I don’t remember my first birthday party. I have seen pictures and know that there was a cake that didn’t farewell from the experience. I remember when I was 3 and mom made me a Big Bird cake and I remember the year I had chicken pox on my birthday and got a cake with a pond on it becuase I wanted to go to the pond and go fishing but couldn’t. I remember the year that I had the Barbie cake. I’m sure you’re like me. Bithdays come and go and you assume people will say “Happy Birthday” and there is an assumption of at least a small celebration.
Kevin Msiega will always remember his first Bithday party and his first cake — lemon with blue icing. He should remember it — he was turned 13.
When I came to live with our kids in February one of my first decisions was that every one of them would have a birthday party this year. I soon found that wasn’t as easy as it sounded. When I asked them when their birthday was they didn’t even know. Not only have they lost their parents and their families but they’ve forgotten this important piece of themselves. So we sad down and picked birthdates. Kevin and I picked July 26th for him — my brother, Brian’s, birthday. 
When the day rolled around Kevin had to be reminded that it was his birthday — he’d forgotten. When he was reminded the huge grin never left his face. In the US the tradition is spankings for the years you are old. In Kenya, the “wash” you — which means buckets and buckets of water are thrown on you. The other kids jumped into this with relish until Kevin was past soaked.
After dinner Zitah proudly brought in her first “solo” cake (I’ve been teaching her as the birthdays came and went how to bake the cake and make frosting and rudimentary decorating — all that can be done without tips that I’ll take back next 
time.). After questionable singing the cake was devoured and the pans were licked.
Kevin says, “Thanks for helping me feel special and giving me a birthday!”
