One of my friends who owns a small restaurant told me to stop by that night so that she could “brindarme algo” (offer me something to eat/drink). All day I felt loved and celebrated.

In the afternoon I took a trip to the beach alone with Abbie. I was catching the last rays of sun and enjoying my book, when I noticed that group of Dominicans in nice clothes (not in their swimsuits) was gathering near the shore. One of the members of my kids’ club came running over to greet me. I asked him what was going on and he informed me that a group of women from the church, his mother included, was going to be baptized. I sat back and took in the scene from my spot in the sand.

It was one of the prettiest ceremonies I’ve ever seen. They had convened under a tree on the far shore of the cove, in the shade of the setting sun, which was hitting the water at just the right angle to make me to have to shade my eyes to watch. The pastor was dressed in a white robe; the women to be baptized, in their best dresses. He stood in the shallow waves and preached, raising his hands on cue, praying intermittently. They stood on the beach, barefoot, dresses blowing in the breeze, nodding occasionally and responding with “Amen.” A group of witnesses gathered behind them – family members, neighbors, friends. A little 2-year-old brown girl in a pretty pink dress with perfect curls waded daringly in the water before being snatched up by a young woman in a sarong. As soon as she was put down again, she charged towards the inviting ocean once again, short little legs making tiny strides. Soon the women, led by the pastor, joined hands and waded to chest-deep water. One after another, they were fully submerged and with the guidance of the pastor, brought up again, refreshed, sparkling in a combination of sunlight and saltwater – a symbol of devotion to their respective Christian journeys. It was a beautiful scene.

I was fortunate enough on my birthday to have the company of my fellow volunteer and good friend, Dilana. She met me at the beach, with her 2-month-old puppy, Piña (pineapple), who chased Abbie all around the beach. We stayed until almost sunset, talking, watching our dogs play, fending off Dominican men, enjoying the moment.

When we got home, I cooked a Betty Crocker cake (I really don’t like Dominican cakes, so I decided to splurge on something more familiar) in my olla de horno (oven pot) since I don’t have an oven - white cake with candy bits and vanilla frosting. Yummy. One of my Dominican friends had been fishing the day before and gifted me a huge tuna fish, which I talked him into cooking for me for my birthday dinner. He brought the fish and I brought the cake and bottle of wine (yes, I made an exception to my New Year’s Resolution) and we all had dinner at my friend’s outdoor restaurant. Since sharing food is such a big part of this culture, I had already cut the cake and given a fourth of it to my neighbors before dinner, but that didn’t stop everyone from singing “Happy Birthday” to me before digging into what was left of it.

We ate our cake and headed to the discoteca, where danced the night away – bachata and merengue mostly, but they also played “It Wasn’t Me” by Shaggy – one of the few American songs they have – in honor of this gringa’s birthday celebration. While we probably would have rolled our eyes at this song in other circumstances, Dilana and I were relieved for the chance to dance freestyle to music of our own language. We ate it up.

So between my day at the beach, a Betty Crocker cake, fresh tuna fish, our night at the discoteca, “It Wasn’t Me,” and the mere lack of gringo presence on my birthday, I like to call this year’s celebration "a very happy unbirthday" ... and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.