Ethiopia Journal: Day 4 (December 27) The Day We Met Our Daughter

At 3 a.m., we were awakened by the low, melodic, soulful chanting of the call to prayer, broadcast across town via loudspeaker. It was surreal--and unlike anything we had ever heard. Hus-B got out of bed and sat by the window in the dark, listening. I stayed in bed and listened. We were still and quiet, trying to soak in the sounds of morning in Addis Ababa. I thought of how the chanting must be something Miss K heard every morning. Was it a part of her routine? Did it cause the babies to stir and wake up? Or were they all so accustomed to it that, like the trains that pass through our town, they had learned to sleep right through and not even notice? The chanting continued for several hours, growing fainter by daybreak.

A couple of our travel friends, the M Family, whose room was right above ours, filmed this scene of families living behind our hotel, going through their morning routines that day. You can hear the chanting in the background (scroll down and pause (II) the background music before playing the video). It really captures the mood of that morning. It was a Sunday morning and A had invited us to attend a service at the International Evangelical Church. Not where he and his wife usually attend, since the services are in English (though they also have Sunday School classes in Amharic, French and Korean) and the congregation is mostly comprised of American and European aid workers and missionaries, but something he thought we would enjoy. And we did. Morning worship prepared our hearts for the life-changing event that would take place that afternoon.

D, one of IEC's Ethiopian associate pastors, had helped to raise A and had also cared for our friend S's older children for 4 years while S and his wife were living in New York and S attended Columbia University. After the service, Pastor D gave us a tour of the facilities and took us into the kitchen for coffee and bread and to meet some a few of the Ethiopian church members who also know S and his family and were excited to hear how they were doing and to ask us all about our life in Florida. We stayed until just before the second morning service began, then A took us to his home where we were greeted with big hugs and sincere smiles from his sweet children and the smells of injera and beef tibs flowing from the kitchen. A's wife M emerged from the kitchen, set up two TV trays in front of us, and fixed our plates with injera and heaping portions portions of kitfo (usually served raw but she cooked it for us Ferengis) and tibs. Then she, A and their children found seats around the living room and watched us eat. It was a little awkward, but the food was delicious. Although we were full after our first helpings, we did not refuse the seconds that she quickly dished out, wanting to make it clear to her that we liked the food and appreciated her hospitality.

After lunch, M took our plates to the kitchen, brought out a TV tray and plate of food for A and prepared plates for the children to eat at the table. Another woman (we were never quite clear as to whether she was M's mother or a family friend) came out of the kitchen, spread out a faux-grass rug, and started setting up everything necessary for a coffee ceremony (portable stove, box-style table topped with small teacup-sized coffee cups, a stone incense burner, pan for roasting coffee and bowl of green coffee beans for roasting). Ethiopian people in general are very welcoming and hospitable and it is an honor to have a traditional coffee ceremony performed when visiting someone. The room filled with the strong smell of incense and coffee beans roasting. The beans were roasted in a pan over the fire, then crushed and added to a clay pot of water and boiled to produce rich, dark coffee, which is customarily served with popcorn or seeds and nuts. It is a feast for all of the senses. After lunch, A took us back to the Union, where we were scheduled to meet with Almaz, the director of Hannah's Hope, at 2 p.m., to complete our Embassy paperwork and, more importantly, walk to the orphanage to meet our children. It was hard to focus on the paperwork knowing that such a huge a turning point in our lives was so imminent.

Photo courtesy of the M Family

The meeting with Almaz took about an hour and concluded with her asking (in her cute Ethiopian accent) "So, are you ready to meet your kids?" Everyone scurried around to gather their cameras, camcorders and diaper bags and we headed out the gates of the Union and turned down a nearby cobblestone path. The walk only took about 4 minutes but was so heavy with anticipation that it seemed to happen in slow motion. We had all seen the videos and pictures posted by families that had traveled before us and had walked that walk in our imaginations hundreds of times before. We approached the red "All God's Children, Inc." gate--was it really happening or was it a dream?

Almaz opened the gate and a crowd of curious older children quickly gathered around us. She asked for the A Family to join her to enter the orphanage and recruited a couple of other people to film and photograph them meeting their precious little twin girls. After a few minutes, the As emerged with their babies, followed by one of the special mothers holding another family's little one. About every 30 seconds after that, another baby was brought out, with all of the families watching eagerly as it was brought closer to see if it was theirs. Everyone was scurrying around filming and photographing everyone else's first interactions with their children, until their own child was brought out. Miss K was the last baby to come out. We recognized her big brown eyes as soon as her special mother stepped out onto the front steps. As everyone else was busy getting to know their babies, Hus-B handed the camcorder to one of the Hannah's Hope drivers and I handed my camera to Almaz herself to capture the special mother placing Miss K in our arms. It was a moment in time that we will always treasure. This child that had been born in our hearts even before she was born to her first mother--this child that we had longed for and prayed for for years, that we had loved from the core of our beings from the moment we first saw her picture in September, was finally here, ours. She quietly snuggled into me, seeming unsure of what was happening, but willing to trust my hold. It was an immediate connection on Hus-B's and my part. Hus-B eventually coaxed a smile out of her with some of his silly antics, but her interactions with us remained tentative.

After an hour or so of bonding, taking pictures and mingling with the other families and their babes in the courtyard, we walked into Hannah's Hope to see Miss K's home for the past several months. We walked upstairs and several of her special mothers crowded around us to love on Miss K. One in particular wanted to hold her and spent several minutes hugging her, holding her close, whispering to her and sobbing as she said goodbye. The special mothers' love of these children is simply amazing. I can only imagine how difficult it must be to give so much then say goodbye. Over and over again. She asked if we would send pictures, and we promised we would. She showed us Miss K's bed--not the one that a previous family thought was hers--but one of two little cribs cozily situated in a room about the size of a walk-in closet. Her special mother laid her down in the crib and then entertained her in what was a special game the two of them had enjoyed. Her special mother flapped her arms and said "MaMaMaMaMaMa" as she swooped in toward Miss K in the crib, in response to which Miss K kicked her feet and just squealed with delight.

The sun was setting and it was getting cooler outside. The special mothers were starting the children's evening routines and the just-united families began making their way back to the Union Hotel. From this point on, these children were our total responsibility. We exchanged good-nights in the lobby and made our way to our rooms, wondering what adventures this first night would hold and what stories would be shared the next morning at breakfast. . .