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...

Happy Adoption Day, Noah Amsalu!

We don't know when Noah was born. He has a birthday to celebrate like everyone else, but the sentimental attachment to "exactly one year ago" that us Westerners have can't really be said on the day we celebrate his birth. Also, we have no memories of the wonderful special day. No idea of the circumstances or surroundings of his birth.

But Adoption Day! The one year mark came and went yesterday and filled my heart with so much joy to remember that first meeting. His birth into our family and into our arms. We have seen him go from withdrawn, scared little baby to a reserved, quiet goofball!

Dear Noah,

You can read the story of your adoption day, but you will never know the true feelings that were in our hearts the day we first held you in our arms. Immediately you were our son. We loved you more than we realized was possible yet, just like true loves does, the love that was fuller than possibility has only grown in the past year. We love you little man. Happy Adoption Day!

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...

Feet on the Ground

We didn't have to wait until we left to airport for the experience to begin. Immediately, before we were even in the terminal a distinctive, half culinary/half "something else" smell hit us in the face accompanied by humid air. We both noticed and came to the same conclusion: we had smelled this before. In the refugee camps. It was not a bad smell, and not overwhelming...but very distinct.

As one typically does when leaving an airplane and not knowing where to go, we followed the wave of people (of which we were near the beginning). The signs along the way confirmed we were headed in the right direction as we wound our way through a hallway, down stairs, and finally branched off to a small line of five people standing in front of the "Visitor Visa" door. We made small talk with those in front of us...and watched as the swell of people continued to follow and pile up behind us. At this moment we realized how fortunate we had been to be near the front of the plane. By the time we entered the door, it had grown around the corner and out of sight.

The room to get the visas was a narrow hall-like shape with doors on each end: one for the entering and one for the exiting. Lining the room were long tables with various officials handling various jobs seated on the other side. There was just enough room in a corner for one ch

air which I took while Josh questioningly chose which person to speak to. One checked papers, One took money, one issued and stamped the visa and one...well...several stood around, pointing directions to unknowing travelers. In a blur, we went through the "exit" door hoping that it was all done correctly and made our way to another line. The line to enter the country. By this time, those who did not need visas had caught up to us and we found ourselves at the back. Oh well.

After waiting only minutes, an airport staff man got our attention while holding open the gate marked "VIP" or "Diplomat" or something like that and ushered us to come forward. I have never been "vip" before but we causiously went towards him to hear him make out the words "baby...baby...go ahead please." Still, I do not know if it was because we had a baby or because we were white. But we would find out more about that later. We went ahead and passed quickly through the passport check station. We glanced behind to see the N. family still in line for visas and realized, "boy, it sure pays to travel with an infant!" We did feel bad for them though.

Luggage came next...or did it? We had that feeling of looking at each bag...anticipating every moment to see yours; then you begin to see the bags you have already seen...then you see them again and suddenly you begin to worry. Well, at least I began to worry. I was finally told to "go away" nicely and went to find a quiet place to change Ollie's diaper. Eventually they came and we were once again in a line: this time for baggage security. And once again, we were grabbed and ushered to the front of the line. But this time a disagreement broke out between two

"ushers" over whose "family with children" should go first. We insisted that the family with older tired children go ahead of us and in a matter of moments, we were through.

Now what? ANother question answered as we were quickly approached and offered taxi services by a nice English speaking man. Great! As we followed his quick pace, a man tapped us on the shoulder. When we turned around he appologized with a "sorry...sorry."

As soon as we stepped outside, the air hit us with a cool 7o degrees or so. It must have just

rained for the ground was still damp and the smell of dirt fresh dirty rain was in the air. Three ladies stood by some steps motioning me to cover Ollie (who was also wrapped in three layers). We arrived at a car parked near the front of the parking lot with another man sitting on the hood. He smiled, nodded, and quickly jumped up to help us with our bags. I guess we were changing hosts. We paid the first man and hopped into the car. Just like that we were off to drive on our first African roads. Parts of me wished we had arrived in the day as I was desperate to see what was around us. Only outlines of small buildings and occasional lights with huddles of people standing around them could be seen at first. By the time we got to the city, it was a little

easier to make out the shapes on the side of the road.

Our driver asked to see the directions again (which consisted of a map of sorts and the words

"across from the Altas Hotel"). We turned down a small road as it appeared that the driver wasn't too sure where we needed to go. Two men are walking down another quiet dark road so he turns towards them, stops, and rolls down the window, speaking to them in Amaric. Our only understanding of the conversation comes from shrugs and points. We are off again and he finally seems to have a better idea of where to go. I must admit, the thought ran through my mind: here we are in a country way out of our league in terms of navigational skills, with a driver we don't know, very late at night. Let's just say I was thrilled to see the familiar sign reading "Mr. Martin's Cozy Place." One little honk brought out the doorman who sleepily led us to our room and retreated back to his small little watch room.

Our room was small, but it was what we requested. Not a room for the picky traveler, yet we were happy to call it home while we were there. Tomorrow would prove to be one of the most exciting days of our lives. Neither of knew what to expect and were anxious to see more...anxious to see our son and his country. We were anxious, but exhausted. Sleep came quickly but the night was short.

To be continued...

*Special note about photography or lack there of: Many areas in Addis (including airports, banks, embassies, and other government or important buildings) prohibit photography. This mixed with the strange feeling that I got taking pictures (as though we were making ourselves stand out MORE and somehow making a show out of the poverty there) meant that I did not take many pictures and didn't take the pictures I would have liked to. I don't regret this though I do miss that we can't share more.

Out of America...In to Africa

There is one thing about traveling internationally that I love above all other things. That is the gradual transition from blatant majority in my tiny town, to a little more cultural flavor in the US airports, and then it hits the moment you begin the first international leg: suddenly you cannot tell if you are a majority anymore. The stewardesses have accents giving away the country to which the plane is headed and suddenly you feel it: Cultures mixing, lives crossing, so many people from so many places making their way across the world. This transition was just beginning and it was exciting.

KLM...the royal airline, or so they say. They treated us nicely indeed. Gave us a bulkhead seat with a bassinet, checked on us often, and goo gooed over Ollie. As expected, the flight was long. What else would it be? I do remember sleeping some, but more than that I remember wanting to sleep. The books we had packed proved useless and were abandoned as they required some sort of mental activity. We instead surrendered to the personal entertainment systems which popped out of the armrest. There were good times and bad times...some fussiness (which thankfully was not noticed due to the fact that many other people were enjoying the personal entertainment systems (a great invention when babies are on board. Plug in and tune out the screaming child two rows down). We found, for some reason, that it was much more fun to play the same movie at the same time so we would attempt to push "play" at the same second in order to watch together.

Eventually, the snail plane figure on the route tracker began to show land. People started to stir and stewardesses once again began to make rounds...the tell tale sign that we were close. The seats become a little more bearable and the tiredness in my eyes lifted with excitement. Not so much excitement for the end of the trip...just a change of pace. We were still hours away from Africa. It was now the morning of the 8th. I think. And finally we were in Amsterdam.

Have you ever flown into Amsterdam? If you do, be prepared for a trip once you land. I have never seen such a long taxi from landing to terminal. It was a mini-tour of the outskirts of the city or something. And you know the feeling...once you land, impatience sets in and people already begin vying for the "quickest exit" position. On this leg I could care less. Nothing was awaiting us here.

It was something like 9:00 in the morning. It was the middle of the night back home. We had heard that there was a Starbucks in Amsterdam and had been given money from friends specifically for that cause. We had heard that it was an amazing airport. Well, I suppose it was pretty great with it's art gallery and shopping and such, but when you are anticipating a Starbucks and can't find it...after hours and hours with no sleep...the ranking goes down a few notches. So we walked here and there for awhile, and then took turns with Oliver to browse the gallery (really quite amazing), and finally ended up at the terminal. There was a coffee shop of sorts so we payed 5 euros a cup for somewhat normal coffee. With nothing else to do, we sat down and waited.

Oliver was more than glad to get some "down time" on a blanket on the floor and didn't notice as I did the disapproving glances directed his way. We did slip some socks on out of respect...though that was not in his mind necessary. As we looked around, and the seats began to fill, we noticed that we were not only the minority in culture and language, but we were the minority in skin color. We were on our way to Africa! We met and talked with a man flying back "home" with his family. They lived in the states and he had not been back for years. It was time to show his family his country. They were the only one around who seemed to speak our language.

Seats filled even more and people began to loiter next to the check in gate. We decided we may as well loiter along with them so we made our way towards the makeshift line. We heard our names called and looked back to see two white people...WAIT! It was K. from the agency and her husband! I knew they were going to be there picking up their child, but what were the chances!! I have to admit the comfort I felt just knowing they were there...foreigners...westerners...who had been there before. I had the same feeling talking to a missionary couple who was returning with their 4 month old daughter. If someone is living there with their infant, than despite the questions I got from people about taking Oliver...he will be just fine. And yet even though I reassured myself over and over, I knew inside that it was the stress of everything that had caused my milk to dry up leaving Oliver hungry and cranky.

It didn't look good for getting a bulkhead. There were a couple of people with babies and who will really want to give up the extra leg room? However, we asked a steward anyways. I will say, I have never had a better advocate in the form of an airline steward. The man, indeed, did not want to give up his seat. Yet, with the persistent, rather cunning, talk of our friend, he succumbed to a nice isle seat happy that he was far away from a potentially fussy baby. (thank you for that reasoning, nice steward man!) This leg would prove indescribably helpful to make the seat switch for we went from the back of the plane to the very front. We would understand later why, if we ever return, this would be our strategy.

The flight started out rather rough. The air was perfectly smooth, but the little one in our care was less than amused to find his food gone and even more upset when he found a bottle in his mouth with some not right liquid substance coming out. Not a formula kid. Eventually sleep overcame him and I found myself giving in as well. Our whole traveling troop was asleep...for a short time at least.
The following is an excerpt from my journal as we were refueling in Sudan.

"So here we are, refueling, waiting, laid-over on the plane for an hour...but here we are - in Africa at last! My nervousness at the unknown of what is to come is thankfully manifesting itself in an excited, happy mood...

...Still, my nerves are on end - will the directions be enough for the taxi driver? Will he be able to understand us? Will we be able to exchange money at this time of night? Buy water? Will I be able to keep what I need to keep out of my body and away from Oliver? Will my milk come back? Boys I sure hope the guest house is still open...will we have to knock on doors to find someone? There are the questions for the next five hours. Tomorrow will certainly have its own......In a few short hours we will be driving through cattle ridden streets, hearing, seeing smelling what we have so long anticipated. But for now, Oliver sleeps in daddy's arms and only stirs when tiredness causes Josh to drop his arm onto Ollie's head. I feel as though this final plane is my final little bubble where I do not have to worry about sanitizer, water, mosquitoes and a general feeling of the unknown."

The skies began to darken. We began our decent. I hoped to see the country side from the air, but all I saw was darkness...perhaps a few lights...but mostly darkness. Being at the front of the plane, it was very easy to find a place among the first to exit. We looked at each other, and walked toward the door of the plane. We were there.

To be Continued...