The day started quiet. I slept in, and then, upon thinking about what was supposed to happen that day, I became catatonic and decided to stare at a line of ants climbing a bedroom wall and then take a nap for a bit first. Then I chain smoked about 5 cigarettes. You would have thought I was facing something more difficult and scary than keeping my birthday.
“Keeping a birthday” – that’s what they call it down here. A person or parent who is celebrating a birthday or anniversary will customarily arrange a lunch, drinks and music to share out with “special invitees” and then those who come around later, pulled in by the music and promise of getting offered some drink. On your special day, you are the one serving and organizing and sharing, and doing so in an entirely modest, non-attention calling way.
I think one way I fit in well here is my tendency to be non-attention calling as well, but then I also am plagued with a general air of indifference on adhering to many socially constructed proceedings. Meaning, “meh,” is usually my response of choice when thinking about how to celebrate my birthday, for example. So long as I’m with friends, it’s cool. And, seeing as how I’ve already thrown out so many of my past ways/ habits/ traditions/ manners of life here, not needing to do things in a certain comfortable way any more, scrapping that for (temporarily) adopting new lifestyle practices of my current surroundings, my attitude overall has been mostly passive/laissez fare for celebrating my birthday while in Guyana. I was new enough to get away with it last year, but - when in Guyana… you keep your birthday.
My village was certainly willing to help me keep it. I was not in need of supplies, manpower or ideas. Miss Inez, who was also celebrating her birthday around this time, offered to set some cari for me, and mentioned keeping our birthdays together. Russian offered to donate some cari for me as well. Brian Duncan offered to go fishing to catch food to serve. Junita offered her restaurant as a location for the celebration as well as helping with the cooking and baking of a cake. Lucy was automatically assumed co-party planner with me and immediately began using words like “we can do this,” or “we’ll get so and so to help us.” This was the talk about a month before; it was very gratifying. (Hence the upbeat references in that video.)
But, you know me. I didn’t know whose offers to cash in on, and so I basically cashed in on no one’s offers. I namby pambied around until the last minute, deciding on if I’d keep it this Saturday or the next, and then I couldn’t decide if I’d even have a meal. I didn’t want to put for the effort, no matter how easy the effort actually was. I couldn’t wait for it to be over. I resented having to do this for everyone else, knowing it was culturally expected of me, not wanting to put myself through ‘nuff stress (and then upset that I considered such an event “’nuff stress”). Ergo, the ant-staring, the nap, the cigarettes (sorry, Dad – it’s not a habit, I swear!) and the procrastination on taking action. But then, the easy-going, last minute flow of Guyana that I’ve come to both hate and love overrode all other issues and both saved me from carrying the brunt of the “blame” for poor-planning itation, and carried me through the day, into the arms of my village for the night.
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