I love how our adoption stories have woven extra details into our holidays. They will always make this season an even more meaningful time of year for our family. On Christmas Eve, D and I boarded a plane for Ethiopia to meet K. On New Years’ Eve, we boarded a plane in Ethiopia to bring her home. On New Years’ Day, we arrived home with K and were greeted by friends and family and our girls—finally all together as a family of five. And now, on every Thanksgiving, we will remember that it was on Thanksgiving Day that D and I flew to Haiti to meet our boys for the first time.
Traveling to Haiti was a unique experience. Such an easy trip. An hour flight from Tampa to Miami, then an hour-and-a-half flight to Port-Au-Prince. My brain isn’t used to processing the first-world/third-world transition so quickly. Over the course of a 17 hour flight to Africa, you have an opportunity to think of what’s to come and set your expectations. Not only that, but by the time the plane lands, you’re sleep-deprived. Your body clock is messed up due to crossing 7 time zones. Your eyes are puffy. You’ve got cankles. You feel like you’ve traveled halfway around the world and that seems to help prepare you to disembark into something completely foreign.
But when your plane lands in Haiti, you’re only 90 minutes removed from the glitz and glamour of Miami. Those 90 minutes have been filled with spectacular views as you’ve flown over the aqua-blue Caribbean and the Bahamas and various other tropical islands. You see Haiti approaching, the blue water and sandy beaches in the foreground and green mountains in the background. It’s looks so lush and gorgeous, like something straight from a travel magazine (and much of it really is!). And yet, while you know in your mind that you are about to land in what is now the poorest country in the world (click HERE for the article), it's still so surreal to descend into Port-Au-Prince amidst thousands of rusted tin roofs and slums. How can such a short flight take you a world away? How can all this poverty exist so close to home?
Goodbye, Florida!
Traveling to Haiti was a unique experience. Such an easy trip. An hour flight from Tampa to Miami, then an hour-and-a-half flight to Port-Au-Prince. My brain isn’t used to processing the first-world/third-world transition so quickly. Over the course of a 17 hour flight to Africa, you have an opportunity to think of what’s to come and set your expectations. Not only that, but by the time the plane lands, you’re sleep-deprived. Your body clock is messed up due to crossing 7 time zones. Your eyes are puffy. You’ve got cankles. You feel like you’ve traveled halfway around the world and that seems to help prepare you to disembark into something completely foreign.
But when your plane lands in Haiti, you’re only 90 minutes removed from the glitz and glamour of Miami. Those 90 minutes have been filled with spectacular views as you’ve flown over the aqua-blue Caribbean and the Bahamas and various other tropical islands. You see Haiti approaching, the blue water and sandy beaches in the foreground and green mountains in the background. It’s looks so lush and gorgeous, like something straight from a travel magazine (and much of it really is!). And yet, while you know in your mind that you are about to land in what is now the poorest country in the world (click HERE for the article), it's still so surreal to descend into Port-Au-Prince amidst thousands of rusted tin roofs and slums. How can such a short flight take you a world away? How can all this poverty exist so close to home?
Goodbye, Florida!
Hello Haiti!
We landed around 4 p.m. and made our way through immigration and baggage claim and down the corridor to our driver who was holding a sign with our name on it. I’ll add here, and you’ll understand later, that the whole time we were in Haiti I thought his name was Mario and even yelled out “Merci, Mario. Orevwa!” as we waived goodbye to him at the end of our trip. Then D told me that when he referred to him as Mario on the first night it was a joking reference to Mario Andretti the race car driver. We think his real name might be Guy, but that’s another one that might be easy to misinterpret, so I guess we’ll need to confirm on the next trip.
As it is arriving at Bole International in Addis, as soon as you exit Toussaint L’Ouverture, you’re surrounded by men begging to carry your suitcase. D knew the drill and his opinion on this scenario is that you either say no and brush past them and come off looking like a jerk, or you carry a couple of dollars in your pocket and be prepared to play their game. They reach for your bags. You say “nah, I got it” and they strike up a conversation. After a minute or two, they insist on carrying your bags for no charge because they like you so much (this “I’ll do it for YOU for free” or “I’ll give this to YOU for free” sales technique was repeated in several different contexts over the course of our trip). You still decline the offer but enjoy the conversation as you walk along. Then, when you finally get to the van, you let them grab the bag and throw it in for you (though you could easily do it yourself) and you give them a couple of bucks. It goes back into the economy and you don’t feel like a scrooge—it’s not like these guys have all sorts of alternative employment options. Plus, once you know the routine, the game is fun and the conversation is interesting.
Almost as fun and interesting as driving through Port-Au-Prince at rush hour. No lanes, cars driving six wide down what would appear to be a four lane road, no traffic lights, tap-tap taxi trucks crammed FULL of people riding home from work or wherever they had spent the day—squished like sardines, hanging out of the back, sitting on the top. The tap-taps are awesomely painted with bright colors and phrases and groovy pictures—everything from Jesus to Obama to Wyclef. We didn't want to be even more conspicuous than we already felt (just the two of us in the back of a huge fishbowl-like van) by hanging out of the windows with our cameras, so we just observed and I borrowed these pictures to illustrate what we saw from Megan at Urban Casita:
You know, our vans will be maxed out when our boys get home. I’ve been looking at vehicle options with more seating capacity. How much more fun would it be to drive a 12 passenger van if it were painted tap-tap style?
We passed by motos with 3 and 4 passengers and other random items (if you want a good laugh, click HERE to check out one of my favorite Haiti bloggers, Gwenn Mangine’s, documentation of interesting and hilarious things seen on a moto), occasional UN vehicles carrying what appeared to be troops and important-looking people, and crowds of people surrounding van at every stop trying to sell us all sorts of stuff. We picked up Supreme, one of the children’s village managers who had been running an errand while Mario picked us up, made our way back through town and headed for the country.
The children’s village where our sons live is about an hour drive from Port-Au-Prince. And what an hour drive that was! It was dark by the time we got out of town. We encountered a few police check points (not sure what they were checking for but some drivers in other vehicles had to show them paperwork before they could proceed), took a detour through some small villages when we reached a bridge that had washed out (crossed a couple of bridges that looked like they were close to being washed out as well), dodged potholes the size of swimming pools, pedestrians, cows, goats and pigs. We held our breath as we played chicken with drivers coming from the other direction. Seems the rule is that there are no rules as to what side of the road anyone is supposed to be occupying until you get close enough to oncoming headlights to see who’s driving the bigger van or truck. If you’re the smaller one, hope there’s room at that last second for you to get out of their way and around the hole or vehicle you’re passing before a head-on collision. We had a really close call once as we confidently sped forward toward a single oncoming light until at the last minute realized it was not a little moto but a giant Coke truck with a headlight out. Whoa. I had many flash backs of that oncoming train segment in the old Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride at Disney. It was a wild ride. Mario honked his horn about every 20 seconds, apparently fair warning to anyone in the vicinity to get the heck out of our way. Mario was a driver who meant business. For some reason, I panic about this much less in a developing country than I would were it happening driving down the highway in the states. D can attest to that—I get white-knuckled riding down I-275 with him! I still need to write about my off-the-beaten-tourist-track experience taking a ride in a budget taxi in Ethiopia a few weeks ago. Another harrowing but hilarious experience. Maybe I figure drivers in other countires have more experience with such driving? Maybe I’m just more of an adrenaline junkie when I’m traveling?
When not closing my eyes and bracing myself for a possible loss of a game of chicken, I enjoyed the drive up the coast, through the little villages and into the country. We passed hundreds of little roadside stands lit by single candles and could see people inside selling random items and occasionally appearing to be getting their fortunes told. Fires dotted the hillsides. People were gathered on the streetcorners or wherever there was a random light bulb turned on, men playing cards or trying to work on their motos. People lined up with their jugs at the community well, getting water for the next morning’s baths or cooking. I love people watching and it was just fascinating to get a glimpse of a typical Thursday night in these communities.
Supreme turned around and asked us if we wanted to stop by the children’s village before going to the hotel. We were surprised because since it was already dark, we assumed we’d have to wait until the next morning to meet the boys. But of course we said yes!
We pulled into the gates of the village and walked with Supreme to the office and he left to go see if it was okay with the boys’ special mother for us to visit their cottage for a few minutes. He came back and told us J was already asleep but M was still up and we could go meet him. We followed Supreme through the village. We passed the play yard and recognized the equipment from the backgrounds of various photos of M we’ve received. We walked a little gravel path to the cottage. It was dark in the cottage. Two little girls in sleep caps were sharing a wooden chair just inside the door. Three little boys were sharing the top bunk of a bed in a bedroom to the left, with two more underneath. Supreme led us into that room, where little J was sleeping in a crib next to the bunk bed. We tiptoed in and, by the light of Supreme’s cell phone, peeked our littlest guy sleeping. Is there anything more precious than a sleeping baby? Don’t think so. He was chunkier and even more handsome in life than the 4 or 5 pictures we’ve received of him. His baby hair was fine and silky and he was the only boy in the village with a little ‘fro. He was adorable.
As we were admiring J, the special mother ushered M in. Supreme talked to him in Creole and we heard him tell M that we were his Mama and Papi. The two girls in the wooden chair turned around and giggled. The little boys in the bunk bed snickered. Supreme told us that all the children in the cottage are matched with families and that they’ve seen other parents come visit. They seemed to enjoy watching M be the center of attention in what some of them must remember as an awkward situation. We went to M and knelt down in front of him, on his level, and gently touched his little arm. He bit his lip and looked away, out of the room. We knew it was bedtime and could see that he was tired and uncomfortable. His special mother spoke to him and I could tell she was urging him to say or do something or trying to get him to show some of his personality (she had him sing for us a couple of days later). But I didn’t want to rush things or force us on him. In that moment, just being close, being able to touch our boys, seeing that they were safe and healthy and not crying or hungry or hurting, was enough for me. We told Supreme to tell M that we wanted him to go get some rest and that we would be back to play with him after school tomorrow. M listened and then turned to us and looked at our faces. We gave him hugs and I kissed his little cheek and told him goodbye. We were in Haiti. We got to see our sons. I was overcome with peace, relief, and gratefulness.
We walked back to the van and made the very short drive to our hotel where Supreme helped us get checked in. He offered to come pick us up the next day to take us to the village and seemed surprised when we told him we were fine walking if he thought we’d be okay. We want to visit as often as we can and were determined to make our trip as easy as possible on the village staff. He said that would be no problem. We said goodnight to Supreme and the porter escorted us to our bungalow overlooking the ocean.
We passed by motos with 3 and 4 passengers and other random items (if you want a good laugh, click HERE to check out one of my favorite Haiti bloggers, Gwenn Mangine’s, documentation of interesting and hilarious things seen on a moto), occasional UN vehicles carrying what appeared to be troops and important-looking people, and crowds of people surrounding van at every stop trying to sell us all sorts of stuff. We picked up Supreme, one of the children’s village managers who had been running an errand while Mario picked us up, made our way back through town and headed for the country.
The children’s village where our sons live is about an hour drive from Port-Au-Prince. And what an hour drive that was! It was dark by the time we got out of town. We encountered a few police check points (not sure what they were checking for but some drivers in other vehicles had to show them paperwork before they could proceed), took a detour through some small villages when we reached a bridge that had washed out (crossed a couple of bridges that looked like they were close to being washed out as well), dodged potholes the size of swimming pools, pedestrians, cows, goats and pigs. We held our breath as we played chicken with drivers coming from the other direction. Seems the rule is that there are no rules as to what side of the road anyone is supposed to be occupying until you get close enough to oncoming headlights to see who’s driving the bigger van or truck. If you’re the smaller one, hope there’s room at that last second for you to get out of their way and around the hole or vehicle you’re passing before a head-on collision. We had a really close call once as we confidently sped forward toward a single oncoming light until at the last minute realized it was not a little moto but a giant Coke truck with a headlight out. Whoa. I had many flash backs of that oncoming train segment in the old Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride at Disney. It was a wild ride. Mario honked his horn about every 20 seconds, apparently fair warning to anyone in the vicinity to get the heck out of our way. Mario was a driver who meant business. For some reason, I panic about this much less in a developing country than I would were it happening driving down the highway in the states. D can attest to that—I get white-knuckled riding down I-275 with him! I still need to write about my off-the-beaten-tourist-track experience taking a ride in a budget taxi in Ethiopia a few weeks ago. Another harrowing but hilarious experience. Maybe I figure drivers in other countires have more experience with such driving? Maybe I’m just more of an adrenaline junkie when I’m traveling?
When not closing my eyes and bracing myself for a possible loss of a game of chicken, I enjoyed the drive up the coast, through the little villages and into the country. We passed hundreds of little roadside stands lit by single candles and could see people inside selling random items and occasionally appearing to be getting their fortunes told. Fires dotted the hillsides. People were gathered on the streetcorners or wherever there was a random light bulb turned on, men playing cards or trying to work on their motos. People lined up with their jugs at the community well, getting water for the next morning’s baths or cooking. I love people watching and it was just fascinating to get a glimpse of a typical Thursday night in these communities.
Supreme turned around and asked us if we wanted to stop by the children’s village before going to the hotel. We were surprised because since it was already dark, we assumed we’d have to wait until the next morning to meet the boys. But of course we said yes!
We pulled into the gates of the village and walked with Supreme to the office and he left to go see if it was okay with the boys’ special mother for us to visit their cottage for a few minutes. He came back and told us J was already asleep but M was still up and we could go meet him. We followed Supreme through the village. We passed the play yard and recognized the equipment from the backgrounds of various photos of M we’ve received. We walked a little gravel path to the cottage. It was dark in the cottage. Two little girls in sleep caps were sharing a wooden chair just inside the door. Three little boys were sharing the top bunk of a bed in a bedroom to the left, with two more underneath. Supreme led us into that room, where little J was sleeping in a crib next to the bunk bed. We tiptoed in and, by the light of Supreme’s cell phone, peeked our littlest guy sleeping. Is there anything more precious than a sleeping baby? Don’t think so. He was chunkier and even more handsome in life than the 4 or 5 pictures we’ve received of him. His baby hair was fine and silky and he was the only boy in the village with a little ‘fro. He was adorable.
As we were admiring J, the special mother ushered M in. Supreme talked to him in Creole and we heard him tell M that we were his Mama and Papi. The two girls in the wooden chair turned around and giggled. The little boys in the bunk bed snickered. Supreme told us that all the children in the cottage are matched with families and that they’ve seen other parents come visit. They seemed to enjoy watching M be the center of attention in what some of them must remember as an awkward situation. We went to M and knelt down in front of him, on his level, and gently touched his little arm. He bit his lip and looked away, out of the room. We knew it was bedtime and could see that he was tired and uncomfortable. His special mother spoke to him and I could tell she was urging him to say or do something or trying to get him to show some of his personality (she had him sing for us a couple of days later). But I didn’t want to rush things or force us on him. In that moment, just being close, being able to touch our boys, seeing that they were safe and healthy and not crying or hungry or hurting, was enough for me. We told Supreme to tell M that we wanted him to go get some rest and that we would be back to play with him after school tomorrow. M listened and then turned to us and looked at our faces. We gave him hugs and I kissed his little cheek and told him goodbye. We were in Haiti. We got to see our sons. I was overcome with peace, relief, and gratefulness.
We walked back to the van and made the very short drive to our hotel where Supreme helped us get checked in. He offered to come pick us up the next day to take us to the village and seemed surprised when we told him we were fine walking if he thought we’d be okay. We want to visit as often as we can and were determined to make our trip as easy as possible on the village staff. He said that would be no problem. We said goodnight to Supreme and the porter escorted us to our bungalow overlooking the ocean.
We weren’t expecting such nice accommodations! The view was unbelievable—the ocean right in front of us, mountains behind us, tropical plants and trees all around. I called the resort Faux Haiti because the difference between how we were pampered inside the gates and how people lived outside the gates couldn’t have been more striking. In our room we had electricity (from 5 p.m. to 8 a.m.), air conditioning!, a flat screen TV on the wall with HGTV and ESPN, a big comfy bed, hot water (or so we thought, we actually never got it warmer than cool, but cool turned out to be fine when it was 90+ degrees outside) but running water in any event. Even a potty you could flush toilet paper down! (something you can’t do in Zambia or Ethiopia) It was pretty sweet. We hadn’t planned on our trip to Haiti also being a romantic getaway or vacation. Certainly not the purpose of our trip, but definitely icing on the cake. Haiti’s landscape is beautiful and I think there is real economic potential in tourism for the country.
We took a short stroll on the moonlit beach to the open-air restaurant for dinner (breakfast and dinner were included in our room rate). We perused the menu and decided that we didn’t think we were hungry enough to order two meals, so decided to share one order of spaghetti with warm bread and butter on the side. We dined with the beach on one side of us, the pool area behind us, and the best hits of the 80’s and 90’s piping in over the resort speakers.
After dinner, we strolled back across the beach to our bungalow and were thrilled to discover that the free WiFi signal reached our room! I’m going to add here how thankful we are for the support and kindness that we’ve received from friends and family through this journey. You have no idea how much it means to us to get emails, text messages, phone calls, etc… asking how the process is going, telling us you’re praying for us and sharing our excitement. The adoption process is an emotional rollercoaster and having cheerleaders and encouragers in your family and circle of friends makes such a difference. Here I am turning on my phone and being blown away by text messages and facebook posts sent by friends and family throughout the day:
I could feel the love and it brought me to tears.
Then D got the brilliant idea to see if we could connect to Netflix and watch Parenthood. We could! D and I haven’t had a TV show we’ve followed since before Miss M was born but someone recently told us that they thought we’d enjoy Parenthood and Friday Night Lights. We decided to try Parenthood first, which we found out is in its 5th season but all the past seasons are on Netflix. We started with season one, got hooked, and are now making our way through season two. It’s not a kid appropriate show so we like to curl up cozy on the sofa and watch it on one of our iphone screens. We laugh (because we don’t want to cry) about how if we’d watched the show 5 or 6 years ago we would've thought the family was so dysfunctional, but how after all that’s happened in our extended family, they actually seem to have it more together than ours does! We wish our parents were still married and miss the security and comfort that brought. You can never, ever, ever let yourself stop guarding your heart or give up on your marriage and God’s power to redeem it! Doesn’t matter if you’ve been married 34 years (like my folks) or 45 years (like D’s folks), you can never stop trying! And it doesn’t matter if you’re 4 years old or 40 years old, having your parents divorce sucks. That was a tangent, but anyway, I hope when our kids grow up that they’ll be each other’s closest friends and confidantes, that we’ll all put family first, love each other despite our imperfections, stick together even when times are tough, have each others' backs, turn to each other for advice, and that D and I will grow old together surrounded by our kids and grandkids and having lots of big, fun gatherings at our home. I love that about the Bravermans. We are loving this show and watched 2 or 3 episodes a night while in Haiti.
After our Parenthood fix, it was off to bed to the sound of waves crashing against the shore. Friday would be a big day. Supreme told us that M would be in school until around 1, so we decided to walk over and hang out with J for a couple of hours in morning and then return for an after-school play date with M. We almost needed to pinch ourselves to be sure that the days’ events had actually transpired. We kept asking each other “Is this really happening?” We were giddy with excitement about what was to come and feeling oh, so thankful for the journey so far. What an unforgettable Thanksgiving. What a blessed, beautiful life. Soli Deo Gloria.
What an awesome adventure! It sounds like your trip was amazing. Congratulations on meeting your beautiful boys. -Looking forward to following the rest of your journey...and I have to admit that you have me thinking more and more about Haiti! P.S. We love Parenthood!
ReplyDelete