Colorado Trip Photos

So way back when in October we had a great trip to meet Scott's family in Colorado. I'm wishing right now that I had some photos of the moment we got off the tram, doors opened to a whole audience of people awaiting their loved ones... black roping dividing us from those waiting. Mims and Pops stood on one side, us lugging all our stuff but most importantly their new Grandson on the other side. We see each other and both Mims and I begin crying. I have just kept a vision for more than three years and traveled half way around the world to a very foreign place and in that moment of looking at Mims and Pops laying eyes on their grandbaby for the first time, I am overwhelmed by a sense of some strange heroism... taken aback completely by the fact that I now know I did not do this for myself only... but that my journey toward Pacifique was truly for many, and for this mother of my dear husband.

Please enjoy some photos of our time in Colorado. Pictured below are Ariah's Uncle Patrick and Aunt Cari (Scott's sister and BIL) and his mom and dad (along with us).

Update on Clementina

Well, it has been a while since I posted what I knew of the situation with Clementina. In that time, I have become skeptical of the credibility of this situation posed to me by our friend Happy. Before I sent any money to Rwanda for Clementina's care, there were certain specific questions that I wanted answered completely: like what hospital she was in, which bed number. What was her prognosis if she received medical attention or surgery? What of the sick baby? I did not receive answers to any of these questions. The lack of information made me suspect, but I kept at it with the help of some wonderful women who also have come to know and love both Clementina and Happy. We all tried everything we knew to get accurate information- calling Rwanda and even asking an American acquaintance now living in Kigali to go to the reported doctor and hospital to get information about Clementina. Her efforts were tireless, but she was unable to set her eyes on Clementina.

Some of you have donated, but please know that I am holding on to the donations until I have spoken with you directly regarding how to proceed. Please be in contact with me if you have sent something along... I have tried to reach a few of you to no avail.

I hesitate to write much about this here, as I do not want to add drama to an already tough situation. Suffice it to say I am very sad and worried. Sad because Happy was a good friend to me and others and I hate to believe that he knowingly misrepresented something in order to get money. Worried because maybe Clementina is indeed sick and in trouble... and if she isn't then it is going to be very difficult to help her going forward since my only way to her was thru Happy.

That being said, I am also grateful and proud that I listened to my instinct, slowed things down and asked questions. I am happy that I was able to have integrity with people's money and that I worked so hard to verify the facts of this situation.

I will keep you posted if anything develops.. and again, if you have sent a donation but have not spoken with me, please contact me.

Blessings,
Jaya

Clementina Needs Help

Our family has been contacted with news that both Clementina and her young baby have been hospitalized sometime last week. Apparently Clementina has some growth or tumor on her uterus which is causing vast amounts of pain and needs to be removed urgently. Last reports said that she was in the hospital in excrutiating pain, yelling and screaming and crying for her baby who apparently is very sick with Malaria.

It has proved difficult for us to get all the information we need about Clementina and her case, but we do know that she needs care now and that the hospital will not operate until they are paid to do so. Without medical insurance (which Clementina does not have) the surgeons will not move forward with treatment. We are trying desperately to obtain doctors numbers and emails so that I can communicate directly with them about her needs and prognosis should the operation go smoothly. They need 1,20o USD to get this woman medical care and home again to her family, not to mention the fact that Clementina's landlord is now coming forward asking for the four months back rent she has not been able to meet due to her physical condition deteriorating. Rent is $50 a month, so I need to get them $200 for rent alone if I do not want the kids to lose their house at this moment in time.

I cannot really explain the feelings of unease and worry that I have been sitting with over the past few days as I have learned about this (I should include Ariah and others as well who have grown to love Clementina and her family and are very dedicated to them- I know that many people are sick about this, frustrated with the lack of information and also the feelings of helplessness and worry for Clementina's life). As a privileged American and a woman who showed up at a random moment and saved the family one time already, it is me who is being looked to to again move mountains. It is likely that the only hope of this problem being remedied lies in my hands and the hands that surround us. That is a heavy weight to carry at times like these, and I have had to think long and hard about what it means to have someone's life in your own hands... and those of her 5 children as well. They need their mama home and well. Without her, they are orphans too, maybe not with such a bright future as Pacifique has.

Where you come in... I am sure we can get the money wired over there in time for Clementina, but Scott and I don't have it yet. We need to fund raise it. We have some of the funds already, almost half maybe combined with efforts of some friends in the Bahamas who have come to know and love Clementina and her children too. Our goal is to wire funds obviously as soon as we have all the information, but we need the funds! Please please please, there is a donate button under the header of this page, please use it if you are so inclined to do something for this family this holiday time.

You may contact me as well privately at jayasun@vermontel.net or jsholliman@gmail.com.

I will keep you posted... I am feeling so responsible for this family and their future, and having the participation of others monetarily and otherwise meets my desire for help and care and brings such relief. Who knew that on the anniversary of the day our son was found, St. Nicholas day, we would be deciding the fate of a mother and her kiddos too.

Be blessed,
Jaya and family, Clementine's included

Happy Birth Day, Pacifique!

Once there were two women who never knew each other
One you do not remember, the other you call Mother

One became your guiding star, the other became your sun

The first one gave you life, and the second taught you to live it
The first gave you a need for love, the second was there to give it

One gave you a nationality, the other gave you a name
One gave you a talent, the other gave you aim

One gave you emotions, the other calmed your fears
One saw your first sweet smile, the other dried you tears

One carried you and birthed you, that was all that she could do
The other prayed for a child, and God led her straight to you.

Now, which of these two women, Are you the product of?
Both, my darling, Both, Just two different types of love.

~Anonymous

As we celebrate the birth of our dear son, Rukundo Pacifique, it occurs to me that we have not to date had any ceremony: no blessingway for the new mother, no birth passage to serve as a marker of welcome to this world and our family, no welcome home gathering or celebration upon entry to the US, and now, on this day we choose to celebrate Pacifique’s birth, we are not even having a gathering of community for him, for us. Oh, how I long for some sacred ritual or marker of his coming to us, of us coming to him; of the circle we have completed.

So in this age of technology, it dawned on me: I can request writing, blessings for Pacifique and his life, on his journey here to this Earth and to our family, from those who are gathered around us, who have been with us all along.

If you will please leave a blessing, a prayer, a thought in the comments section, I would be so grateful and happy to collate them in a little wee book for Pacifique to have along side him in this life of his. So that in some way, as he grows, he will always know the love he has been given, the gratitude and joy with which we celebrate his life and his getting here. So that he will see, know, just how many people have witnessed and celebrate the Miracle of him joining our lives in physical form.

Thank you, dear ones, for keeping the circle around us all. We are blessed indeed.

Rwandan Family Aided by Vermont Community

When we were finally refused our adoption request in June of 2008, I knew I could either in that very moment of holding that dismal piece of official letterhead praise or curse God. I decided with a deep inhalation to say "thank you" and believe that miracles can occur in ways that hurt and ways that make us blissful. This refusal was a miracle showing us where a door was closed, where our child wasn't- not in Rwanda in June of 2008. I could have felt many things in addition to anger... guilt, shame, embarrassment after holding our own hands out to many in this community and then taking the money to travel all the way to Rwanda only to fail at achieving bringing home a child. "Thanks for the money... I had a great life-altering trip to Rwanda!" In fact, there were all the above feelings of course, but we focused on the acceptance and gratitude mostly. I knew that I went for a reason, and the truth is we assisted an entire family because of my trip at that particular time. To the family, I was an angel who came into a desperate situation and changed their lives forever.


While in Rwanda in 2008, a young Rwandese man named Happy befriended me and took me to the slums. Happy knew a family who was suffering greatly- a widow with five young children who lived in a "house" literally falling down around her. My blog entry about that woman, Clementine is here. In the time since meeting her, our family and other friends in this community and a dear friend in the Bahamas have successfully sent all her children to a good school, clothed them, helped her move twice and taught her to make jewelry. She lives now in a beautiful home in a good neighborhood and has a small store that she runs out of her front room. Her neighbors are supplied with fuel, grains, soap, and other various staples and she is able to pay for rent and food on her own!

She still struggles as many Rwandese do to supply everything needed for her children. In an effort to keep supporting her, I asked her to make as much jewelry as she could in the days I was there. On the day we left Rwanda, Clementine brought the jewelry to me and I now have the task of selling it for a better price than she could receive for it in Kigali...

Joyeuse before and after our assistance
... isn't she beautiful?

Mama Clementine could not wait to get Ariah into her arms. The walk to Clementine's place was about 15 minutes, finally taking us between homes and gardens, laundry lines and privy's. As we we approached Clementine's, people were yelling to each other, to the family, that we were coming. Clementine ran up to Ariah, gasped, covered her mouth with her hand, began to cry and then grabbed Ariah up and held her on her hip. She hugged Ariah and wouldn't let go and for the long while where her eyes were closed, I imagined that Clementine perceived this beautiful 7 year old American as her life-saver. The one who changed the lives of her entire family. Of course others helped, but I don't know what Clementine knows about the people that helped to change her life and the lives of her kids. I just know that she was grateful beyond words to Ariah.

Ariah had brought along some necklaces of her own to give to the kids. One got given to a neighbor girl rather than Clementine's child. It was definitely overwhelming to be in a sea of kids who all wanted to touch Ariah and us as well, and not obvious which ones were Clementine's kids at first. (The boy in the green and baby on photo right are Clementine's.)


The little girls on photo left and right below are Clementine's kids. The one in the pink next to Ariah never left her side or let go of her hand.


The same two children last year when I visited their home...

Clementine's new home! In a great location with cement floors!

Her store supplies are on the left of the photo, but she uses the front room as a sales location as well. In time, with some additional money raised, Clementine and my friend Happy will build a shed type cupboard to enclose the supplies from the elements.

Clementine before our help in the photo below- she was so worried and sad when I met her, just hopeless and helpless. When we saw her this time, she was happy and even had bulked up substantially since they now have food for their bellies!

Many people have woven a web that has sent us to Rwanda twice now. Each time, we were able to touch other people as well as ourselves and we hope to continue the support of this mom and family as well as the orphanage and others. I offer this blog as a tangible way to say thank you to each and every one of you who have helped along the way. You have indeed shifted many lives with your love and compassion. Should you desire to contribute financially or in any other way to the continuation of support to this family, please let me know at jayasun@vermontel.net.

PICTURES FOR YOU

Meeting Nola for the first time


Pretty proud I learned to carry him african style


With our dear neighbors


Pacifique with his Great Grandfather age 91



Ariah and Pacifique



cabbage head

Housekeeping (not the kind you will rag on me for)

This entry doesn't count as real writing; I have had on my to-do list "Blog Entry" for weeks now and I just never get to it. I guess there is nothing pressing and I don't feel obligated to write, and hanging with the kiddos is taking all my time or something. That and I clearly don't know what to write about now that we're home. Anyway, do stay tuned for some re-vamping, maybe add a playlist or something as well as post pics from Rwanda. Coming soon...

But for now, two things: 1) If you sign in as "anonymous" and neglect to sign your post (nearly everyone last post) I have no clue who you are. Maybe you want it that way, but this blog thing certainly seems personal enough on my end (I think I've shared deeply intimate stuff with you) that it warrants you signing your names to any comments. 2) Either I am a crappy writer and failed to get my point across or something... My post about when do I give up entirely was not about me wanting a spotless home above all else. It was not about me valuing cleanliness more than the precious moments of childlike joy. It was not about me not feeling thankful. Heck, it wasn;t even about what the kids will remember... really.

It was about the in and out of my days. It was about the "if you give a mouse a cookie" syndrome of motherhood and the struggle a meager homemaker and housewife and mother has... the ongoing attempts to "do better" or "do more" or "at least get dinner on the table" that in my case, anyway, are typically met with failure by the end of a day. That attempt to finally once and for all get the entire house vacuumed rather than the move-the-vacuum-around-all-week-from-room-to-room running behind. The futile attempt of course.

Can't I be grateful for the miracle of my family and also be struggling as a mother and housewife and homemaker? Give up entirely? Really? Are there really those of you out there who give up on it entirely? Wait... don't answer that. I cannot imagine. No, you must struggle as I do to get it all done- the homeschooling, the fun, the snuggling, the nurturing, the cooking, the errands, the spontaneous wrestling, the cooking, the communicating with your spouse, the family meetings, the gardening, the cleaning, the cooking, the laundry... the alone time where we as moms take care of our precious selves... oh, and earn some supplemental income too. I can't imagine letting any part of it go entirely.

No, don't you fret. I am not missing the important things in life. I know how important each moment is, that is a lesson not lost on a mother who has buried the future of her beloved child. I do not miss the importance of children and their joy- after all, I have searched the world over for our child and brought him home. In fact, I get it. Look at the pictures on that blog entry. Look at the faces of the children. I get it. Really.

But I struggle to do it all like so many moms do.

Over and out. Stay tuned. Rwanda pics to come.

When Do I Just Give Up?

I am stuck in the never-ending cycle of thinking I can get the house clean, organized, and well... peaceful. It goes like this: Evening time and I am looking at the house trashed from the day and I think, "Tomorrow I will really bust my ass and get this house whipped into shape! I will even make a nice dinner. Finish the laundry, get the accounting done and bills paid, follow up and the odds and ends of the adoption." I go to sleep and try my darndest in the morning. I make good progress despite the fact that the phone rings off the hook and my mom tells me more stuff than I had imagined when I call to ask a simple question about the company picnic. Around 11:00am I realize that I am not making such good time as I had hoped, am behind already in my prediction of just how much I can get done in one day, but Scott reminds me that there is still day left... except that I need to think about making dinner NOW because dinner can be a major production with everything else going on around here interrupting things. If I need something out of the freezer I should have done that last night so it would be thawed. So nevermind the freezer.. wish FlyLady had sent a reminder about that. Hmmm... peer in the fridge... nothing obvious, might as well wait till later. Lunch time for the kids. Today Ariah invited a friend over so she could be occupied while I worked. I even had a whole list together and resolve to do it! So... lunch... by now I have caught on that the girls have converted the almost clean living room into an American Girl hide-a-way.



Then I eat lunch myself, sitting amongst the dirty dishes left on the table by the girls, feed Pacifique and encourage the girls outside. They skip the bathing suits and sprinkler and head for the plethora of blackberries instead; they are on a mission to make soup. A while later, they are lugging the house furniture out to the front yard. Gawdzukes... my June Cleaver plan is unraveling! They are looking for paper, and finding the rolls of tape. The kitchen becomes a large scale STICKY (think lots of honey to sweeten their "soup") disaster and my hopes for a clean house and peaceful dinner go outside with the table and chairs.



I am quickly becoming June With A Cleaver! Turns out they have decided to have a sale of their blackberry and now mint echinacea soup in the front yard. Ariah's friend apparently can't do this so easily where she lives off the beaten path in the hills. We are in town, almost at the crossroads, so we get a bit of traffic here and the girls look like ants going back and forth from front yard to house to gather supplies.



They set the price and it is not priced to sell, I'll tell you. Judging the size of the miniature shot glasses they have lined up at the front of the table, and wondering how much dirt is in the "soup" I cringe and resolve to hide in the bushes so I am not regarded as anywhere near involved with the sale. With time, they manage to sell thru the soup and head for the kitchen to raid the organic lemon juice supply and more and more lemonade is made. Scott has returned from his errands and gives them appropriate plastic cups. At some point, they discover that holding Pacifique up to the road along with their lemonade sign really attracts the customers. In the end, they have a blast and make a huge profit.



So now Scott is cooking dinner, the kids are counting their loot, and I am blogging while Pacifique fusses on the floor in the other room. The office desk is a complete mess and I am finding myself with my hopes for today dashed but planning how to correct this insanity tomorrow. After all, it is a new day. Right?

Afloat

Many would wonder why if I fought this long and hard to find Pacifique why now I would be torn inside out, feeling inept and awkward with my ability to parent him. I used to be a good mother: loved mothering fiercely. People even wondered why "me" of all people had to lose a child; as if the mother who frequents the Rutland, VT Wal-Mart and slaps her child when he yells would be more deserving of such a retched circumstance.

Pacifique is gorgeous: he has the most luscious sateen skin, huge eager eyes, a squeal of pleasure that ends in qiggles half of the time. Heck he even cuddles right into my chest and sucks his three fingers: a habit that pre-existed our time with him, a method of self-soothing necessary for orphanage survival. But now he presses against my heart and lays his warm head just under my chin, and yet I am beside myself at times with anxiety, impatience and anger. He cries and I want to stop up the hole where the noise comes from with any material nearby. Something spills or drops and I am fuming. The normal follow up question would be, "what the heck is my problem?"

I've decided that the learning curve, especially without the running start of pregnancy, required for parenting two children is a steeper incline that anyone with only one child could ever have anticipated. I have never been in this territory before: dividing my already precious little self between the needs of two children. But moreover, I realize that I have work to step into the position (that isn't even the correct word choice)of MOTHER for this wee one, Pacifique. I have been so far reluctant to become or believe that I am his mother.

I think of the woman, his mother, who brought Pacifique into this world. She grew this child under her own beating heart, fed him with her body and her breath, and rode the waves of pain that opened her entire being to allow Pacifique to push past her body and become his own separate life here on Earth. I know what it is to lose a child forever. I imagine this mother everyday, and what she might be doing or feeling. If she walked back thru the door yesterday I would have handed him to her saying I had done the best I could while she was gone. No way could I stand between a mother and her child. But it is time for me to step into the honor, the sacred path, of being Pacifique's mother. Today, I drew my protective circle around him and donned my mama bear claws. Today, if the woman who birthed our son walked in the door, I would pick him up, clutch him to my chest and pray for what to do next. No handing over, no more thinking I am just the temporary guardian of this little soul.

My blessed friend and midwife for Ariah held the space for me to see this aspect of my disconnect to Pacifique and to my mother-self. It has been uphill since, and for the first time in days, I feel I am alfoat. This is uncharted territory, this new life with Pacifique. With the support of many around me, I am slowly coming home to myself and stepping into the love that awaits me and us all.

Tonight Pacifique awoke crying, very early compared to the normal routine of needing to eat. Ariah and I ran up the stairs and found him crying unlike we had heard before. She wanted to pick him up, but I knew he needed his mother's touch, and I scooped him up and encouraged her to rub his back instead. He burped. Twice. Still he cried, but snuggled into me with his entire being. Lied against my core, my heart, with the warmth of his whole everything. This little fellow needs me and only I can sooth him like I did. He soon fell asleep, trusting me with all his weight, to hold him fully. And I will... forever.

Home Now

It's five thirty Vermont time, and boy are we all jet-lagged. Last night at six, I lay on the bathroom floor moaning and wondering why I felt as if I had drank an entire bottle of cheap booze the night before when I haven't touched alcohol in the time since we heard about our miracle news from Rwanda. There just hasn't been time to drink. Still, I felt as if I had alcohol poisoning and all I could do was moan and complain all day. Not the best homecoming possible, but then at least we got home. Ariah fell asleep with me on the bathroom floor while trying to decide about dinner, crying because she couldn't decide if she wanted noodles or rice or broccoli or green beans. After 15 minutes of painstaking deliberation I took it as indication that she was too tired to do anything but sleep. I managed to move from horizontal to vertical long enough to make it to the bedroom, and we zonked out for the night. That left poor Scott on duty with Pacifique, but he's used to taking care of everything after we have a baby, so to a degree it is par for the course. With Ariah, I had a nasty recovery from the surgery that brought her into the world, and with Trace... well... Of course I wasn't able to do anything. Dad was up with Pacifique twice in the night- but the boy is still asleep for the tenth straight hour otherwise. That is a blessing, since we wondered if he would be all backwards schedule-wise form the time change.

We arrived in Wednesday night, midnight, after a admittedly hellish day on the plane. Flight leaving Addis was late departing, and four people in three sardine can plane seats is uncomfortable at best. There were times I had both children in my seat and the man in front of me nearly decapitated my knee cap when he rammed his seat back into me. Neither Scott or I were able to sleep as the seats are configured so that the only place your head can go is forward when you doze and we all know just how conducive that position is to sleeping. The flight was uneventful but long and when we arrived in Dulles we had about an hour and a half to clear immigration and customs, get our luggage out, check it back thru, check into United Airlines and RUN thru the airport for our Boston flight. We made it, running thru security and cutting in front of people, out of breath. The only truly hairy point was going thru customs with Pacifique. We hand the immigration officer our four passports, and he looks at Pacifiuqe and says, "I need the Yellow envelope". Silence, then he repeats. "Do you have the yellow envelope that came with the visa?" My breath catches standing here in the immigration line, people behind me, the final port-of-entry that we have been anticipating for so long, and I say, "You are kidding, right?" followed up very quickly with a "You officers probably don't joke, do you?" The officer is getting very uncomfortable and nervous. He is kind, not irritated at all, just exceedingly worried for the situation. We go over the details while my heart moves to my throat. "They gave us the passport and visa only, no yellow envelope. No one mentioned a yellow envelope. Scott went to pick up the visa.. .I wasn't there." Finally after about what feels like a suspension of time for at least 5 minutes, Scott digs in the black back pack we have been lugging around Kigali and Addis for over 2 weeks. The one we decided after much deliberation to include our adoption paperwork in even though we were technically finished, rather than get rid of the load and include it in with our checked baggage. He fishes around and pulls out a yellow-tinted manila envelope. "Is this it?" And the officer breathes a sigh of relief. My god, Oh, man my nerves... I could kill the guy right at this point. I guess he just doesn't pay attention to the details like I do. Like if the Consular in Addis handed me Pacifique's passport along with a hermetically sealed yellow envelope, I would likely inquire, "What is this big fancy envelope for with my son's photo on the outside for? Ah, but the point is we had it. If I ever become a Embassy Consular, I will be certain to tell people what that fancy important envelope is for. I will stress it to them, in case they decide to toss it before traveling home to lighten their load.

We board the plane with a minute to spare only to sit on the tarmac for an hour due to bad weather in Boston. Then we fly the hours flight only to land in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania to refuel. Yes, you read it right. There was no logic my brain could wrap itself around. We must have been doing figure eights all the way to Harrisburg, if you look at the map DC and Harrisburg are about a 10 minute walk apart. And refueling? We got fuel and found there was a ground stop in Boston, so there we waited for another hour and a half or so. I cannot tell you how anti-climactic that flight was... being so close to my folks waiting at Boston for us, but not being able to get there. When we finally did arrive, we determined what I suspected: there was not enough time for the Airline to get our luggage to the connection, so we are still without bags. Sigh. No wonder we all feel as if we haven't quite arrived yet.

Regardless of arriving late and my butt feeling like a mammoth rock had grown out of it sometime during the night, handing Pacifique to my mother was worth everything it took to come to that point. Watching her do exactly what I did when I first laid eyes on my son and he was put against my chest was the moment I had been anticipating with tears for three days solid. Upon arriving home in our dooryard at midnight, pulling all the last bags out of the van, I looked at our son asleep in his car seat, infant head cocked to one side. Jesus God (yes, I know I am swearing) did we go to the end of the world to pick up this little man, to bring him all the way back here to our little humble home in Vermont. I have been traveling the world over for two years and have finally found what I was being called to. A person, a human being, an entire life that I knew without a doubt was there, calling us to find him. Many wondered what I was after, why, doubted if I really knew. But I did, I have felt this particular child, this particular soul for nearly two years now, and we finally found him. Amen.

More later...

mama Jaya

Laundry in Addis

I have become the laundra-matic. Why: because my family brought three of each thing: panties, pants, shirts, and they get dirty here in Africa very readily, from the red soil, the dirty benches upon which we wait for paperwork, in the taxi cabs. Not to mention the fact that if you somehow manage to preserve your clothes for the day, Pacifique is sure to throw up on you at least one good one per hour. So, we wash every day multiple times and try our hardest to make our small box of Tide last three weeks. When in Rwanda, itr was no problem to wash and dry. Time consuming, yes, but no problem logistically. Rwanda was in its dry season and it was bone dry and 100 degrees each day, so our laundry dried almost instantaneously. But here in Addis (we got here Saturday night) we are in the rainy season, which means massive downpours and thunderstorms every day in the afternoon and virtually impossible laundry drying situations. At any given time there are diapers and t shirts and panties draped meticulously all over the room- on the doors, hangers, chairs, even the luggage rack. I spend my days obsessed with turning them just right, so that all parts will be exposed to the hotel air system at some point during the day.

So Addis is fine. We are staying in way too nice of a hotel- one that has me seeing dollar signs in place of everything my cornia, (retina?) registers, but apparently there is no other place to stay that is safe and has good water and no raw sewage. It is a world apart from Rwanda, and the whole family agrees that Rwanda felt more comfortable to us. This lkand is strange to us, more foreign. We were fortunate to get in on the weekend, have Sunday to relax, and then beat feet to the adoption work this morning (Monday). The task at hand here is to get a US visa so Pacifique can come into the States. Kind of a vital point, as leaving him here in Ethiopia would really stink.

We were able to get up, go to the doctor for an exam necessary for the Embassy interview and then proceed right to the Embassy to file our paperwork. The man there in charge of adoptions was quite easy to work with, and let us slide by with our lame translations of the Rwandan documents and also said we did not need an interview, which I had understood was an integral part of the process. So we wait for tomorrow for the medical tests to come back, and then they are sent to the Embassy. After that, they will issue the visa to come home to the States. We checked return flights and there are none Wednesday and Thursday and Friday are full. So, we are booked on a Tuesday pm flight arriving Boston on Wednesday, but that will all depend on the medicals coming back in a timely and perfect fashion tomorrow. And then of course the visa being issued in time to make the flight.

But wait... now mom from home is saying that our travel agent there shows us canceled on the Tuesday flight and booked on Thursday, so I guess what this means is another wait and talk with the Ethiopian office in the morning. Argh. Welcome to the transitory lifestyle of private international adoption.

So, if you do not hear from us again, then it is good news and we are on a plane. If we are stuck, we will certainly find the time to write.

Many blessings and thanks for all the love, prayers and well wishes sent this way. It has meant so much to us all.

We did it!!!!

I only have a second, and am typing on an iPod, so briefly...

OMG!!!! We flew thru immigration in record time (less than 24 hours) and got the passport, walked to the us embassy and finished our paperwork, then took a hot cab (100 degrees outside) to Ethiopian airlines to buy the baby's ticket. We leave Saturday afternoon for addis and hit the embassy Monday!

Woohoo!!!!

Thursday Update

A quick entry to update you- not going for writer's perfection here, just the basics.

Monday we turned in our paperwork to the Ministry requesting our fancy letter that would give us permission to travel and would also serve to complete the adoption process and enable us to keep Pacifique with us at all times. Tuesday they woman who needed to write the letter was out of the office all day, but with an email to the Minister herself, we were able to get commitment that the letter would be available for us the next day (wednesday). So on Wednesday morning, the Minister followed thru with her word and after waiting for some time in their office, we received the magical piece of paper. If ever there was a celebratory moment, this was it.

So we traveled to the orphanage one last time to deliver the official papers (I'm leaving out all the steps in between for notaries, banks, lawyer payments, etc)and Pacifique was sprung officially from his previous residence.

Returning home was a blessing, but after about 15 minutes of bliss, Pacifique began screaming in a way that indicated severe pain... altho he was simply ravenous. It only took about one nanosecond for us to determine that we were without the bottle we brought from the states. We must have thrown it aside at the art market, traded it hastily for a diaper to catch the one millionth puke. The kid is a fountain. Anyway, Scott ran through Kigali to the baby store to find a smaller version of our Avent bottle for a mere $20 USD, only to find he has spent all of his francs at the art center. Needless to say, it was a bit of an unfortunate introduction to living with us as parents and guardians for Pacifique.

Today we went at opening to the immigration office to request Pacifiques's Passport. That meant a 5 am rise, and one grumpy Ariah Ray. At the counter we explained our situation, hoping to get some compassion and assistance for a process that usually takes 10 business days. We showed them copies of our Saturday tickets to Addis, and explained that we needed the passport by tomorrow at 11 am or else we would be stuck here until at least next Wednesday due to the fact that the US Embassy closes at noon tomorrow and does not accomodate us again until Tuesday. And we cannot leave until we clear the Embassy.

So right now, we are crossing all our everythings that some miracle will happen and we will be able to get a passport (we were told it was impossible, but I knew to clarify: "is it impossible, meaning it cannot be done, or is it very difficult?" The answer was that it is very difficult which if anyone knows, I know, that those are two very different terms)by 11 tomorrow. If you have any prayers at all, please send em our way. I feel like a guy at a dead show, his finger in the air over his head, with a sign "I need a miracle."

So tonight we are headed to a restauarant for the first time with babe in arms. No idea how to handle that. I am slave to the bottle now, and have new appreciation for what a convenient miracle breastfeeding is! Everywhere we go, we need to strategize how to get a food source for this child. Last night he slept thru dinner which made things very enjoyable, today he has been sleeping the last two hours, so I am in for a different experience.

Anyway, he is cute as a button as my mom would say and we already love him to pieces. We will be glad to finish this leg of the journey and begin our travel to Addis. Our goal is SolarFest!

The Wait

The Wait

It’s possible that by the time I finish writing this post Jaya and Ariah will have arrived back at the motel with the “To Whom It May Concern Letter” letter in hand. If so, in a matter of a day or three we’re flying to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia for the second leg of this three-legged run. It’s also possible that the opposite will be true. We don’t know, and if you haven’t gathered by now that business proceedings in Africa have a vastly different nature than they do in the States, I’ll tell you that they do.

(So it didn’t happen today. The girls just returned. The file hasn’t even reached the desk of the woman who reviews it. Twice today the secretary instructed Jaya to come back, the second time, tomorrow. Ahh, but the Minister won’t be in the office tomorrow, so maybe we’ll have it on Thursday. If only! If only they understood what it has taken us (geez) to get to this point, maybe then they would shout, “Give me that file. Let me sign it! Allow these people to unify the links. Let them return home.” And I also hear the gentle, reassuring voice: this will happen when its natural course rounds the bend and glides over that one rightful stone. Be patient. All in good time.)

The language differences, even between English as a first and second language speakers, present significant communication difficulties, and the bureaucracy here seems to me to be considerably less efficient, organized and streamlined that what I’ve experienced in the States. You know, that good ol’ expeditious bureaucracy. I don’t know if my judgment above is ethnocentric or not, but based on experiences it at least appears true.

Yesterday (Monday) we delivered all of our documents to the Ministry of Family and Gender, including our request for the “To Whom It May Concern” letter/cover page, our ticket out of this country (this one’s for you Paul Morgan) with the “lad.” It was a fortuitous delivery in that everybody involved with generating this most precious letter was crammed into a small, bare bones office, including the Minister herself. They all greeted us warmly, even one whom Jaya found rather challenging last year. The Minister held Pacifique, so did the other woman. We presented them with gifts from our homeland: maple syrup, maple candies and the beautiful ceramic creations of our supportive friends and neighbors, Nick and Diane (Rising Meadow Pottery—hey guys, I really wanted to work in the pitch; it’s the least I can do). But equally as important to us flying out of here soon, this letter permits us to keep Pacifique with us at all times. The more time we spend with Pacifique, the more challenging it is to return him to the orphanage each night no later than 5:30. Logistically, it’s a slight hassle, but emotionally it feels sad; it tugs at my heartstrings. Jaya would likely elaborate with more than just sad, but that’s how it feels to me. Our desire is to care for, hold, and nurture Pacifique 24 hours a day. That will happen soon, and if soon is tonight, we’ll rejoice. (Not tonight)

The sisters at the orphanage are always gracious and smiling, and I have no doubt that their manner is genuine. They follow the mission of Mother Teresa. Same garb! The outside grounds, inside the perimeter walls, are clean. Someone tends a vegetable garden in one portion of the courtyard. The Swiss chard, collards, kale, lettuce, onions, etc. look healthy, damage free and green. I’m not certain if the kids eat from this bounty. I’m a little puzzled by the smell that greets me each time I enter through the gate and toward that garden. My guess is pesticide, maybe to stave off the swarms of mosquito “bugs” inside the orphanage. I seem to recall that smell one 4th of July when the field underneath where the fireworks display was going to erupt was saturated with a chemical agent designed to stifle the unprecedented invasion of the winged suckers who spawned outside the city of Denver one summer. Maybe I’m incorrect in my assumption, but it just has that synthetic odor. What are they to do? There are hundreds are children in there, maybe thousands for all I know. Someone told us last night that the current statistics claim 850,000 orphaned children in this small country alone.

Two mornings ago I walked down to the orphanage to pick up Paci and had to walk around the back of the building. When I rounded the corner I was immediately swarmed by, I don’t know, 15 toddlers. Each one ran up to me with outstretched arms, “Daddy, Daddy,” clung to my pants and shirt, and held on for much of my walk toward the one child I can help right now. Frankly, I was a little concerned about having them all clutch and cling to me. Many of them were dirty. Snot ran down from their noses into their mouths. Their eyes watered. Open sores stood out like a raspberry floating in a boat of chocolate. I felt desensitized, a robot on singular mission. In that back yard fifty other toddlers stood two feet tall and stared at me with either hopeful or vacant eyes. I walked down the dark hallway, opened the door to Pacifique’s room, the baby room, where thirty babies reclined in thirty cribs, some wailing, some staring off into space and others sucking from a bottle. A nurse handed me Pacifique, and I turned around and repeated the same march through humanity that had united me with me son. I could try and describe the conditions, the smells, the lack of light in more detail, but I don’t want to. I know that the sisters run as nurturing, loving and comfortable home as they can given the monumental task set before them. The regular staff and volunteers from around the world, as far as I can tell, do their loving best as well. But regardless of all of the goodness behind those walls, it really does appear to be “a hard knock life.”

We continue to wait. That means poolside mostly. It’s sunny and warm (80’s) here everyday. Rwanda is in its dry season which apparently means no rain—nada—from the beginning of June until the beginning of September. So as we wait, we’re the beneficiaries of sun rays. And we understand that our Vermont family and friends are currently shriveling from so much rain. Might as well make another Annie reference, “that sun will come ooooooout tomorrow…” We’ll do what we can to change the weather patterns with our return.

Over and out. And love, love, love!

Papa Scott

Confluence

I sleep beneath a constant buzz of swarming mosquito bugs. I actually don't really sleep since they are so loud, like a distant hum of a mower or a cluster of cluster flies in an attic window, dying to escape the summer heat. I would like to say that I have been in Africa enough to realize when they are out of the net or inside it, but it isn't true, not at all. This morning when we woke up Ri to begin what has become a torture scene of taking a shower, we smashed four blood filled bugs inside the net.

The other night when I finally slept I dreamt of Ariah dying, a disturbing dream which fortunately I awoke from. Those of you who have lost your children know the hell I refer to that is so real in a dream, but when it actually becomes your life you awake only to find you are living hell and only your dreams actually serve as an escape at times. Now enough time has elapsed since Trace's death that I no longer have that sinking feeling when my eyes open upon waking and I take stock of the fact that unfortunately I am still alive and my life has become an unbearable nightmare. Now, even before Pacifique, I have found light in the days and gratitude for my life which I very nearly lost. I have circled back into a good life where my waking brings relief from the fears that manifest in my dreams, like Ariah dying. I awoke with her feet in my face (she was sleeping Pippi Longstocking style) but oh, how I didn't care... I just grabbed her red, Africa stained feet and embraced them, grateful to feel the warmth in her body.

The firsrt time our second son was put into my arms, I marveled silently at the warmth eminating from his body. His warm baby head was the frist thing I noticed, it felt so very different than holding Trace cold and stiff from the morgue. I did not expect to be comparing the two in that way, deep in my mother bones, my mother heart and my mother breast and my mother tears recalled the feeling of despair holding my cold son. And with Pacifique's warmth against me, milk breath in my ear, baby inhalations against my chest came a gift I was terrified I would never receive; the blessing of mothering another child.

As I lay under my mosquito net last night, having had to give the son I am loving by day back to the orphanage beds by night, listening to the swarming around me, I feel I am at the confluence of many many losses. Finally arriving to the place I have held steadfast to for two years now, searching the world and the ethers and our hearts over, I can finally rest. It was no easy feat to steer this tattered and weatherworn ship into harbor, but we are here. And now, while I could not afford to stop and look at her hull while the journey was underway, I can get off and take stock of all that happened along the way. I have lost a son, but never the dream of having a son to care for. I have lost my womb, but never the instinct to bring a child into this world, into our home. I have lost my best friend, dear Amy who passed over two years ago to the day that we received Pacifique as our son. But I have not lost her dream of raising children gently and wholly and of adopting herslef one day from a place like Africa. I have lost in many ways, or been estranged from, my cherished friend in my hometown, one who began the process of adoption in Rwanda with me, and did not finish her dream. I have not and will not lose my love and gratitude for her. And so as I lay under my net, I close my eyes and let myself breathe, perhaps really breathe, for the first time since Trace. And with the breath comes an enormous wave of overwhelming emotion. I can feel all these losses fully for the first time, and all at once. My confluence is here and it is where I move from loss to life and celebration. I don't know how long I iwll be in this harbour where I feel the losses of Trace and my womb and my friends so accutely, but soon I will be moving on in a new way toward home.

Blessed be.

Our son, Rukundo Pacifique, was found here on December 5th 2008, by two young boys. His mother dropped him here in the bushes. We haveall gained so much in finding him, and he has also lost a great amount. We feel his story pulsating through us. May his ship be at harbor as well.

Back on the Horse

This time around I'll save all along the way.

Right now I don't possess the wherewithal to recollect what I lost last night. No, instead I'll reflect on today's events. Swimming has become the most popular activity when we're not conducting business, and today was business free. All Ariah wants to do is play in the pool, which we're so grateful to have available to us since the motel is modest, quite nice, but modest. About all Ariah has going for her, other than heaping love on her new brother when he's with us, is the pool. We have a television, but as Ariah has noted, "It's all grown up television, definitely not kid's stuff." Keeping Ariah happy, not at the complete expense of everything else, including ourselves, has been a priority. No, we didn't drag her along on this transcontinental journey; she wanted to come. That felt good to Jaya and me, having her participate in the acquisition (sounds strange but it's accurate) of a new brother, seeing his homeland, and most importantly feeling connected to this monumental family experience. And we both knew that it wouldn't be all vanilla ice cream cones and bike rides. Ariah has been our only living child for seven and a half years, and we've chosen the attachment parenting route. That means mountains of attention. Suddenly she's out of her element, no friends to lean on for play (support or respite), Rwandans everywhere gawking at her (since the other day I've seen plenty of other white people here, but not one other white child), and a new baby brother who is garnering so much attention, obviously. I was sitting next to Ariah at one point today, Pacifique in my lap, and I’m giving him love: chanting, blowing on his belly, stretching his arms and legs, rapping in baby lexicon, and the whole time I’m also observing Ariah’s reactions to this play. It appears that she’s confused, maybe a little jealous. One moment she’s reprimanding him for touching her with his foot then next moment she’s asking to hold him. Judging by her facial expressions, knit brow, scowl; ear to ear smile and full moon eyes, she’s at the mercy of this grand and grand scale transition. I’m not worried. She’s a grounded little girl, full of love, full of compassion, full of grace and nurturing. No, Pacifique isn’t black baby doll Isaiah; she can’t be the present mother she is with him in a sling on her shoulder, but caring for Isaiah has taught her how to hold and kiss and love her new baby brother, in embracing half of their emergent, paradoxical relationship. Did I mention what a saving grace that pool has been?

One more thing. I asked Happy, a Rwandan man whom Jaya befriended on her last trip over here, what the role of the father is in this culture. “Is the father involved in raising the child?” He said that the father’s responsibility is to provide, not to raise and nurture children. He said that if a Rwandan man walked the streets as I did the other evening with a baby in his arms, people around him would say, “He’s turned American.” I said that I had wondered about that when my walk draw the attention of everyone. Happy chuckled, “Men here, unless maybe they’re highly educated, don’t participate much in raising children. The man tells the child to do something, and the child does it. ‘Go to bed! You go to bed.’ ‘You can’t go out! You don’t go out.’ ‘Do this job! You do that job’ ‘Don’t you cry! You don’t cry!’ No, the men here don’t do the children so much. But they do know about you American men.”

Alright, I’m out of here, but not before acknowledging all the loving messages people out there have been sending. They’re blessing us for sure, helping us to feel supported and connected. And Esther, wow! Thank you for the beautiful bouquet. We love you! All of you.

Papa Scott

Photos you've been asking for

So it takes about 30 minutes here to upload one photo, and beyond being infuriating, it has also just simply not been do-able due to our hectic schedule. But here goes, I will try to see how far I get for you all.


The road to the orphanage


Outside the orphanage gate before meeting Pacifique for the first time


Ahhhh... finally.....


All together outside the doctor's office



Happy Father's day!!!

More to come later... but for all of you who are wondering, we passed court yesterday! Scott spent three ours writing about it, but it is in the ethers now... needless to say, he is our son, but we cannot leave the country with him until we get the letter from the Minister and the Rwandan visa. No idea how long this will take, but it could be a while. We are on African time... Court was a trip- sitting there with Rwandans in pink gowns (picture hospital gowns) which inicate they are criminals. Adopting a baby all in french with inmates present to witness! Whatever- the point is, it is all moving along and for real this time. Going to pick up Pacifique now, more later.

We have an itouch now and can read all your posts and encouragement and tears immediatley here at the hotel. How wonderful the technology is. Your words and hearts are bring us to tears constantly. It is so meaningful, bless you all!