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.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Friday, June 26, 2009
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!!!!
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, June 25, 2009
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!
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!
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
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
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
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