Kembata

I'm going to start posting more from my journal about the Ethiopia trip. I'll do it in pieces, and may intersperse it with day-to-day stuff.

We awoke around 5-5:30am on Tuesday, May 1st. We had a bite to eat and some tea and were soon on the road. Five of us trooped into a welll-used Land Rover, including Solomon, our intrepid driver. He is a person small in stature, but super-strong and incredibly intuitive and focused. This comes into play throughout the two days we spent together.

We drove through and out of Addis, the capital. Goats crossed the road in bunches, donkeys trotted alonside exhaust-belching buses and trucks. As we reached the outskirts, buildings became less numerous, livestock more so.

Our vehicle climbed up and down mountainous terrain as the morning progressed. Other vehicles became fewer, too, usually only large trucks or tractors. The donkeys multiplied, however, laden with bags, water containers, etc.

We began to see the traditional Ethiopian round huts with thatched rooves. Some of them were painted with geometric patterns, others with imagery like animals or human faces. Shepherds from the age of 5 and up tended sheep, cattle and goats. Fields of teff, sweet potato and enset appeared with more frequency. Speaking of sweet potato, we ate our first real ones in Ethiopia. They are white potatoes with just a hint of sweetness. The ones I'd been calling sweet potatoes all these years are actually yams.

Around 10:30 or so we stopped at a town whose name I'm afraid I've forgotten to use the bathroom. I went armed with my tissues, approached the attendant, who was mopping the floor. Heading towards a stall to her right, I heard her "ish-ing" to me. Another aside: "Ish, or Ishe" is like our "ok," or the Italian "prego," meaning many different things and used often. The Bradt guidebook said that entire conversations can be comprised of "Ishe."

Anyway, what she was telling me was NOT to use the stall I was approaching, but the one across the small room. The one I had been about to use was just a hole in the cement floor, with which I had no problem and had been told to expect. I've gone to the bathroom in many strange places and positions, the most impressive of which was off of a moving freight train. But I digress. I chose the stall she indicated, and it was a toilet, which I did appreciate.

Back on the road, which changed from a paved surface to a more gravelly one. That was ok. That was actually wonderful. Because soon we came upon roadwork. And detours. Forget everything you've ever known about the detour. Forget everything you've ever known about the dirt road, or about the pot-hole. The images in your mind do not come close to the detours, dirt roads or pot-holes we encountered. I can't remember how many kilometers it was, but it took hours, and every bit of it was rough and bumpy. We tilted sideways, we were almost vertical, with the truck's nose pointing down a few times. It was reminiscent of a rollercoaster ride at a sketchy, transient amusement park somewhere. Sometimes we'd be surrounded by clouds of dust so thick, we couldn't see anything. Not the oncoming tractor or stray goat. Yet we never hit anyone. This is where Solomon shined. He drove intuitively and always seemed to know when to yield, when to forge ahead. He beeped the horn to warn lazy mules who refused to budge, or kids tossing water bottles across the road.

The bumping went on interminably. Whenever there was a respite, we hoped that that was it, it had to be. No, it wasn't. The semi-bump-free passage lasted maybe 30 seconds, and then we were back in it. We looked awful, and my head was jumbled. I kept reminding myself that the boys had had to ride on this road somehow, in order to eventually end up in Addis.

Somewhere in the middle of all this we arrived at a town called Hossana. This is where we would spend the night. It was also where we picked up a social worker employed by another agency. He would help us find our families and serve as our interpreter. He and Solomon chatted together in Amharic as we returned on the "road." We soon picked up another person -- a young man @15 years old or so. He was to help us find the families' homes, as he knew their village.

Bumps aplenty when we turned off onto a steep dirt path that became sort of cobblestoned. This was to help cars and donkeys and people keep their traction on the precarious slopes, especially during the rainy season. Which this was not, fortunately. Apparently, during the rainy season many of these roads are impassable and so visits to children's families have to happen in villages or cities closer to Addis Ababa. I was very glad this wasn't to be the case with us, as seeing the boys' home and village became so important.

Deeper in we drove. It became greener and lusher as we continued, and narrower. Bamboo fences bordered the drive, some made more snug and tight than others. Behind the fences wer the round huts we had been seeing. Children began to surround our vehicle, waving and smiling, laughing and running away when we waved and smiled back. We kept hearing our boys' family's name repeated, as well as the name of our friends's daughter's family. Solomon drove the Land Rover up a hill the exact width of the vehicle, into a yard which we thought would be our family's home. Wrong one. Apparently this family has the same name as the boys' family. We were told it was a common name in the neighborhood. The children were having a blast chasing us, waving and saying "Ciao!" (which with their accent sounds more like "Cho!"). After watching Solomon and the social worker scratch thier heads, consult a piece of paper, and talk to numerous neighbors, a younger boy with the BIGGEST grin I have ever seen jumped into the back of the SUV. He was radiating extreme joy at having a ride in the truck. He knew where the family of our friend lived. He led us there, enjoying the ride and soaking in every bit of it.

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More on that later. I just want to end with a few of our experiences on our second day back. Our oldest boy, H slept 18 hours last night. No exaggeration, and almost straight through. He is having a tougher time of it than his younger brother. He will become very sad throughout the day, and it is difficult for him to receive comfort from us. Juxtapose this with a swing in the other direction towards extreme joy and hilarity, and you've got a most rollercoaster type of day. And the boys are also doing some tag-team tantrumming. Once H has settled down, L will begin to break down. A domino effect with only two dominoes continually knocking one another over.

The boys are making incredible strides, however. I've been forcing myself to note every incremental improvement in the workings of our family, so I don't get too bogged down in my own exhaustion and frustration. Which sounds selfish, and I know it is. Nothing I am feeling now can compare to the confusion and grief the boys are going through. I received a comment from another parent who adopted from Ethiopia, and she talked about the perceived deprivation of future pleasures. We took the boys to the beach today, which was a huge hit. It was moving to re-see the ocean from the eyes of two boys who had barely seen water, never mind the crashing waves of the Atlantic. We all left the beach in high spirits, and returned home. H looked happy, until he left the car. Then he became so sad. We realized that he has no idea that we will return to that wonderful place many, many more times in his life. Why should he think otherwise? Nothing has been permanent or consistent in his life for a long time. And why should he trust us?

These realizations make it easier to withstand the hour-long screaming, or the angry punches coupled with the hugs, one right after another.

Alex and I are learning a lot about our little guys, and learning a lot about compassion. This feeling of coming so close to another's hurt first hit me when we arrived at the boys' orphanage. The pain and love in that place was stifling and joyous both at the same time. The yin and the yang, one cannot exist without the other.

Off to bed. More tomorrow, if nap and bedtimes continue as they have.

Comments

[Blaine]

What a journey.....what a day. Are you catching your breath now and then along the way?

Your compassion and love for your boys is so incredibly evident. You and Alex are doing an outstanding job!

Don't forget to rest, breath, cry, laugh, etc. when you need to, my friend. These are intense days, but you all will make it through to the other side. A forever family is being forged as we speak. Beautiful stuff.

[leisa]

Thank-you for sharing this so openly and honestly. Perhaps knowing that you are being thought of half a world away will help in the tough moments. Each emotion is so extreme, hold onto each other tight.

[abebech]

"We realized that he has no idea that we will return to that wonderful place many, many more times in his life."
That's it exactly and there's just no way to make that pain better, other than to do those wonderful things over and over.

[Amblin]

"We realized that he has no idea that we will return to that wonderful place many, many more times in his life."

This brought tears to my eyes. You are a wonderful and intuitive mama to your children.

[Melese Ungamo]

am so happy