Feliz Cumpleaños

Feliz Cumpleaños

My six-month volunteer teaching stint in sunny Pachuca, Mexico was to end on Sunday evening. The city had become a second home to me and the house I had rented in a small community twelve miles out of town was my sanctuary. Aside from an ATM the community had all I needed and I could manage days without having to travel into town. The time, however, had come for me to go home. Bags were packed, friends had been hugged, and arrangements had been made for someone to pick up my linens Sunday morning. Each and every item on the “To Do” list had been checked off. I was planning a quiet, solitary Saturday reading a book and watching movies before heading to Mexico City Airport and the inevitable crowds therein early on Sunday.

The universe, as it often does, had other plans. I awoke on Saturday morning, put on the kettle for a cup of tea, and opened my front door to enjoy the song birds in the tree that stood five scant feet from it. I had situated the kitchen table such that I always sat facing the door, watching the finches flit in and out of the evergreen.

I was greeted by a note prominently taped to the middle of said door. I translated it to the best of my somewhat limited ability. The photocopied note invited me to attend an neighbourhood gathering down the street at 5pm. I glanced at some other houses’ doors and saw notes taped there as well. After a moment’s thought given to my solitary plans, I decided to attend. It would, after all, be my last chance to practice Spanish in a social setting for some time to come. My adventurous nature had kicked in.

At about 3pm, I saw people carrying tables and folding chairs down the street. They were followed by several women carrying dishes of food about an hour later. I had not thought of food. I tossed together a potato salad. That had been popular at other potlucks I’d attended in Mexico so I figured it wouldn’t fail me this time.

I dug out clothes more conducive to a social event than to a solo evening of lounging about, careful not to mess up my packing. The clothes would go straight back to their assigned spot at the end of the evening. No harm, no foul in the management of packing.

I followed the music and the voices ringing with laughter to a grassy area between the rows of houses just a few doors up the street. Tables were crowded with folks of all ages, ready for a party. Some faces were familiar, many were not. Oh well, I was, after all, there to meet my neighbours, right? A bouncy castle was set up in a corner. A table, laden with food, ran along the length of the tall brick wall at the other end of the space.

A woman with whom I had a passing acquaintance was standing beside the food table. I approached her and presented my salad. She thanked me profusely, almost as if she had no expectation that I would bring a dish. I dismissed it as Mexican gratitude and politeness.

Someone appeared at my side and led me to a table. Everyone introduced themselves enthusiastically. We quickly established my level of Spanish - not without a lot of laughter - but we soon found a level of comfort and sociability.. I supposed this was a good idea after all just as someone placed a plate of enchiladas, beans & rice, and taquitos in front of me. Then I supposed it to have been a grand idea.

After I had finished my meal, I turned my chair to take in the rest of the gathering. That was when I saw the 6 foot banner: Feliz Cumpleaños, Poala. The table in front of it was laden with brightly coloured wrapped gifts and MINION decor.

I had crashed a birthday party.

I had crashed a CHILD’S birthday party.

I scanned the faces of those nearby and found a familiar one. I knew Hector spoke a little English. Between us, we established a couple of things:

I had mistakenly attended the wrong event and he - as the host - found that hilarious.

He bade me stay and enjoy the celebration. I love to bake but do not want to eat it all so I shared my home baking with the children on the street. Paola had often been a happy recipient.

After we had had our fill of the food, the party headed down the street where a couple of the young men had strung a piñata in a tree. We adults stood in a circle - giving the stick-wielders a wide berth - snd sang in celebration as the children, each in turn, sent candy hurtling out of the cracks they whacked into the MINION piñata’s surface. Finally it was in shreds and all the goodies that could be had, were. Adults and children alike piled candies into my hands. We wandered, en masse, back to the party site where birthday cake was brought out, a song was sung, and then cake was enjoyed by all.

As dusk turned to darkness, the crowd slowly dispersed. A few stayed behind to clean but my offer was rejected as I was a guest! There is no hospitality like Mexico hospitality.

What, you may well ask, happened to the neighbourhood meeting to which I was actually invited? At one point, shortly before we went to the piñata’s tree, I was chatting with a young woman and happened to glance further up the street. I saw a group of folks from the neighbourhood standing around quietly in front of a house - some with clipboards were taking notes - listening to someone speak. We assumed that was the event to which I had received an invitation.

As I slipped into my bed that night, I thought of the pleasantries of the evening and was struck, as I often was, by openness, friendliness and hospitality of the people of Mexico. The kindness of strangers is definitely a well-worn phrase when I recount stories of my time there. I am sure I would have been welcome to attend the “meeting” that occurred. I cannot imagine the reception would have been quite so animated.

Given the choice of the two events, I heaved a sigh of relief that I had crashed a child’s birthday party.