Matthew has been a trooper these last few days. He is getting sad to see me go, but keeps a stiff upper lip. He loves Isabella and wants us to bring her home soon. Jon, too, has been amazing. Despite his disappointment and longing to go as well, he has not once grumbled or been anything but supportive. I love my boys!
At 6:15 a.m. I give Matthew goodbye kisses. He forces himself awake, and before we realize what he is doing, wakes Grandma up too. Oops. We have a family prayer, I hug Matthew one last time, he gives me about thirty kisses, and we head out the door a few minutes ahead of schedule.
I forgot to tell Jon not to set the emergency brake on the Suburban. He finds out the hard way that the cable is broken. After about 15 minutes of working on it using pliers, a flashlight, and my vague instructions (“ummm… Cheri gets under the dash and pulls some cable thingy...”) we break down and call the Rogers. Bob walks Jon through the release process over the phone. Finally, we are on the road! The Suburban easily navigates the ice-solid snow. It is 7 a.m.
After a quick stop in Stevenson for fuel, we pull into the Portland Airport parking garage at 8:15. Now, to get luggage carts. The cart vending machine charges $4/cart. Skip that. A quick walk around the garage yields two available, free carts. Each cart holds two 22-gallon tubs and my carry-on bags. We wheel them into the terminal, find the United ticket counter, and unload the tubs. Jon makes two more trips back and forth to the garage to ferry the remaining four tubs.
Meanwhile, my sister Kristen calls. Her flight from Yakima to Portland, connecting through Seattle, has landed, and she meets us at the ticket counter. (Flying from Yakima was a good plan to avoid crossing the mountain pass in bad winter driving conditions.) With itinerary in hand and 8 heavy tubs in tow, we approach the counter.
There are two categories of check-in lines: First Class, with a live agent to assist, and Self-Check-in. Not good. We are the difficult, high-maintenance passengers on this trip. We get the attention of the agent monitoring Self-Check-in, and as I show her the donation letter from AGCI, I explain that we would like to check additional luggage items at no charge because we are carrying formula, medicine and diapers to an orphanage.
Her response is immediate, firm, and harsh: No. She tells us that we should have contacted United customer service in advance for approval, and that she does not have the authority to waive fees. Okay… we still have a few hours. We ask for the number to call now, to see if we can get last-minute approval. Well, she doesn’t have the number memorized! Okay… She pulls out a brochure with the number and hands it to us.
We step back from the counter to call the main United customer service number. After wading through the usual maze of automated menu options, I reach a live representative. I explain again that we are carrying donations to an orphanage, and it would really help if we could get the fee waived on additional tubs. The unsympathetic representative explains first that the request takes days to process, and second that United cannot waive the fee because we are connecting to a Lufthansa flight mid-trip, in Paris.
That seems to be the end of it. I give up. I know without calling that Lufthansa will say they cannot waive the fee, that it is a United issue. Jon takes four tubs back to the Suburban, while Kristen and I wait to check the four tubs that we are allowed (the second piece of luggage for each of us is $50, which we pay because we absolutely must take at least the four tubs). I am still confused as to why, on the one hand, we are subject to United’s baggage policy – Lufthansa allows two pieces of checked luggage at no cost, but United charges $50 for the second piece and $200 for the third – but on the other hand, United cannot waive the fee. I have no intention of arguing any more though, when the agent at the counter asks what customer service said. I repeat the conversation, and she says that the representative on the phone was wrong, that it is United’s place, not Lufthansa’s, to waive the fee because the first “water” leg (Chicago to Paris) is on a United flight. She grumbles about customer service, and I smile and nod.
Then, miraculously, she softens right before our eyes, saying that while she would get in trouble for waiving the fees on two additional pieces each, she will waive the fees on one additional piece each! We can check six tubs total, for just $100! This makes me so happy!
Without complaint, Jon goes back to the garage and carts back two tubs. We have to shift the contents of the tubs around a little; United will not average the weight -- each tub must weigh less than 50 pounds. It is a pain, but so worth it.
With tubs checked and boarding passes in hand, Kristen and I grab a soda with Jon before saying goodbye and going through security. The flight from Portland to Chicago is uneventful. Kristen and I spend the four hours reading, writing, and finally talking to the gal sitting next to us. Jenny from Portland is on her way to visit her boyfriend, a consultant on a three week assignment in India. She asks about food, I give her a granola bar to tide her over, and then generally bore her with Ethiopia adoption facts after she makes the mistake of asking a few polite questions. She does a good job feigning interest.
By the time we land in Chicago, the scratchy throat that I started the morning out with has turned into a full-blown sore throat, and I am feeling pretty icky. In desperation, I pay way too much for DayQuil and NyQuil at an airport shop, and buy a sandwich. The sandwich is just bad, so I throw most of it away. The NyQuil, however, is excellent. Before the plane has reached cruising altitude, I am asleep.
Friday, November 26. We land at CDG (Paris) around 9:30 a.m. local time. By the time we make our way through customs, check into the Sheraton at the airport, and clean up, it is 11:00 a.m. We make our way to the automated train ticket kiosks, where both our credit cards are rejected as “invalid.” This could be bad. I have 140 euro on me, but will need to charge the hotel to my credit card. By the time we get in line to buy tickets at the live ticket counter, everyone else is in line too because they had the same problem. In a way, this is a relief - it is not just a problem with our credit cards! We finally purchase our day-tickets for zones 1-6, at a ridiculous cost of 20 euro ($35) each, and board the train at 11:30 a.m.
We get off at the wrong stop because of bad information from the concierge. After wandering around, we get back on the metro and find the Louvre Museum. What a great site. I love the architecture. We have another couple take an obligatory photo of us outside (we do the same for them), then go inside and walk forever to find the Mona Lisa. Seriously, do they have to put it in the middle of the museum? We pretend to be vaguely interested in the incredible works of art that we pass along the way, I take Kristen’s photo in front of the Mona Lisa (it is her first time there), and then we walk out to the lobby and have lunch at a café inside the museum.
From there, we walk along the Seine towards Notre Dame Cathedral. Quintessential Paris surrounds us. Kristen stops at a stand and buys each of her girls a little metal Eiffel Tower. We pass the Justice Palace and Sainte Chapelle, but are discouraged by the long, seemingly unmoving lines to get inside.
Forget museums. Cathedrals capture my attention and imagination. I sit, unhurried, in a pew soaking in the majesty and resting my aching feet, while Kristen walks around.
At this point, we are so tired and scummy from having been in transit for over 24 hours that we are stumbling around. Outside Notre Dame, I manage to trip over the same hose… twice. Kristen and I can have a laughing good time under almost any circumstances, but I daresay we were irritating those around us. As Kristen keeps reminding me, however, we will never see any of them again… so we continue our exhaustion-induced merriment.
From Notre Dame, we take the Metro to the Eiffel Tower. The train with the most direct route and nearest stop is out of order, so we reluctantly take a 2-train detour and walk forever…. in the snow. Yes, it begins to snow in earnest. So cold, so wet! I quickly decide that I like Paris in the springtime, but not so much in the snow.
By the time we stand under the massive Eiffel Tower, we are very cold, tired, and sore. Most of the Metro station escalators are shut down, so we navigate hundreds of stairs during our brief visit. Did I mention that I am in heels, not having had room in my carryon for practical shoes? My feet hate me.
We agree that the Arc de Triomph and Champs Elysees are not nearly as inviting as a warm shower and comfy bed, and head straight back to the airport. We try to check in for our next flight – we do not have boarding passes yet for the final legs of our trip – to no avail. The guy behind the Lufthansa baggage counter is obviously off-duty, and not about to point us to the ticket counter. He is on the phone on a relaxed personal call, and in ten minutes refuses to acknowledge or respond to us. So very French! The airport is otherwise dead; we can find no one else to ask, so we give up and go to the hotel.
Online check-in is not available for the next flight, so I send Jon an e-mail and ask him to make some calls and find out when the ticket counter will be open in the morning. We then try to relax. The menu at the hotel restaurant does not have anything on it that Kristen and I will eat. The closest thing that seems promising is salmon, but that is described as “partially cooked.” Because fully cooking salmon would be so wrong? Fortunately, we discover that the free Club Lounge snacks will double as dinner -- chicken strips, beef rollups, and rolls are our kind of food. The last-minute upgrade was worth every point.
I bask in a hot bath, and fall into bed at 8:15 p.m. Six hours later, Kristen and I are wide awake. At least we will not have to rush to make our flight…
Saturday, November 27. We shower, pack and repack by 4 a.m., then wander down the hall to the Club Lounge to check e-mail in the business center. We also get to chat via Facebook with our families – we already miss them so much!
In the Club Lounge, I visit with the waiter, who is setting up for the 6:30 a.m. breakfast. He appears to be African, but is from India and has lived in France for 11 years. His parents live in London, a city he prefers over Paris. He is married, with no kids, and has traveled to South Africa, Kenya, and Ethiopia (8 years ago). When he finds out that we are traveling to Ethiopia, he asks if we are missionaries. I explain that we are adopting; he doesn’t have much to say about that. We share a laugh and shake our heads over the French, with their 35 hour work weeks and strikes over every little annoyance. He bemoans flats, saying he prefers houses like we have in the U.S. and Canada, where he has also visited. Shaking his head sadly, he says “Your kitchen is probably the size of my flat! The size of this room!” Actually...
We enjoy a breakfast of scrambled eggs and crepes, then make our way to the terminal to check into our next flight. There is a bit of a panic as I am initially unable to produce the claim tickets for three of the tubs, which are needed to check the tubs through to Addis Abeba. Note to self: next time, guard the baggage claim tickets with my life!
While we wait to board our flight, Kristen goes to find coffee for herself and Orangina and deodorant for me (mine remained missing until we empty our bags in Addis). The clerk at the shop does not understand the word “deodorant,” so Kristen unabashedly acts it out. She comes back with her purchase, leaving in her wake an embarrassed young man who will never forget the word “deodorant.”
We board our flight to Frankfurt. A short flight, it is behind schedule but we still arrive in plenty of time to make our connection to Addis Abeba.
Frankfurt is a goofy airport. We deboard the plane via the plane stairs, then get on a bus that takes us to the terminal. From the terminal, we get on another bus that drives us back out on the tarmac, where planes are parked in a row, and board again by stairs. By this time, I am giddy from excitement, jet lag, and Orangina!
We land in Addis, then wait in a very long, very slow Visa line. (Next trip, I may try to pre-order our Visas...) To pass the time, we talk to the people in line with us. The young man in front of us is on his 6th trip to Addis. His first was for business; now he is visiting his girlfriend. The couple behind us are from Boston, visiting family in Ethiopia. This is their first visit home in several years.
We finally file through the room for Visas. Although presumably permanent, it has a very temporary feel, just some tables and chairs with gentlemen manually processing Visas using tri-copy carbon receipts, Visa stickers that they fill out by hand, and a book that they hand-write information into. No computers in sight. The process is very formal, however. We pay the $20 fee, and with newly-inked Visas in our passports, slowly file into the line for Customs.
Another long, slow-moving line. The easily guess that the family now in front of us is from Seattle – one pre-teen daughter is wearing a Husky sweatshirt. They brought their three kids, including their youngest, a 9 year old boy who is now stretched out on some chairs sleeping. They are traveling for their embassy appointment for their adoption of two unrelated boys, a 4 year old and a 14 year old. Wow. They are using AAI, but have a friend on the board of AGCI and think very highly of them.
Eventually we make our way through Customs and go in search of our tubs. They apparently arrived early, and are stacked at the other end of the room next to the unclaimed luggage area. That is, all 5 and 1/3rd of them. The 6th tub, bound for Project 61, is MIA. All that remains is the lid and part of the contents, unceremoniously dumped into a clear plastic bag. UGH! The five intact tubs have clearly taken a beating of their own, showing stress marks; only two of the five still have luggage straps on them, all have been emptied and repacked, and two seem to be missing some of the original contents. Still, considering that we have traveled to the other side of the world, I would say they have survived fairly well.
We accept help from two porters, and leave the baggage claim area. Customs scans our luggage on the way out, asking what the tubs contain. In particular, they ask whether we have any used clothing in the tubs, saying that this is a “big Customs issue.” I remember reading a few years back about the problems caused by the flood of used clothes sent by well-meaning people into developing countries. The volume of used clothing may undermine the local textile industries, causing more problems than they solve (at least from the point of view of that particular producer/director).
Outside in the waiting area, there is no sign of either Hannah’s Hope staff or the Riviera International Hotel driver. The porters let us use their cell phone to call Wass, the driver for Hannah’s Hope, who in turn calls the Riviera driver and relays the message that we are waiting outside under the Taxi sign. We finally connect, and end up paying/tipping the porters far too much -- $17 by the time it is all said and done. Oh well, we appreciated the help and telephone calls.
While I was hunting down our tubs, Kristen was talking to another American couple inside the baggage claim area. Coy and Damon turn out to be the third couple in our travel group! Unfortunately, all of their luggage, which contains all of their toiletries and clothing, is lost. As we begin walking to the Riviera van, we flag them down to join us. They are a very fun couple, despite the stress that they are under.
At the Riviera, we check into our room and the front desk gives us our copy of the daily schedule from AGCI. We remember to ask for a fan, to help ventilate our room.
The Riviera is as expected. Kristen and I agree that the room itself is a step up from an aging Motel 6, notwithstanding the "Welcome" card that optimistically promises "A Glamorous Display of Comfort."
We laugh that the hotel name is misspelled on the rug in the lobby:
We are glad that we brought slippers to wear around the room. Fortunately, the king-sized bed seems clean enough – no sign of bedbugs (yes, we checked) – and the room is spacious.
That said, we have hot running water and a flush toilet all to ourselves, and our room is relatively comfortable and dry. With the window open and the fan on, it is on the warm side, but not unbearable.
The weather is a little humid, but much better than expected. At no point are we that uncomfortable. We see only one mosquito the entire trip; it bites Kristen while we are at Hannah’s Hope. The mosquito repellant remains unopened and will be left home on next trip, along with the sunscreen. There is a mini-fridge in the room, and a 1200W hair dryer and basic toiletries in the bathroom. Seriously, this is luxury in the midst of our current surroundings, and we are very thankful.
Sunday, November 28. We wake up in the early morning dark and pass the time in our room. Around 6 a.m., we hear the call to prayer, and the activity picks up in the field across the road from the hotel. Cows and goats graze, kids play soccer, and a swarm of people walk towards a construction site. At 6:30, we head down to breakfast in the dining room, where we run into Damon and Coy.
The complimentary breakfast buffet is edible – scrambled eggs, French toast, fresh-squeezed orange juice, dubious looking oatmeal, and cereal. There is also quite a selection of fresh fruit, which we skip even though it is technically safe because it is peeled (like pineapple). At 7:30, they serve made-to-order omelets, but we are always too early to partake.
After breakfast, Damon and Coy come up to our room. Damon tries to fix our internet connection, while we loan Coy clean clothes and makeup for the day. When we go down to the lobby to wait for Wass to pick us up, we meet the third couple in our travel group, Joe and Aime.
Wass arrives at 9:15. I am beyond excited. We drive to Hannah’s Hope, about 10 minutes away. When they finally bring Isabella out, I almost cry. She is the baby girl of my dreams. For the next 2 ½ hours, I cannot put her down. She is precious. She will not make eye contact with me, try as I may, but lights up when the special mothers walk by. I love her, hug and kiss her, and feed her a bottle. She practically gulps down the milk. I wrap her up in a blanket and hold her close. Just before she falls asleep, she burrows in and sucks her thumb;. I cuddle her while she sleeps. This will be our routine the next four days.
Kristen immediately begins rushing around to take photos of the twenty children on my list, whose parents will not be traveling for a few weeks or months. I had printed the name and photo of each one, along with their mother’s name and email address. I know how much I appreciated when other families did the same for me while I was waiting! As Wass points each child out, Kristen photographs them, then takes a photo of the page with their information on it, so we will know who the photos belong to. Many of the children, including Isabella, look so different their referral photos that it would be hard to match them up otherwise.
Most of the kids are outside. The weather is perfect – mid-70’s, sunny but not too hot. The babies are sunning themselves in bouncy seats, the toddlers are sitting in solid-plastic seats in a semi-circle being fed baby food, and the older kids are playing in an adjacent courtyard in the compound, which consists of three main buildings: the big house, where the babies live, another building with bedrooms for the toddlers and older kids along with laundry room, kitchen and dining room, and a third building set up as offices and bedrooms.
The special mothers pronounce Feven “FAY-vin,” and often say “FAY-vu.” When they smile at her and say “FAY-vu Conjure” (at least that’s how it sounds to me! The second word means “beautiful” and is probably spelled completely different), she makes eye contact with them and smiles back.
I pull out the photo album of Magdalyn, sent by the Rogers to give to her special mothers. They are so excited to see the photos that I decide to let them take a peek at the calendars that I have couriered from AGCI-Portland to Almaz, the director of Hannah's Hope. The photo on the front is of a little boy, Isaac, who they loved so much before he went home with his parents six months ago. The special mothers are ecstatic, rushing over to look and flip through the other calendar photos of other children who are home. I realize how much these children mean to them. My new plan: to pull together a photo album of other kids who have returned home, to bring with me on my next trip.
I try to use the baby wrap that I packed, but as I mess with Isabella and try to get it to work, she bursts into tears. I immediately stop. I will carry her around in my arms rather than cause her to cry one second more!
Almaz arrives at the end of our visit. She is a legend, a rock star in the world of adoption. She has two friends visiting from Colorado, who volunteer with Ethiopia Orphan Relief. They both rave about the care provided at Hannah’s Hope compared to the best government orphanages out there. One of the gals, Becky, has five kids, three of whom are siblings she adopted from Ethiopia through a different, pre-AGCI agency. Becky reiterates that she visits a lot of orphanages and transition homes, and none compare with Hannah’s Hope.
We finally have to leave at noon. Everything in me wants to take Isabella with me, but I can’t, not until we pass court and she is legally our daughter.
When we get back to the hotel, we invite our new friends to join us in an hour to hire a private van to tour the city, then we grab lunch. I forget the advice of prior travel groups, to skip the relatively expensive lunch buffet and order off the menu, and we pay too much for a mediocre meal. Again, though, it is food, and it does the job.
Back in our room, we determine that the wireless router on our floor is not connecting to the internet, but if we select the wireless routers on Floor 3 or Floor 5, we have internet access. The signals are weak, so we stack two tubs as a make-shift desk by the door, where the signals are strongest, and use the footstool as a chair.
At 1:30, Joe and Aime join us for our outing, while Damon and Coy wait for Wass to pick them up and take them shopping for clothes. (Damon buys some jeans, but Coy does find anything that will work.) The concierge arranges van transportation for us; we negotiate and pre-pay $65 for three hours, about the same as we would pay if each couple took a taxi separately ($10/hour). The hotel takes down all of the information on the van/driver for safety purposes, and we are off!
The driver brings along a friend who speaks English, and a third friend who is apparently just along for the ride.
Horns are used to communicate, rather than express anger or danger. No one seems to get upset, taking the driving conditions and resulting chaos in stride. From the front seat, where our driver and two friends are crammed in together, local music blares.
We pass hundreds of small shops that look like this:
With around 3 million people living in Addis, the number of cars on the road are a fraction of the number that one would find in a developed country. The roads are still quite crowded because they are small and basic – no six-lane freeways here. Wass later explains to us that the amount of tax on a vehicle is almost two times the purchase price. He pointed to a newer model truck and asked how much it would cost in the U.S (around $25,000), then explains that the truck probably cost 1 million birr (about $60,000) with tax.
We see a lot of buildings in various stages of construction. Most do not have any active work being done on them; all have tenuous pole scaffolding (there is no heavy equipment in sight):
The devastating poverty all around us is incredibly heartbreaking, every bit as difficult as I expected.
Scores of people beg alongside the road. Others approach the van, including mothers with infants who motion that they are hungry.
Convenient water is a luxury. We see many people carrying water in plastic containers.
It is tough not to react with guilt, yet I do not believe that is a biblical response. We should rejoice and give thanks for the blessings that we receive, have compassion on the poor, tithe as we are commanded, and cheerfully give more as we are led. Guilt is a useless, sinful response that helps no one, accomplishes nothing, and at best (or worst?) provides a false sense of righteousness.
We started out by driving 30 minutes to the Hilton, to visit the gift shop and buy the last three infamous hand-carved nativities that they have in stock -- one for us, one for Kristen, and one for Damon and Coy at their request. I also get some postcards, two children’s books with Ethiopian Christmas stories (The Road to Bethlehem and The Miracle Child), and a book – pamphlet, really – on the History of Christianity in Ethiopia. Total cost: $52 USD.
From there we go to the National Museum.
I especially enjoyed this sign, posted at the entry:
The Museum does not accept USD, so our guide pays our admission – 3 birr for locals, 10 birr for foreigners, for a total of 49 birr for the seven of us. We have no expectations, so the Museum does not disappoint. While it is illegal to photograph government buildings like the president’s residence, flash photos inside the Museum are fine. The Museum displays a collection of items that are ancient and irreplaceable, yet security consists of a camera in the corner of each room, in stark contrast to our experience at the Louvre the day before.
From the Museum, at a loss for where we “should” go, we ask to visit old churches to pass the rest of our time. Our guide suggests a visit to the Lion Zoo, but we politely decline.
At this point, the destination is less important than the journey, the sights along the drive more meaningful than the sites at the end of the drive. The first church they take us to is a big, traditional Ethiopian Orthodox church... built in 1992.
Given the age of our guide, this may indeed pass as old. We visit a couple more Ethopian Orthodox churches and drive through a crumbling cemetary, in the midst of which is a memorial to the first Ethiopian barefoot Olympic runner (I think?).
Back at the hotel, we tip our driver and guide in USD (we still have not exchanged our money).
For dinner, we order zil zil tibs – beef fried fajita style with tomatoes and peppers, served with injera and a spicy sauce on the side.
Although we were initially charged $2/each for bottles of soda (between Coca-Cola and 7-Up, I stuck with 7-Up the entire trip) and 1-litre bottles of water, we are later charged just $1/each, which seems to be the correct price. Wass did not provide bottled water on this trip because we are not picking up children, so have no need for excessive amounts to make bottles with etc., and the water from the hotel bar is convenient.
The laundry service at the hotel is excellent. As planned, we drop off laundry in the morning before we leave, and they return it clean and pressed by 8 p.m., at a cost of around $1/item. Because we packed all of our personal clothes and items in our carry-on bags, we only brought a few outfits. With sharing clothes with Coy, those few outfits are stretched even further, so we do laundry almost every day. It was so easy though, I highly recommend it!
Monday, November 29. Kristen borrows a high-to-low current converter from the hotel desk for her curling iron. This does not end well: apparently the curling iron is too low-wattage to convert, and overheats to the point that the plastic begins to melt and Kristen literally burns her hair off. Although the initial odor passes, it returns throughout the next day whenever she wets her hair, and we keep finding burned pieces of hair are all over the bathroom and her clothes. Oops.
After breakfast, we put together a care package of underwear, bottled water, granola bars, flashlight, tissues, and leftovers from last night’s dinner, for a lady living on the street a block away. She sits in the dirt alongside the road, day and night; we can see her from our hotel room:
We have heard second-hand that her story includes being kicked out by her husband when she got pregnant and he denied the baby was his. What happened to the baby is a mystery to us. Watching her from the comfort of our hotel room, however, my heart breaks again. There is no Union Gospel Mission or aid provider of any kind to take her to.
We take the plastic shopping bag with its few contents, walk over, thrust it at her, and quickly walk back to the hotel. We need to make that personal giving connection in this instance, but I want to be careful not to make it into more than it was -- a very simple, selfish act of kindness. We did it because it made us feel good, but it is part of the story of our trip, so I include it here. As an aside, we are called to cheerfully tithe, which includes a “poor” tithe of at least 3% in addition to the traditional 10% that churches so often focus on. This consistent, substantive giving is often tough and does not always provide the same feel-good personal satisfaction as directly handing a $1 bottle of water and leftovers to a lady on the street, but the tithe is used by God to change the world in a more long-term meaningful way. [my mini-soapbox monologue of the day!]
Wass picks us up again from the hotel, along with the four tubs of donations bound for Hannah’s Hope. I ask him to return two empty tubs for us to pack our stuff in for the trip home. At Hannah’s Hope, I spend a couple of hours with Isabella, feeding her a morning bottle and cuddling her through her nap. Tsige, a gal who works in the office, asks for our passports and paperwork. I hand her the two original Powers of Attorney signed by Jon, as well as the I-600 paperwork. She goes back and forth a few times with questions, and then we meet with Almaz.
Almaz describes the court process and our children, walks us through completing the U.S. I-600 paperwork, and asks if we have any questions. At this time, we give Almaz $200 for the travel coordinator fee, and $404 for the U.S. Visa fee. Almaz reminds us to bring our passports to court – the court coordinator will take care of everything else, but we must bring our passports.
We ask about embassy dates. Almaz explains that our file must be complete with birth certificate, court documents, and a new passport issued by the government with Isabella’s new legal name (Feven Jon Morrill) and submitted to the U.S. embassy at least 14 days in advance of a potential embassy date. Parents adopting through AGCI currently receive embassy dates on the 2nd and 4th Mondays of each month; the first possible embassy date for us will be December 27. Almaz says to be prepared to leave on a moment’s notice for the December date, but to plan on a January 10 embassy date because that is far more realistic given everything that must come together from different agencies to complete our file.
I ask if we may take photos with the judge tomorrow. Almaz suggests that we try and then let her know how that goes! She also assures us that we can wear jeans, which we all decide to do – because we will be shopping after court, jeans will be much more comfortable and practical than the dress-up clothes we brought with us.
We each give Wass the money that we want to exchange for birr for the shopping trip the next day, as well as our coffee orders. Ethiopia is the birthplace of coffee, and it is excellent and inexpensive – about 36 birr/kilo. I exchange $500 USD, including $100 USD from the Rogers for items that they asked me to pick up for them. The exchange rate is 16.4 birr/$1.
Wass takes us back to the hotel for lunch, and then we return to Hannah’s Hope for the rest of the afternoon. I give Isabella a bath for the first time. Midway through, a special mother takes over; I haven’t bathed a baby in a long time, and never like this, in a plastic tub with a bucket of water on the floor. I dress Isabella, and after it takes me too long to maneuver her little arms into the sleeves, she cries. Poor baby, having to put up with me for a mother!
I feed Isabella an afternoon bottle and hold her through her second nap. She still will not make eye contact, and has not made a single sound other than the two times she cried, but I convince myself that she is warming up to me a little.
We return to the hotel around 5 p.m. to get ready for dinner. Kristen is exhausted and decides to skip the cultural dinner. I am exhausted, too, but do not want to miss this one opportunity.
The cultural dinner is fun despite my sleep-deprived state. Wass picks us up at 7:00 p.m.
Dinner is a typical Ethiopian meal of injera, sauces, and meats, with live music and traditional dancing by region on stage. It is excellent.
Tuesday, November 30. When Kristen showers, there is no hot water. The tank was unplugged by the maid service on Sunday – the temperature gauge was in the red zone, and the water was scalding hot – and we forgot to plug it in as the temperature cooled.
I plug it in now, and in 15 minutes the water is hot again. For the rest of our stay, we plug/unplug the tank as needed.
By this time, my laptop has died. Something about the boot disk not being found. Very bad.
Kristen accidentally brushes her teeth with tap water. Twelve hours later, she has a touch of traveler’s tummy. One cipro and immodium AD solves that problem.
At 8:15 a.m., Wass picks us up for court. We stop along the way and pick up the court coordinator, then arrive at court at 9:15. Climbing the four flights of stairs, I feel the altitude a little. Kristen says that she also felt a little dizzy Saturday night after we landed, which she attributed to the altitude, but she adjusted quickly.
Court consists of a large office in which the judge sits behind a desk, with some chairs in which adoptive parents sat. The gray door to the office is nondescript:
The waiting room is off-white with some chairs along the walls, reminiscent of an old DMV licensing office:
Around 9:30 a.m., the assistant begins calling families in. She calls the name of the child, and the couple and the person accompanying them enters the courtroom/office. About five minutes later, they emerge, all smiles, and the next name is called.
About this time, our court coordinator asks me for Jon’s Power of Attorney. I blanch. I did not bring it. I do not recall getting an original back from Tsige yesterday; if I did, it is back in the hotel room. The court coordinator assures me that it will be okay, but I am not convinced.
Kristen accompanies me into the room when Isabella Feven’s name is called. The judge is soft-spoken and regal. She asks how we have prepared for the challenges that may come with adoption (many hours of education through our agency), whether we have any other children (yes, Matthew), if we have discussed adoption with him (yes), and how he feels about it (he is excited to get a baby sister!). She explains that the adoption contract is irrevocable, and asks if we want to complete the adoption (YES!). Then she asks for the POA and I explain that there has been a mix-up and I do not have it with me, but I can return with it later in the day. She says that everything is in order, that I do not need to come back, but that the court coordinator needs to bring the POA in later.
I am more worried than disappointed that I do not hear the usual concluding words “She’s all yours!” Will the POA get turned in, and will it really be okay? That doubt is a black cloud over the rest of the day.
Despite the bumpy hearing, as we are leaving, I ask the judge if we may take a picture with her. She politely declines. I had to ask.
We leave the courthouse and wait outside for Wass. As we wait, I congratulate a couple from Holland who just passed their court hearing. Because of the Visa process in Holland, they get to bring their son home on this trip. I envy them.
Wass takes us to a supermarket down the street; although he picked up the roasted coffee for the rest of the group, he said I should buy the green coffee beans requested by the Rogers at the supermarket. Sure enough, as small as the store is, there is a large selection of coffee, roasted and green. Wass points out two qualities – good and premium – and I buy five kilos of each for a total cost of 1,100 birr. We also stop at a CD store and I buy a random local music CD as a future gotcha-day gift for Isabella.
We drive to the shopping “center,” about a dozen small, crowded shops set up along a side road, catering to tourists like us.
From there, we drive to Mekush, an Italian restaurant and art gallery. I order lasagna and down three bottles of 7-Up, all for less than 200 birr with tip; Wass gets his lunch on the house. I browse the art and purchase a small oil painting of flowers for 1,400 birr, after a 200 birr discount that the gallery art director gives me after thanking me for traveling so far to adopt.
We return to Hannah’s Hope for the afternoon. I give Isabella another bath – this one goes a little better than the first – and whisk her downstairs to dress her in her Christmas outfit, complete with hair bow. The size 3 - 6 month outfit is a little big on her, but she is adorable! Wass takes photos of her with his phone, and even the special mothers seem pleased – or at the very least, not annoyed.
I weigh and measure Isabella - she is 13 pounds with her Christmas outfit on, and 24 inches long.
We return to the hotel around 5:30 and I ask the hotel manager to call the Project 61 driver to get directions so that I may take a taxi and drop off the P61 supplies. There is no answer, so we go to dinner. When we come out, the driver has called back and is on his way to pick up the supplies. That saves us a trip out.
After eying it up every day, I finally break down and buy a silver bracelet with cutouts of Africa and Ethiopia, and Amharic that translates to “This is Ethiopia.” 600 birr. I love it.
When we get back to our room, I go through my file and find one of the two original POAs. It is mixed in with the 10 pages of I-600 paperwork that Jon had signed, that Almaz gave back to me because it was unnecessary because he is traveling on the second trip. I am crushed – I am completely at fault for messing up my court hearing and wrongly impugning Tsige.
Wednesday, December 1. We have been tipping the maid service each day. This morning, I left all of the currency that we had left, 50 birr. At about 7:30, earlier than the usual 9 a.m. maid service, there is a knock on our door and one of the maids is standing there. We indicate that we will be leaving soon, and she may come back then. When we leave a few minutes later, she is sitting in the chair outside our room, waiting. She asks us to leave the door open and she goes in. Later, when we get back to the room at 8:30 and it has not been made up yet, we realize what has happened – she came early, specifically to collect the tip, presumably so she didn’t have to split it with the other gal. I’m not sure how to feel about that. She is pregnant, probably struggling, making so little for working so hard – but her coworker is in a similar position. I decide not to judge too harshly, and leave another tip in USD for when they both came back.
As we wait for Wass in the lobby, we start talking to a gal from South Africa. 23 years old, Megan missed her connection to Cambodia and is spending 24 hours in Ethiopia waiting for the next flight. She asks what we are doing for the day and I explain that we are going to visit the government-licensed orphanage where our daughter stayed briefly, Bethzatha. She boldly asks if she may come along. I say that I'm not sure, but will ask. Wass hesitates, and I assure him “It’s okay to say no, I just met her!” Surprisingly, Wass says that she may come, so off we go with Megan in tow.
As we are leaving, I give Wass one of the empty tubs that it turns out we will not need for the return trip. I tell him he may return it to Hannah's Hope or keep it for himself if he wants, and he gladly accepts.
On the bus, one of the first things that I do is confess to Wass and the rest of our travel group my mistake the day before. They think that it is funny that for all of my organization, this happened to me. Despite my concern, I appreciate the irony!
Our tour of Bethzatha is both good and tough. I fight back tears when we see the two handicapped children lying in cribs. We give the toddlers hugs – many just hold their hands up to be touched – hold them on our laps, and listen and applaud as they sing group songs and then individual songs. Most of the kids are eager to interact with us, but one girl around 2 years old just sits in her chair holding a toy, looking devastated. I offer to hold her, and one of the orphanage workers encourages her to sit on my lap. She starts crying. I assure her that I do not need to hold her, and instead she sits on the bench between us, quietly grieving.
While we are there, a man adopting through another agency, accompanied by his parents (his wife stayed home with their other children), was either meeting his daughter for the first time or picking her up. The toddler girl seemed somewhat aloof; it is difficult to tell how much she understands about the situation. I am again thankful that Isabella is in transition care at Hannah’s Hope, instead of here.
Our unlikely guest, Megan, plays well with the children. I wonder what kind of an impact this seemingly-chance experience will have on Megan's life.
On the way to Hannah’s Hope, Wass calls a car and driver that meets us along the road, and instructs the driver to take Megan to the tourist shopping center and then back to the hotel. She makes it back okay, as we see her at the hotel again that night.
When we get to Hannah’s Hope, I seek out Tsige and apologize to her for the POA mix-up; she says that it is all straightened out. Later, when I see Almaz, I tell her I am sorry and reiterate that the mix-up was all my fault – I DID have the POA yesterday. She is surprised: they had not told her anything about it. Then I feel bad for saying anything – she calls Tsige and the court coordinator gentleman over to discuss what had happened – but Almaz assures me that it was a learning opportunity so that things will go better for the next family in my situation. (I am the first parent that AGCI has had attend court without a spouse.) Almaz says that I should not have had to bring the POA, that all I should have had to bring was my passport and the court coordinator should have had the POA. Still, if I had known that I had one of the POAs, I would certainly have brought it. If I were to do it over again, I would be more careful, bringing an extra original POA for myself to have with me at all times, no matter what the process is supposed to be. Next time…
We are all hungry. Almaz offers us injera with lentils and kale, and we sit outside eating and visiting. Tsige is very kind, especially after all the trouble that I have caused. She lets me take a photo of the binder with Feven’s name on it, and burns a disk of photos of Isabella that they had taken at Hannah’s Hope – more photos than I received at referral, including a photo on the day she arrived. She was so tiny and frail!
I feed Isabella a bottle, give her a bath, and hold her while she naps. She is having a lot of reflux today, spitting up continually. She obviously doesn’t feel good and keeps complaining. Almaz sees us and shakes her head, saying “what are we going to do about her?” I explain that we will take her to the doctor when we get home, and try other kinds of medicine for GERD (they stopped giving her Zantac that we sent because it didn’t seem to be helping). Worst case, she will need a minor operation to correct the problem.
A couple of times Isabella “talks” to me – it is so sweet to hear her voice! She still avoids eye contact with me most of the time, but I am reassured by her interactions with her special mothers. She is attached to them, which is good. She will attach to me eventually, it will just take time and she will go through a lot of grieving first. It breaks my heart, but I know it is all for the best. I am her mommy, and I need to take her home.
Isabella is still asleep when it is time to leave around 5 p.m. It is so hard to carry her up to her crib and tuck her in. She continues sleeping. I brush away tears and pray for a December embassy date. It would be so much harder to leave if she were not in such good hands. The special mothers love each child so much, and it is evident in everything that they do. As everyone who has traveled before us has said, the care at Hannah’s Hope is exceptional – as good as you can get outside of a personal family.
We shower one last time when we got back to the room. I complete ten postcards, and ask about mailing them at the front desk. They do not sell stamps, but the doorman says that it costs about 50 birr/each to mail internationally. I give him $35 and ask him to mail them for me. We will see if they make it!
We check out, paying our hotel bill in U.S. dollars. The room rate, including tax and late checkout fee, comes to about $300. (The room rate included 4 p.m. checkout; to stay after 4 p.m. cost 50% of the standard room rate.) The 4 meals that we charged to our room, along with all of the dry cleaning, comes to $60.
The hotel shuttle takes all of the members of our travel group to the airport at 7:30 p.m. In the van with us is an Assembly of God children’s missionary in transit to the U.S. from another small African country. He and Joe (a children’s pastor) hit it off, exchanging outreach tips on the drive to the airport.
At the airport, we do not get a chance to say goodbye, rushing separate ways to check in at different airlines. We are not worried though – we will see each other again soon for our embassy appointments! Although our travel group was small, just three families, we had a great time together. It will be fun to keep in touch now that we have shared such an amazing experience together.
Leaving the hotel four hours before our flight was a good idea. It takes forever to make our way to the ticket counter to check-in and check our luggage. For the return trip, I check my small carry-on bag as well as one of the blue tubs now packed with purchases and reinforced with the surviving two luggage straps.
We do some last-minute shopping at the airport. The prices are high, but there are still some good finds, including a carved wood coffee pot (200 birr) for Jon, earrings for Grandma (30 birr), and a Christmas ornament (50 birr).
We relax and enjoy some sodas at an airport restaurant, then wait to board our flight to Frankfurt. The flight departs at 11:25; Kristen and I are both so tired that we fall sound asleep before the plane starts taxiing. We wake up mid-flight and watch a movie on the personal entertainment screens on the seat backs in front of us. With 18 movies to choose from, the time passes quickly.
When we land at 5 a.m. in Frankfurt, it is dark and cold, with snow on the ground. It is an easy decision to scrap our plans to leave the airport and rush downtown to sightsee. Instead, we make our way through customs and out to the main shopping area of the airport. We devour bacon-egg-and-cheese muffins at McDonald’s. I have hot chocolate to start, then win a small soda in their Monopoly game. Too funny! I buy and mail two postcards, one to Grandma and one to Oma, and have an ice cream cone at Baskin Robbins. Kristen finds souvenir golf balls for Aaron and his dad, which make her happy, and before we knew it our five hour layover comes to an end.
We board our flight on time, only to sit on the runway for more than 90 minutes because of air traffic congestion. When we finally land in Seattle, make our way through Customs, collect our checked luggage, and walk out to the ticket counter, it is almost 2:30; my connecting flight to PDX departed at 1:15. The people ahead of me have made it onto the 3:05 flight to Portland, but that is now booked and I am put on the 4:30 flight. Kristen, meanwhile, checks into her flight to Yakima. We get some food and soda, call our families, then go to our separate gates. Because of a problem with the pilot’s seat, passengers on the 3:05 were still waiting when I board the 4:30 flight. In the end, they still take off sooner – the 4:30 flight sits over an hour, waiting for a mechanic to come fix a minor hydraulic fluid issue. My flight finally lands in Portland at 7 p.m.
Because I am arriving 5 hours later than expected, Jon is able to pick me up after work; I call Cheri to let her know she does not need to come pick me up after all. As I walk out of the security area, I see Jon. What a welcome sight! We sit down and Jon orders some food while I get a smoothie, then he spends nearly an hour on the phone with HP trying to get the laptop recovery disks mailed to us overnight. That is love. (In the end, it turns out that the recovery disks would not have helped – the hard drive is, indeed, dead.)
I finally arrive home at 9:00 p.m., more than 36 hours after leaving the Riviera. I get hugs and kisses from Matthew, then fall into bed.
There is truly no place like home!
THANK YOU for such a detailed account of your first trip! I love reading anything that makes me feel more prepared (as neither of us are "travelers" by any means!).
ReplyDeleteand ALSO, thank you for the pics of the menu!!! can you tell i've been coming back and rereading again and again :-)
ReplyDeleteThis was so great to read. I love the details and I picture so much from when we were there in November - although - not there for our adoption. I just love reading your posts - it's as if you were sitting down and just talking to us. Thanks for sharing.
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