This week, Chris and I flew to Canada to celebrate my 65th birthday. For the past few days, I’ve been telling my friends that I’m now officially “old” and that makes all my complaints legitimate! Seriously, I don’t feel a year over thirty-five. And I’m quite possibly just 2/3 through my life–and with all the medical advances every year, I might live until I’m ninety-five. So, I’m doing my best to keep healthy and thankfully am recovering from my tibia plateau fracture in June.

While helping my mom pack up her apartment to move to assisted living last year, I came across some wonderful photos from my childhood. One of them was of my seventh birthday, and I saved it to post today. At least I don’t think I’ve posted this before, but, I’m becoming more forgetful as the years go by!

Home Is Where the Party Is!

As I walked with my mom across the packed dirt of our backyard, both of us carried a laundry basket full of wet clothes. The hot, African sun already hung high in the sky, warming my world.

We climbed the four steps at the back of our walled-in yard and walked out to the upper part of our property. Tufts of grass and weeds dotted an expanse of dirt for fifty feet and then began the rows and rows of cornstalks owned by the villagers. Immediately to our left grew a banana tree and a short tree I loved to climb. To the right were two pits my dad had dug, both were five feet wide, long, and deep. One pit was for all our garbage and the other for tin cans, plastic tubs, and such things. We headed straight ahead to our big clothesline with four long, parallel hanging wires.

I picked a damp T-shirt out of the laundry basket and shook out the wrinkles. “Mommy, can I have a big party for my seventh birthday? The school year at Kent Academy was SO long, and in three weeks, I have to go back. I’ve had a fun, summer holiday, and this is my big chance to celebrate!”

Mom flashed her wide, pretty smile. She looked as beautiful as ever, wearing one of her short-sleeved, knee-length dresses with a belt at the waist. She took the damp T-shirt from me and pulled two clothespins from her apron pocket. “Sure, Sweetie. Who would you like to invite?”

I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand and grabbed another cool T-shirt from the basket. I was already sweating from the humidity, even though I wore shorts and a sleeveless, cotton shirt. “There are only two girls on our compound who are close to my age, and they’re on furlough this month.”

“Remember how Betsi, the big girl next door, helped you settle in at KA?”

“Oh, yes. Can I invite her?” Then I realized something and frowned. “I don’t know if she’ll want to come to a little kids’ party.”

“Let’s invite her. I’m sure she’d like to celebrate your birthday with you.”

Mom held out her hand for another shirt. “What about the Oladipo family in town?”

“That’s a great idea!” I swiped my hand across my forehead again. “Deborah is fun even though she’s younger than me. I like that she has my same name. We can invite her brother and sister, Bosede and Yemi, too.”

We finished hanging all the clothes in the basket while my thoughts drifted away planning an exciting party with friends from the mission compound and Egbe town.

* * *

On Friday, I woke to the morning birds chirping their song. To-whit, to-whit, to-woooo. That beautiful tweeting meant I was home. I didn’t hear those birds at KA.

And today is my birthday! I lay in bed for a few extra minutes, wide awake and dreaming of my party the next day.

Finally, I got out of bed and hurried into the dining room where my three brothers were sitting at the table. “Happy Birthday, Debbie,” they called out.

Little Cindy gurgled and banged her spoon on her tray. “Bebbie! Bebbie!”

The kitchen door swung open and Mom came out carrying a plate piled high with buttered toast. “Tonight, I’ll serve your birthday dinner, Sweetie. I know what you want–anything with cheddar cheese!”

“Can I have macaroni and cheese?” I tugged at her apron as she put a slice of toast on my plate. “I don’t need meat. Just everything with cheese! And it has to be the canned cheese. You know–the bright yellow cheese in the blue tin that says Kraft®. It melts so smoothly.”

“Of course you can. I knew you’d want that so I saved two tins for this special day.” Mom put the last piece of toast on eight-year-old Larry’s plate.

I thought for a minute. “But I like Nigerian food too. Maybe you could make fried plantains and pounded yam with red-pepper gravy. But make it hot and spicy the way Mama Olu does.”

Larry rubbed his tummy. “Yay! Mom, that sounds delicious.”

My two younger brothers, Mark and Grant, nodded in agreement. Cindy banged her spoon on her tray again.

Mom sat at the head of the table next to me. “Unfortunately, I don’t have the large mortar and pestle needed to pound yams with. Nor do I have the strength!” Mom flexed her arm muscles and laughed. “I’ll fix you a cheesy meal.”

* * *

On Saturday morning after breakfast, Mom and I stood at the kitchen Formica® counter and mixed the ingredients for my favorite cake—chocolate with chocolate frosting.

“Last night you made the best dinner ever!” I licked some batter off the spoon.

She pushed a lock of brown hair off her forehead. “Everything had cheese in it, just the way you like it, Debbie!” She poured the batter into two heart-shaped pans and slid them into the oven. When both pans were cooled, Mom spread chocolate frosting over the first layer, stacked the next one on top, and then spread the rest of the frosting all over.

Using a plastic pastry tube filled with white frosting, she wrote “Happy Birthday, Debbie” on the top in her beautiful handwriting. Then she screwed another tip onto the plastic tube and made thick squiggly lines all around the top and bottom of the heart cake.

After I set the table with plates and our metal tumblers, Dad walked out of his home office. “It looks like we’re ready for Debbie’s party.”

I grabbed his hand and hopped from one foot to the other. “Yes, the table’s set. But why are these glasses called tumblers?”

Dad’s eyes twinkled. “Because they tumble over so easily when you set them down.”

I laughed. “You always have a funny answer. But I sure hope no one spills their lemonade today.”

Mom untied her apron and hung it on a hook behind the kitchen door. “There! We’re ready for the guests.”

When the first friends arrived at our front door, a little girl called through the screen window. “E ka san (good afternoon)! We’re here for Debbie’s party!”

“E ka san, Oladipo family!” I held the screen door open. 

Mom stood behind me and said, “E kaabo (welcome), Deborah, Bosede, and Yemi. Se dada ni (I hope you’re doing well).”

“Dada ni (we are doing well),” Segun replied. He shook my mom’s hand and lowered his right knee in a little bow.

When they put their gifts on the corner coffee table, butterflies fluttered around in my tummy. I couldn’t believe the party was just for me. 

I thought about when Larry had his birthday in March at KA, he didn’t get a party. He was only allowed to choose three kids to sit with him at dinner. Of course, one was me. He got gifts from Mom and Dad, and he got to choose his cake flavor. But that wasn’t the same as a big party at home with friends like I was having.

Then I wondered if Betsi would be able to make it. At KA, she had come to my rescue in the dorm and cheered me up when some other girls were teasing me.

One by one, friends entered and sat on our living room chairs and the cool, tiled floor.

Finally, one last guest arrived. It was Betsi. At the door, I hugged her. “I didn’t think you’d want to come to a little kid’s party.”

“Of course, I would! I kept an eye out for you at KA, and you’ve grown up so big in the past year.” She patted the top of my head and flashed her dimpled smile. “You’re not a little kid anymore!”

Dad said, “Let’s start with a game, Pin the Tail on the Donkey.”

He tied one of his large, white handkerchiefs around my head, covering my eyes, and then spun me around three times. I got dizzy and stumbled to my right, then to my left, but finally caught my balance as I held my hand out to the side as Daddy told me to.

When I touched the wall and taped my tail on, everyone laughed. Pulling off the blindfold, I spied my tail on the donkey’s nose. I felt so silly.

After all the partygoers had a turn, Dad announced, “Larry, you’re the winner.”

I crossed my arms and stuck out my tongue at my brother. “You always get to win. You’re a cheater.” Then I remembered that at KA, I felt so lonely and homesick, and I cried often. One day I even cried because I felt sorry for all the times I had said mean things to Larry at home.

I ran to his side and threw my arms around his waist. “I’m sorry I said you cheated. I don’t want to have sad memories when we fly to school again.”

Larry hugged me back. “That’s okay, Sis. I don’t either.”

Mom walked to the dining table and waved us toward her. “Everyone come over for a slice of cake.”

Dad had his camera on a strap around his neck. “First I want all of you to gather around the back of the table for a photo.” 

After we all were served, we sat in the living room again and carefully ate birthday cake while trying not to drop crumbs or spill our drinks.

At last, I opened my gifts. I couldn’t stop smiling as I thought, these friends brought gifts just because it was my birthday. All these people gathered to celebrate me. That’s the best gift of all.

And I felt a twinge of sadness for Larry who would never get a big party.

When the celebration ended, Mom and I stood at the door and handed each person a little baggie of toffee candies as a party favor to take home.

“E dupe (thank you). O dabọ (goodbye),” each guest said as they waved goodbye.

“E dupe pupọ (thank you very much),” I said. O dabọ.”

After dinner that evening, we had family devotions on the couch. Dad read a children’s Bible story and Mom prayed.

Then my brothers and I brushed our teeth, crowding together at the sink. Meanwhile, Mom put baby Cindy in her crib and covered it over with a mosquito net.

Mom and Dad followed me into my room and tucked me in with just the cool sheet. The crickets chirped a full symphony in the warm night, with the bright moon lighting up the room. Village drums beat in the distance as if saying, “Happy birthday, Little Debbie.”

Leaning forward, I gave each of my parents a kiss. “It was such a fun party with wonderful friends.”

Then I yawned and lay back with a sigh. “Thank you for the birthday cake, Mommy. Thank you for organizing the games, Daddy. I felt so special today.”

“Good night. Sleep tight, Debbie, dear,” Dad said.

After they left, and I snuggled into my pillow, my stomach tightened. In just three short weeks, I’ll leave my home and my family.

Now that my birthday was over, I would have to start planning to fly to boarding school again.

It took a long time before the rhythmic beating of the drums in Egbe town lulled me to sleep.

Looking Back

For thirteen years, my family lived in southern Nigeria on a large mission station on the outskirts of Egbe (pronounced egg’-beh), a small town flanked by rocky hillsides to the east and savannah brush to the west. The mission station consisted of two large compounds, one with a high school for Nigerian students and the other with a hospital that served sick and injured people for a hundred miles around.

A wide, dirt road ran out from Egbe town, through the mission station, and then further into the bush. The hospital compound sprawled along the left-hand side of the road, and the high school fanned out to the right. The homes for the hospital staff were built in a semi-circle behind the hospital, and the homes for the teaching staff similarly flanked the back of the school campus, called Titcombe College (TC).

Along with around twenty other missionaries and Nigerians, my mom and dad worked at TC—my dad as a math and science teacher, and my mom as an English and art teacher. She was also the secretary, and I liked it when I got to help her sort papers in the office.

Toward the end of every August, all the missionary kids were flown 300 miles north to attend the mission boarding school called Kent Academy (KA), and we returned for four weeks of Christmas vacation. Then back to KA for the spring semester and home again for three months in the summer. I dreaded the separation from my parents. To me, Egbe was my home, my life. The months away at school were just a parenthesis – a pause – putting life on hold until I was reunited with my family and all that was dear to me. Even though I made friends with the girls in my grade at KA, I felt desperately alone in the crowd. I would have much preferred to live at home with my family. The best days of my life were those spent at Egbe.

Over the subsequent years, I enjoyed celebrating my birthday on August 12 while at home for our summer holidays. But that joy was always overshadowed by the knowledge that I was the only one among my siblings who had a party at home.

Mark’s birthday is mid-September, Grant’s and Larry’s are in March on the same day since Grant was born on Larry’s birthday, and Cindy’s is in April. So once they started boarding school, they no longer had a birthday at home. The only bright spot for them was that Mom managed to get gifts onto the SIMAIR planes that regularly brought supplies to Egbe for the hospital.