On April 19th, 2012, Hambisa's father had an appointment with the US Embassy to confirm his intent to give Hambisa for adoption.  It was 1 month to the day from our court appointment in Ethiopia.  We were fairly confident he would show up, despite the long arduous journey he was forced to take from his hometown, a mutliple day trip for him. We eagerly awaited the news from the Embassy, hearning nothing on the 19th.  On the 20th we received an email at 4AM stating we were cleared to return to Ethiopia and bring Hambisa home!

Tickets are purchased, and bags are being packed.  If all goes well, we will reunite with Hambisa on Sunday April 29 for good..forever.

Home...well sort of

It is an 9 hr plane trip from Addis to London and an 8 hour plane trip from London to Chicago. After driving the final 3 hrs from Chicago to Hudsonville, we made it home on Saturday night at 5 PM. We were greeted by Mac and Bennett in the driveway. They were happy, healthy, and full of energy. We were happy, healthy, and a bit tired. None-the-less, we had a wonderful dinner and caught up briefly with Mom and Dad Lepard. They too were happy, healthy, and a bit tired. After dinner we played outside for a bit. It was an early night, I fell asleep with Bennett in his bed and Whitney with Macabe. It's good to be home...well sort off. If home is where the heart is...then I suppose we have two homes...for now.

Now I sit here Sunday morning, awake after 10 hrs of sleep. A great 10 hrs of sleep! I'm compelled to think about how I prioritize. So quickly upon our return I was greeted by many of the things here that matter, that don't hardly exist in Ethiopia.

As an example, when I turned on my phone in Chicago, I was greeted by 3 straight minutes of audible chimes notifying me of text messages and emails that had come in from the prior week. I was disconnected from most electronic communication for the better part of the week. So much of my job depends on this. It will be a tough week, catching up...

As we pulled into the driveway, it was apparent that Michigan was the recipient of unseasonably warm weather and though we left in the winter, we have returned in the spring. The lawn is covered with clover and weeds. The planting beds are green with weeds. My first thought, "The lawn needs to be mowed, I need to do some seasonal maintenance on the lawnmower, I've missed the window to apply crabgrass preventer, it's going to take me hours to weed the planting beds, I have a lot of clover in my yard, I didn't get to trim the bushes and now they have budded, I was going to finish staining the deck before the grape vines leafed out and they have buds, I'm gone next weekend, when will all this get done?..." All of it...it's not that important...but it is...now my mental battles will begin.

But how will my neighbors view me? Am I "rich" or "poor"? Why do I care? Because I am American, living in the United States and this is our culture. A culture of excess that quickly displaces joy and gratitude. A culture coveted by many of those who do not have it. A culture I am proud of and now embarassed by.

For now...I will go see how much a goat costs. After all, I have plenty of water and greenery to feed and sustain.

The Road to Awasa:

We volunteered to take three days out of the city to learn more about the country, its people and its culture. It was a bit of a confusing decision when we have travelling all this way to meet our son. We have only been able to spend hours with him while here for a week. After three days I was feeling that desperate need to get back to my kiddos, those in the US and in Addis. (a sign of the difficulty to come in leaving.) But let me tell you a few of the invaluable stories/lessons I have learned about my world, myself and my newest son through my three day journey on the road to Awasa.

The country is different from the developing city. And when I say developing, note that use the present action tense of the word. It is not a city in the sense that us Westerners understand. The unemployment rate is 45%. Those that have jobs, such as those working tireless hours in the sun to build the next ‘tall’ 10 story building (without use of steel, mid you), they make 35 Birr a day. In US, that equates to $2 for a day’s wage.

Now, let’s return to the countryside, just 20 minutes out of the capital. The land becomes very dry, very quickly. Rainy season is not until july/Aug, and they tell me it becomes very green. For now, it is the desert. The streets are lined along the edges as far as we can see with children carrying yellow jugs, cattle parading slowly, donkeys hauling a wooden cart, women with baskets of something I cannot identify. The most striking part of this scene is that in any direction I look, I cannot see a home, not a mud hut or hay stack in sight. And because it is desert, I can see a long distance. How far have they come? Where are they going?

Everything they do has a purpose, nothing is without its goal. That purpose is survival. I see a boy, about age 7, who is walking alone with his cattle parade, giving the gentle reminders to the cows with his makeshift rope to keep moving, despite the heat. Because he has cattle, he is considered to be one of the wealthier families. This means that while others stay back to work the farm, the boy is responsible for watering their cattle. He walks them for four or five hours each day to the nearest riverbed for a drink. When they have had their share, they rest in the shade of a tree that itself looks like it has its own story to tell. Then the return trip home begins back along the dried up road. This daily journey is necessary to keep up their livelihood.

Others walk the same distance to the nearest well with drinkable water, carrying their sustenance on their donkeys or own backs. I wondered why people didn’t move closer to the wells. The answer I was given was that it was not possible. Families are not allowed to sell their land, only pass it along in their families. If you weren’t born near a well, you likely weren’t going to be living near a well anytime soon

.

Before I left home in the US, I took off my engagement ring, left behind jewelry, etc. I didn’t want to be flashy or inconsiderate in my excess. What I quickly learned is that it isn’t the diamond or the jewels that do that. It is my skin that wears the wealth. Even the poorest of the people in our own country have things or clothes or access to something, anything, that these poor farmers have never seen. There is something that the Ethiopians have that so many Americans to not have any longer. They have a smile that shines through their hardship, especially the children. I tried hard to look into the faces of many of the adults, to see if that spark was lost somewhere in their growing up. For the most part, it was still there.

After our arrival in Awasa (which was filled with countless stories and miniature journeys) our white minibus with two white Americans, and our two newest Ethiopian friends who were travelling with us stopped on the side of the road to visit a coffee farm. This afternoon was one of those times we will continually ask ourselves, “Did we really do that?” It was a random roadside stop where the women agreed to show us their coffee crop and false banana plants. The only thing that seemed to be missing was the National Geographic camera crew following us. Just as we were fascinated with them and their work life, they were fascinated by us and our personal camera. It made for a good exchange, but really only something that can be described with pictures and videos, though that doesn’t come close to fully encompassing all the experience. They were kind enough to invite us into their home. The cows, two women, six children and the unknown number of others who were out working in the field lived in a mud home the size of my living room. I was surprised to see a single bed I assumed they all shared. That it until I saw the baby come crawling in the dusty dirt floor from around the half wall where the cows were. He had been snuggling with his cattle friends, maybe even sneaking a luxury drink of milk.

What does all this mean? I haven’t quite digested it all yet, but I do know it means I have a better understanding of the life and family from where Hambisa came. We are told that his place of origin is more remote and dry than this blessed road to Awasa.

Wednesday:

Wednesday: backing up again (More time in Awasa)

Yup! Got to go out in a rickety old boat and see some hippos. Boat was wood, assembled with nails, and painted in very bright colors. One of my favorite things was to see the fishermen on their rafts made out of reeds and long push sticks, waiting to sneak up on a fish…no gas power motor needed. The lake was beautiful with mountains right up to it. Though we commented on the fact that in such a dry and deserted country, we would have guessed that the capital city would be centered near a lake, but there was very little development. One very rich man owns the land around it, so the best way to access that water is to stay in his 5 star resort. That man’s name is Haile, and as we would later learn, he is a national treasure. A prized runner. He has one many marathons and is now a millionaire. He owns multiple resorts, multiple buildings, and employees many in this country. Once again we learn another interesting fact about “Charlie” as he claims, “He is a normal man, we are neighbors. I talk to him and tell him his resort is nice, his rooms are nice, his pool is nice, his restaurant…not so nice. But he doesn’t seem to care much about the restaurant.”

After hippos we were taken to do some shopping. This is a humorous experience. We laughed anytime we caught a glimpse of each other. It was apparent there were only specific shops we were being taken to by “Charlie” because he knew the families. It was one of those “no pressure” situations where no one pushed you to buy, but we were clearly paraded there for a purpose. One shop specialized in weaving traditional fabrics. In Ethiopia each region is known for a specific style of fabric, it is most similar to kilts in Scotland that are specific to a clan. The store itself was a small 8 foot by 15 foot area with 5 or 6 people sitting inside. Stacked from floor to ceiling were fabrics and garments representing the different areas. As we showed more curiousity, they offered to walk us through a small door to a room that was much larger, about the size of a two stall garage. In this room there were 4 people on sewing machines, once boy crimping snaps, and two people ironing. In the back there was an older gentleman, working on home made looms actually weaving each of these tradition patterns. As it turns out, this was a “one-stop shop”. Kurt asked about hats and after trying one on, there were some laughs and it was decided that Kurt’s head was too big for any hat they had ever made before. “That’s OK”, said Charlie, “they measure your head”. As long as they were going to measure Kurt picked out a shirt as well. Kurt kneeled down so his head was at an appropriate level. How do you not buy it when they specially make it for you, starting with the weaving of fabric? We walked out(the following morning) with a tailor made shirt and hat, a humorous memory and some laughs with new friends. Got to love it! Oh, and don't let us forget to tell you about our trip to the Merkato where the locals do their shopping.

Bittersweet

Today was so much fun with Hambisa! We were able to have an extended 3 hour stay with him and his friends today. Everything about it was wonderful. Now to only have all our children together on the same continent! We miss Mac and Bennett, and we are now going to be missing sweet Hambisa too. Instead of posting our catch up days here on the blog, we have been sitting here with our extra time viewing videos and photos of our little man. We will catch you up soon, but now we are off to catch a plane.

Haile

Let’s back up…now that we have had a second visit with Hambisa, I feel better able to share my first visit with Hambisa. As a mother, that first one was a tough one. My emotions were running strained as we hadn’t yet been to any African orphanages to know what to expect, we don’t
speak the same language, and my son was going to be there…in the flesh. We had the other American family with us to visit and take charge of our camera for photos and video opportunities. I loved that and I hated that. They allowed us to tend to the job we wanted
without having to worry about documenting it ourselves. Yet, it’s a little strange to be watched
having this moment.

It was 1pm here, prime naptime in the US and Ethiopia. Score
1 for something the same. We speak English, not Amharic. Score 1 for something
different. We are giants, about a foot taller than any of the other caregivers.
Difference: 2. Our skin is white, our touch unfamiliar. Differences: 3
& 4. Now, these differences are part of what Kurt and I know, love, and cherish. Now put yourself in the “shoes” (socks) of little Hambisa, awakened from a nap to meet these crazy, emotional creatures. He is 10 months old. He is fed. He is healthy. He is moving. He
is beautiful. I am crying…And he is not very happy to see us.

I was hoping he would warm up, but it was quite the opposite. He sat for a few minutes on
our laps with little to no response, then he wanted nothing to do with us. He cried and squirmed. Who is supposed to console him? His caretakers (my angels) have familiarity
and relationship for him. I want to be the one to help him, but I am not. I
know it is best for him to be consoled by the nannies, because I have to leave
again. I have to return home without him one more time. What good can I do by
connecting with him and returning to the US? I hand him back to be consoled, even though I am his mother. The time will come, right? It is just not now.

The rest of our stay at the orphanage was spent with other children who had awaken from their naps. There is another baby girl at the same orphanage who will be Hambisa’s
(second) cousin. She too is a beauty. We had fun playing with her, holding her close, letting her know what a special Mama she had coming to get her asap. It is so good to know that
with all the unfamiliar that will be in the US with their new families, they will have each other to grow with. It comforts me.

And that is it for day one with Hambisa. Hour one. Not so glamorous. I sobbed the
rest of the way back to the hotel with that ‘after adrenaline’ let down. I love you little
man. I am choosing to be grateful for caretakers so special to you that you, too, have learned to love.

Day Two with Hambisa:
Back to the orphanage we trod, following court where it has become official. We are a family of
five! Now, it seems as though an Ethiopian judge signing our paperwork was all we needed to turn the corner. OR maybe it was just that we decided to wait until after the naptime today before we returned. :)

Today our words are still different. Our skin, our touch and our size are still different. But today, he is rested and less scared. Sleep, my friends. Never underestimate the beauty of sweet
sleep. Today he could see that we smile the same and like to make each other laugh, that we actually have more similarities than differences. My little Hambisa plays with others, likes to be near the action (which is good cuz with three boys, there’s gonna be a lot of action), crawls on the floor, pulls himself to standing, and as we know from Day 1, attaches appropriately to his
caregivers. Let us not forget…he is also a stud in my sunglasses! I am thankful
for Day 2…a happy reunion.

A view of our luxury hotel in Addis.

A traditional Ethiopian meal with our friends. No forks allowed, and be sure to use just your right hand...sorry lefties!

The road to Hambisa's orphanage

Knocking on the gate awaiting entrance

We're together at last!