One year ago I didn't wake up to the sounds of boys running to get a "few extra minutes of tv before mom & dad wake up." I didn't hear them fighting with their little sister. I wasn't in my comfy bed with all my familiar things. Instead I was hearing the sounds of roosters, donkeys, people chanting. I still haven't figured out if the chanting we were hearing all week was to praise our God (we were there during Holy Week) or if it was some of the group that was trying to drown out the praises to our Heavenly Father. I know there were 2 different sets that week - not that I could tell them apart. And I KNOW that my God still LIVES & that we are still praising Him, so they weren't very productive. And on a side note from where I started, I know that even if they were successful at stopping our praises, that still the "rocks would cry out" for our God. (I just love that.)
One year ago I was smelling something that I still haven't put my finger on: some kind of mixture of sweat, animal, flowering plants, spices, incense & ? all mixed into one big blast when the winds would rush by us. People were everywhere as we drove by in our little van. It wasn't hot enough to run the air-conditioner, but we couldn't stand how stifling it was so the windows were open. Not exactly the perfect conditions for our first impressions that these mamas were looking for. The rocky van ride showed us sights of Addis that we would soon memorize cause we would take the same route each time we went to visit the care center. I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest as we drove down this tiny narrow make shift driveway. We turned & immediately saw a red gate that would allow us entry to the children. As soon as they saw us coming, children were surrounding our van. Their hands forced their way into our open windows. They smiled, but yet the hollowness in their eyes still haunts me. Our driver said something that stopped most of them momentarily, but that was part of the ritual that I never got used to. I wanted to help them so badly that it hurt. I wonder how many of the adoptive parents were able to shower them with some earthly blessings. The driver would honk the horn & almost immediately the gate was opening for us - the vips from America.
As we entered the U shaped housing complex, I searched for the room that my child - MY BABY - would be. After all the introductions & the ceremonial sight seeing of the complex, we were led to the baby room. We had to take off our shoes before setting foot onto that dark red carpet. We cleaned our hands with the hand sanitizer, in the hopes not to bring more germs into the already sick children. Chicken pox had invaded this complex - it was quite evident. I searched the room as I heard lots of chatter & crying but still didn't see her. Sister, the resident head nurse, led us to the side room which was filled with more baby beds. That room was calmer, quieter somehow. The walls were bare except for over 2 of the beds: two of their parents had already been there. They left behind pictures of themselves in the hopes that their babies wouldn't forget their faces until they could return to take them home. Finally to my right we were directed to the little white painted iron bed (so different from most of the wooden beds there). She was asleep, sound asleep. I could have stood there & soaked her in all day. But Sister insisted that Genet wake up to meet her parents. I begged her not to, but she woke her up anyway. There she was: Genet Matiwos, even more beautiful in person even with the dried up chicken pox bumps. It took her a while to wake up, something we would soon figure out was just part of a routine for her. She looked confused, scared, & even mad at us for disturbing her. She tolerated all of our elaborate loving on her, something that by then she probably thought was just part of life (all adoptive parents loved on all the kiddos - they needed that & the parents back home needed to know they were getting it.) I am sure she thought we were a little different. Every time we saw her, we didn't let her go. We didn't ignore her like some of the other parents had & would do. We paid full attention to her. We took her outside. We took way too many pictures of her. We spoke to her in funny ways. I am sure she doesn't remember those moments, but they are ones I will never forget.
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