In 1987, Anna, Tchapo, and I lived in a little village called Binabarba, outside of Anna's home town of Bassar (I jokingly refer to Binaparba as a bedroom community for Bassar). We lived in a mud brick, four room house with a little straw-roofed porch attached, which gave an excellent view of Nafi, the mountain in our backyard. Anna's sister Tchopou, who might have been 10 at the time, was also living with us. She was the one in charge of watching Tchapo, or watching the house, when we were out and about.
One day, a good friend was visiting (John Leahy, another Bassar-based Peace Corps volunteer), and we got to talking about birthdays. We asked Tchopou "When's your birthday?", and Tchopou replied that she didn't know when her birthday was. John and I stared at Tchopou, then at each other, and simultaneously said "Tchopou, today is your birthday!!"
John and I set off down the road to the bar in town, and picked up drinks for everyone. I'm sure that Tchopou got the choicest piece of meat in her stew that night, and was generally treated like a queen. I imagine that she relished her "Cocktail de Fruit" (a mango/papaya/fruity soda, made in Togo), and was (perhaps for the first time in her life) treated to all the respect (if not all the presents) given to the focal point of the American birthday party.
We've seen Tchopou several times over the last 20 years, on our trips back to West Africa, and she remembers well and fondly her birthday party in Binaparba, 20 years ago.