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.

Kampala

Aida's Adoption - Pre-Aida

My Sunday, pre-Aida

It's amazing how quickly one goes from “Oh! Look! She’s carrying bananas around on her head!” to “That woman is only carrying a little bit."

Yesterday morning I woke up to my alarm at 9AM. One hour until my driver would come and I would be off for a visit with Aida! For the time being, I am in a tiny room with no bathroom, but when a family leaves this week for home, my mom and I will be moved to a new room to share together, with a bathroom (I think). So, I went around the corner to the shower room and turned on the water, started a shower, and began to wash my hair. Suddenly, the shower turned off and I was left standing under a dripping shower head with soap running into my eyes. I stood for a minute, debating what to do, and suddenly the shower spurted to life again. Very relieved, I (stupidly) took the time to lather, rinse and repeat. And again, the shower died, with my hair full of soap. I was so confident that the shower would come back on again (yes, how silly am I?!?) that I lathered up the bar of soap and started washing my face while waiting for the water to come back on. I’m not completely sure *how* long I waited, but let’s just say the soap on my face started to dry and form a hard crackly layer that became quite difficult to remove later. I heard a gentle knock at the door and it was Ellen, the owner of the guesthouse. She said, “Do you see the bucket of water behind the door?” “No - my eyes are soaped shut!” I replied. I stumbled over to the cold bucket of water and used it to rinse my hair and attempt to wash the soap off my face. I somewhat succeeded and slipped into my clothes, wrapped a towel around my hair and went back to my room. Later, another guest told me that they never take a shower in the morning. The electricity always goes off and usually stays off for 2 or 3 hours. Maybe more. Lesson learned!! I went to the breakfast table looking a little rough (understatement) and just cracking up. It was the funniest introduction to Uganda that I could imagine, and some other guests shared their intro stories. I will say, I am grateful I’m not the one that had to streak from the bath to the room. :D

I heard a honking outside the gate of the guesthouse around 10AM and the guard shouted up to me that my driver was here. I went outside and met Frank, the brother in law of Godfrey. We headed off, armed with a debit card, to find an ATM, an internet store, and a cell phone store. First, the ATM. After a 30 minute drive through Kampala, we arrived at a Muzungu Mall - a mall resembling the ones we have here (but more like our mini-mall) and almost every other store there is a bank. I tried ATM after ATM and no money. I kept getting messages like, “Your card is about to expire, please try another one.” After trying several (around 10) ATM’s, we gave up and went to a Forex Bureau to exchange the money I had brought with me. But oops...I forgot to bring money. Big Mistake of the Morning #2! We drove back to the guesthouse, grabbed some money and then went back to the exchange bureau. This all sounds so quick and boring, but the several things make it more interesting when actually here. First, the rainy season just started and the streets are caked with thick orange mud. And secondly, there is no directly straight road back to anywhere. Every trip back and forth takes at least 1/2 hour and is filled with activity. On the trip back for money, a large woman in a white uniform waved us over to the side of the road, and started to yell at Frank in Luganda (the local language). He grumbled back and she yelled some more and then he pointed at me and said something to her. After about 10 minutes of this, she finally pointed her finger at me and said, “I am only letting you go because of THIS LADY!” And we were off again. The issue was that Frank was not wearing a safety belt. And the fine would have been 10,000 UGX (Ugandan Shillings), which is about $4 USD. On the trip back to the Muzungu Mall, we got stuck in the roundabout because the police closed the exit. So, around and around we went, maybe 10 times, and I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “Look kids! Big Ben! Parliament!”

I exchanged some money, finally found an ATM that worked, and then shopped for some water and a cell phone. I got the least expensive phone they had, which was 70,000UGX (about $28) for the phone, SIM card, and several hours of talk time.

Aida's Adoption - In Uganda

About 3 hours ago, I stepped off my plane in Entebbe, Uganda. My friend Linda has spent much time in East Africa and told me just take a deep breath of the Ugandan air and tell her what it smelled like. The air was thick with humidity, but the smell was of the fires that burn nearby. My guide, Godfrey, explained that it is the smell of grass burning in local huts and villages.

I left Istanbul in the dark, flew in the dark and arrived in Entebbe in the dark. So I still have no idea what Africa looks like. :D The flight from Istanbul was 6 hours long and I asked the clerk at boarding if he could show me a good place to sit where I could get some sleep. He told me to go to row 25, the very back of the airplane, and no one was seated there. So, I got to sleep for 6 hours. This did a lot to improve my spirits - I wasn't down or depressed, but just so tired and not wanting to be beyond exhausted for my first meeting with Aida.

About 2 hours into the flight, I looked out the window and saw beautiful fires burning all over the ground. Not out of control fires, but contained, nomadic fires. The plane showed that we were near Egypt and Sudan, and the flight attendant explained that the fires were the center of the nomadic tribes.

Upon arriving in Entebbe, I got my luggage -- all my bags made it in great condition -- and went through customs. They didn't even take a second glance at my yellow fever card, nor did they care that I only received the shot 7 days ago, not the 10 that the US says I'm supposed to have. I stepped outside, and a young (mid-20's, I think) Ugandan man holding a sign that said, "Mary". He introduced himself as Godfrey and he is the in-country contact for all the adopting families from our agency. During the 45 minute drive to my guesthouse, we talked about Aida. Godfrey has a young daughter that came to the US to have her heart fixed last year, and Aida's situation hits him especially. He has spent time with her and describes her as sweet and earnest, but also told me some things that will be difficult for her to get used to. One thing specifically - in Uganda, children are generally on a strict routine. Wake up, wash up, get dressed, do chores, and then eat breakfast. Godfrey's observation of American families is that they are much more laid back, and that we "eat breakfast in our jammies", and that this may be difficult for Aida to get used to. :D

Halfway to the guesthouse, it started pouring, and the windows were wide open. We drove with rain splashing our faces, which felt nice after the 30 hours of traveling! The boda-boda taxis (motorcycles) zoomed around us and I started to see the craziness that is Ugandan driving.

I am staying at Alirikos Guesthouse, run by an American couple that just happen to be alumni of Moody Bible Institute. They attended their 50 year reunions last year, so we weren't there at the same time. :D

The guesthouse is cool and comfortable. It is surrounded by a tall wall with barbed wire, and is manned by a guard at all times. Also, a really perky little dog who greeted me by dancing around on her back legs and licking my toes.

Alirikos is a guesthouse mainly for missions groups, but has lately, in the past year or so, become popular with adopting families. It is ridiculously inexpensive ($20 a night, which includes 3 meals and laundry) but quite comfortable. It's a duplex style house, so when my mom comes on Wednesday, she will stay on one side and me on the other.

I left Godfrey with the understanding that we will meet here at 10AM to do some shopping and go see Aida. That's just 4 1/2 hours and I need to get some sleep. But it's so unreal that I'm so close to her right now. I've been quite weepy since landing here. There's something very special about being in your child's birth country - and for us, whether that's China, Haiti, or Uganda, you just want to soak everything in, feeling like you learn more about your child by experiencing their country.

On that note, I'm going to sign off-line and take a short rest. Thank you everyone for the notes and the kind support. What an amazing family and group of friends I am blessed with!

Aida's Adoption - Flight to Istanbul

I made it to Istanbul after a quite comical flight. When I boarded the airplane, I was quite excited to see that there was an open row of 4 seats directly across from me. When the flight attendant shut the door, I immediately jumped over to it and spread my things out. As soon as the plane took off (at 9:15PM), I took a new medicine the dr had given me for hip pain, and stretched out on the seats to sleep. I dozed for about 30 minutes and then the flight attendants came through with supper. While I was eating, I noticed an extremely pregnant woman diagonal to me, trying to get comfortable. So, while the flight attendants cleaned up the trays, I started talking to her, and I'm sure you can guess what happened. I gave her my row of four seats and walked to the back of the airplane to see if I could find another stretch of seats together. All I could find was two, up against a window, so I tried to get comfortable to sleep. I don't recall a lot between that and when I was woken up by someone yelling that they couldn't find their child. Rubbing my eyes and stretching, I tried to wake up enough to help this woman search for her little girl - how far could she go, after all? But what I noticed immediately upon attempting to stretch, was that there was a heaviness on my lap, and I was *so* hot. The cabin was quite dark, so I opened a window shade, and there, stretched out on my seat with her head in my lap, was a little Turkish 3 year old. I gently shook her awake and called the flight attendant who brought the relieved mama over to pick up her daughter. This little girl's mama was in tears and quite hysterical and couldn't understand, from what the flight attendant told me, why I would let her daughter sleep on my lap. I told her I had taken a medicine and I simply did not know that a child had crawled up beside me in the seat. I ended up telling the flight attendant that I have 5 children at home, 2 of them 4-yr-olds, and I am always sleeping with a child on me and never wake up if someone crawls into bed with me. So, she told the mama that, and the mama asked where all my children were. I said, "At home with my husband." And she "tsk tsk tsk"ed me and left.