Click on the photos to enlarge.

Click on the photos to enlarge.

For the past week, we spend three or four hours every night on baths, laundry, vacuuming, linens, and ointments. Ridiculous. We are in the scabies-scare holding pattern. We will be taking the babies to have a more thorough exam tomorrow morning. We will learn who is better at 10th grade biology, me or the husband. We had many silly debates over the $30 microscope set: skin cell, scabie, skin cells, scabies.

I had to let the new nanny go in light of the potential contagion. She will return when we have a clean bill of health to report. Friends and family are all reporting bumps and itchies. Lay your bets. We are hoping to solve this mystery tomorrow morning.

The girls are getting secondary benefits from the decontamination lock-down. They are forced to build relationship with mom and dad. Several skin ailments have cleared up due to the rigorous bathing and drenching in essential oils. They have settled upon a size 3 diaper; too large in front, but big enough in back. Although, they can still poop off an outfit or two per day if you let ‘em. They are starting to get settled and confident in a routine.

Ron and I are tired out of our minds, no, just bodies. We fall asleep as early as possible after everyone has some kind of sheets and blankets.

A huge thank you to people who have cooked for the family, dared to come over and clean or organize, and all the prayers which have literally turned my attitude around on the spot when I really needed it.

We’ll let you know what the international adoption specialists say about the situation tomorrow.

Fidelle

Thank you to everyone for reading this and pitching in. We’ve received a lot of help, and it has been wonderful. Although we are still a far cry from having things under control, I finally woke up this morning feeling less tired than when I fell asleep, and Fidelle seems to be improving too. Her gastritis has almost healed, and her disposition is brighter today.

A wonderful friend at our church has organized a food drop, through which people are dropping off dinner every other night for a couple weeks. Wow! Thank you! Others have stopped by to cook, clean, organize, and babysit. Thank you! I’ve hired a mother’s helper for several weeks to ease the transition, which has been a huge relief since returning to work. And, finally, the girls didn’t diarrhea out their beds this morning, and have made it through the day without constant screaming. They’re almost sleeping through the night too (if only we could get our other children to do that).

So, overall, we’re all starting to get used to each other and might just make it through this. I’ll let you know!

Ron

By the time we crescendoed over the airport escalators, each parent with a new baby on the hip, I was almost delirious with exhaustion. My head was weaving, I could not think straight, and my arms and legs were leaden. I was relieved to see my dear sweet family waiting to catch us. Thank you M and M and lil C, for the reminder to sit down, the triage work and the cuteness, respectively. Thanks S and R for the Gatorade. Thanks J for being videographer and secret service. Thanks R and R for all the RNR you supply to the family. And boy oh boy, did my boys look huge and gorgeous like a fat slice of apple pie. Home at last.

I was never well rested- which was fine. My hair fell out in large quantities every day- which was fine. The badness started last Wednesday night, when we brought the girls to live with us in Ethiopia. I thought it would pass, just like other spicy evenings. But it didn’t. I noticed it again the next day, and thought it was my gut. It wasn’t. After a couple of days dismissing it, after 24 hours on an airplane being in denial about it, I am finally able to say that I am ill. I have a burning spot high in my abdomen. I don’t know if it is an ulcer, gastritis, a parasite, whatever, but crippling pain shoots through my stomach every once in awhile, but especially when both babies cry and I don’t feel prepared. Also, I am starting to have panic attacks. I’m not thinking stressful thoughts, but my heart flutters wildly and I can’t breath.

I will see a doctor. But in the mean time, need help. I cannot think straight enough to organize my list of to do items, doctor, feedings, boys, summer, feedings, nursery, menu, grocery, laundry, hiring help, etc. I hope one of my friends will read this and offer to write me a plan of attack and just tell me what to do. Or find a qualified mother’s assistant and hire her for me and write her a plan of attack.

I thought that I would want to stay home with no visitors for a few weeks when I originally made my plans about bringing the girls home. Now, I find that just the opposite is true. I need friends and family to help set a strategy for the care of these and all my children.

I will write the happy ending to this post as soon as it happens, which I think will be in as little as one week. Please pray for us.

Fidelle

Yesterday, we brought the girls home finally. Up until then we have just been making long morning and afternoon visits to the care center. It has been necessary to leave them with the nannies while we did so many other things here, and I suppose it has given the new parents, the children, and the nannies a chance to adjust more slowly.

We drove over to the orphanage at 4pm for the final goodbye celebration. As we headed up to the room where our babies have been staying, a social worker redirected us to a large common room. There were about 12 rows of small brightly colored chairs full of Ethiopian orphans from 3 to 8 yrs old. They faced an open area, and then around the sides of this were regular chairs where we all sat. We waited there for some time, noticing that a few of the older children that our new friends were adopting were in the front row wearing traditional Ethiopian outfits. Eventually, nanny after nanny descended the stairs into the room holding a traditionally costumed baby (our girls were among these, of course).

We started with a few words of gratitude on both sides, and then moved on to a presentation of singing from the children. They sang, The B-I-B-L-E, Jesus loves the little ones like me, and a few others in (cutely accented) English, then a couple in Amharic. Next, the nannies gave out farewell cards to the adopted children telling specifically about how much they loved them during their stay at the orphanage. After this, each child was passed over to the new families, and called up one by one to put their hand-print on the wall, representing all the kids who have passed through the orphanage. B used her left hand because she sucks her right thumb, and naturally, C was just the opposite. Perhaps they learned these preferences while being squashed together in the tummy.

After some cake, soda, family photos and general chaos, the adopted children were gathered in the middle of the nannies, doctors, and social workers for send off prayers. I do not know what they said, but I know that it was no small gesture. I have noticed that there are schedules of daily prayer leaders posted on the wall and have heard that they pray diligently and earnestly for the children each day. In fact, early in the week, Fidelle was pulled aside by a social worker. “I hear you are Christians,” she said. “Praise be to God! We have been praying for you to come.” After this the Americans were given a chance to pray. Others had thanked me for my prayer in Hossana and expressed their Christian beliefs, so I waited for someone to speak up, but alas, no one did. I was very disappointed. The nannies started to close the ceremony, so I spoke up again and prayed for the children.

As we were dispersing, I spotted nannies across the crowded room bee-lining with grins toward me. They swooped in, descending upon the tiny lady in my arms, kissing and squealing her name. These nannies had no doubt which was which, and they demanded to know where Fidelle was with the twin. It took us many minutes to make our final goodbyes, before hopping into the bus back to the care center.

In our care, we finally had a chance to just relax with the girls, rather than playing intently in a meeting room for a few hours while nannies swarmed about making sure they were wearing three sweaters and playing near the heater. (I guess this prepares them for the 115 degree weather.) Anyway, we just spent a while getting set up, trying to figure out their schedule, and adjusting to unexpected artifacts of orphanage care. For example, they eat a lot and FAST! In the orphanage, they got three large bowls of gruel each day and the nannies had no time to wait for fussy babies. We also got to put the girls in their Independence Day outfits (tee-hee-hee). That only lasted 30mins before C’s diaper leaked all over Mommy.

The Ethiopians threw a grand cookout for our 4th of July celebration to honor the Americans. It was very nice, but had a few snags— these sorts of things always do. The only real disaster was the corn on the cob. Shuck corn; boil water; throw in corn for a few minutes; pull out; eat. Problem? They used a local variety of maize, which was almost impossible to even bite off the cob, let alone chew up, swallow and digest. Out of sick fascination, Fidelle bullied her way through half of one… and her stomach is killing her today because of it. Ooops! Apart from that most of the food was good, including not apple pie, but mango pie. Not American, but still good! To top it off they created a bonfire in the courtyard using old framing wood, which got rained on all day. So they soaked it in gasoline and lit it. The blaze was 10 feet high for five minutes, then smoldered, then collapsed.

D brought some glow sticks that we forgot to give out, so we used those as sparklers and passed them around. They were having a big impact among the newly-adopted Ethiopian children, but the kicker for me was later that night. Many of the staff from the orphanage came by (in suit and tie) to see what an American cookout was like. (I guess nobody told them that cookouts are casual affairs.) So as the night wore on, the Ethiopians were congregating outside talking amongst themselves and the Americans were sitting indoors with their new children. I decided to go hang with Ethiopians and try to mix. As they stood there talking in Amharic, I kept hearing forenji with sidelong glances at me and could tell by the tone that they were arguing, so I stared back as if to say, “I know your talking about me…” Finally, a bold representative spoke up in English. “We are wondering… do you know, how does this work?” and he held up a glow stick. I suppressed a laugh, having failed to think that these might be exciting for the adults too. So I explained it as best I could. “Thank you… my children will ask me!”

To finish off the night, we all sang the National Anthem for our hosts, and thanked them for their hospitality.

Ron

Yesterday, we picked up the girls in the morning after visiting the National museum (former home of “Lucy”), and were able to finally leave the orphanage with them. We had our first diaper experience, we fed them, played with them in our bedroom, dressed them in matching outfits including barrettes— the whole nine-yards. After lunch, we had an appointment at the U.S. embassy in order to finalize the orphan petition, so the U.S. would legally accept the girls as our daughters and issue entrance visas for coming back home.

As we passed through security at the embassy, I was required to rub diaper-rash cream on my hands (apparently proving that it was not a lethal or explosive substance). We were there for a few hours waiting for our 5 minute interview. Luckily, the girls took their bottles pretty well and napped. This wasn’t a guarantee since the nannies at the orphanage cup-feed infants, cups being much easier to sterilize than bottles. B took to the bottle right away (she’s a survivor); C was a bit shy of it. Our embassy appointment went off without a hitch, and the visa applications are now being processed. After the embassy, we stopped to confirm our tickets for the flight home. I requested two bassinet seats, and the guy said, “Done.” I hope that means something, otherwise we may well go insane during the trip home— 20 hrs in small chairs with infants on lap, unable to sleep, unable to eat, needing to feed the girls, change diapers, and no taking turns, since there’s two of them.

After our tiring afternoon at the embassy, we went to a traditional Ethiopian restaurant with tribal dancing. The food was buffet style with your choice of hot or mild, along with extra berbere (a blend of hot spices) for people like me. We were determined to fully engage while here, so we had some of everything— injera (a crepe-like flat spongy sour bread made from the local protein-rich grain teff), doro wat (a spicy chicken stew), beef tibs, sheep tibs, kitfe (mostly raw ground beef), tripe (animal guts), “false banana” bread (not much like bread at all) with a local cheese and tej (a mead-like honey wine).

During dinner there was live instrumental music, some singing, and a variety of dances representative of a few of the 80 or more Ethiopian tribes. The dances ranged from slow weaving in costumes that draped from head to toe, while others consisted of rapid shoulder popping or head flailing (quite mesmerizing to watch), and others were performed in lion manes, horse hair, or beaded T-shirts (these were originally topless dances, but the hotel wisely presented the T-shirt version). At one point, during the rhythmic shoulder-popping, a dancer made his way out to our group and stopped right in front of me. I was clapping along and he kept staring at me. Later, it was explained that this was an invitation for me to dance with them. Anyway, I didn’t get it and was just feeling uncomfortable, when this guy grabbed my arm and dragged me up, so I did my best— D even stood up and joined us. The Americans ate it up. With my luck, the video is on YouTube already.

As the evening wound down, the servers brought out popcorn and a pan full of roasting buna (coffee) beans which they wafted about for us to smell. These were part of the traditional Ethiopian coffee ceremony, an ubiquitous part of their hospitality. Some minutes later, the servers returned with the freshly brewed buna. It was much thicker, more earthy and flavorful than I’ve had elsewhere. Ethiopia is the place to be if you love coffee!

Ron

We woke at 3AM, dressed and showered in the dark rainy Addis morning, a lone rooster crowing prematurely. Masi was already up brewing buna (coffee) in a large pot on the stove, so I joined him in the kitchen with hands full of eggs to scramble before our 5 hour trip south to see the region our children had come from.

After breakfast our whole group of nine couples gathered in the common room with their bags while the old diesel SUVs lined up in the alley outside the wall of our guarded compound— anyone with anything in Addis has a wall topped with razor wire and a 24hr guard. Everyone wore their most conservative attire for the trip to Hosanna, an evangelical Christian area. With ankle-length plain dresses milling about, one felt like we were at a Christian home-schoolers convention.

The caravan finally set out at 5AM. The muddy roads were vacant except the occasional beggar or farmer on his way somewhere, which was hard to spot through the fogged-over windows and the dark morning haze. It was almost an hour before the countryside began to show through the rain. It was lush green with jaunty hills and sudden patches of rugged deep-brown earth. Exotic vegetation was everywhere, especially the “false banana” plant which is a farming staple in that region, and a few times I spotted the iconic flat-topped African tree standing alone on a plain, the sun rising behind it. As the morning matured, I began to notice cylindrical stick huts coated with hardened mud or clay and topped with a cone of grass. They were actually quite stunning in how they blended so well with the landscape. On the road there were herds of goats driven by 12 year olds with sticks and whips, sheep, cattle, and donkeys towing loads. Men walked with elongated wheel-barrows made of tree branches, and many women stooped along in pairs under the loads of sticks they had collected. Some people were dressed very fashionably, others in tattered stained clothes that were once nice, and a few children wore nothing at all. Most people waved as we passed.

For our trip, D had purchased 4 soccer balls and several bags of candy and small toys, and we began to look for opportunities to pass those out as we drove. The first opportunity came as the caravan stopped along the side of the road in a small village. There were some kids nearby, so D rolled down his window and began passing hot-wheels out the window. About 15 children crowded around the car to collect the gifts and then moved on, but as we departed, D hurled a Nerf soccer ball out to one of the boys. Nobody saw it except an older gentleman nearby who pointed and said something. The boy turned, darted after it with glee, and began kicking it excitedly. Success!

Soon after that we stopped at a restaurant in town for a bathroom break. At the entrance to the compound, a posse of shoe-shine boys were lurking about hoping for customers. D approached them with a bag of candy and stickers. They were happy to accept and put their arms around him for a few pictures. The Ethiopians have all been very enamored of D. Though they see forenji (foreigners) often enough, I think they almost never see a forenji child.

We drove off and spotted a group of 6 older boys on the road, and hurled a ball out while driving past them at top speed. The people in the cars behind us told later how they had quickly began playing with their new ball. Best, however, was a group of 20 or so 6 year olds that we passed. Our driver, who spoke little English, slowed way down as we passed, apparently voting for them to get a ball. We tossed one out and they broke into shouts, jumping up and down, chasing the ball— the cutest thing ever!

This system broke down, however, by the time we reached the office compound in Hosanna. The children there were accustomed to forenji visiting with candy, etc. every week. There were about 100 kids mobbing us for handouts, some saying “Candy,” some “Give me money,” the meeker ones just wanting to say hi and shake our hands. We handed the candy off to our driver to give out (as they strongly recommended), and D threw the last soccer ball into the throng. They went mad, a fight broke out, and eventually a kid huddled over the ball, crying and being attacked was rescued by his mother and dragged home scraped up, but with his prize (for now, at least). I don’t think any of them will enjoy the ball with others for fear of it being stolen. Too bad.

The office compound was U shaped with a courtyard in the middle and a gate protecting it. We entered, knowing that in one of the meeting rooms we would potentially meet birth-relatives, who had been driven from the far reaches of the southern region for this important encounter. As I entered I saw a well dressed young Ethiopian woman, her eyes scanning the Americans, tense with anxiety. There were several others, wearing their best, huddled near her. I looked away terrified of the intensity. I had expected my first view to be in the meeting room, but here we all were standing together, unable to speak, not knowing who we were now related to through the miracle of adoption.

In order to maintain my daughters’ privacy, since it is their story, I will skip ahead. Perhaps one day, they will share the missing portion of this story with you.

To finalize this encounter, we had a candle-passing ceremony, where prayers were bandied about in several languages (untranslated), and one at a time, birth relatives stepped forward, lit a candle representing the children they were giving up, and passed it to the adoptive parents saying a blessing as they did so. Then an elder stepped forward from the Ethiopians and prayed on behalf of the birth families. After this, our social worker asked the Americans for a representative to pray. I glanced about, seeing surprise and anxiety on peoples’ faces. I feared that too much hesitation would scare the evangelical Ethiopians, so I confidently stepped out and prayed on our behalf, hoping the Holy Spirit would do his work. I trust that He did.

After our final goodbyes, we drove to the Hosanna drop-off center to see where the children initially stayed before coming to the orphanage in Addis Ababa. It was a fine facility, but it broke my heart. There were some newborns there weighing about 4lbs, and worse, a room full of toddlers still stunned, looking about with terrified hope that a mother or father would be amongst us, their eyes welling up with tears as their abandoned state again came home to them.

On the return trip, we mostly slept, overwhelmed by the afternoon sun, the short night of sleep, and the intense, overpowering emotions of the day.

Dad