My birthday was on November 24th. I celebrated a quarter-century of life on the planet. Julia and I were in Durban, on the eastern coast of South Africa in the KwaZulu-Natal province. KZN (that’s “kay zed en,” Americans), for short. We were at the beach, with two of her friends who she hadn’t seen for some time.

Susie and Sabee are friends Julia knows from working with Clowns Without Borders South Africa—an organization that develops and runs a variety of workshops, performances, benefits, &c. for poor communities in South Africa. They’re constantly playful, ready to jump into clown-mode at the drop of a hat. We walked along the beach, playing with funny walks, following games, and goofy improvised scenes all afternoon—periodically approaching groups of small children to teach them songs and dances.

When Susie heard that it was my birthday, she jumped up, “Why didn’t you say?!”

“Yeah,” Julia added, playing along, “How dare you have a birthday without telling everyone.”

Susie is incredibly sweet and thoughtful. We were sitting at a restaurant called Wahooz on the Promenade. Julia and Susie went to get drinks for the group and Susie slipped off on her own for a bit, unexplained. (Later: “I don’t like to lie, but if you don’t ask me where I’m going…”) When she returned, she brought two slices of birthday cake for the four of us to split.

As the afternoon wore on, slipping between serious conversation and goofing off, we finished all but a couple bites of the delicious and sweet cake. “Here,” Susie said, offering us the last bites of cake and smiling mischievously, “There’s starving children in Africa.”