Home Now

It's five thirty Vermont time, and boy are we all jet-lagged. Last night at six, I lay on the bathroom floor moaning and wondering why I felt as if I had drank an entire bottle of cheap booze the night before when I haven't touched alcohol in the time since we heard about our miracle news from Rwanda. There just hasn't been time to drink. Still, I felt as if I had alcohol poisoning and all I could do was moan and complain all day. Not the best homecoming possible, but then at least we got home. Ariah fell asleep with me on the bathroom floor while trying to decide about dinner, crying because she couldn't decide if she wanted noodles or rice or broccoli or green beans. After 15 minutes of painstaking deliberation I took it as indication that she was too tired to do anything but sleep. I managed to move from horizontal to vertical long enough to make it to the bedroom, and we zonked out for the night. That left poor Scott on duty with Pacifique, but he's used to taking care of everything after we have a baby, so to a degree it is par for the course. With Ariah, I had a nasty recovery from the surgery that brought her into the world, and with Trace... well... Of course I wasn't able to do anything. Dad was up with Pacifique twice in the night- but the boy is still asleep for the tenth straight hour otherwise. That is a blessing, since we wondered if he would be all backwards schedule-wise form the time change.

We arrived in Wednesday night, midnight, after a admittedly hellish day on the plane. Flight leaving Addis was late departing, and four people in three sardine can plane seats is uncomfortable at best. There were times I had both children in my seat and the man in front of me nearly decapitated my knee cap when he rammed his seat back into me. Neither Scott or I were able to sleep as the seats are configured so that the only place your head can go is forward when you doze and we all know just how conducive that position is to sleeping. The flight was uneventful but long and when we arrived in Dulles we had about an hour and a half to clear immigration and customs, get our luggage out, check it back thru, check into United Airlines and RUN thru the airport for our Boston flight. We made it, running thru security and cutting in front of people, out of breath. The only truly hairy point was going thru customs with Pacifique. We hand the immigration officer our four passports, and he looks at Pacifiuqe and says, "I need the Yellow envelope". Silence, then he repeats. "Do you have the yellow envelope that came with the visa?" My breath catches standing here in the immigration line, people behind me, the final port-of-entry that we have been anticipating for so long, and I say, "You are kidding, right?" followed up very quickly with a "You officers probably don't joke, do you?" The officer is getting very uncomfortable and nervous. He is kind, not irritated at all, just exceedingly worried for the situation. We go over the details while my heart moves to my throat. "They gave us the passport and visa only, no yellow envelope. No one mentioned a yellow envelope. Scott went to pick up the visa.. .I wasn't there." Finally after about what feels like a suspension of time for at least 5 minutes, Scott digs in the black back pack we have been lugging around Kigali and Addis for over 2 weeks. The one we decided after much deliberation to include our adoption paperwork in even though we were technically finished, rather than get rid of the load and include it in with our checked baggage. He fishes around and pulls out a yellow-tinted manila envelope. "Is this it?" And the officer breathes a sigh of relief. My god, Oh, man my nerves... I could kill the guy right at this point. I guess he just doesn't pay attention to the details like I do. Like if the Consular in Addis handed me Pacifique's passport along with a hermetically sealed yellow envelope, I would likely inquire, "What is this big fancy envelope for with my son's photo on the outside for? Ah, but the point is we had it. If I ever become a Embassy Consular, I will be certain to tell people what that fancy important envelope is for. I will stress it to them, in case they decide to toss it before traveling home to lighten their load.

We board the plane with a minute to spare only to sit on the tarmac for an hour due to bad weather in Boston. Then we fly the hours flight only to land in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania to refuel. Yes, you read it right. There was no logic my brain could wrap itself around. We must have been doing figure eights all the way to Harrisburg, if you look at the map DC and Harrisburg are about a 10 minute walk apart. And refueling? We got fuel and found there was a ground stop in Boston, so there we waited for another hour and a half or so. I cannot tell you how anti-climactic that flight was... being so close to my folks waiting at Boston for us, but not being able to get there. When we finally did arrive, we determined what I suspected: there was not enough time for the Airline to get our luggage to the connection, so we are still without bags. Sigh. No wonder we all feel as if we haven't quite arrived yet.

Regardless of arriving late and my butt feeling like a mammoth rock had grown out of it sometime during the night, handing Pacifique to my mother was worth everything it took to come to that point. Watching her do exactly what I did when I first laid eyes on my son and he was put against my chest was the moment I had been anticipating with tears for three days solid. Upon arriving home in our dooryard at midnight, pulling all the last bags out of the van, I looked at our son asleep in his car seat, infant head cocked to one side. Jesus God (yes, I know I am swearing) did we go to the end of the world to pick up this little man, to bring him all the way back here to our little humble home in Vermont. I have been traveling the world over for two years and have finally found what I was being called to. A person, a human being, an entire life that I knew without a doubt was there, calling us to find him. Many wondered what I was after, why, doubted if I really knew. But I did, I have felt this particular child, this particular soul for nearly two years now, and we finally found him. Amen.

More later...

mama Jaya

Laundry in Addis

I have become the laundra-matic. Why: because my family brought three of each thing: panties, pants, shirts, and they get dirty here in Africa very readily, from the red soil, the dirty benches upon which we wait for paperwork, in the taxi cabs. Not to mention the fact that if you somehow manage to preserve your clothes for the day, Pacifique is sure to throw up on you at least one good one per hour. So, we wash every day multiple times and try our hardest to make our small box of Tide last three weeks. When in Rwanda, itr was no problem to wash and dry. Time consuming, yes, but no problem logistically. Rwanda was in its dry season and it was bone dry and 100 degrees each day, so our laundry dried almost instantaneously. But here in Addis (we got here Saturday night) we are in the rainy season, which means massive downpours and thunderstorms every day in the afternoon and virtually impossible laundry drying situations. At any given time there are diapers and t shirts and panties draped meticulously all over the room- on the doors, hangers, chairs, even the luggage rack. I spend my days obsessed with turning them just right, so that all parts will be exposed to the hotel air system at some point during the day.

So Addis is fine. We are staying in way too nice of a hotel- one that has me seeing dollar signs in place of everything my cornia, (retina?) registers, but apparently there is no other place to stay that is safe and has good water and no raw sewage. It is a world apart from Rwanda, and the whole family agrees that Rwanda felt more comfortable to us. This lkand is strange to us, more foreign. We were fortunate to get in on the weekend, have Sunday to relax, and then beat feet to the adoption work this morning (Monday). The task at hand here is to get a US visa so Pacifique can come into the States. Kind of a vital point, as leaving him here in Ethiopia would really stink.

We were able to get up, go to the doctor for an exam necessary for the Embassy interview and then proceed right to the Embassy to file our paperwork. The man there in charge of adoptions was quite easy to work with, and let us slide by with our lame translations of the Rwandan documents and also said we did not need an interview, which I had understood was an integral part of the process. So we wait for tomorrow for the medical tests to come back, and then they are sent to the Embassy. After that, they will issue the visa to come home to the States. We checked return flights and there are none Wednesday and Thursday and Friday are full. So, we are booked on a Tuesday pm flight arriving Boston on Wednesday, but that will all depend on the medicals coming back in a timely and perfect fashion tomorrow. And then of course the visa being issued in time to make the flight.

But wait... now mom from home is saying that our travel agent there shows us canceled on the Tuesday flight and booked on Thursday, so I guess what this means is another wait and talk with the Ethiopian office in the morning. Argh. Welcome to the transitory lifestyle of private international adoption.

So, if you do not hear from us again, then it is good news and we are on a plane. If we are stuck, we will certainly find the time to write.

Many blessings and thanks for all the love, prayers and well wishes sent this way. It has meant so much to us all.

We did it!!!!

I only have a second, and am typing on an iPod, so briefly...

OMG!!!! We flew thru immigration in record time (less than 24 hours) and got the passport, walked to the us embassy and finished our paperwork, then took a hot cab (100 degrees outside) to Ethiopian airlines to buy the baby's ticket. We leave Saturday afternoon for addis and hit the embassy Monday!

Woohoo!!!!

Thursday Update

A quick entry to update you- not going for writer's perfection here, just the basics.

Monday we turned in our paperwork to the Ministry requesting our fancy letter that would give us permission to travel and would also serve to complete the adoption process and enable us to keep Pacifique with us at all times. Tuesday they woman who needed to write the letter was out of the office all day, but with an email to the Minister herself, we were able to get commitment that the letter would be available for us the next day (wednesday). So on Wednesday morning, the Minister followed thru with her word and after waiting for some time in their office, we received the magical piece of paper. If ever there was a celebratory moment, this was it.

So we traveled to the orphanage one last time to deliver the official papers (I'm leaving out all the steps in between for notaries, banks, lawyer payments, etc)and Pacifique was sprung officially from his previous residence.

Returning home was a blessing, but after about 15 minutes of bliss, Pacifique began screaming in a way that indicated severe pain... altho he was simply ravenous. It only took about one nanosecond for us to determine that we were without the bottle we brought from the states. We must have thrown it aside at the art market, traded it hastily for a diaper to catch the one millionth puke. The kid is a fountain. Anyway, Scott ran through Kigali to the baby store to find a smaller version of our Avent bottle for a mere $20 USD, only to find he has spent all of his francs at the art center. Needless to say, it was a bit of an unfortunate introduction to living with us as parents and guardians for Pacifique.

Today we went at opening to the immigration office to request Pacifiques's Passport. That meant a 5 am rise, and one grumpy Ariah Ray. At the counter we explained our situation, hoping to get some compassion and assistance for a process that usually takes 10 business days. We showed them copies of our Saturday tickets to Addis, and explained that we needed the passport by tomorrow at 11 am or else we would be stuck here until at least next Wednesday due to the fact that the US Embassy closes at noon tomorrow and does not accomodate us again until Tuesday. And we cannot leave until we clear the Embassy.

So right now, we are crossing all our everythings that some miracle will happen and we will be able to get a passport (we were told it was impossible, but I knew to clarify: "is it impossible, meaning it cannot be done, or is it very difficult?" The answer was that it is very difficult which if anyone knows, I know, that those are two very different terms)by 11 tomorrow. If you have any prayers at all, please send em our way. I feel like a guy at a dead show, his finger in the air over his head, with a sign "I need a miracle."

So tonight we are headed to a restauarant for the first time with babe in arms. No idea how to handle that. I am slave to the bottle now, and have new appreciation for what a convenient miracle breastfeeding is! Everywhere we go, we need to strategize how to get a food source for this child. Last night he slept thru dinner which made things very enjoyable, today he has been sleeping the last two hours, so I am in for a different experience.

Anyway, he is cute as a button as my mom would say and we already love him to pieces. We will be glad to finish this leg of the journey and begin our travel to Addis. Our goal is SolarFest!