My Two Birthdays

Victor Zonana

I have two birthdays! I was born in Egypt on July 27, 1940. That’s my actual date of birth. My official date of birth (birth certificate, Social Security, passport, etc.) is August 28, 1940. I did not know that until I reached the age of ten.

At graduation from grammar school (école primaires) I was to receive a certificate evidencing successful completion of primary school studies. The certificate bears a name and date of birth, handwritten in elaborate calligraphy. Before inscribing the relevant data, my fifthgrade teacher, M. de Bernard, called me to his desk and asked me to confirm that my birth date was August 28, 1940. “Not so,” I replied; “it’s July 27.” Somewhat baffled, he asked a second time and then asked if I was sure about that. “Of course,” I assured him; “I know my own birthday.” He took my word for it. The certificate bears the July 27 date (“27 juillet”). It is the only one of my official documents that bears my name and that date.

That evening, at dinner, I told my parents about the exchange with M. de Bernard, expressing amazement that the school records were so incorrect. And that’s when the truth was revealed — I was in fact born on July 27. At that time, we were living in Zagazig, a small village in the eastern part of the Nile Delta, about 80 kms. northeast of Cairo. The birth occurred at home; the delivery (a rather long ordeal I was told by one of my aunts) was managed by a midwife.

Within seven days of the birth, I was supposed to be vaccinated (perhaps smallpox?) and the birth registered with the local health authority. As it turns out, the doctor who vaccinated me failed to register the birth on a timely basis, a failure that would have subjected him to a monetary fine. He reached out to my parents and asked for permission to enter a later date and my parents consented. The open question was which date. I found out later that my mother, a superstitious type, had decided that neither August 27th nor an earlier date would satisfy her — bad luck could ensue. She believed that a date later than the 27th would bring good luck or at least ward off any bad omens. Hence, they settled on August 28, 1940. The doctor was happy; my mother was confident that nothing untoward would happen to me And I, of course, did not need to know, at least for a while, until the truth would finally be revealed, which was bound to happen, sooner or later.

These days, at home we continue to celebrate my birthday on July 27. Our children, who have been told the tale more than once, are occasionally confused, professing to know there are two of them, but sometimes not sure which is the real birthday. They call me on July 27 and on August 28 just to be on the safe side! And at Kendal I qualify for the birthday celebrations in both months – July and August.