The Truth About Addis (Part I)

It has been as hard for me to sit down and write about our time in Addis as it is equally difficult to comprehend. Was that really only two months ago? It feels two years. It is surreal the progress that we have made and the different little girl we have now - and the different parents that we are now to her.

As a friend put it ... of course it took us so long for this adoption to happen because SHE was not adoptable yet. This one is meant for us and we are meant for her. Each day we are falling more in love with each other and she is fitting more into our family like that missing piece of our puzzle. It is still work parenting this child, but the progress we make each day is remarkable.  It really just feels like we now have a toddler with an adoptive/attachment spin to it. There are now many more hugs and laughs than hard times, and when there are hard times, we are approaching these situations from a place of love and compassion rather than a place of fear and frustration.

The scared, angry, defiant little girl that she was in Ethiopia, however, makes sense. Being removed from the situation in Ethiopia now and having the time to analyze what took place, my heart breaks for her and how it all must have seemed from her point of view. She did what she does best and what has made her transition into our family so seamless. Survival. She is a fighter. She's an independent, smart, relentless fighter. She was fighting against us and now she fights for us and finding her place in our family. She continues to fight to make sense and gain acceptance into this new life of hers.

And then there was (is) grief. I think. Honestly, I wish I understood if and how she was (is) grieving - or if she has even needed to. Being able to process grief is an important thing, so I continue to try to understand what this is for her. From what is seems - and even from what her caretakers in ET mentioned - her life was hard. Very hard. They claimed that she was bright enough to verbalize that she did not want that life she had for herself. Hard to believe a 3 year old can think this way, but really, I almost think she did. ? . She has only had one night of crying a cry that resembles grief, but that is it.  Even then, I felt she was more grieving that her independence was being compromised more than the grief from a world she was loosing. Nine months ago this girl was on the streets finding her own food and shelter. Then, being thrown into a situation that was beyond her control, there was all of the sudden some weird lady with funny skin, smells, and clothes hovering over her and essentially dictating her life in a way that was completely foreign. I am sure that was hard for her! How could that not be?
 

Who Husband and I were in Ethiopia also makes sense. We were parents that realized our limitations were being maxed and were fiercely protective of our marriage and our precious son at home. She was fighting like hell not to love us as we were fighting like hell to love her. Really, it is so hard to explain unless one is in that kind situation, but trust me, it is a place of raw and scary fear.
 
 For numerous reasons, Husband and I decided that I was to go to Addis Ababa (Ethiopian capital) solo to take custody of Y a week before him. We would then all fly home together a week after he arrived (if all went accordingly with Embassy). We felt confident in this plan because we had left our sweet, kind, mellow, happy little girl just 4 weeks before. How hard could she be? Piece of cake! What made it even better was that I was going to go and join my new adopting mama friends as a sort of an in-country-newly-adoptive-family-support-group. We had decided prior to travel that we were all going get our children from the orphanage and stay in a guest house together while we worked on wrapping up embassy. We were discouraged to go out with our children beyond our little neighborhood in the daytime and anywhere after dark, but no problem! Two out of the three of us women had our husbands joining the week later, but one woman's husband came with her. They brought their two sons that they had adopted a few years earlier and were now adopting twins. Thankfully, as part of our master plan dictated, this one husband would be the sole food fetcher. It all just seemed fool-proof.  It would be just one big, happy two week bondfest with fun craft activities and communal dinners! It would be like a college trip with the roomies - only with our newly adopted foreign children on our hips. Yippee!

 Upon my arrival, I also had a well thought-out plan in the works. I would spend the night of arrival and the next day orienting myself, stocking up on food, and resting off some of the jet lag.  The day after my arrival, I would just make a brief visit to Y's orphanage while using translators to prep her of her departure the following morning. But as best laid plans go, it did not quite happen that way.  I got a ride to the orphanage at 9:00 am the next morning after my arrival. At 9:45 am, I was driving back to the guest house with Y on my lap! She was not going to have it any other way. The moment I stepped out of the van at the WACAP house, she saw me and we ran into each other's arms, hugged, quickly played a little game of catch the ball, then she disappeared.  A few minutes later she marched out of her room with her little backpack on (containing all that she owned), marched up to the van, looked and me, pointed to the van, and said, "Nay (come). Mama. Nay." So, that was that. She did a brief, unemotional good-bye to her temporary caregivers (only at this transitional orphanage for a month) and we were on our way to our new lives!

In retelling some of our experience and her behaviors in the guesthouse, from the outside looking in, surely it seems I might have been insensitive to the reasons for why she did what she did. As I mentioned early, I have emerged from the situation with great compassion for her experience. She was frightened and on hyper-throttle-survival mode. I wish more than ever that I could get in her head and tell this story from her perspective, but I obviously can't, so I will be sharing from the difficult perspective of our situation.

The first night was interesting, to say the least. It all started with our first trip to the bathroom. I mean, come on! A toilet that flushed, toilet paper, a sink with soap, and a towel?! All in one place? It was just too much! And from that first bathroom trip and then on forward, this is pretty much how the first three days went: Sit on toilet. Pee and squirt poo. Unroll entire toilet paper... but wait! Toilet paper was a scarce commodity, so mom had to control the toilet paper distribution. Through many hours of sweat and tears, we figured out that it was okay if I put toilet paper bunches in each hand (and then quickly hide the roll without her seeing). I then had to lift her up to the 4 foot high pedestal sink and let her take the soap from the dish, wash her hands, rinse, turn off the faucet, dry with the towel, and then turn off the light - all on her own. Sounds simple enough, right? Wrong! No joke - that first bathroom trip took one hour and ten minutes. From then on, the average trip was 40 minutes. That would be okay if she were to only go a few times a day, but rather, she would leave the bathroom to go and binge on food and water to then only have to go 10 minutes later. The last few days of our stay we got it down to 15 minutes, which was a cause for celebration.


Honestly, if someone asks what some of my most vivid memories of Addis Ababa were, I would have to say that it was the stuff that happened in those two bathrooms that we used. Major intense stuff happened within those tiled fortresses! It was always a delicate dance of allowing her independence and the establishment of our boundaries and expectations. As hard as it was, I don't regret the hours we spent there - as it was there that we figured some important things out.

 In or out of those bathrooms, if something was not done exactly the way she wanted it in the time she wanted it during the bathroom routine... or a play activity, how food was presented to her, how we walked down the stairs, what she wore, what I wore, how I looked at her, if we did not use the same cup, fork, hair band....the result would be a dreadful tantrum or an eruption of intensely defiant behaviors. 

 And then there was the testing. Her brightness shined as she figured out from day one, despite my neutral affect that I had mastered from teaching the kids I have taught, what triggered me.


"Mommy!" .... look at me hold this piece of china in the air. Now watch me smash it to the floor then laugh like a hyena as I walk on the glass shards with my bare feet.

"Mommy!".... come here now so I can kick you in the leg.

"Mommy".... watch me try and yank down this 5 foot mirror that's suspended by one nail on top of me.

"Mommy!"... watch me get into your chapstick and lotions and rub them all over your clothes.

"Mommy!" ... let me look at your reaction as I put poo on my hand and try to rub it in your face.

"Mommy!"... look how funny it is for me to take this fork and jab it down my throat. Don't care it gags me and makes my throat bleed as it is totally worth getting a reaction from you!

"Mommy!.... let me just catch a glimpse of your slight reaction of horror so I can laugh hysterically when you show me a picture of my brother and then I do the sign like I am going to slit his throat.

"Mommy!".... let me just see if I can spit far enough across the room and have it land on your face (which it would) and then wake you at night by leaning over your face and dropping spit balls on your nose.

"Mommy!" .... guess what? Pretty much if you try to hold my hand (down the slippery marble stairs - this house had about 300 stairs and was anything but child proof), hold me from jumping out the window, dare cut my hard boiled egg so I can't shove it whole down my throat, or basically do anything other than what I want, then I will glare at you in the eye and say, "Tit-tu-ma!" (I hate you!), kick you, spit in your face, then laugh like the devil. I will - just try me. I dare you.


Thank God there were occasional giggles and smiles in between to recharge our batteries. When I felt like her spirits were up, we would go down to a common area and visit with other adopters and their children. When I could see her run and laugh and interact with the others, then optimism would flood over me. I would see glimpses of the fantastic kid that she is and that we did have a good little chemistry about us.

Stay tuned for part ll....