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