The Story of Tomas

From a different blog...

These are from another blog I had, thought I would move them here and maybe pick up the pieces a bit.

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

The Story of Tomas

In America, there was a woman who felt great love for the children of Ethiopia. One by one and two by two, she brought beautiful Ethiopian children into her family. It was tedious work getting the documents for adoption and waiting for the courts to issue a decree of adoption. Months and months would pass until finally a day would arrive when the woman knew her children were coming home.
One spring when she was waiting for her new daughter, Selamawit, God spoke to the woman in His still, small voice.
He said to her, “When you go to Ethiopia to bring Selamawit home you will fall in love with a little boy there.”
The woman thought, “This must be my mind telling me that I love children so much that I need to be careful with my heart”. The woman was not a wealthy person, as one might believe because she was an American. She already had four Ethiopian sons and two Ethiopian daughters in her family.
Nevertheless, as the days passed and the time to travel to Ethiopia came closer, God spoke to the woman repeatedly, saying, “When you go to Ethiopia to bring Selamawit home you will fall in love with a little boy there.”
The woman told herself, “I think I will go to Ethiopia and fall in love with a little boy there.”
The woman smiled because he knew her tender heart.
In time the woman knew that it was not her own mind about the little boy, but the Holy Spirit of God speaking to her in His still small voice. Therefore, she said to God, “Okay, Lord. I don’t know what you mean by this but I believe you”, and she kept this knowledge in her heart.
When the woman finally believed, God spoke to her yet again in His still, small voice, “When you go to Ethiopia to bring Selamawit home Lema will love this boy too”.
The woman listened and wondered, “What does this mean?”
She thought about what God had said to her regarding Lema and the boy. The woman smiled because he knew the tender heart of her son.
At last, the time to travel came and the woman and her son flew many hours on an airplane and came finally to Ethiopia. The airport was new and beautiful. Outside, oh, the air smelled the good, rich, and spicy smell of Ethiopia. Many bright stars shone in the night sky and the tepid breeze was soft against their faces.
After the woman met her new daughter, Selamawit, she knew her daughter’s name was right: “Peaceful One”. She was sweet, pretty, and funny and for a few days, the woman forgot what God had said to her so many times.
The occasion came for the woman and her son to visit with the families of her Ethiopian children. Their good friend, Selamneh, took them to just the right places to help Lema remember the way home to his Ethiopian brothers and friends.
It was an amazing day when Lema found his Ethiopian family. The brothers had grown up into men. They lived at the same house in Kechene where Lema grew up.
When the woman and her son came to the house, the brothers were very happy to see them! The neighbors and relatives came out, kissed Lema, and cried with joy to see him again. The brothers hugged and kissed the woman and cried tears of joy and surprise.
At that time in Ethiopia the winds blew great grey clouds low over the city. The clouds dropped their rain in big plops, and then threw the drops forcefully to the ground. The woman loved this rain and these clouds, and her happiness was full.
That afternoon as the rain pummeled the ground from the sky, as it bounced off the roofs, and rocks of Kechene, the woman watched her son’s joyfulness.
Then the door opened, and a little boy stepped in from the outside. He was wet to his bones. Water dripped from his smiling face. His t-shirt clung wetly to his square shoulders.
The woman thought to herself, “Who is this child and why does he have such huge dimples when he smiles and such bright teeth? Why is his hair so curly and soft and why does my stomach, quicken when I look at him?”
The woman watched curiously as Lema talked with and embraced the boy. She did not understand their language.
“Who is he?” the woman asked her son.
“This is Tomas,” Lema replied.
Tomas was a very small boy when Lema lived at the house in Kechene. He was sometimes a naughty boy who threw rocks at their door. Now his family was gone, like so many other children. Like Lema, he had no mother.
Lema was troubled. The pain on his face and the urgency in his voice was plain to see.
“We must help him, “Lema pleaded. He did not want Tomas to grow up without parents, without a home, without school and without hope. The woman saw that Lema loved Tomas.
As she sat on the chair inside the brothers’ house in Kechene with the pulse of the rain beating a dull tune on the metal roof, the words God had spoken to her came back:
“When you go to Ethiopia to bring Selamawit home you will fall in love with a little boy there.”
Also: “When you go to Ethiopia to bring Selamawit home Lema will love this boy too.”
A small upward curve began at the corners of her lips and a smile formed slowly on her face. The woman looked at her son and heard him say, “Can’t we do something to help him, Mom?”
“Yes, my son,” she thought, “we will.”

Now this little boy is Tomas Aminie.

 

The Wait Had Been a Long One

Our Trip 2006

The wait had been a long one.
I found Tomas in May of 2005 and moved to adopt him as soon as, even before we got home. The agency wanted us to wait 6 months so that my new daughter, Selamawit, would be able to feel special and have time to adjust. It was a rule AAI had put in place somewhere in between our adoptions. When adoptive parents caught up in the exuberance of new children wanted to pile in more too soon. I knew though that six months would come and go quickly and that our process would be nowhere near accomplished.
They relented, and we proceeded. During the early weeks of continuing with yet another dossier of documents, I began to wonder about Yajibush. What would become of her? There were so many older girls at that time without a younger sibling through which they could attach themselves to a family. How much longer must she wait? I asked about her at the agency but "Yes, yes, although she is a nice girl, here is a BOY who would fit into your family very well," was the response I got. No. It had to be Yaji. I asked the kids, “What about Yajibush?”
“Oh yes! We would like to adopt Yajibush!”
That response and the urging of my heart paved the way to adding her to my application.
I contemplated somewhere around Christmas time the kids would come home. Still we heard nothing. Why is it that goals for a new house, a new kitchen, and a new child are always slated for Christmas time?
Then the news came: There had been some trouble with Haregwoin’s license and her ability to stand in court for children she took in. Yaji came through Haregwoin's and now all her background information would have to be confirmed again even though she had been living at AAI’s Layla house for over a year. And, since our kids were a packaged deal, BOTH of them were lost in the delay.
I quit the AAI list serve. It was taking too much of my time and energy and there were very few kindred spirits left there. However, I was not getting any updates on my kids. I rejoined and at about the same time Merrily Ripley began sending updates to the seven families she had waiting with children held up by the Haregwoin's fiasco.
We named ourselves the Turtle group. It was a nice thing to have company in our misery, to share updates and hopes and prayers.
All along,  I wondered if I would travel. I had gone the year before leaving my  the rest of the kids and brought with me my oldest son adopted from Ethiopia five years before.

Matthew-Lema, now 16, had forgotten conversational Amharic. He had older brothers living in Addis Ababa and we planned to see them.
But this year was it fair for me to go again? There was no one to watch our six children; Noah who is autistic, is a handful. Last year I thought I would never go again. I had horrible anxiety attacks and was unable to nurse myself. (Danae! Take your medicine! NOW.)

Now Matthew had a hard time after we came home and in the months that followed, he became moody, sullen, and angry. He got in trouble at school and with the law. He ran away from home. He broke the law big time and I was treating him with tough love. His consequences were his own.

With all of this in mind, I decided that I would go once again.

I was nervous. I could not believe I was going to do it again. Was it really the right thing? Although I love Ethiopia maybe we should just pay to have the kids escorted? I inquired about the costs of escorting. No, it was MUCH too expensive. I would go.
Our 14-year-old son, Jimmy- Tesfaye, wanted to come with me. I worried about the effect it would have on him and in no way wanted to repeat the things that happened the year before with Matthew.
However, these boys are different from each other.
I  decided Jimmy would go.
Then my daughter, Betsy, who is 25 and married without kids, decided that this may be her last and only chance to go to Ethiopia before she and her husband started a family. She took a leave of absence from her work, got her passports and her shots and she was ready to go. I could not have been happier. Betsy has always been very supportive of my decisions to adopt. She loves the kids, the food, and the culture. Betsy is a comfort to me.
Finally, the dam broke and the Haregwoin's cases washed over in groups of three or more. We were set to travel in April!
The only problem was that I had been given the opportunity to be the project leader for a new bar coding medication delivery system at the hospital I work at and I was scheduled to go to my first day of training the day of our embassy appointment. I would be in Boston for a week.

We set back our travel date two weeks. After all that anxious waiting, we set- it- back.

May 1, 2006, we were ticketed to leave Seattle Tacoma airport at 0730. We left home at 3am and drove 1.5 hours to the airport, checked our luggage and shuffled through security to wait again for our United Airlines flight to Dulles where we would connect with Ethiopian Airlines.

Jerome, my son in law, drove down with us in our van, dropped us off tearfully and made his way home in an empty vehicle. 

We had our special travel clothes on. Tori, my 15-year-old daughter braided my damp hair into cornrows the night before so that when we arrived in Ethiopia I could take them out and have fluffy hair.
And now there was nothing to be done but to wait.
Enjoy each part of the journey. That is my philosophy. I tried to find adventure and fun in all the things we did. But let’s face it. We started out sleep deprived. Betsy and I anyway; Jimmy could sleep through a train wreck.

Friday, June 16, 2006

And then...

It occurs to me that I should move the stories of my two other trips onto this blog too... it may be interesting to compare them.
Where does the time go?
Sometimes I just get stuck here putting off the things I should be doing, things that NEED to be done.
I don't have the energy to chronical the horrible trials we are facing right now. That being said, I guess they could be much worse and I should count my blessings, have faith, and get on with it.
God is Most Assuredly Good.

Thursday, June 01, 2006

Ethiopia 2006: Kidene Mihret

Kidene Mihret is where I usually leave off. Words escape me. The profundity of the place takes my words away.
Kidene Mihret is not Sisters of Charity. It is not Layla house. It IS a huge orphanage and school run by nuns. It contains many children of all ages and abilities.
Sister Lutgarda and Sister Camilla are women who have dedicated their lives to service to God, to Africa, Ethiopia specifically. They have been there more than thirty years watching the children and families come and go. They watch and give as much as they can- If you have ever seen Sister Camilla in action you know what I mean.
Still, in ways it is a grim place. Clotheslines filled with shredded diapers in varying colors of dark yellow stand against breathtaking views of the sparsely wooded hills beyond. As always, a breeze blows through. If you turn, there is yet another graveyard of diapers flapping under an opaque roof- it rains a lot in Ethiopia.
My baby came from Kidene Mihret seven years ago this April. He was the beginning of my adventure into adoption. He stole my hearts away.
Naturally, when I came back to Ethiopia the next year I visited the sisters. There were many toddlers then, tripping about, pulling at the nuns as they chatted with us. My arms were full. I saw where Noah slept during his brief stay there and heard the story of how he came to be at Kidene Mihret.
Last year we visited too- three rooms of babies. Some so very small I wondered how that little life could hang on. Some of them do not. That is the plain fact of life in Ethiopia. Babies die. No matter how hard you try sometimes, with what they have, they die. Nevertheless, many of them were robust. The toddlers did not clamor out in the yard now; they all stood in a vast sea of beds with iron rails looking at us with interest when we peeked our heads in. Little bodies, all together, bed upon bed. This is not judgment or discernment, this is fact.
This year we visited briefly again. More buildings are going up taking the place of empty weed filled lots where children played. Where were the children now? In classes?
Sister Lutgarda brought us in to the lower floor of a building that was just a foundation the first time we visited. There two classes of older children buzzed and wriggled- girls on the left and boys around the corner on the right.
Upon Sister Lutgarda's entrance, the buzzing silenced. The stereotypical response we hear of to the Nun Who is Headmarm is a reasonable one. She spoke sharply to them- I do not know what she said, their huge eyes took her in (all around 5 feet of her) and their mouths closed. They straightened up in their seats and faced their desks.
Suddenly, she turned to us and was no longer The Headmarm, but Sister Lutgarda again, chatting breezily (wanting us to meet some children and there-by obtain families for them).
We met a boy who was going to the states. Which boy? Oh, this one.
"What is your family's name?” I asked him.
I made out an Ethiopian version of "*****.”
"Ah, I said. Washington State?"
"Yes, yes."
"I know your mom! You won't live far from us!” I tell him, at the same time thinking what a strange thing it is to be standing at 8200 feet above sea level and in another hemisphere knowing that this boy will live 30 miles down Interstate 5 from us.
He smiled a shy smile and sort of hid his face. "This is a nice boy," I think. I took his picture, saying, "Smile for your mom!"
The boy behind him, his friend, probably around 14 years old is also without a family, and the one next to him. It is a big class. The mixed emotions hovered around me as I took in their faces. The impact of all that thought...
We went upstairs next to see the babies. Here is where we met up with Sister Camilla, the more affectionate of the two Maltese nuns. She greeted us with whole-hearted warmth, kissing us Ethiopian style, cheek to cheek- four times for good measure.
There are still a lot of babies but not as many as last year. Most of them are waiting for their families to come for them. Some of them are so small... Their stories are always the same. "Abandoned." "Twin died." The sisters are very proud of the tiny ones who come to them and are able, through perseverance, to overcome their meager beginnings and all the obstacles, gain weight and grow. And rightly so.
That day, however was different.
Last year when I went to Kidene Mihret, it was to visit our baby, Solomon. We held him, kissed him, sang to him, and prayed for him. Solomon was another twin whose sibling died. He is a strong boy, born with spina bifida, as was his brother. But Solomon was bright and responsive. He was moving well. It was obvious that he was not affected overly by his lesion...
Those nights, I woke up and prayed, knowing within days that he was not my son. It was saddening, but what God wants He will have. He is Julee's son. The one He had for me I would meet later. That knowledge was bittersweet. That memory was strong here.
Now in the baby room there laid a child whose forehead rose high, bulging in its expansiveness. Her skin, waxen yellow. She never moved. Her eyes, crusted with a mucoid drainage looked blankly out into the air. Her thin arms and legs lay unmoving by her sides. She was dying. Soon. Three attempts at a shunt to drain the fluid off her brain had failed and now she would soon to be out of pain and in the arms of our Lord. I moved my hand lightly across her forehead and thought, "soon, little one, very soon..." She was well bundled and in a crib near the door, easily accessed. She would never know a home or a family, not even in which to die. This place, this Kidene Mihret, was it for her. She was not without love, from some at least, from Sister Camilla, whose huge heart aches for every little one suffering but who knows that this is life.
Next to this dying baby's crib was another. A cute BIG girl laying straight and not moving much. She has CP and is around 5 years old but they put her with the babies. I cannot help thinking what physical therapy, occupational therapy, and speech could have already done for this child... and will there EVER be a family for her? Most people want a baby girl (don't flame me here, these are statistical facts) and it takes a special family to take on a child with extra special needs: To know, going in, that your child will need more than most other children, and require it for a lifetime, and more, that lifetime may be short.
Next, we popped our heads inside the door of the toddler room. There they were all standing in cribs looking at the strange faces looking back at them. A sea of toddlers. One baby up front, an obvious favorite, made gibberish with our guide; he was full of life and energy, begging for a chance to use it. One next to him, also standing, but more sober, was announced to be HIV positive, stage 4. He looked healthy to me. Our guide told us that this baby had a family who came to see him one week out of four, a family who had committed that much to him for as long as his life lasts.
With my 25-year-old daughter, her sensitivities now raw, and Yaji, whose younger sister, Fanos, had been dispersed to Italy from here- a deep sense of sadness was on all of us, a weary weight.
It was time to go.
Our driver, Dawit, was waiting for us in the shade when we came down the steps toward the car. Numbed into quietude, we all got into the car and went back to our base-camp at the guesthouse.
The irony of this life is not lost on me. Life is NOT fair. Life is not fair and that means more than the fairness of whether or not you are chosen for varsity football or you have a new car...
This is a basic knowledge with which our Ethiopian children, especially the older ones, come to us. Some of them have a tragic sense of the unfairness, an urge for justice... but mostly they accept it.
That is the Ethiopian way.
What more can they do? They accept it and go forward.
We could learn something from that.

Rainbowzend