Busy Day part II

We left the busyness of the mercato and began to head to a hill where a view of the city could be seen. We had heard about this hill for the view as well as for the entoto wood carriers: ( info here and here). Sasalwi was glad to take us up and show us the whole view of his city so we made our way to the outskirts of Addis. It was nice to see trees again! Addis is not like our American cities with their avenues and parks and tree-lined streets. I was thankful for the glimpses of green. We passed lots of runners (Olympians we were told) as they raced the donkeys down the hill. Many trucks came up and down the road, honking at those trying to make it by foot. Men and women with their donkeys laden down were moving at either a jogging pace (downhill) or a walking pace (uphill). Also, of course, were the wood (or fuel) carriers. As we went up in midday, we saw many returning from the town to their village near the woods where they collect. Their ages for the most part could not be guessed. their work had aged them I felt beyond what my eyes could estimate. They looked tired, of course, but many were walking together...still smiling, still with a spark in their eyes. After we reached the top of the hill, we turned around and stopped to get out and look at the view of the city. I had a 10 birr note in my pocket so I handed it to a woman who had stopped to rest from her burden. She bowed so low I felt shameful. It truly wasn't that much...about one dollar. What did I do with all my money. She certainly shouldn't be bowing to me.

We got back on our car and headed down the hill and back into the city for a few more twists and turns as we see some things S. thinks would be fun to see. It certainly was although it struck me driving through place after place just how different this city was to our cities back home. A mix of old and new, make-due shacks to hold goods to sell next to gated buildings housing who knows what. Rows and rows of virtually the same thing with the occasional glimpse of luxury such as the Sheritan gleaming over the rest.

Eventually we rounded a familiar corner and came to the guest house. After lunch and a short re-grouping, we were out again for our afternoon visit with Noah. There are many people there again. The French group. And it is loud inside. Dr. S. is there in her white coat speaking with the French group one by one about their children. She inquires about Oliver and assures me that a low fever is okay. I feel mostly fine. Josh is not feeling well so I hold Noah since he wants to stand.

Soon we are headed back to the guest house for another rest. Tonight there is a group going to a traditional restaurant for dinner (this is more the kind of busy days we have been waiting for!). A little while and we are back in the car.

It is late and we both feel pretty badly for keeping S. out. He never seems to mind...but I am sure he would rather be home with his family. "This one night." We tell him. "No NO! No problem!" he replies.

"The lights on the street were out as we drove down the road so everyone drives slowly. How S. knows where to turn is a mystery to me, but we turn down the road he feels best. Some man points us in a direction and we follow an alley. Soon we see men in tuxedos opening our door and ushering us into a luxurious, exotic courtyard. As we enter, music hits our ears full blast and I reach down to cover Ollie's with my scarf. L and M are spotted and we join them while we wait for the rest of our party. The wait staff moves us to our reserved spot to make room in the crowded hall. Murals adorn the tent and singers in traditional dress fill the hall with noise. Soon the rest of our party arrives. The loud sounds make conversation difficult, but we have a wonderful time." -journal

*Note: these videos are watched well together.

A Busy Day Part 2: A view of the city and a contrast

We left the busyness of the mercato and began to head to a hill where a view of the city could be seen. We had heard about this hill for the view as well as for the entoto wood carriers: ( info here and here). Sasalwi was glad to take us up and show us the whole view of his city so we made our way to the outskirts of Addis. It was nice to see trees again! Addis is not like our American cities with their avenues and parks and tree-lined streets. I was thankful for the glimpses of green. We passed lots of runners (Olympians we were told) as they raced the donkeys down the hill. Many trucks came up and down the road, honking at those trying to make it by foot. Men and women with their donkeys laden down were moving at either a jogging pace (downhill) or a walking pace (uphill).

Also, of course, were the wood (or fuel) carriers. As we went up in midday, we saw many returning from the town to their village near the woods where they collect. Their ages for the most part could not be guessed. their work had aged them I felt beyond what my eyes could estimate. They looked tired, of course, but many were walking together...still smiling, still with a spark in their eyes.

After we reached the top of the hill, we turned around and stopped to get out and look at the view of the city. I had a 10 birr note in my pocket so I handed it to a woman who had stopped to rest from her burden. She bowed so low I felt shameful. It truly wasn't that much...about one dollar. What did I do with all my money. She certainly shouldn't be bowing to me.

We got back on our car and headed down the hill and back into the city for a few more twists and turns as we see some things S. thinks would be fun to see. It certainly was although it struck me driving through place after place just how different this city was to our cities back home. A mix of old and new, make-due shacks to hold goods to sell next to gated buildings housing who knows what. Rows and rows of virtually the same thing.

Eventually we rounded a familiar corner and came to the guest house. After lunch and a short re-grouping, we were out again for our afternoon visit with Noah. There are many people there again. The French group. And it is loud inside. Dr. S. is there in her white coat speaking with the French group one by one about their children. She inquires about Oliver and assures me that a low fever is okay. I feel mostly fine. Josh is not feeling well so I hold Noah since he wants to stand.

Soon we are headed back to the guest house for another rest. Tonight there is a group going to a traditional restaurant for dinner (this is more the kind of busy days we have been waiting for!). A little while and we are back in the car.

It is late and we both feel pretty badly for keeping S. out. He never seems to mind...but I am sure he would rather be home with his family. "This one night." We tell him. "No NO! No problem!" he replies.

"The lights on the street were out as we drove down the road so everyone drives slowly. How S. knows where to turn is a mystery to me, but we turn down the road he feels best. Some man points us in a direction and we follow an alley. Soon we see men in tuxedos opening our door and ushering us into a luxurious, exotic courtyard. As we enter, music hits our ears full blast and I reach down to cover Ollie's with my scarf. L and M are spotted and we join them while we wait for the rest of our party. The wait staff moves us to our reserved spot to make room in the crowded hall. Murals adorn the tent and singers in traditional dress fill the hall with noise. Soon the rest of our party arrives. The loud sounds make conversation difficult, but we have a wonderful time." -journal

The Lord's Day and a Good Day

"Through the bumpy streets, we make our way to church. It is a holiday today; the weather has cleared but the rain has created rivers and lakes of mud and I rethink my white skirt.

Oliver slept well - up every hour but right back to sleep. The mosquito n the room caused me to pack Ollie into his tent and douse ourselves in repellent. The power is still off, then on, then off again. We pass areas of Addis I have not seen before: the outskirts. Buildings of stone being raised with the promise of shining glass in the projected picture.

We stop in front of a flag hewn church entrance, with large puddles and a grand open entrance." -journal

One little mosquito, periodically buzzing within our hearing, can drive you mad if you are new to the country and still afraid of what mosquitoes contain. For all my trying, I could not seem to find it. Of course, it didn't help that the power was out. It is amazing how much sleep a person can lose over one little mosquito.

It is no wonder I was so tired when we arrived at church. As I sit in the car waiting for Josh and Sasalwi to find the number to call the pastor as we had been instructed, I rest against the window; staring out at the people making their way across a large puddle.

Eventually they find his number, call to let him know we are here, and we wait for him to come. The church is the Ethiopian Reformed Church and is connected with our denomination though we are not sure what to expect. A well dressed man in a nice suit coat and jeans walks up to the window and introduces himself as Leul. We have spoken over e-mail. As he climbs in the back seat, he acknowledges that we are younger than he expected and I must admit we think the same about him. The church is down a very small road lined with various shops and around a corner. We park in the only space available and see the church building: a white tent with a mural: the mural is a colorful picture of people of all religious sorts in a scale being weighed against a Bible. As we enter the tent, we are a little surprised to hear electric guitar and keyboard music. A man is singing and a few people are sitting alone.

In cultures such as these, one never knows customs and such so I enter with my head covered. Soon I realize that this is not needed here so I put my wrap around my shoulders. Leul insists we sit in the front row: alright now while Ollie is sleeping but I know I will be moving as soon as he awakes. Sure enough...as soon as the service begins, Oliver blinks his eyes and begins to fuss. I take him towards the back where the other mothers are. I enjoy watching them as I rock Ollie in the back. There is a little girl who is attempting to escape her mother's grasp; a boy looks my way and sticks out his bottom lip then breaks into a huge smile. The same boy is turned around by a man and given a watch to entertain himself with. Young girls grin my way and giggle as I wave Ollie's hand. Beautiful children and so similar to the happenings in our church services.

Ollie is hot...and restless. One of the pastors tells me he is too cold...he needs to be covered. I cover him more and he begins to scream and so I know it is time to leave the tent. Inside the car, I undress his layered body and give him a new diaper. When I look up, 6-8 little kids are peering in the window at me. They speak no English but do know the word "thank you thank you!" when I hand them each a pen. Immediately they begin to scribble on their hands. Oops...maybe that was a mistake.

The service ends and, surprisingly, people hurry away without much talking. It is just like the children's' rhyme: "here is the church, here is the steeple. Open the door and see all the people. Close the door and hear them pray...open the door and they all run away!"

Sasalwi and Josh come out and we are soon back on the road. Because the service was in Amharic, neither Josh nor I had any idea what it was about. We were a little worried by the sermon text and by the recognition of words such as "American" that it had some prosperity movement stuff in it. And when S. told us that it was a wonderful message, we were even more curious to hear what it was. He went on to tell us that the pastor spoke of Jesus...his sufficiency...and our relation to each other as brothers. Our family status with God despite our wealth or status in the world. He told us it was the best message he had ever heard and never had he heard anything else like it. It was all about Jesus, the Christ, and His sacrifice to make us like Him and to bring us to the Father. It mattered little weather we could understand now. It was worth it.

More driving to different places. We pass a group of boys and men playing football in a field with some sort of makeshift ball.

As I said, it is a holiday and S. tells us that his family is gathered at his parent's home for the

weekend. He tells us that he has told them of us and wants to bring us there to meet them. How could we say no! As we go further towards wherever we are going, the houses begin to resemble more of the Hungarian village style. A little nicer and larger. We go down several roads where new houses are being built and pull into a courtyard. His mother greets us at the door warmly and she leads us into the family room. Again, it looks like a Hungarian home. There is a picture on the wall of Sasalwi's father as a young man during his time in Halie Selassie's army. He served as a cornal during the beloved leader's reign. The way he sits in his chair across the room shows his past. He is a tall, proud man of 97 years. With stories behind his eyes like no other could tell.

The women stay in the kitchen while we sit in the living room. There is a television on and a computer stands in the corner of the room. Soon another man enters the room and begins to talk with us. He tells us of his niece who has recently lost her parents. He is keeping her now, but perhaps...maybe...we would be able to take her or would know someone in the states who could. "She is orphan...no parents." We don't really know what to say. Then he calls her in and introduces her to us. I would say she is probably 13 and a very friendly girl, but what is it that we could do? Eventually the subject is dropped when the mother comes in carrying a tray of food for us. "Please...please: eat!" Poor Josh. We both know the cultural ramifications of refusing to eat food but his stomach has been ill ever since he ate the injera at Mr. Martins. The sight of it almost is too much. He convinced S. who convinces his mother, that he really is not feeling well, but the food looks delicious. I, myself, take a plate and enjoy the cooking. It really is wonderful! Injera is a bread to grow accustomed to, but I think I could. Josh, on the other hand...I'm not so sure. Following lunch, a girl comes through the hallway with a grass mat and a coffee tray. The

mat (adorned with brightly colored silk flowers) is arranged and the coffee setting is put out onto the floor. As it is poured into five small cups, the aroma drifts through the air: it is very pleasant. After coffee and some conversation, Sasalwi gets up and starts to say his goodbyes to the family. His daughter comes out and he asks if it is okay for her to ride with us. "Of course!" We say.

She is a picture of a well behaved young girl: she barely speaks and answers questions quietly and directly. She has a beautiful smile.

Once we arrive back to our room, I set out at once to find my missing passport. Yes. I lost it. Of course, the one day I take it out of the safety of Josh's care and venture out without him, I loose it. This is why I haven't been carrying it in the first place. I am a little panicked. Not because I am afraid I will not be able to get out of the country or anything: we have copies and all the information, but it would be a pain and I don't really want to go back to the embassy to deal with getting another one. The afternoon is spent. I have taken the entire room apart...piece by piece with no sight of the passport. In one last attempt to tear things apart, I take the drawer out and what do you know? There it is! It has fallen behind the dresser. Whew! Now it is time to head to the orphanage...we haven't seen Noah all day and we are amazed to find how much we miss him. After the first day, he was "our boy."

Again, there is no one in the office, but the guard helps us again. Soon, we see him coming out of the room with his nanny. The visiting room is quiet and it is nice for a change, though we have so enjoyed talking with the other parents. Even Ollie is sleeping and so we have Noah to ourselves and he has us. Josh lets me hold him as his stomach is sensitive to smells. (Noah does not smell too great at this point in time)

He is our son and feels as such, and yet there are so many things that are foreign to us about him. His smell is one that I can't wait to change: to bathe him and dress him in our clothes. Also, the noises he is making more frequently are definitely different than the usual sounds we hear from our bio. babies. It is all new, exciting, and a wonderful puzzle to put together. (although at times all of our children feel this way to me.)

There are several boys playing in the courtyard: kicking and punching one another. Soon they tire of this game and wander over to peek in at the guard. He quickly shoos them. They find this only more entertaining so they pick up their game by bouncing towards him and making funny gestures at him. This time, he comes at them with a stick and gives them a little whack. They run away...laughing. We can't help but laugh ourselves.

It is almost time. After this many visits, you begin to know the length of the nannies comings and goings. I sing this song to him. One I had sung in my heart before he was in my arms. One I sing to all my boys. To him it seems especially appropriate as we wonder when his smile will appear for good. Goodnight, our baby boy. Sleep tight.

Visiting and Shoping

"A bit of peace today although Ollie still has his fever. His tummy aches, he hates the medicine, and worry is still there, but I try to hide that." - journal

After yesterday, we woke up feeling like the worst was over. We had no dinner last night so we are quite hungry. Meals have been about 1-2 per day but since we have been staying inside the guest house for much of our "free" time because

of Oliver, we have already tried everything on the menu...a couple of times. After we get dressed and showered (which takes awhile because there was a line) we bundle Ollie up and head out to the courtyard.

There are two waitresses/baristas who work for Mr. Martin. Both are such sweet girls. The evening girl finally worked up the courage to ask us if she could hold Ollie (which of course we had no problem with and would have offered had we known her desire). When the morning girl came by and the evening girl was holding him, she ran over and started talking and kissing at him. Ever since their requests are constant.

We sit down to order our breakfast (an omelet today...and some coffee of course) and she walks it around the corner to the cook. As soon as she returns and makes our coffees, she is over to claim Ollie from us. This morning he allows her to hold him the entire time we eat. Sasalwi walks in the gate with a paper under his arm and nods as he says with a smile, "I'm here...when you are

ready!" He disappears behind the building to talk with some of the staff. As soon as we finish, we grab some things from the room and are ready to go. "To orphanage?" "Yes...To orphanage!"

It is becoming quite normal now: through the blue gate, into the office to request to see Geda, nice visits and conversation with the others there...I find it hard to believe today that only a few short days ago, this was all still a dream!

He comes once again dressed like a girl. But who cares! He almost smiles and is beginning to make many more sounds. He loves to suck the knuckle of his finger and rub either his ear or his collar.

Today there is a new couple there from the states. A man and his wife who lad left other children behind to pick up their young daughter. They nervously wait...carrying on fast conversation though it is obvious that their attention is fixed on the door. Soon a girl of maybe 7 or 8 walks through the door with her head down but her eyes up. The nanny whispers something in her ear and then push her forward a few steps before exiting and shutting the door. I try to imagine my child in this situation and it is gut-wrenching. Her parents draw her over engage her. It will take

awhile and I think they know that.

Soon several nannies walk through the door and one by one call the names of our kiddos. We hand him over once again. It is feeling stranger and stranger to give him back.

On the way to the car, we decide that it would be a good day to do some shopping. Ollie is doing alright, the weather is decent, and we have some time. Besides, we would like to see more of the city. Much more. The first stop is the Hilton. Every day or so we must stop here to exchange money. So we drive through the large historical square past the Hilton gardens and up to the armed man at the gate. S. shows his card, the man glances at us, and we are waved through. There is a lot of green grass here. We have seen a few weddings already, and more white people than we see anywhere else. At the metal detecting gate Josh goes through while they wave me around. "No, No...come around with baby!" Alright, we think...I guess we'd know who should carry anything we didn't want them to catch!

As Josh exchanges the money, I walk around the lobby. The ceilings are high and the sitting areas are large. There are shops lining a walkway and I browse through the windows of the stores. I suppose you could spend your whole trip here...exchange money, do shopping, eat...but somehow it just seems strange. I certainly don't feel like I am in Africa when we are inside here. And I've heard that the Sheraton is even worse. I am ready to go, and fortunately so is Josh.

We tell S. that we want to go to somewhere called the Post Office. Others had told us it is a great place to shop. "Okay...okay...we go there!" and we are off. S. takes us through a "dirty place" (as he calls it). To me it seems as though we are taking some off the road short cut, but then again, many of the roads feel the same. It is here that I want to take pictures but here that I know I cannot. The poverty is beyond what we have seen anywhere else in the city. It is shocking and makes my throat swell tight. The places we have been seeing really do look nice compared to the "homes" we see now. Soon we enter another busier road and the "normal" sights resume. It is a holiday and so people are everywhere: even more than typical. Ladies with baskets of market things and men leading goats down the road for the feast. S. explains the holiday and I feel badly for dragging him around with us.

Eventually we come to the place and park in a large parking lot next to an official looking building. He leads us down a sidewalk and up some steps and I realize we are at an actual post office. "So...are there shops in here?" we ask. "Shops? Oh no no...not here...this is post office!" As we try to explain what our friends told us, he suddenly realizes what we meant. He just thought we were wanting to mail a letter. We walk past the post office and across another parking lot to see many small shops. "Ah ha!" S. looks and laughs. "Better?"

Here is another place I long for pictures to describe the sight. But of all the places not to take a camera this is one of them. A tourist area: perfect to find someone with nice things to take. So we keep it hidden. We buy some gum from a 10 year old gum salesman, turn down the offer of several maps by a map salesman, and walk to the shops. It is a small sidewalk...paved here, broken there, lined by small cramped stores with souvenirs packed so tightly that they overflow onto the sidewalks. We have a list of people to buy for as well as several things we had in mind to find, and so we set off into our first store where it looks promising to find linens (on the list). Sasalwi comes with us and is seemingly acting as a guard...walking behind us and watching the bag draped over Josh's shoulder. Three saleswomen quickly come to my side and ask what we are looking for while simultaneously showing us everything on their shelves. Something I say is not being understood, so S. quickly comes and interprets...shaking his head and motioning with his hands. Finally she understands that I want a big cloth like babies are carried in. I take the first one that is pulled out and ask how much. "Oh...please keep shopping." Several other linens are selected and I again ask how much. She calmly gives an answer and S. is up in arms to make her see the ridiculousness of her offer. Despite the fact that I have no idea what they are saying, the conversation is clear. Arms pointing at Josh and I, shaking heads, raised voices...they know how to do this! We leave with a very good deal and an annoyed shop keeper.

I hate to annoy them and so we ask S. for some tips saying that maybe we want to give it a try. (Now...up until this point I have loathed the idea of haggling for prices,) He says first of all that there is a "ferenge tax" and everything is marked up immediately. "Never pay more than half they tell you." Whew! That seems harsh. He insists that they are just that kind of people and shouldn't do that. I don't know that I agree. In a way, it almost seems fair. And yet, we would much rather have money left to give to S. when we go. And so, I decide to have a try.

As we walked further down the street, arms continued to attempt to lead us into their stores. All with the promise of a "good price." We started off poorly...paying far too much. But after seeing many of the same things in all the stores, I figured hey, what could it hurt. I can always go to another store. The next shop we come to has a young keeper and interesting things. I now am finding it rather fun to joke around with the shopkeepers about their prices. Of course, the price is always "high" (though not really that high). I look shocked when I am told and say "no no no." How about ____. Then comes a look of dejection, followed by a description of how great the disputed item is, then another price: slightly down from their first. I point out that the item isn't all that great...coming apart or small...and try with another offer. This goes on until I either settle or leave the store. The latter didn't happen much although the threat of it did. It is amazing how I was always called back and given my price.

I am not sure about this still...though S. smiles and laughs along with Josh. I still feel badly. And then we come into a store with some jewelry and other things we had wanted. Again I play the game and again I am happy with my purchase. However, this time, the store keeper laughs and hands me another necklace. "You good bargainer." He says with a smile. "My gift to you." What a different culture than that of the West. I like it!

The shopping is soon over and we tote our packages back to the car and into the guest house. S. comes in and has some lunch and we go in for a little rest. Then another coffee. Ollie needs to rest a little and so it is my turn to see Noah. I pack my passport (that Josh typically carries) and set off to see our little man.

S. and I talk about the city and the shopping and the hard times they are facing. It isn't so much that they have to sell their car or move into a smaller house. It is bread. The price of bread has doubled. Their food has been cut in half.

It is Saturday so the office is closed when we get there. Oh no! Now what!? But there was the French group with their babies...there must be a way. I found the friendly gatekeeper who found a nanny who brought out Noah. There he was. My boy. We spent the time mostly cuddling. He picked up his head and lay it on my face. We put our hands together on each others. He didn't smile, but he seemed happy. It was a very nice visit and an overall good day.

To be continued...

Another day, another Dr.

A goodnight sleep. Did we really have a good night sleep? We awoke with that general feeling, yet hazy on the details of how it happened. Ollie seemed a little better so we got our hopes up and made plans for the day. However, after our morning cup of coffee, his fever was back...and with it my anxiety.

"The rain has come - it is colder and dreary . I want to stay. The fear I had before we came is gone: fear of the driving, the food, the water, the bugs etc. I am feeling well and loving the city. But here I am with a sick child. From the time we leave it will be at least a day and a half to see a Dr. in the states. I just don't know how long to wait. I don't want to wait too long, and yet I don't want to miss this time if this sickness is nothing. We give him Tylenol and head to the orphanage. The weather became nice again. My spirits are still dull." -journal

We arrive at the orphanage and are surprised to

see the visiting room packed with people. A French group has arrived to meet their children. We watch as they play...cultures spanning cultures just as we do...and yet it seems strange to be looking through one cultures eyes at another trying to bridge the gap between still another culture.

We make acquaintance with the ones who speak English. There are a couple of single ladies with little babies who are together trying to figure out their baby Bjorns, a lady with a darling toddler girl who is walking in circles holding onto her hands as she leads her new mommy around. There is also a couple who are trying to entertain a young boy of 3. Joseph. The entire group seems so prepared. They all have brought small toys...very amusing toys...balloons, balls, snacks, etc. Joseph hesitatingly plays with the toys they brought and then suddenly breaks into tears. It is hard for his mom, but she says over and over that it is good for him...that he needs to cry. They handle it very well.

Soon the van from the Toukoul guest house pulls up and T. from Dove is with the rest of the group. We say our hellos and let her know what is going on with Oliver. She leaves to talk with the Toukoul staff and then returns with the orphanage Dr. Soon we are being ushered up steps, past lines and lines of laundry, around a few wandering children, and into a small office. She is very nice. She has a confident air of someone who knows exactly what she is doing and can remain calm about all else. We get the same questions as we did at the hospital. As she is looking at his tiny body, she tells us that she would never, herself, bring a baby to this country. Wow! A knife into an already damaged heart. Especially after hearing this from someone who lives here and knows the risks of the country first hand...who works with the children firsthand...I'm feeling right now like the world's most irresponsible mother. She is not lecturing us; it was more of a passing comment and her attitude towards us is friendly...and yet...

Her diagnosis is strep throat. (although no culture

is done). This makes sense. Of course! He caught it from Max or from myself. Good grief! He didn't get sick from Africa...we brought our sickness to Africa. She gives me an antibiotic which I have never heard of and, after our visit with Noah, we go to pick it up at a pharmacy.

S. pulls over next to a white sing with blue lettering and a cross, undoubtedly the place we need. He offers to go in with Josh to translate so I sit in the car and wait...with dozens of eyes watching me.

Everywhere there are people...sitting, standing, walking...and here is no exception. A group of men leans against a fence and stares. I am not sure whether to meet their stare or simply look away. It is not until I smile that they smile back, give a friendly nod, and resume their conversation. I wish there weren't the barriers of separation that I feel. I think a lot has to do with the fact that it is my first time here. There is a lot of culture shock to overcome and I have no idea how to act properly or what would be improper. I am definitely new here...and it shows. Sitting near the car is a woman with her breast exposed, making herself available to the young, diaperless child hanging in her lap.

Yes...just what you would imagine in Africa I know; but this isn't the norm. Not every mother walks around hanging out. Maybe it is just those who are too poor to care. Whatever it is, I wonder again why I am so different and why my child can be wrapped in a blanket...asleep on my lap...in a car and hers is exposed on the side of the street. I want to give her something, but by this time I have learned better. It would be seen and soon the car would be surrounded. But her eyes keep meeting mine. I hold Ollie close to the window and she smiles a warm, motherly smile. I say the word "konji" ("beautiful"...one of the only words I know in Amharic) and point to her baby. She hugs him and nods.

Here come the men. I quickly hand her something before we go and we drive away. I wonder what she is doing a year later. On the way to the guest house I ask S. about babies and sickness here. "Up to age 3...babies are always sick...always at hospital. By age 8 they are stronger...by 13 they are not sick." I also asked him if many people take such a little baby as Ollie out into the city. "Oh No, no no!!" he said. This mother didn't seem to have a choice.

We return to the guest house, past David who gives a "hello," and into our room. Soon afterward, the lights go out and the room takes on another tone. It is damp, and cold, and now there is no light. It is now that I tell myself next time we will get a different room. A bigger one. I am tired.

I drift off to sleep thinking of Noah: the beautiful boy he is and the personality we can't wait to uncover.

"The rest of the day is a blur - foggy hours past in the dark room. Josh goes to see Noah - I stay behind. Oliver sleeps and I lay beside him. Sleep comes quickly. I don't know when I wake up again, but the time between waking and sleeping is blurred and so I slide into another difficult night. Ollie wakes with tummy aches and I worry. God give us wisdom." - journal

Embassy Day, and the trip takes a turn for the worse

It wasn't supposed to happen. I had used so many things, including a Dr,'s okay, stories of others, mental reasoning, and even faith to assure myself that it would be okay. Yet, it was still my greatest fear: that I would bring a healthy infant into a third-world country and something would go wrong.

It was going to be a very long day.

Oliver had been a little fussy since we arrived, but what baby wouldn't be? His schedule was all messed up, he was being held most of the time,

bundled against his will, and not in his surroundings. But this night he was exceptionally ill at ease. Awake through the night, many messy diapers, squirmy, and then it happened: After removing another dirty diaper, I looked and saw blood. Not much, but blood in his diaper. My heart sank, then raced, and I did all I could not to cry but all the anxiety over this issue came out in a great rush of “what have we done!” Josh was calm...I was not. Over the next hour, a fever developed and he began to act sick.

There was no google to consult, only the medical book I had brought (yes, I brought a medical

book). Could be an infection...a stomach virus...all listed the same treatment advice: see Dr. immediately. Sure...in America, where Drs can be seen immediately. “What are we going to do??” I sat in the small room feeling about as low as I could get. Josh remained calm...I did not. I began talking about going home and leaving Josh to

stay...or we could get Noah's visa and return right away...or, or, or...”Josh, I have to do something!” The tension in the room was getting a little thick so Josh asked if I wanted a coffee. I said I would take it in the room and stay with Oliver. We decided to go to the clinic that had been recommended to us before we left the states. We would skip the morning visit with Noah and pick him up in time for the Embassy appointment.

Sasalwi came and soon after we were in the car. He knew just where to go and said “It is a good place.” As we drove, Ollie seemed okay. He slept and was calm, but he was still warm and the

question of what could possibly be going on in his tiny weak body was eating me up. Josh remained calm and, although I may have acted annoyed, his calmness is contagious.

I couldn't tell you how far it was to the clinic. I looked through the windows differently as I

thought of Ollie sick in this city. I looked at it with a tinge of fear. It was raining and seemed all the more dreary. I was a mom who was experiencing the sickness of her child in a third world country for the first time and I could not stop the emotions...no matter how invalid they were.

We pulled down a paved side road and up to a security gate. The guard glanced quickly at us and then waved us through. “You are foreigner: ferenge...they don't' need to check you” S. said.

He parked the car and waited in his normal fashion as we stepped out...not knowing where to go.

The room we entered was white. Sterile. Quiet. There were several hospital staff and someone quickly approached us. We explained why we were here and, after a nod, were shown through a door on the side of the room. The change of rooms was a shock to my eyes. Immediately we found ourselves following the Dr. into a very large waiting area with a row of glassed off

reception cubicles lining one wall. Everyone stared of course as the Dr. walked us to a window and explained our situation. I couldn't help but meet the eyes or some in the waiting room. It

appeared as if they had been waiting a very long time. Josh and the Dr. talked and we learned he

was given the answer of “you will maybe be seen this afternoon.” The Embassy appointment was at 3:00. Should we just come back? As we stood with the Dr...in the middle of a sea of watching eyes, I was glade to behold S. coming through the doors. Immediately he took up the job of our advocate. I was beginning to feel very uncomfortable.

S and the Dr. continued to talk to the receptionist...pointing to us and to Oliver. She gave us a card, we paid 4.00 (undoubtedly a great sacrifice for many who sat in the chairs behind us) and

were ushered down a hallway: leaving the room full of people...just like that. We were white, and

we were rich, and I felt a little sick. Ollie was calm and I faced the fact that I had little courage in the face of childhood illness. "I know, I know, it is normal, you may say. I was right to take him in." And yet it felt a little wrong. But S. gladly and boldly did his best to help us and for that we were so grateful.

"I began to feel guilty. Compared to the others, I am sure Ollie's condition was laughable. We were again wisked to the front of the line and, against the wishes of the young Pediatrician, we entered his office and were given a quick interview. "What are his symptoms? How long had they been present?" I was embarrassed to say it had only been since the morning. I wanted to leave. I asked if we could only know what to watch for. "That would be a waste of time." We were shown out and told we would be seen soon. We took our seats and waited. We urged S. not to push as he paced up and down, looking for someone to ask to speed up the process. I felt badly asking him this when it showed that he was only trying to help, but also felt badly to be pushed ahead simply because of who we were." -journal entry

And so we took our seats and waited. A father walked his little girl up and down the halls. A Muslim mother held her malnurished son close. He kept slipping off her lap and she would pull him up again. Others waited too...all looking at us either blatantly or out of the corner of their

eyes. Two hours passed and we kept our eyes on the time. Embassy at 3:00. Ollie slept. A man who had been there when we arrived got out of his seat and came over to us. "Sit closer. You should not wait this long! Please...sit closer." As we assured him that we would wait our turn, he returned with a nod and an indifferent smile, and I just didn't understand. Why weren't they mad...irritated? We had already been pushed ahead of so may people, now they were trying to put us in front of themselves...their children. Is this "just the way it is?" If so...does that make it right? We sat and continued to wait. It was a very hard place to be.

Our turn came. The young dr. was less hurried this time. He took down his symptoms, checked him over and sat down with us. After he had talked about Ollie, he looked up and asked "Can I ask...are you Christians?"

"Yes, we are."

"I could tell."

How in the world he could tell was beyond me. But we talked for a little while and thanked him for the time he spent with us. He sent us out with blood work and even more questions than we came with.

The blood work, I must admit, was a bit troublesome in thought. Yet it all seemed sterile and I could see the needle being taken from a sealed package. It was over quickly and after an unsuccessful try for a stool sample, we left the hospital with not many answers to our questions. We were told to return to the hospital for the results.

As we drove away from the clinic and towards Toukoul, I tried with all my might to get my mind off of the "what ifs." Ollie slept soundly and this indeed was a happy day: Embassy day...the day

we had come for...our only standing appointment.

We arrive through the blue gate a little early. It is not the normal visiting hours, so the babies aren't quite ready. There is a group of children playing with a tall young man in dreds. He is there helping for awhile. He was once an orphan living there himself.

Geda comes finally as we wait outside. It is cold so we are surprised to see him in only a short sleve outfit. Very surprised as we are taking him into the city. He also comes with a very warm bottle. As we were to learn, once Noah sees a bottle...it does't matter if it "isn't time yet..." It is time for him. He gets very mad when the milk comes out too hot and even madder when we refuse to give it to him. Our first little fight with him. More families roll in and once their children come, we are ready to go. There are now no empty laps. No "baby turns" on this trip!" It feels a little strange to be taking him. I just hope we do everything right.

Quickly after we leave Toukoul it begins to rain. Then it rains harder...then it "snows" (hails) and the ground leading up the steep hill to the American Embassy turns white. We go up: past Haile Selesse's Palace where guards still stand at the walls armed with large guns. (no photography allowed) Past the courts when Noah became our son (no photography allowed), Past the university. S. points out a large building as the Embassy and continues to drive past. We have heard intimidating things of the US Embassy here and now feel the presence of the rumors. No slowing or stopping in front of the Embassy. No parking to let someone off. No pausing as you walk to the building. Keep moving, don't look suspicious. Wow! I'm scared myself and I am a citizen!

The rain continues to fall in sheets as we step out. A young boy (maybe 8 or 10) quickly comes to

the door holding an unbrella and saying "Mam? Mam?" "yes, thank you very much!" and we try to stay under teh covering while he walks with a quick pace. The mountain we have just ascended creates a river of muddy water. He stops to make sure I can get across. As we walk they way to the Embassy I contemplate the fact that these boys are making their livihood off of the security of the Embassy and off the Americans who come and go. Why not! He walks us as far as the sidewalk on the Embassy side and then stops. He says he will be there when we come out and we can pay him them. We enter what he probably never will: The American Embassy in Ethiopia.

Through security, up stairs, through a courtyard, more stairs: I am glad that Sintayew our laywer was behind us as we arrived. I may have gotten lost. We take our seats in a room surrounded by glass plate windows and hte attendants who are standing behind them. The W. family also arrives. Our name is called quickly and we nervously approach the counter. You just can't help be nervous in a place like this. The attendant was taken aback by the second wrapped bundle in our arms and was very relieved to know she was not missing a file of paperwork for a second baby. In only a couple of minuts, we have been asked our questions and are handed our paperwork. We leave as we came.

Outside, the boy had not let down his promise to wait, then another boy came to help as well. We handed the first boy his payment for the way in. Soon another umbrella comes, this time it is a young man who bullies the young boy out of the way. I urge him to follow us anyways. That's just not fair! It is all so quick...the man accepts payment and assures us that the boy will get paid as well. One can only hopeGreed exists in the rich and the poor.

Back down the hill, back to Toukoul. Exhaustion sets in. The nanny comes for Geda and we leave for home. After a quick hamburger from the Cozy's restaraunt, (or rather from the house cook), we retire to teh bedroom for a nap. When we awake, it is dark and I wish we could just keep sleeping. The room is rather dreary today with the rain and the courtyard is too wet to enjoy. Oliver, who has been sleeping a good part of the day, soon drifts off again. Still sick, but calm. We follow in his slumber and sleep into the night.

To be continued...

Gotcha Day! Part Two: In Our Arms

I had seen the route to the orphanage on film. I had watched it so many times. And here we were...driving the somewhat familiar streets...and yet seeing everything truly for the first time. There is nothing that can prepare you for some things in their reality. As we round a corner, Sasalwi points up at the sign. Toukoul. We turn onto a bumpy dirt road, past boys playing in the street, causally watching the goats in their care. Past a mechanic working on yet another beat up car, and finally we turn down the small road which brings into view the blue gate of Toukoul. One honk summons the guard who speaks a few words, glances at us with a smile, and opens the gate for our car to drive through. This is it. This is really it! "Well, We'll see you in a little bit" we tell Sasalwi...not knowing if he will stay or not. "Okay...I be right here when you ready."

As we go into the office, Ollie begins to fuss. It is an exceptionally fussy day for him. She is expecting us so she calls someone in and, as I am trying to get the video camera ready (just in case we are surprised quickly) I hear her mention the name Geda. A little girl of maybe seven comes into the office and wants to see the camera. Sweet girl. I am sure many of you know her who have been there. I think she is given a little bit of "special privileges" to go where she wants. It is though she is used to video cameras and nice people coming and going, and yet it is still novel...still amusing. I am enjoying playing with her, but a little on edge wondering at what moment he will come in.

Eventually, after talking a moment with the office manager, we are shown into the meeting room. There is a lot of pacing, excitement, disbelief. We are in the room alone...just us waiting for him.

"I think that is him! His nurse walks in, hands him to me, and leaves - just like that! It is so peaceful. So still. The rush of activity and noise I thought would surround this moment is only calm and quiet. I was perfect. He lays his head down and spends the entire visit snuggling with the two of us. Perfect. The meeting is perfect. After a few moments, reality hits and then come the tears. This is our boy - our son - My mind wants to call him Geda as I know it is a word he knows. Maybe it will comfort him or maybe we are the comfort he needs. I have never seen a baby so still and calm. I wish I knew why! Oh how I love this boy!" - Journal, on the drive back from our first visit

Before long our solitude is interrupted by some more honks. The door opens to the W. family and the N. family. We watch with Noah in our arms as their children are brought to them. It is a sweet sight to watch families brought together in such a way. All of these children just fit into their new families like there was no other way it could be. The families go back and forth between talking with one another and loving on our new kiddos.

Soon a nanny walks in and sings the word "Ge...da" No! It can't be over already. I hand him to the nanny and confront emotions I didn't anticipate. Handing him back brings tears to my eyes and as I watch him being carried away there is nothing but the feeling that he is my son. I love you little man! We say our goodbyes to the other families and walk back to the car.

This time the sights of the streets do not compare to the feelings we had just experienced. I ride back in a daze. Routinely get out of the car, walk inside, and sit on the bed. Wow. We have lunch, relax for awhile, and head straight back for the next visiting hours.

We returned to the orphanage once again, told them who we were there to see, and waited...and waited...told her again and waited. Finally, Geda was brought in. On this visit we actually put him down to get a better look at him. Yep...there he was: our Geda.

With each photo we received before we came, we waited for him to be smiling. Oh how we wanted him to smile! We tried and tried...looked at the other babies smiling and laughing...tried harder. Little did we know he just wasn't ready yet. He did make sounds for this visit. Small grunting sounds accompanied by short kicks and small waves of his hands. Then it would almost be too much for him and he found refuge in staring at his hand. It was an adorable hand, I didn't blame him. Every part of him was adorable: his curling eyelashes, his chubby round cheeks, those large dark eyes. We peeked under his shirt, took off his socks, examined what kind of diapers he was wearing...he was ours and yet not quite. He was not in our care yet. It was a strange feeling. We knew nothing about how he liked to be fed or what his cries meant. He didn't smell like my child. We were his parents but not his caregivers. I wasn't used to this and it irritated me.

I knew she was coming because he was getting hungry. And sure enough, she came: the lady in the white coat with the open arms to take him once again. "We love you baby! We will be back soon!"

"Once we left the orphanage, it was time for dinner. Sasawi knew of a nice Italian place. I asked if we could buy dinner for him but he just laughed and called us cute." - journal

When we entered the restaurant we found soft chairs...lounge style...and menus with wonderful sounding food. It was the nicest and quietest dinner that Josh and I had been to for a long time. Ollie slept peacefully and we enjoyed such a nice time together...reflecting on the events of the day and on our new son. Our only question was why S. would not join us. Was it because he did not fit in and would not be welcomed? Or because of his fasting? I wish to this day that we knew. We would have loved him to dine with us each time. Within the restaurant was a whole different crowd than we had seen. People were dressed much nicer than we were and acted much more refined that us as well. It was a lovely time. We finished, payed (a surprisingly small bill) and drove the short distance to the house.

It was an incredible day. What would follow in the night and the next day would prove to be the worst and most trying time of the trip. But that is for tomorrow.

To be continued...

*** Tonight I am having some problems with photos and videos. Check back for additions.

Gotcha Day! Part One: Getting There

"Our son woke before the sun and was ready for the day. Josh succumbed to the morning shift as I had taken the night shift. They listened to the silent city slowly wake. It begins with a distant rooster, and them some passing cars, followed by sporadic honking; soon the city is alive with sound.."-Journal entry, July 9th, 2008

By the time I woke up the sounds were alive. We couldn't help but peek out onto the streets, wishing to see Addis by daylight. We now began to meet the staff of the Cozy: The young barista who ran the coffee shop made us great coffee which was much needed following our breakfast of jerky and granola bars. Unfortunately she didn't speak much English, though it was leaps ahead of our Amharic. It was very apparent that she was taken by Ollie. As we sat at the table and enjoyed the cool morning, the manager David arrived and greeted us. Then his wife. Both were so kind and hospitable. Also to make our acquaintance was Rudy, the house monkey. Rudy was shy but crazy and very entertaining. His favorite person seemed to be the young guard who often gave him scraps and played with him through the cage.

A man came into the compound and talked to David. Then to us. He was about our parent's age, warm smile and a nodding bow. He introduced himself as our driver, Sasalwi.

We sat and passed the time. I was told NOT to call the Lawyer before 9:00am. It was coming very slowly when David called us in for a phone call. "Could you be here in 15 min?" OF COURSE!! Let's go!! After a short conversation with Sasalwi, the man who would be our driver, and a few final gulps of our coffee, we were headed out of the compound. We hopped into a light blue old Honda and were finally on our way.

The first time to see the city of Addis was a mix of "just as I had expected" and "like nothing I could have imagined." It was alive. There was nothing stiff or disjointed about the way the streets ran. No street signs, very few stop lights or crosswalks, and yet it seemed to run better than our streets. It was as though they didn't have to be told what to do...everyone just knew.

"The sights were just as I expected and yet nothing could prepare me for the immensity of the scene. Everywhere there are people - walking, sitting, begging, selling, hurrying, loitering. Each one who meets our taxi lets their eyes pause of the "ferenge" I feel weird: trying to hold my camera at an unnoticed position, wondering if I should take pictures at all. I put down my camera and try to take mental notes: a stick lumber yard, Glass shards fixed to compound walls, a mechanic hammering sheet metal to a beat and broken hood. Poverty. Smiles. Staring faces. The shops in the front act only as facades for the rows and rows of "houses" winding on behind them in narrow, never-ending alleyways. Like a maze. Occasionally I can peak through and alley into the mazes of lives living there. On and on it goes." -Journal entry, on the way to see Noah

We were yet uncomfortable with where we were, yet already we were finding ease with Sasalwi.

We asked questions about this and that and he answered them willingly, happily and honestly. "Should I take pictures here?" "What is that building?" "What is prompting all the new construction?" He had an answer (and an opinion) for most everything.

We pull over to the side of the road and S. dials a number. Soon our lawyer, Sintayew appears at the gate and after greetings and introductions, we enter his office. It is a very nice, very clean two story office. We walk upstairs and are shown into a room which I recognize from pictures. Wow...this is really it!

A lady comes in and we are offered drinks. As much as another cup of coffee calls my name, I

sigh and ask for water. Ollie still needs to be fed more than I am giving him and I know coffee won't help the situation. Josh gets some though. We talk awhile with Sintayew as he gets the papers in order, and then it comes time to sign them. We see a new picture of Noah...one we hadn't seen...stapled to his paperwork and the feelings of longing to know all the sides of his face return in full force. Let's just get this over with!

As Josh fills out the rest of the paperwork, Sintayew takes a moment to talk with Ollie, making kissing sounds (as everyone here seems to do). All of a sudden, Ollie lets out his first genuine belly laugh...then his second...then his third. I guess the "kissy kissy" sound works!

Papers are finished and after a call to the orphanage to let them know we are on our way and some instructions for the embassy meeting. We head back downstairs, say our goodbyes, and find our way back to Sasalwi who waits by the car with the door open. As soon as he sees us, he pops up, does a quick nod, helps us to our seats and runs to his. "to orphanage?" he says with a big grin. "Yes! to the orphanage!"

To be continued...