Being "fragile", passing court, and the three longest weeks of my life

Forgive me for skipping quite a number of days. I did the same when my mother came to visit, and now with Doug and Aidah both staying at the guesthouse, there is no quiet time.

The biggest and best news of all is what you have all seen shouted from the rooftops the last two days. We are officially the legal guardians of Aidah Kwagala Nabuuza. the ruling wasn’t the piece of cake that we expected it to be. In fact, we sat almost holding our breaths for a good 30 minutes while the judge questioned Aidah’s father in front of us. Last Friday, there were just enough seats for everyone attending court - Aidah’s father and mother, auntie, Eve the social worker, Jurjanne, Aidah and myself. Add in Doug and there weren’t enough seats. So, in the back corner of the room, Doug, Aidah and I squished onto two seats, arms around each other, and Aidah’s hands twisting nervously on her lap. The judge immediately called Jacson to stand and talk with the interpreter. At the time it looked like lots of shaking heads, arguing back and forth, frequent pointing at Aidah and some strongly articulated comments by the judge:
“That’s NOT what you said last time!”
“I do not trust you!”
“Repeat what you just said.”
“Ask him again!”
  Jacson stood for about 10 minutes, and finally the judge released him. He relaxed back in his chair, glancing at us, making small talk with our attorney, and then all of a sudden -
  “I do not trust this man. He is not honest. Looking at the probation report, it is obvious this is not a family to be trusted (and he is correct about that). Normally I would not entertain such a case. It is only due to this child’s medical condition that I am hereby granting legal guardianship to the applicants.”
My arm immediately went to Aidah’s head and I squeezed her tightly. I bent forward to see if she had understood and saw that her mouth was broadened in one of the largest smiles I had ever seen on her little face. Doug and I both squeezed and and kissed her and she relaxed back against our arms as the judge finished up the details.
  A judge can ask whatever he wants in the ruling and it is up to our morals and ethics to live up to it. There are some things that judges ask that can make a child ineligible for an orphan visa, like insisting that the child cannot be readopted in the United States but instead must travel back to Uganda for finalization. But that wasn’t in the ruling. We are now obligated to bring her back to Uganda at least once every five years until she is no longer under our roof, provide updates to the Ugandan Embassy, the probation officer, the family court and several other places every six months until she is 18, and maintain her dual citizenship until the age of 18. The wording of our ruling is expected to be the norm for all Ugandan adoptions by the end of 2012. Remember the mass exodus of healthy young infants I referred to in an earlier post? This is one way that they hope to curb adoptions - people may see these requirements as being too extreme. But if, like us, they know that a child is their child, they will comply with anything within reason to bring her into their family.
  After the ruling, we walked out in the hallway, and it was the best description of controlled chaos I’ve been witness to. Everyone was hugging and kissing, slapping each other on the back. Aidah’s parents were bowing, kissing hands, thanking and looking generally pleased. Our attorney, Isaac, looked a bit stunned, at which point I thanked him for not revealing his doubts beforehand. Jurjanne and I hugged, all arms around Aidah as she beamed from ear to ear. And we all slowly made our way downstairs.
Stepping out into the sunshine was invigorating, and we all broke into groups and started taking photos of each other. Birth family photo, new family photo, all family photo, Ugandans, Muzungus, and so on. Finally, just us, just the three of us, climbed into our car and drove back to our guesthouse.
That evening I finally opened the suitcase that Doug brought for Aidah and I took out several books. Where’s Waldo, Richard Scarry, and a picture dictionary. I had also asked Doug to pack Hooked On Phonics Kindergarten for Aidah, but after just a few minutes I realized that I was way off. Aidah is reading and comprehending at a much higher level, at least third grade. She is quiet and difficult to hear, but her pronunciation is correct on virtually everything she reads and she understands virtually everything. When listening to Jurjanne or me speak, sometimes she stares and does nothing, leading us to believe she doesn’t understand, but it takes some time to work out our accents, what we are really saying and if it actually means the same thing that she believes it to mean. Words here, even in English, take on a double meaning, and when culture is added in, good luck understanding the true meaning of anything.
  Wouldn’t you imagine that “you’re so fat, you almost broke the shocks in my car!” was an insult? (This was not said to me...thank goodness. I fear if it were, I could not stop the tears.) No, this is a huge compliment. As Doug perused the personal ads in a local paper today, he pointed out one (of several) that asked for a woman with wide hips. I’ve never felt so adored as several times a day I am asked if I am married or for me to “show my finger”. Frank (remember Frank?) said appreciatively, “A man would not have to spend a fortune to make you healthy. You are already quite well. These skinny women cost so much to feed!” Maybe a future in Africa for me?
  In my initial meeting with the probation officer, I asked her to speak to Aidah’s parents about what she was like as a girl. Did she laugh a lot? Cry? Was she talkative? Quiet? Jurjanne and I laughed into our coffees as the answer came back. “She was quite stubborn and dull.”

While we sat and waited to be called into the courtroom for the ruling, Godfrey mentioned that he finds me “fragile”. I was slightly insulted. I can’t fathom anyone thinking me fragile. I’m tough...mostly. I mean, I cry at a bad game of Risk, but in general, I go through deployments with little/no complaining, take one step at a time, and don’t think of myself as overly emotional. But my mini-breakdown in court, to the judge of all people, labeled me as fragile. I mentioned that I wasn’t particularly fond of this sentiment and it was explained, “No, like a fragile box. Handle with care.”
“Noooo....not exactly,” I still protested. “You are seeing me at the most stressful time in my life. You cannot judge someone by how they act when they fear their child will not be able to come home.”
  The next day, Godfrey drove us to Jinja, and I teased him good-naturedly (mostly) about the wording. As we sat in a restaurant high on a cliff overlooking the Nile River, I explained what I didn’t like about the word “fragile” again. And then a bet was made. If I could walk to the car after lunch in bare feet, on the sharp Ugandan rocks, and walk at the same pace as everyone else, Godfrey would never call me fragile again.
  So, after lunch, I stripped off my shoes and headed up to the car, not walking on pavement or grass, but only on rocks. I crossed the parking lot, ahead of Doug & Godfrey and plunked myself down on the front seat of our car with a grin at Godfrey. “Deal? You will never call me fragile again?” He shook my hand heartily. “Deal! But what about ‘delicate’?”
  Jinja was amazing. I have loved being in Kampala, and there is a city experience in Africa that cannot be replicated out in the bush, but so many times when driving to Bulamu, I have stared at the red clay roads leading back into the hills and just ached to follow them, to see the tiny homesteads that line those back roads and see the “real” Africa. Even though Jinja is the second largest city in Uganda, it still had a small-town feel to it. We took a rather small rickety boat (with small leaks) out to the headwaters of the Nile River. We attempted (and failed) a geocache. We ate at a restaurant owned and run by Americans - the second place in Uganda that I have been at, run by ex-pats, with horrible service. Every Ugandan restaurant I’ve been to has had quick attentive service, and the ex-pat restaurants do not. I’m sure there’s a reason but I haven’t put a lot of thought into it.
  We passed miles of tea and sugar cane plantations on the way to Jinja and again, the red clay roads leading to the hills beckoned me. I want to come back, rent a car, and just drive around the country on back roads. Imagine the faces you’d see?
  I asked Godfrey what might happen if you hit a goat with your car. Would you need to stop and pay for the goat? No, not in Uganda, but if you were in Sudan, it’s best if you stop. There, if you do not stop and pay for the animal, they make a note of the color of your car, and the next one that passes with the same color, they will shoot.
  I left the US three weeks ago today. These have been the longest three weeks of my life. The first week was fun, with very little homesickness. I have not had a break, ever, from my kids. And I haven’t felt like I needed one. But it was nice, in spare time, or waiting time, to sit with my Kindle and read books that I’ve looked forward to reading, or play a game on my iPhone. When we found out that we would be going to court last Friday and I would not be coming home right away, I was excited, but my stomach sank a bit. I was already beginning to really miss everyone - family, friends, pets. But it was ok, because we had to prepare for court. And now Doug came, and it felt wrong that Lydia and Gwen weren’t with him. Everything we see, every new smell and sound, I think, “Gwen would really like this!” or “Lydia would see this as being so funny!” I am aching to come home. But if this adoption is like our others, I will cry for a few hours (being the fragile woman I am) on our flight home. While you ache for home, there is a part of your child’s experience and homeland that will never leave you. My heart is in segments all over the world. Of course the largest part is with Doug and the kids (preferably in Montana), but a bit in Haiti, a bit in China, a bit in Germany, and now, forever, a bit in Uganda

Court

 Friday morning - one of the two most important dates this trip could bring. We woke up early and I put Aidah in the shower, scrubbing her from head to toe. She spent the whole time playing with the shower knobs and turning the water from frigid to boiling. Several times I yelped and jumped out of the way as water spilled down on my arms. Aidah babbled away in Luganda and I enjoyed listening to her quiet voice telling me something....anything. She is so quiet and shy that when she talks, everyone stops to listen. I helped her get dressed, and she just beamed, not even trying to conceal her happiness at her clothing. Her shoes, the ones we thought fit well when we first arrived, are more than a size too small for her and her heel hangs off the back. Still, when she leans over to slip her foot in, and fasten the buckle, her hands literally shake with happiness. She went back in the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror, first at her head and shoulders and then standing up on the toilet seat to try and see her dress and shoes.
As I put on my dress and shoes, and then make up, she stood and watched, exclaiming over everything she thought was “kirungi nyo” - literally, beautiful so much! My yellow shoes, beaded necklace, pink lipstick (which I shared) and mascara.

Soon, we heard a honk at the gate, and we scurried out to meet Steven, our driver for the day. He navigated the maze of streets in Kampala’s city center, and eventually we pulled up in front of an apartment building, guarded by policemen. He explained why we were there, and we were shown to a parking space labeled “Austrian ambassador”. It was around this time that I realized I had forgotten my camera. “Oh brother!” I exclaimed and Aidah echoed me, “Oh brotha!”

As we walked in the building we were searched and our belongings sent through a scanner. I believe I have forgotten to mention that this happens everywhere though, so it felt like just walking into an apartment building. Steven started the walk up a flight of stairs and I hesitated, looking at Aidah and then at the elevator. “Steven,” I called, “Can I bring Aidah on the elevator?” “No,” he replied, “It’s not far.” So, up we climbed. As we reached the first half-story, the first landing, Aidah stopped to catch her breath. A minute later, up we climbed. Steven had lost sight of us, so we weren’t sure how far we were going, but it took us at least 10 minutes to go up 3 more half-stories, resting at each landing. Steven poked his head over the bannister and said, “Are you coming?” “Do you know that Aidah is sick? She has a very bad heart! This is not good for her!” I sort of snipped. His mouth dropped open in shock, “Ay, what? A bad heart? She looks so healthy! Just one more to go!” So, Aidah plugged away, up 2 more flights until we saw the sign for “Family Court”. And there we were. Another check of our bags and some beautiful compliments to Aidah for looking so “smart”, and we were sitting in a courtroom waiting, 1 full hour ahead of schedule. Steven disappeared to drive to our attorney’s office and pick up Aidah’s birth family. I asked him to tell Aidah who was coming back with him, and the smiles disappeared. I put my arm around her and kept telling her it would be ok, and she leaned up against me, her head on my shoulder.

About 45 minutes later, a commotion in the waiting room made Aidah poke her head out the door. She exclaimed and then hustled back to my side, burying her eyes in the back of my arm. In walked Aidah’s father and mother, her littlest sister Elizabeth (age 4), her auntie and Evelyn, the social worker from Bulamu. Jacson, Aidah’s father, sat down immediately on a bench, and Ester, Aidah’s mother dropped to her knees and shuffled over to me to take my hand. She brought it to her lips, and began to talk to me, while Beatrice translated. “Mrs Mary, we are so happy for your love for Aidah. She is more your daughter than she has ever been mine.” At these words, Aidah stood up and walked to another bench. “N-nn-noooo....” I stammered. “She will always be your daughter.” The answer came back, “But you care for her more than we ever will.” I raised my eyes to meet Aidah’s across the room, and she dropped her face and retreated even farther. Ester pointed at her and motioned to her estranged husband, and Aidah obediently dropped to her knees, shuffled over to her father, her face turned away the whole time. He reached out his hand and she took it, but refused to look at him. As soon as he released it, she jumped up and came to sit by me, wrapping her arms around my arm, and leaning her head against me. When Isaac (our lawyer) came in the room, he saw two sides...birth family, and Aidah and me, facing each other, each silent. The tension was thick.
I have made it very clear to Aidah’s family that I feel no jealousy towards them. We will always refer to them as Aidah’s parents. Her siblings will always be her brothers and sisters. If it takes Aidah a year to call me “mama” that will be ok. We don’t own her, or her feelings. But when faced with the reality that Aidah has much to work out in her own heart concerning her feelings toward this family, it made the situation very uncomfortable. I sat with her in silence, my hand on her knee, her arms around me, and just kept saying softly to her that it would be ok. Every once in a while I would gently squeeze her knee and she would giggle and squirm.

All of a sudden, about 30 minutes after court was to start, Isaac barreled into the room. “Everyone come! Now! Judge is ready!” So, we filed into the court room. Two long conference tables faced each other, the judge on one side, and Isaac on the other. Behind Isaac, a row of chairs was placed and we all lined up and sat down. First me, Aidah and Jurjanne, and then Jacson, Ester, Beatrice, Elizabeth and Evelyn.
Only after we were seated did I notice the court reporter and the two translators sitting near the judge. They smiled at us and we smiled back, the judge looking quite fatherly and kind, if not a bit strict. Isaac introduced each person in our case, and we stood up and waited for the judge to acknowledge us. Except that no one had told me to stand at all, and I was the first person introduced. I remained seated because Isaac had told me that he would indicate when I should stand, sit or speak. Several intros down the line, he began to tell people to stand up, and my stomach sank with horror. What a way to start off the court session!

The first thing Isaac made clear was that Aidah is very sick, that she has been given just months to live and he thanked the judge for taking it so seriously. The judge stared at Aidah, who stared back but shrank into my shoulder again. As the affidavits were read, personal situations revealed, and although the words were spoken in English and Aidah’s comprehension is minimal, I felt her separating herself from her parents and clinging to me more and more. The judge asked me some questions about Sam, our other “heart kid” and then focused on the parents. He called up Aidah’s father and began to ask him questions. They went through two translators and his reply went back. The judge scoffed at him, “Noooo!!! This is not true! Tell the truth!” Back went the question and after a lengthy reply, the answer was translated back to him. The judge turned to Isaac. “You, sir, have been in too much of a hurry! This father believes his child will be returning to him in a matter of months, or a year. Why did you not explain to him what was happening?” Isaac stammered, “I did, your Lordship, several times! He has even signed the statement.” The judge turned back to Jacson and another series of questions was shot off. Jurjanne and I started to pray...I heard her whispering, “Please Lord, guide his tongue!” And my tears started. The judge began to speak to Isaac again. “I think you should return in 2 weeks, 3 weeks, 2 months, 6 months. However long it takes for this father to realize this girl cannot return to him. He is not mentally healthy.”

And my hand shot up.

As His Lordship glanced at me, I, a bit hysterically, with tears and trembling voice, said, “Your honor she does not have months. She has weeks. If we must come back in 6 months, she will die. She will not make it.” And the judge became swallowed up in the affidavits again. I heard a clear voice from behind the papers, “Compose yourself, lady.” So, I composed myself and when I ceased to cause him discomfort, he lowered the papers. “Mrs Morris, I am asking this for your own good. Too often parents in Uganda think their children are coming back. This does not make the government happy. It makes them want to close the program. I am doing this for your own good. Look at how sad you are when I postpone. What despair would you be in if this family came to you and said their child must return? Now, trust me and I will work this out.”

Aidah wrapped her arms around my neck and patted me on the back, trying to comfort me as well, and I kissed her forehead. The judge called Ester, Beatrice and Eve up to speak to him, and each of them assured him that they knew Aidah would not be returning. That Isaac had made it clear to them that adoption was permanent.
The courtroom fell silent for a few minutes. Maybe even 10 minutes. Or 15. I have no idea. I was praying and Jurjanne was steaming.
“When will your husband arrive, Mrs Morris?”
“Tuesday night, your Lordship.”“Isaac, on Wednesday morning, you will appear for the ruling. I will ask the father again, and if agrees, I will give the ruling. You may go.”

And we stood and filed into a big group in the hallway. Immediately upon stepping out of the courtroom, Aidah burst into loud sobs, burying her head on Eve’s shoulder. A hurried translation told me what Aidah believed to be true - that it was over. She had no chance of life, or a family, that she would die in Uganda quite soon. She glanced up and found me and snuffled into my arms.
“Aidah, I am so sorry I scared you. You will not die here. I will not leave you. You will come home with me. It will be ok. I am not leaving you. Jurjanne wrapped her arms around all three of us, and as we stood there, the door to the courtroom opened again. The judge and clerk poked their heads out, and I heard the judge’s deep voice. “Is she ok?” “Yes sir.” “Come back on Wednesday. Things will be fine. You will see.”

We forlornly headed back to the stairway, passing the room where Isaac was incredulously questioning Jacson. Why would he do this? Nerves? Lack of comprehension? Only God knows.But tomorrow, at 10:00 AM we step back into court and listen to our ruling. My prayers of the last three days have mainly consisted of asking for help for Jacson, that he understand, give the right answers, and do the right thing by his daughter.

The Only Person in Uganda I Have Not Liked

Thursday at noon found me sitting at Cafe Roma at Oasis Mall with Jurjanne. We were there to meet Aidah’s probation officer and her parents. While we waited, we talked about the probation officer.
She is young, about 24, and has the job because her father is friends with someone who knows someone...like almost everyone I have met here. I end up feeling truly sorry for the ones who are really fit for a job and can’t find one because they are all held by relatives or friends of the boss. The probation officer has no experience, and this is the first time she’s had to write a report for a child to be adopted. The grammar geek in me was forced to sit on my hands and not scribble all over her report with a red pen. My attorney said today, “Before I saw her, I was expecting a 12 year old because her writing is so poor.” Aidah's entire case has been held up by this poor performance, and it wasn't until we made it clear that we would not pay a bribe for the report and she was reported to the Ministry of Gender for requesting exorbitant amounts of money for her work, in addition to her pay.
We sat and sat and sat at the cafe, and finally, in came the PO, followed by Aidah’s parents. Aidah’s father and mother sat across from me, but when I was introduced as the woman wanting to adopt Aidah, her mother, Ester, fell on her knees in front of me and shook my hand, holding it close to her face. Her father, Jacson, shook my hand across the table, and eyed my empty plate, left from a piece of apple pie. I immediately asked Jurjanne if we could ask the waiter to come over. We ordered 3 passion fruit drinks, and then the PO mentioned that she was so fatigued from the long taxi ride, that she needed food before she could do any work. The waiter gave her a menu, which she perused, and then asked “Don’t you just have chicken and rice?” The waiter, clearly confused, said, “Yes, it is here. Pulled Caribbean Chicken with Rice.”
“Pituey!” spat the PO. “I am African! What do I want with Caribbean food?”
Jurjanne broke in, “Do you have anything like just plain barbeque chicken?”
“Yeeeessssss” the waiter answered haltingly. “See? Right here?”
“Well, then, bring it, and add rice, please,” answered Jurjanne.Problem solved. In just a few minutes a heaping plate of chicken, rice, and chips (french fries) were brought to the PO. Aidah’s father eyed the plate and I asked him, “Do you want the same?” The PO’s mouth was stuffed full of chicken as she spat the translation at him. He nodded and we asked for 2 more plates exactly the same. The waiter once again tried to direct our attention to the beautiful Caribbean chicken, but again Jurjanne put him in his place. “These are simple people. They want regular chicken. Bring them regular chicken with rice and chips!” So, again a few minutes later, 2 more plates were delivered and everyone chowed down. During this whole time I was attempting to communicate with the parents through the PO, but she was having nothing to do with that. “Do Jacson and Ester have any questions for me?” I asked? “Why are you in such a hurry? We have time to talk! Let us eat first.” So, we ate. And as each of us fell off our plate, full, Jacson would eye it hungrily. In about 30 minutes, he had a stack of plates, 4 high, in front of him, as he devoured the remainder of the food on our plates. The only one not giving up her food was the PO. I looked over at her, wondering when the right time was to ask if the parents had any questions. Finally, I opened my mouth. “Do the parents have any questions for me?” She was wrestling with a particularly tough chicken leg, as well as filling her mouth with coleslaw. A small bit clung to her lower lip and I stared at it, a bit fascinated. She translated to the parents, but eventually became aware of this bit of cabbage, and licked it away with her tongue and then spat it across the table. Ester jerked back with shock, as did Jurjanne and I, and we all looked at each other and laughed. Jacson and Ester mentioned their 4 younger children. They are not educated. They would like them to be educated. They want this responsibility to fall to Aidah, and while i have no objection to helping with that, it is a very clear violation of USCIS to offer or promise anything. Then they asked if Aidah would attend school, and what followed was a crash course in homeschooling. Ester asked incredulously if this was something every American could do - teach their child at home. I said, “Yes, if one has the mind to do it.” She replied, “Are you so smart that you will teach Aidah all the things she needs to know for school?” I laughed and replied that I am not so smart, but that we have books and spouses and computers to help us. “Ahhhh....” and she shot a look sideways at her estranged husband, who was cracking down on a chicken thigh. I asked the PO if there were any other concerns she had for me, and she rolled her eyes. “We have so much time! Please, stop talking and let me eat!” So, we all sat in silence and watched her eat, and eat, and eat. Finally when she was done, she wiped her face with a napkin and got about the business of translating. But 5 minutes into it, she collapsed back against the booth with a big groan. “This is hard work! All this talk!” Jurjanne said, “Well, yes, hard work, but it is *your* work. You must do it, eh?” I explained to the PO that I had some questions for the parents, things that every girl wants to know about her family at some point. How did her parents meet? When was Aidah born? Was she a happy baby? What were her favorite foods? Toys? Did she have childhood pets? Are her grandparents still living? Great-grandparents? Great-great grandparents? With each question, the PO became more and more exasperated with me, as the parents became more and more talkative. They started to share funny things that Aidah had done as a baby, and Ester remembered holding Aidah right after she was born and thinking what an ugly baby she was. I laughed and shared how I was terrified when Gwen was born because she was so blue! When I asked, “Has Aidah always been so quiet?” the answer came back in translation, “Yes, she is a very dull girl!” Soon the parents talked and talked and talked, and when I asked for a translation, the PO assured me it was nothing important. And in a few minutes, “Yeah, they are talking about how you are a wonderful parent.” And then, a few minutes later, “They are talking about stories of Aidah," and when asked for a translation, she responded, "Nothing funny or amusing, just remembering her clothing and her scrapes on the knees." Oh, how I want to hear those stories! Despite being assured several times by the PO that there was plenty of time, she had her place cleared and stood up to leave very soon after eating. She had to catch a boda to the other side of town. Jurjanne reminded her to be at our attorney’s office at 9:00AM, as court was at 10:00. She waved Jurjanne off, and left.

This morning, she did not show up for court. A few hurried texts to explain that she was caught in a jam and could not make it. And a text later to say that she had made it back home and good luck to us all.

This Is the Day, Part II

My mother and I went to Bulamu to say goodbye to Aidah, just hours before I knew if I was staying or leaving. Aidah was having a good day and was out walking, so we spent most of our time with her near the common area where the babies were playing and the other house mothers were doing laundry. I pulled some treats out of my bag - a Mickey Mouse paint set, cheese and crackers, and pop rocks. I asked Aidah if she wanted candy and she nodded, so I put a few pop rocks on my tongue and showed her. Her nose wrinkled with laughter, and I gave her some. She put them on her tongue, and then the real laughter began. She kept putting her hand over her mouth to hold in her laughter, and hide her funny face. I asked her if we should give some to Bright, and we all agreed it would be better to let his mother try some first. The house mothers wandered over and we let them each try some pop rocks. They all responded with outright laughter, shouts of surprise and urging each other to try some more. I left a packet of pop rocks with Aidah to share with her housemates. The only one not impressed or amused was poor Bright, who didn’t even try any. Just the sight of a rock, bubbling and crackling away on my tongue, scared him to tears. So, we didn’t show him any more, of course!
 
Sharing this story reminded me of something that happened a few days ago. Remember I posted about taking Aidah and Evelyn, the social worker, out for a meal after Aidah’s penicillin shot? Well, that same day, we determined that we would find her some shoes in this giant Muzungu mall where we were. So, after eating, we walked through the mall, looking for Bata shoes, the most prevalent shoe store chain in Kampala. I think I wrote about the wide utilitarian very-un-pretty shoes that they presented us with, and how we all turned around in unison and walked out of the store. But I think I forgot to tell you how we decided to go to the department store to look for more. As we walked into the courtyard of the mall, Evelyn pointed up and said, “There is the department store”, and we stared up through the center of the mall, to a store at the tippy top level. The only way up that we could see was by escalator. Holding Aidah’s hand, I walked over and she balked, with a nervous giggle. “Moving stairs!?!?!?!” she said, incredulously! Evelyn stood still, and then said, “Why don’t you take Aidah up one level and come back down so she can see how it works?” So, I took Aidah’s hand and she willingly came along. I showed her how to step on and off, and all of a sudden she jumped, about 2 feet up in the air and 1 foot forward and landed on a step. She cheered for herself a bit and then began to ready herself for the exit. Closer and closer we got to the top, and suddenly, again, a giant spring, and we were off. Aidah collapsed on a bench, taking a breath and getting ready for the trip back down the escalator. At the bottom, Evelyn waved to us with a big smile on her face. 2 giant jumps later, we were back down on the main floor. Aidah babbled on and on to Evelyn about this marvel that is the moving staircase, and we all started to get back on for the 4 story trip to the department store. I walked on, Aidah sprung, and Evelyn, with much hesitation, skidded on with a squeal. I realized this was her first time on an escalator as well, and most likely her reason for encouraging Aidah to take a practice trip. Halfway up, she said, “I think Aidah has the correct way of entering and exiting.” So, at the top, I walked off and the two others took gigantic leaps and landed in a heap together on the floor. Three more rides did nothing to decrease their enthusiasm, but finding no shoes did. Each pair we found, Aidah sniffed and expressed her displeasure. This girl is all about the pretty, let me tell you. Bows, flowers, sandals, dresses...it’s all good. I tell her frequently that she shares the same spirit as Lydia. Each letter she gives is covered in stickers, hearts, flowers and curlyques. Her personal space is neat as a pin and she is not pleased when anything disrupts it. She watches longingly as the other children run and play, kicking footballs, chasing the cats and dancing with enthusiasm. She remarked to Evelyn that she couldn’t do these things anymore, and I rubbed her back and explained that hopefully in a few months, she would, that this is just a season of her life. She looked at me questioningly, and Evelyn explained that no one has told her that she will get better. No one wants to promise this as they have not been sure that it will happen. So I read her an email from Dr Fiore, her heart-surgeon-to-be. He says that this is treatable and fixable, that she will be back to “normal” remarkably soon after open heart surgery, and that she can have hope of feeling better again. Aidah mulled that over for a while before asking Evelyn if she had to stay by herself in the hospital. Her only knowledge of hospitals is New Mulago, the one she has seen and been hospitalized at here. Remember my description? No food unless you bring it, no toilet unless you get yourself there, and hundreds...or thousands...of waiting people. I have refrained during my visits with Aidah and her caregivers, from telling her all about America. It does no one any good for me to walk into a hospital and proclaim that it’s not as good as it is in America. Of course, when faced with nurses who belittle my girl, I think, “Soon she will be comforted through a shot.” When faced with a house mother that steals from her, I think, “Soon, she will have everything she needs.” And when asked, “Will I be by myself?” I think, “Never again will you be alone.” But what a slap in the face, even my thought process is, to those who have done everything possible to save Aidah’s life.
I can’t imagine any Westerner coming to Africa and not being hit hard with how much we live in excess. I proclaim a desire frequently to just live simply, not needing so much that many deem necessary. And yet, I don’t have leaky roofs. My floor is not mud. I have more than one outfit for weekdays and 1 outfit for looking “smart”. I relax in the evenings with a full belly and a very happy, basking in the glow of the tv, the Wii, and all the while congratulate myself on a life simply led. There is nothing like 10 days in Africa to expose the pride that has been hidden in my heart.

This Is the Day, Part I

It’s 5:00 am. Outside the birds are chirping and screaming and cackling. The sky is beginning to lighten and the Islamic call to worship begins. I look out my window, through the iron bars, decorative and functional, and see the roll of barbed wire lining the top of the fence. The barbs stand out against the lightening sky and each minute brings me closer to the days I’ve been dreading.

Today & tomorrow Aidah must face her birth parents, one of which has simply been inactive in her life, and the other causing deliberate physical and emotional harm. Ugandan children are taught to face their fears and their hurts, and to face them without tears and very little emotion. It’s almost impossible to read Aidah’s heart when she closes herself off. You give her space and time and within a half hour, she will begin to open up again. But I fear that the wounds caused by her family will make her retreat beyond the space of an hour, or a day.

It is well-within the probation officer’s right to request a meeting today with all parties involved. She hopes to outline expectations, help Aidah’s parents realize that this isn’t a temporary decision. Many childcare agreements in Africa are temporary - “You take my child and pay for their schooling and care, and when they are of age, they can come back and care for me.” For the vast majority of children raised in poverty, they are truly cared for by the village. They are given the consistency of neighbors, friends, aunties, uncles and other relatives who want the best for them and remove them from a bad situation to help. But almost always a child will eventually return, and hopefully the parents will have been able to pick themselves up by their bootstraps and make a better life for them. (More on this in a bit, as I talk about our time spent with the Riley’s.) The probation officer hopes to touch on what Aidah’s life will be like in America. Education is highly valued, and will our “simple home learning” be enough to help Aidah reach her full potential?

My visits to Bulamu have grown more and more uncomfortable. Aidah very rarely leaves her house, so we remove our shoes and enter the home. We are greeted by her house mother, with a smile and a wave, and then directed to the table. Mom and I sit on one side, Aidah and the house mother on the other. Aida’s eyes are almost always down, her hands in her hap, and only when I gently tease her or speak to her, does she look up with a smile. She is quite lonely, and when Bright, the baby boy of one housemother, peeks in the doorway, she greets him with a huge grin. One day, I couldn’t stand the atmosphere one moment more, so I took out my computer and put a movie on for Aidah to watch. I believe I picked Kung Fu Panda, but within a few minutes, she had changed it to My Fair Lady. When Bright came back, I put on Mickey Mouse, and then again, within minutes, heard the opening strains of My Fair Lady. Could she enjoy a good musical? ;o) The housemother sits and speaks occasionally to us, then goes to stir the coals, then comes back and sits. And we ask questions, or compliment her housekeeping, or bring out little gifts to share with the other girls in the house, and things grow silent again. I ask Aidah if she can come out and sit on the porch with me, and as we go out, the housemother follows. We sit on the front porch swinging our feet, and occasionally playing footsies, a phrase that Aidah has picked up in the days I’ve been here. “Play footsies!” I babble on about how beautiful the country is, what does Aidah like most (the trees and grass) and how this little area near Bombo looks remarkably similar to our little farm in Missouri. The housemother makes the little “mmmmm...” sound that means she is listening and Aidah goes in the house to get my computer and look at pictures of the home she will be going to. She points out that the trees look different and I agree. They are much more shapely here. Flat tops and wide spreading limbs, perfect places for hundreds of birds to nest. The wild here seems so much more wild, and the city so much more city-like. I fear Aidah will grow bored in our sterile environment. All the hustle and bustle of normal activity seems like it’s been taken out of life at home. There are no bikes, no constant signs of hard physical labor, no honking horns and no women struggling under the load of 1,000 bananas. At a stop light, there is no one knocking on your window or pulling at your arm. It’s all so in-your-face here, and in a good way, lest my words be misconstrued for insensitivity. Bulamu is building 4 new houses, and the labor is right outside Aidah’s doorway and it is intensive. They bring in mud, to make the bricks. The kiln is made and the bricks are fired. The thin trees are cut down to make ladders which fall apart every hour or so, as they are lashed together with vines. There is no anger or frustration, just a man who falls off the ladder and then gets up and remakes it.

What's Next?

So, what are the best and worst scenarios? What can you be thinking of and praying about for us? Here is a quick rundown of our next few days. :D
Wednesday: Noon, I go to our attorney's office and pick up copies of Aidah's file, and bring them to the US Embassy so they can begin the orphan research step. (Praise #1: this step is normally not started until after a court ruling has been received, but when I went in to the Embassy to get the medical form, I introduced myself and explained Aidah's situation, and they asked me to bring everything in so they could get a start on her file and shorten the process. What you can be praying for: they normally don't see adoptive parents on Wednesdays, so getting in the gate could be a problem. Also, we have to get a form notarized tomorrow and they are quite difficult to find and expensive.)
Thursday: meet with Jurjanne and Aidah's parents and the probation officer. (Praise #2: Aidah's family lives more than 3 hours away. It is unbelievable how open they have been to helping us out. We cannot offer funds or any pay for their time or efforts. This has to be done at their own expense as anything else would be considered coercion. So far, this has not been an issue, and they have had to make 4 trips to Kampala. There are two more trips to go - 1 for court and 1 for embassy. What you can be praying for: that I am able to have a good discussion with them, get some questions answered about 1 particular horrific event in Aidah's life that led to her abandonment, and that my discussion with the probation officer be fruitful. Also, we have requested that Aidah spend Thursday night with me so we can help her get ready for court the next morning. You can pray that the Lord works this out, as no one except Aidah and I are in favor of that.)
Friday: Leave the guesthouse, all gussied up for court, by 7:00 AM. Arrive at IOM by 8:00 AM so Aidah can have her TB test read. (Praise #3: we were given a last minute appointment today, and everyone was extremely helpful in getting the paperwork done so all we have to do is come back for the reading. What you can be praying for: that Aidah's TB test comes back negative, like it normally does)
At 10:00 AM we will be in court. The judge will speak to us all separately at different times and then interview us all at the same time together. Then he will give us a date that we can expect our ruling. (Praise #4: unbelievably we received a court date here in Kampala just 4 days from our request. People are waiting MONTHS to be assigned a judge, get a court date, and then sometimes the date is 4 months in the future. This is truly a miracle! We know it is because of Aidah's health, but we will take it with no questions! What you can be praying for: that the judge give a ruling the following Monday or Tuesday so we can file for our visa on Wednesday morning.)
Saturday: Nothing planned, except spending time with Aidah
Sunday: Nothing planned, except hoping to go back to Kampala International Church.
Monday: Doug Morris leaves Missouri and begins traveling here. We hope to pick up our ruling. IF Aidah's tb test comes back positive, we go back to the medical clinic and she gets her chest x-rays and does her sputum test.
Tuesday: Doug arrives at 10:55 PM
Wednesday: If we have our ruling, we go at 7:00 AM to the embassy and request a same day appointment for them to interview us. (What you can be praying for: Aidah's parents must also be there for the interview, and arranging this can be difficult, as you can imagine. If the embassy is immediately content with the ruling and our case, we are told to come back in 2 days for the visa.)
Thursday: Nothing planned
Friday: Market in the morning and hopefully picking up Aidah's visa in the afternoon
Saturday: If we have received the visa, a trip to Bulamu CV to hold a going-away party for Aidah. Hopefully bring her back to the guesthouse with us. (What you can be praying for: a good closure for Aidah, a time to say goodbye to her close friends and that she be able to look forward with hope.)
Sunday: Take Doug to Kampala International Church
Monday: Doug flies home, as do we, hopefully. :D
Obviously, still, there are lots of ifs, ands, and buts. I am prepared to stay a bit long, in case of questions regarding the visa. If the embassy is not happy about the fact that Aidah has 2 living parents, then they send our case to Nairobi, Kenya, and that process takes a long time...upwards of 6 months. So, more than anything, please be praying that the Lord work in regards to the orphan interview at the embassy.

The Glory of God

Then Jesus said, “Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?”

We went to Kampala International Church this morning. What an experience! There is something about being in a church in a foreign country. Any kind of church. A tribal church, and ex-pat church, a home church...no matter what, it always brings home how universal our faith is. How privileged to serve a God who has brought people to Himself all over the world!

The worship was refreshing, standing in a room surrounded by British, American, Chinese, Japanese, South African, Ugandan, Brazilian, French (and the list goes on and on and on) Christians. All worshipping their Savior.
When the sermon was preached, it was about the death of Lazarus, and the man who preached is the youth pastor of the church. I remarked to my mother that he was a great youth pastor. He was funny and engaging and serious and historical and wrapped it all up in a great package. I know my pre-teens would have listened with rapt attention, especially when he described the bloating stage of a cow. Really. That did have significance, I promise.
But, before the sermon, the passage was read by a Ugandan. I love the lilting African voice. I closed my eyes and listened to the story I’ve read and heard so many times, and one verse jumped out to me. Jesus said, “Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?” And then again, when the pastor spoke. “DID I NOT TELL YOU THAT IF YOU WILL BELIEVE, YOU WILL SEE THE GLORY OF GOD?”
It hit me like...well, I don’t know like what. But it hit me. Yes, I am feeling discouraged, and maybe this situation with these gossipy families was the catalyst, but the unrest within is coming from something else.
I want to see the glory of God. I want, whether in Aidah’s adoption or her lack of adoption (please, Lord, don’t let that happen), in her life or her death (please God, no), that we will be able to say without a doubt that the glory of God was seen. I sat for a moment thinking, for whatever reason, God has chosen a host of people to work together for the good of one specific child. A Ugandan man, a Ugandan woman, 2 Dutch couples, 1 American woman, and 1 quirky odd American family. I thought, it is easy to think or have the hope that because the Lord has orchestrated this, it must mean He desires Aidah’s life to be saved. Still thinking....my faith is not so shallow as to think that God is only working all this out so we can be happy, that our lives can be complete, and we will have everything we desire and here we will be, one big happy family, all together, and healed. He sometimes works His glory in the death of his saints.
And I let my brain rest a little bit, and the words of the preacher soaked through my thoughts. “When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled.” Both Mary & Martha came to Jesus and said, “If only you had been here! Because they thought they knew what He would have done if Jesus was there. They thought Lazarus’ healing was a no-brainer. And when Jesus saw their mourning he was moved and troubled, and he wept!
So, even though, no matter what happens, I will choose to say that “the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord,” it is ok that the thought of Aidah not making it through this fight collapses me in grief. It is ok that if He takes her home to be with Him, I will fight and fight to work out why we were brought this far, only to say goodbye.
I still don’t know where my heart is taking me with all this. But I know I’m terrified to be a bad example in my happiness or grief, joy or confusion, or sorrow, or shame or rejoicing... Whatever the Lord is about to take us through, I want His glory to shine. I want, in Aidah’s life or death, that everyone who knows about her to be able to say that they believed, and they were shown the glory of God.

Aida's Adoption - Leap Day with Aida (and in which Aida becomes Aidah), part II

I took off at a jog away from the banged-up cars, away from the crowd that had appeared out of nowhere. There were at least 40 people gathered around talking and making their opinion be known on whose fault this accident was.

I kept Jurjanne updated on where I was - I’m passing the huge trash truck, and the outdoor waiting room, the laundry, now I’m going under a big yellow bridge. “Wait!” said Jurjanne, “the bridge with the blue car under it?” “Yup!” I said. Finally we connected and headed together toward the heart ward. We passed waiting room after waiting room of Ugandan men, women & children, all packed up like they were prepared to wait for a month if need be. Jurjanne explained that they are prepared for that. The system for appointments is such that you need to pay to be seen immediately, and if you don’t have the money to pay, you just go to the hospital and wait and wait and wait. Sometimes all day every day for a several weeks if needing a specialized doctor, like cancer or heart.

We passed an open bathroom with stalls made out of plastic shower liners and toilets overflowing into the hallway. The stench was unbelievable, but still people lined up to use them, wearing sandals and long skirts.

Jurjanne expertly navigated the hallways. The hospital complex is larger than any hospital I have ever seen in the US, miles of packed corridors, people waiting and waiting and waiting to be seen. The vaccination area was the fullest, Jurjanne explaining that some women give birth and then are sent over to have their baby vaccinated, and given the tight vaccination schedule of the first few months, they just stay, camped out on the floor waiting for the next shot. In a month or so, they go home. Not everyone does this, but those who can’t afford to make the $4 appointment.

We finally made our way through the maze and found Aida on bench with Evalyn, and I was introduced to Elisa, one of the Dutch ladies working with Kaja Foundation. Aida was wearing clothes that we sent her in the care package and had a huge smile on her face when she saw me come around the corner. She raised her face up for a hug and kiss and then immediately pulled her lips in and dropped her eyes. We can see for just an instant the girl inside pop out and then the cultural desire not to show emotion rides over her. I had brought my computer so I could try to Skype with Doug, so we tried that (didn’t work) and then I brought up PhotoBooth. Aida really prefers the “normal” pictures, either color or black and white, but as soon as I started playing with the funnier lenses - nose swirl, frog face and more, she would burst out laughing and immediately start touching her face to make sure nothing had happened to it in that instant. The nose swirl was the most disturbing to her, and she had to turn away until I changed it.

Aida was quite withdrawn, though, and I asked Elisa if she was ok. “She knows what’s about to happen,” she said. Since I was blissfully unaware of what we were about to head into, I continued to play with Aida and suddenly a rather-severe-looking nurse came to the waiting room and shouted loudly, “Aida, come get your shot.” Aida looked like she wanted to run, poor girl but stood up and headed slowly to the door. We found ourselves in a large open bay, with no curtains but lots of gurneys. They told Aida to take off her pants and underwear, and I started to loudly protest, the obnoxious American that I am. “She cannot be naked in front of all these people!” The room was packed with men! Old men, young men, baby men....all men. I have no idea why there were all men, or maybe it’s all I saw because I wanted my little girl protected, but Elisa said, “No! Take her into a room!‘ The nurse looked at me like I was a little crazy, but I said, “You cannot have a 10 year old girl be naked in front of all these people! She needs privacy.” So, they finally brought us down another long hallway and said, “You can use this dr’s office.” In we walked....right in on a young male doctor having a consultation with another male patient. They motioned for Aida to lay down on the couch and take off her pants. I asked where the shot would be and they motioned to her buttock. I said, “Can’t she just pull down that little area? Why take off everything?” The nurse shrugged, and as she prepared the shot, I got out my computer and turned on the video of our family that Aida liked to watch so much. Elisa warned me that we may have to hold Aida’s feet and she would hold her hands while the shot was given. It was a penicillin shot (benzathine) and is a thick sludgy liquid that takes a long time to administer. She will continue to have this shot one time per month for at least 5 years, even when coming home, as it keeps the strep infection (and now rheumatic fever) from attacking her heart. So, I gave Aida a kiss and a hug and told her that these shots are making her feel better, and she has to do them. I loosely held her feet and as the nurse prepared the area for the shot, Aida started to scream and kick. Her foot flew up in the air and knocked the nurse’s in the face. So the nurse started to talk to her - “Aida, you are not a brave girl. You are not strong. This shot will not hurt. Why are you such a baby?” Aida continued to cry and her kicking grew stronger, so I held her legs down stronger. “Aida, if you do this, I will break the needle off in your bottom and it will stay and hurt you forever,” continued the nurse. Aida started wailing at the top of her lungs as Elisa held her arms and spoke to her softly. The needle went in and then began the long seconds of pushing the sludge into her body. The needle kept getting clogged and the nurse would tap on it to get it to move. With each tap, Aida screamed and the nurse continued her diatribe on how weak she was. Finally, I looked at the nurse and said, “Could you please stop talking to her? It does not help her to be told how weak she is, and plus, it’s not true.” The nurse shut her mouth and pulled the needle out, leaving me to press down with a cotton ball on the wound. We gave Aida a few minutes to compose herself, while Elisa and I turned our backs and talked for a bit, and in a little bit she was sitting up, and holding the computer on her lap, watching her video again.

We made our way back through the maze of corridors to the waiting area and let the cardiologist know that we were ready to see him. We walked into a tiny room with a huge brand new Phillips EKG machine. Aida jumped onto the bed, knowing that this part wasn’t going to hurt at all. She peeled off her shirt and stuck all the nodes in the right spots, while this nurse praised her for knowing her stuff. Why oh why could this nurse not be the one giving the shot?

The cardiologist began to ask me questions about where Aida was going and when I handed him Dr Fiore’s email address and asked that they be able to communicate to prepare for Aida’s arrival to the states, he was very excited knowing that she would be cared for. He said, “I see her every two weeks and each time her heart is worse. She does not believe that soon she will feel better and will be able to walk and run and play like normal children.” He is so eager to see Aida feeling better!

The EKG revealed consistent episodes of tachycardia, which she is already receiving medicine for. The mitral valve is in desperate need of replacement, and the dr believes the tricuspid and aortic valves can be salvaged for now.

At some point during the EKG, the dr asked if I would like to take a disc to our doctor. Of course! He gave us directions to “the business centre” which was “quite some distance away” so Elisa and I started walking. Each turn of the corridor and each step on the path brought new sites and sounds. We passed a huge open field, about half the size of a football field, where women did the laundry and laid it all out on the grass to dry. Elisa explained that when a child goes into the hospital here, there is no food service, laundry service, or help given. Someone must stay to prepare food for the patient, or the patient does not eat. Someone must change the bedpans or they will overflow. The nurses are much to busy to tend to these caring tasks, and after seeing the waiting areas, I can understand!

At each turn, we would ask an employee to point us to the business centre, and eventually one said, “This is it.” We stood still and glanced around at the shops of practical items - toothbrushes, toothpaste, deodorant, bags...but no business centre. Finally Elisa burst out laughing....”OH! This shopping area IS the business centre!” We browsed through the shops until we found a burnable DVD, and then started the long walk back to the doctor.

The most heartbreaking part of this walk was going through the waiting areas. Elisa stopped to talk to the children - this is just how she and Jurjanne are...talking to everyone, caring for everyone, and I ended up sitting on the floor next to a little girl with a large tumor on her neck, face and chest. It must have been partially obstructing her windpipe because her breathing was shallow and raspy. I suddenly remembered that in my bag I had brought some pipe cleaners to give to Aida to play with, so I pulled them out and watched her eyes grow big. I made a pair of glasses for her, a tiara, a heart and a bracelet. She began to smile and her mother woke up from where she was sleeping on the floor and began to play with them too. Soon there were many children, all of them that I could see with visible tumors, gathered around asking for things to be made. I quickly ran out of pipe cleaners and Elisa finished her talk, so we said goodbye and continued our walk back to the heart ward.

The doctor burned the DVD of Aida’s EKG and as he wrote Aida’s name on the disc with a big marker, Aida spelled it out loud. A-I-D-A.....”H” said Aida. He looked up and said, “H what?” Aida said, “A-I-D-A-H.” Elisa said, “I thought it was just A-I-D-A.” “No”, said Aida(h?), “I have H”. She carefully wrote her name for us “Aidah Kwagala”. So, there it is. Aidah. Which somehow looks more foreign than Aida, but also more feminine. Elisa said, “Ah, so now you will be one of those parents who must spell their child’s name and everyone thinks ‘Why would you spell it like that?’”

I will spare you all the painful details of the wait for medicine, but needless to say the system is not efficient. Elisa waited in three lines, once to deliver the script, then walking down another long corridor to pay, and then back to the first office and another line to receive the medicine. Aidah and I played with the computer some more and then the appointment was done for another 2 weeks. As we left the building, I could see the burden coming off Aidah’s shoulders. She walked cheerfully and purposefully, stopping a few times to catch her breath as we made our way to Elisa’s car. I called my driver to tell him to meet me at the main gate, and miraculously, he was already there. We stood near Elisa’s car discussing the details of the afternoon, and it was only then that I learned they expected me to take Aidah for the remainder of the day and deliver that night to Bulamu. I asked how I needed to do this as it was already 2PM, it is an hour drive out to Bulamu and an hour back and I needed to be home before dark. So, we agreed that Evalyn would stay with us, go out for ice cream with Aidah and myself and shop for shoes, and then I would pay the driver to take them to Bulamu while I returned to the guesthouse. When we met up with our driver, he proudly showed me his “good as new” car, complete with a long deep scratch down the driver’s side.

We drove to a Muzungu Mall where Aidah would receive the ice cream we had promised her. Evalyn explained that she had no money for lunch or dessert and I told her that I would happily pay. So we sat down at one of the most expensive restaurants in Kampala. (Probably not, but it seemed that way, as I realized I only had the equivalent of $45 in my bag.) Aidah ordered a three scoop strawberry sundae and Irish chips (french fries). I waited to see what Evalyn would order before I decided, and as I saw her glancing at the supper menu, complete with steak and lobster, I decided to look at the appetizers. The final decision for Evalyn was a $22 steak plate, so I did some quick math and ordered a hamburger and fries. When everything came, Aidah’s eyes grew large at the sight of her sundae. She gasped and said something to Evalyn that made her start laughing hysterically. Aidah thought 3 scoops meant 3 spoonfuls. Never in her wildest imagination did she think that a humongous bowl of ice cream would appear in front of her! After about, well, 3 spoonfuls, she pushed the ice cream aside and reached for her Irish crisps. Evalyn’s steak showed up, looking so much like a hamburger that I thought they had accidentally switched our meals. She said, “This is a steak? I always imagined something different,” which endeared me to her immediately, as this is something that has happened to me many times before....except not with steak!

As we ate, we tried repeatedly to Skype with Doug, but little did I know he was huddled in the laundry room at home with the kids, undergoing a tornado warning! We Facetimed with my dad and Aidah beamed as she told him that we were going shopping for shoes.

Her disappointment was great, however, just a little while later when we made our way to Bata Shoes and she was told that her feet, size 7, are much too big for pretty shoes, and the clerk hauled out some white clunky tennis shoes. All three of us, Evalyn, Aidah and myself all made the same disgusted sound, turned around and left the store. I asked Aidah if there was anything else she needed and she said sadly, “No, only pretty shoes.” I put my arm around her, gave her a squeeze and said, “We will find you pretty shoes. They just aren’t here.” The afternoon with Aidah passed too quickly, and the time came to put her in a car and send her back to Bulamu for the night. I laid down to cry a little bit in my room at the guesthouse, ended up falling asleep and waking up about an hour before it was time to go get my mom.

This was definitely not my finest of days. I saw my arrogant attitude popping out much more than I ever would have liked (which is not at all!) and I am beginning to miss the constantness of my children. Don’t get me wrong - I love Africa, but the abruptness of coming from 5 children to 1 (well, really half of one, given the little time I have with her) makes me miss the busyness I have at home.

I am, again, so grateful by the love you continue to show for me here!

Aida's Adoption - Leap Day with Aida, Part 1

To get to the good stuff about Aida, you'll have to read through the boring commentary here that tells you where we are right now. :D

I am on a rollercoaster. Two days ago, I was at the lowest low. Well...maybe not the lowest, but pretty darn low! Things sank a little lower in the middle of the night. Around 1AM, I received a phone call from Hedda, which did not bring good news.

Maybe I need to back up just a tiny bit. The adoption process in Uganda is full of checks. Every check you go through, you explain how you found the child, what their situation is, and then the powers that be make a decision on whether this child can remain with you. No one step is any more or less important than another. If you pass court and are granted legal guardianship, but then don't pass your orphan interview, you are back to square 1, except that now you are legally responsible for a child in a foreign country and unable to bring them to your country. 80% of the families adopting from Uganda, and actually, almost (with a few exceptions) every other open country in the world, are pursuing the adoptions of young, healthy infant girls. To be an older boy with a SN, you automatically have 3 strikes against you. Aida has 2 strikes - she is neither young nor healthy. The desire of these families who desire only a healthy infant opens the door, especially in countries with only a few ethical laws concerning children, for child trafficking. A false report is made, false information concerning who found the child, or which relatives brought the child in after the parents died, etc. The adoptive parents swoop into the country, whisk their way through court (with "expediting fees" - bribery), and then face the embassy orphan interview. In the past few years, adoptions from Uganda have numbered in the low hundreds. Last year, just a few more than 200 were completed. It is only early 2012 and already there are more than 600 pending USCIS cases for Uganda filed. This is so concerning for both the Ugandan government, seeing a mass exodus mostly consisting of healthy infant girls, and the US Government, who sees this coming right on the heels of major adoption corruption in Ethiopia. Immediately after Christmas, the embassy tightened their procedure and started sending most of their petitions to the higher-ups in Nairobi, Kenya to do further investigation on the cases being presented. Only the most clear-cut cases were making it through with no investigation, and Aida's is not a clear-cut case.

Last night, Hedda called me with the discouraging news that a family had their visa held up at the embassy today, and the possible reason was that the child had 2 living parents, just like Aida. We talked over every single possibility of what to do next. Even though it wasn't logical, I just kept feeling the most at peace about going about it all in a straight-forward manner. Just keep going with the plan we have and trust that the Lord will work in the hearts of the embassy officials. Hedda and I eventually came to the conclusion that we would hurriedly assemble the rest of the documents for a medical visa, just in case, and that she would email the embassy and try to get clarification on the situation. I hung up with her and Skyped with Doug for quite some time. Without telling him which direction my heart was leading, I laid out the situation and was not surprised to hear that his conclusion was the same. The Lord has laid out the path for us to continue based on the facts of Aida's case and hoping that officials will find it compelling with all it's truth. So, I hung up with Doug after laying out exactly what each of us needed to do today.

I woke up to a phone call that Aidah was on her way to Kampala for a cardiology appointment and that if I could meet them at the heart hospital I could meet the doctor and ask the hundreds of questions that I had for him. I asked the housekeeper to call a driver immediately, and specifically requested one that spoke at least a smidgen of English (yes, this becomes important in a minute), and threw on some clothes, pulled my hair back and gulped down some breakfast. In a few minutes I heard a honking from outside the metal gate, and I dashed out to meet the driver. Jumping in the car, he said, "Where go?" "Hmmm...." I remember thinking. "The English doesn't sound very promising." But onward we went, as I gave him the part of town he needed to go to (New Mulago), and we bounced over the lake-sized potholes and almost flew through the windshield as he liberally applied the gas, and then immediately, the brake. 15 minutes later, we were wandering aimlessly around New Mulago looking for the heart hospital, when my phone rang. It was Jurjanne, giving us directions and very clear ones! "When you go in the front gate of the hospital, go straight! Don't turn left or right. Then you will come to the emergency sign, and you will take a sharp left. Your driver will come to a closed blue gate, and this is where you hop out and I will meet you on the other side of the gate." This sounds so easy! As we headed through the front gate of Mulago Hospital, I pointed straight ahead.

"Huh?" said the driver, as he took a sharp right.

"NO!" I not-quite-shouted. "Straight straight!"

"Ah yes, straight straight!!!" the driver said as he barreled ahead going...well...straight straight, the wrong way.

"No! Stop! Stop! Go back!"

"Ah yes, go back! Here we go!" as we continued to fly over massive speed bumps in completely the wrong direction.

"ARGH!!!! TURN AROUND PLEASE!"

Screeeeeeech! The driver slams on his brakes in front of a closed metal blue gate and a guard who tells him to turn around immediately in English. Remarkably, he starts turning around, right around the time that Jurjanne calls me again to ask where I am. I explained what happened, and she said, "It's ok, I am coming to find you now!" So she started walking toward where she thought we would be. And I told the driver to please go back. Which causes him to put on his parking brake and stop right beside the road. I sigh loudly, being the arrogant American traveler that I hate so badly. I could feel my heart pounding faster and faster in frustration. The phone rings again. Jurjanne again. "Where are you Mary? Are you coming back to the main gate?" "Yes Jurjanne, we are facing in the right direction at least...." Suddenly a horrific grinding of metal and jarring of the car. I turn to see a large SUV, driven by a Muzungu lady, wedged between our car and the blue gate. And then, of course all hell breaks loose. The drivers are shouting, the police are called, Jurjanne tells me to grab my stuff and just walk to meet her, the police yell at me that I cannot touch one thing as it's all "evidence". I ask, "Evidence of what?" Finally, remembering some advice given to me before I left on my trip, I flash my US military ID and tell them that I need my things. Immediately, the police went quiet and slack-jawed, unlocked the car door, let me grab my bag and computer, and waved goodbye to me politely as I told the driver I would call him and headed down the road at a brisk jog.

And now, my dear friends, I must say that I will continue this later. I have to go pick up my mother at the airport!

Love you all!

Aida's Adoption - Post-discouragement

Dear family and friends,

You have made me cry. To sign on and see these wonderful pictures. Aida will beam when she sees them. Yes, I think it's a wonderful idea to post photos of the people who are loving her and praying for her from afar! Please do so!

I write now from a new room at a new guesthouse where I just happen to be the only guest. My in-country coordinator, Godfrey, found this room for me, and while it's a little more expensive, it is far far away from the wagging tongues. Hedda and I discussed all the options, including having me confront the gossip and remain at Aliriko's, but this seemed like the best option, given that I am a trusting person and also like to talk. And also because soon Aida will be able to come to Kampala with me and spend time with me here, and she could never do that around this woman, with all her suspicion.

I spent about three hours with Aida today, and have pictures to post in a bit. When I arrived at Bulamu Children's Village, I met Uncle Joseph, the director and founder of the village. He knew immediately who I was and greeted me with a big hug and handshake. He then took me next door to meet the social worker of the village, who also greeted me with a big hug. She told me that yesterday, Aida walked up the hill to her and greeted her with the joyful news that her mama had come to see her. This was so encouraging! Bulamu is built on a hill, with the offices at the top and the children's homes at the bottom, and between her heart disease and lingering effects of rheumatic fever, Aida has a very difficult time walking. For her to make it up the hill to talk to the social worker...this was huge!

I headed down the hill toward the large eating hall, the worship tent, and past several cows grazing near the path. As I got closer to the children's houses, I heard worship music being played and the sound of digging at the new house sites. At the very bottom of the hill, I came to the row of girls houses, and was greeted with a loud "Aaaaayyy!!! Aida's America Mama!!!" and then a shout, "AIDA! AMERICA MAMA!!!!" with a point to a nearby doorway. I pushed the curtain aside and coming down the hall at a very very slow run was Aida, with a huge smile on her face. The moment she saw me, she pulled her lips together in shyness and dropped her eyes, but she threw her arms around me and then grabbed my hand to pull me towards her house.

I spent 2 1/2 hours with her, hemming some pants, tightening the waistband, playing Uno, talking to her with the social worker, and trying on some shoes I brought with me (size 4! Yikes!). I opened my computer and put on some music for us to listen to (Chris Tomlin), only to have Aida open the movie folder and find the video we made for Sam's dedication. She watched it over and over and over and over, asking almost every time, "Pierre?", meaning "Why is Pierre not in this video?" I explained that this was made before Pierre came home, and her answer, "Hmmm..." with a shake of the head. :D

Too soon it was time to leave and go up the hill to my driver again. I prayed with Aida in English and heard her sweet voice talking to God in Luganda. Just when I was leaving, she blurted something out to her housemother, who stopped me to ask if Aida could keep the pretty sandals we brought her so she could wear them to church. I explained that I would prefer not because she must wear them to court and the judge looks at how we have dressed her as a sign that we are willing to care for her. So if her white sandals are caked with the red dirt of Africa, it may not be good. Her face fell, and my heart dropped. I asked her very seriously, "Aida, can you care for these well? Can you make sure they are clean and look smart for court?" She nodded, eyes still on the floor. I handed them to her and said, "Then I give them to you." She gave a short quick nod and then went off to her bedroom to put them away in her foot locker.

Ugandan children are not used to having so much attention centered on them. Aida sits next to me and I am constantly rubbing her back, squeezing her and she does not object at all. There is no stiffness to her body, but her eyes are always downcast and her lips pressed tightly shut. The house mother describes her as "moody" and will "always never talk". But the house mother can be quite aggressive in her manner of speaking as well, so Evelyn, the social worker, feels quite strongly that our family, with its open manner of speaking and enjoying one another, will encourage her to be the same.

Another concern of Aida's today was food. What will she eat in America? What if she does not like Mama's food? Today I brought her applesauce (called apple mash here) and she politely but firmly told me this was not her favorite. I took it away from her and gave her a roll of Smarties, which was obviously preferred. :D She took one roll and then asked for another for each of her friends and her housemother which she very benevolently bestowed on each of them as they came in the door from school.

I thank each of you for your kindness toward our family and your love for Aida. Today was a very very rough day and not one that I wish to repeat. I don't generally become homesick quickly, but there's nothing like aMean Girl to make you want the comfort of your own bed. I spent quite some time reading the many Scripture passages that you are sending me both here and in private message, and reminding myself of how *great* the Lord's blessings have been on us since we began to follow Him down the Aida path. Thank you again for your prayers and your hugs. We are eager to see what the Lord brings next, whether me returning home on Tuesday or Doug coming over for court. The next few days will tell.

Aida's Adoption - Discouragement

Good morning from Kampala! The last few hours have been discouraging and disheartening. Our adoption coordinator skyped with me last night, mainly to tell me to be very very careful because another woman staying in this guesthouse is gossiping about Aida and me. My clothing, a picture of Aida smiling...both fodder.

Our in-country coordinator is looking for a new place for us to stay this morning, and I am going out for my second visit with Aida. Please pray, this time, for my heart. It's discouraging to feel like no one is on your side, and that every move you make is all being analyzed and sifted to make someone else feel better about herself.

This Ugandan adoption community is like nothing I've ever seen. In China, you meet other parents, and you go eat and information is shared and it's supportive. You know that you are coming home your child because due process has already been followed. Having a bunch of families here while due process is working it's way through is asking for trouble. People are paranoid and upset and difficult. So please don't just pray for my heart, but also these families who are stuck here with little/no movement on their court cases. I'd like to say that I would never stoop so low, but if I were here for months with no resolution, I'm not sure I would be myself anymore.

First trip to Bulamu (Pics)

To get to Bulamu Children's Village, where Aidah lives, you take Bombo Road out of Kampala about 28KM, until you see this sign on the right.










Then you go about 1 1/2 miles on this bumpy gravel road...












...passing many little farms that look just like this.













My first moments with Aidah. This is a prime example what happens to hair and makeup while spending a day in Uganda. Hair sopping wet, eye makeup running off the face (although that could have been the tears).









Aidah in her room at Bulamu

Aida's Adoption - Post-Aida

At 1PM, we were scheduled to meet Godfrey at a different Muzungu Mall. You may be wondering what Muzungu means. Well, it’s the word for white person. The malls are like “white person malls”. Later in the day, another Muzungu and I were laughed at for drinking coffee like it was a snack, and not with a meal. At the children’s village where we went to meet Aida, we pulled up in a little jeep-like vehicle and the shout went out around the village, “MUZUNGUS!!!!!” and everyone flocked to the top of the hill.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Along with Godfrey, I met a woman named Jurjanne. Jurjanne is a Dutch woman living here in Africa with her husband, and the non-profit foundation they work for is a sponsoring organization for the children’s village where Aida lives. Because there are 350 children in the village, and just one director (who is apparently not so good at directing, but very good at loving these children like his own), the decision was made early on for Jurjanne (pronounced Yur-yon’-na) and her husband Chris, and the other employees of Kaja Foundation to direct the medical care of Aida because the decisions for her needed to be made individually and not based on the needs of the entire village. So, for 6 months now, Jurjanne, and another employee of Kaja, Elisa, have been the ones hunting down care for Aida. And believe me, they have done everything possible to keep Aida alive! Jurjanne told me today that many people have criticized her for the money spent to keep this one child alive when the money could go for food and clothing for the other 300 children, but she explained that she has comforted a scared Aida and promised her she would do everything she could to help. So, at what point does she say that this one life has cost her too much money? I thanked her over and over for taking the time for this one little life and assuring her that we felt the same way. When we first started the adoption, the money was primarily a concern for us, but as we learned more about Aida, and saw the hope restored in her for life and a family (or, a mother’s love as they say here), the financial things were not the concern any more. I think for us (and really, any other person with a heart) that when the need becomes personal, when you’ve looked into a child’s eyes, the group mentality fades away and you become much more focused on what you can do for that one child.

Jurjanne and I talked for quite some time about Aida and what our expectations were of the day, and then we went to her car, with Frank, and started the drive to the children’s village. We bounced our way through the streets of Kampala, weaving through traffic. I was highly amused by the conversations with other drivers. As she cut into a line of cars, the other driver kept pressing her and she leaned out the window and shouted, “Don’t be rude, sir!” As we sat waiting at a police checkpoint, she struck up a conversation with a woman by the road and I was almost sad when our turn came to make it through the checkpoint.

We drove for about 45 minutes, and even though Jurjanne suggested I close my eyes and rest, I couldn’t. Everywhere I looked there were things to see and take pictures of and the colors....the colors are just amazing! Such a feast for the eyes! Eventually, Jurjanne said, “We are close now,” and I began to take special attention of all the things that Aida sees every day of her life. We pulled off the main paved road and onto a small one lane dirt road that went up into the bush. We stopped to take a photo of the children’s village from far away. The bright green and red roofs stand out, and you can easily see the construction of 4 new children’s homes. We continued to drive about a mile or so to the gate of Bulamu, where were greeted by boys doing the every day work of hauling water. Jurjanne asked to speak to Uncle Joseph, the director of the village, but we were informed that he had gone, along with the social worker, to another village to help a boy there.

It was at this point that Jurjanne told me that she has not told Aida that we were visiting. You see, Aida has not lived with her parents for more than 5 years, but before she became very ill, she lived with her aunt and siblings just a couple miles from Bulamu. When her aunt grew tired of caring for this “lazy child” she sent her to Bulamu, where they quickly realized that Aida’s complaints of her chest hurting and being unable to walk quickly were not laziness, but a much more serious problem. Since that time, about 1 year ago, Aida’s aunt has visited her with the siblings, but has been quite manipulative with the staff at Bulamu. Jurjanne knew that if the auntie heard the Muzungus were coming, she would be there asking for money and that was not how she wanted our meeting to go. As we walked down to the building that Aida calls home, Jurjanne was continually greeted by child after child. There are 350 children living in Bulamu, and Jurjanne knows each one by name, and knows their situation. They are so close to her heart and she does anything she can for each one. Every child comes to her with wide open arms and greets her with a long long hug and special words. Then she would say, “Meet my friend, Mary” and the child would turn to me with open arms and say, “It’s nice to meet you, in Jesus name!” and give a big long hug as well. There are children from infants (not as many) through 18 or 20 years of age living here, and they are welcome to stay as long as they are in school. Once they graduate they must leave the village and get work or go to school, and this requires a sponsor for each child. Kaja Foundation and Bulamu have so many children that are in need of sponsorship for secondary school and college, and it was explained that these are very personal sponsorships. They really hope that the sponsor will develop a close relationship with the child, even inviting them to spend time with them in their own country if possible by law, and making sure the child knows that they are individually loved by one person especially. Bulamu is not a village for adoption. The goal is to raise Godly men and women as Ugandans, to remain here and be a strong example of leadership in their own country. It is only because of Aida’s health that she is allowed to be adopted from Bulamu, and after visiting the village, I can see why. These children are so secure here, so loved, and are so loving. There is absolutely no fighting or quarreling allowed. No raised voices in anger that I saw, and the children are instructed to care for each other and look out for each other’s needs. This attention to other people is given in return to them.

We walked into the house that Aida calls home, and we did not see her. The house mother motioned that she was around the corner, so Jurjanne went to get her. Aida peeked her head out of the kitchen and saw me and came straight away to give me a hug. Of course I started to cry and my first thoughts were of how beautiful she is. It’s not just physical beauty, but there is a real gentleness about her smile and her spirit. Aida is almost exactly the same height as Lydia, I think, and about the same weight. She clung to me for a couple minutes, but kept her eyes down, her lips clamped shut, which I’m coming to recognize as her shyness. She is very self conscious.We sat down on the couch and I asked her some questions but she still would not look at me. She would do a small nod of the head or a shake, but no indication of any answer. Then I realized I had my cell phone in my hand, and I turned it on to show her that I had her picture as my wallpaper there. That made her smile for just a tiny bit, and then I opened up the camera app. I showed her the pictures I had of her, and she wasn’t very interested, but then I came to the pictures from home. Each new picture that came up, she would say, louder and louder, the person’s name, more and more confident. “Gwen! LYDIA! Phoebe! SamuEL” And her favorite name to say...Pierre, pronounced “PierrAY”. I showed her some random videos I had on my phone, kicking myself that I didn’t take more deliberate ones before I left. She watched us sing Happy Birthday to Doug, and watched him blow out his candles. She watched Pierre dance to music, and watched him stand up by himself. But the one that caused the bursts of laughter from her was of Pierre trying to blow a horn, and his surprise and laughter when he finally succeeded.

This whole time, there were crowds of children pressing in on us. Maybe 30 or 40 children getting closer and closer, pressing down on my shoulders, my head, my arms, my legs...all trying to see the videos and pictures. The room grew hotter and hotter and hotter, and just when I thought I couldn’t stand it one more second, Jurjanne brought me a cup of steaming hot coffee! lol She shooed everyone away so I could drink it and Aida motioned to me that she wanted to look at the pictures again. I handed her the iphone and told her she could take pictures of her friends as well, if she wanted to. Off she went with her friends, and they loaded up my camera with posed shots. A preteen is a preteen, no matter the country! :)

I spent time talking to Aida’s housemother, and while, on the surface it was a good conversation, it was quite difficult. You see, over a month ago, Jurjanne and Hedda noticed that Aida had lost more weight and they found a doctor who helped them with nutrition. The housemother was given special instructions for feeding Aida. She gets lots of light foods...fruits and non-starchy vegetables, light carbs and lots of protein. But the food that comes into the house for Aida isn't necessarily given to her. The housemother has no explanation for where the food goes, even going so far as to say that it is always given to her. J., the house-mother cares for 30 other girls and finds it annoying that so much care must be given to one. So, in my conversation yesterday, while I was aware of what had happened with her, I did not mention it. I did say that we were very grateful for the help that she had given Aida and would be more grateful if she could put some weight on before she came back to the US and had surgery, but then did not say anything else. I asked some rather mundane cultural questions and chit-chatted about the weather, but then turned my attention back to Aida.

I learned today that most of the local birth parents will pierce at least one ear of their child when they are born because after they are pierced they cannot be sacrificed to other gods. It’s a measure of prevention. So, I looked at Aida and noticed that she has two pierced ears, and I asked when the other one was done. “Oh,” came the reply, “the girls pierce their own ears when they enter the home here.” I told Aida that she must be very brave because our 9 year old....and ME...both do not have pierced ears because we don’t like pain. She laughed and then said something to the housemother. The other pierced ear is done with a thorn! When a new girl comes, they help her fit in by taking a thorn from the bush near the house and sticking it through her ear! Welcome to the family!

We asked Aida if she had any questions, and she asked about sleeping arrangements. I told her that generally a new child sleeps in the room with Mama & Papa for a long time and with her it would definitely be the case as her heart is so poor. She smiled in agreement and then asked if everyone could sleep with us as well. I explained that what was likely to happen was that everyone would drag their sleeping bags, bean bag chairs, etc into the room and we would probably all share a room for a few days while she was settling in.

Two hours with Aida quickly came to an end. Just as we were leaving, I remembered to tell Aida that Grandma was coming in two days and she would come right out and see her at the village on the weekend. She beamed at that, but then quickly went back to her shy face. Jurjanne and I walked back up the hill to the car and said goodbye to the couple hundred children that followed us up. Just as I got in the car, a boy dashed up to the car and said, “Aida’s mama, Aida’s mama! I have a message for you!” He had been sent by Aida to tell me two very important pieces of news. She really wants braids in her hair (like Lydia’s) and she wants to learn to play the piano (one of the videos she watched was of my piano teacher playing the piece I am learning for the recital). I told the boy to tell her that everyone gets music lessons in our family if this is what they desire, and that she absolutely may have long hair. He gave me another hug in the name of Jesus, and dashed back down the hill to deliver my message.

All the way home, I talked to Jurjanne about Aida’s situation and about the timeline possibilities. If we find out this week that court is quick, then what should we do with Aida? If I have to go home and come back for court, what should be done with Aida. The Kaja Foundation has recently opened a baby home in Kampala, again, not for the purposes of adoption, but for reunification with family or relatives and domestic adoptions if needed. There are special nurses there and very good food, and it seems that for a short term solution, moving Aida there might be good, especially if court is quick. Then she would be close enough to visit, close to the heart institute of Kampala and away from the house mother who is stealing from her.

Please pray for wisdom for us in this situation. Aida has close friends at Bulamu, and it is a shame to take her away from them for these last few weeks, but it could eventually mean the difference between life and death for her.

Today (Monday) starts the meetings I will have with our attorney, gently pushing for our paperwork to be filed in court and expedition requested.