Rain

The rain is so loud I can't hear anything else. Partly because it is streaming down from the sky and partly because it bounces off the corrugated tin roof I am under. Steve is sleeping off the stomach bug he got sometime yesterday afternoon. I am trying to process today and feeling like the sky is doing my crying for me. 

Mostly I feel empty.  Hollow. That's not good, I know. I wonder if it is because we are just on pause here - not having the court finalized. The judge dismissed us for today.  I should be able to go back to court tomorrow and maybe everything will go as it should have today. 

I didn't think it was possible for the rain to be louder but it is raging above me now.  The ground is supersaturated and puddles of mud are appearing between the blades of grass. The thunder sounds like 18 wheelers driving overhead.  There is a chill in the air, and I know the Ugandans are huddled under sweaters and scarves while I feel mildly cool in my Capri pants and tank top.  There are no sheets draped across the bushes to dry in the sun today. I imagine the mouth of the Nile swelling rapidly in Jinja, where the dam has replaced the beautiful waterfalls. The dam is one of the reasons we haven't had power outages in recent months. Just an occasional 24 hour period in the dark, which is no big deal compared to the 24 hours on- 24 hours off rotation people were furious about. 

The mile from the guesthouse to the orphanage is a steep continual hill that we walk. Sitting in the shelter here, I wonder about all the people who are walking now. Do they carry umbrellas?  Do people go about their lives and their business wet?  How do they travel by boda boda?  Sloshing through the streams of red muddy water that must be sliding from the street to the ditches on the sides of the roads?  It is not the easy house-to-garage-to-car-to-parking- lot existence that I know.  Our ride back from the courthouse was a taxi bus - more like a minivan- that carried 3 people to a bench seat for 5 rows. 700 shillings each - about 30 cents. Then a boda boda ride, with Fort sitting behind the driver as comfortably as you can imagine. He held onto the driver, and I slid behind him, with our court file and my bag slung across my chest. I think of the American reaction to 3 people on a tiny moped, zipping through traffic. One who a child, no one in helmets.  This cost us 2000 shillings- about 80 cents. The boda bodas used to scare me- Steve was not up for the adventure until we had no choice, following the lead of the social worker back to the orphanage. But it feels surprisingly secure. Slow enough through the pot holed streets that there is no danger of falling off, and maybe with the mzungus, they drive a little slower anyway. After the 20 person taxi barely moving through the streets, the boda boda feels easy, breezy (although not so much CoverGirl).   Fort's little body rests so easily in front of mine. He now trusts me completely and I cannot swallow if I contemplate for a moment that the judge will disagree. No. I cannot breathe. It is easier to feel empty than to think of the what ifs. Let me be empty. Just for today. 

Ragged Edges

Things are bumpy with Fort. He is like a 2 year old in a 4 year old body. He screams and melts down when you say no to something. His biggest problem is his inability to communicate his feelings.  And he has lots of them. It is hard to say what triggers these meltdowns- it is usually a small disappointment - he can't have a carrot, or a walk, or maybe doesn't know how to say what he wants. He just stands there and starts to shut down. I can see it coming in his face. There are 2 very distinct moods- the happy silly one that he is usually in, and the shut down mode. Which is so difficult to manage.  It can last 10 minutes or HOURS- and will continue until it passes, or until you can distract him with something- a fun toy, or often food. What makes it so tricky is we could probably avoid most of these meltdowns by giving him what he wants when he is home (really?  You want a carrot?  Wonderful!) .  But in the long run, that isn't teaching him anything. It isn't teaching him how to cope with no, how to express what he wants, and how he feels.  

I think I am actually well equipped to help him. Fort reminds me so much of Ben. I think this is why it hurts my heart so much. He is a sweet & sensitive boy. It seems like he tried to put up walls after he was abandoned, but he wasn't very good at it. And he got hurt. And now he has an intense fear of being rejected or abandoned again.  He is so ragged on the outside.  He clearly needs security- a mama and a family who will not leave him. I think with that knowledge, his ragged edges will begin to smooth out, and his freak outs will happen less and less. But it is not just stability he needs. He needs to have different coping mechanisms - to learn how to live in this world, which is full of no, even for the most secure child. 

And teaching him these things will be much easier for me in our own home, when I have full autonomy. He can't have a carrot when he wants one here because it is an orphanage with 12 children and food comes on a schedule. He can't get special treatment from the house mothers because there is just 3 of them and they are cooking, cleaning, changing diapers and trying to give everyone the same attention. Boys who cry are not well tolerated and he is told things like - "be a man, you are not a woman" and " you better stop crying or your mama will pick someone else". While the house mothers are quite wonderful and caring, they don't realize that these are not regular children , but abandoned children who have been broken at their very core. 

When I think of Fort as a young not quite 2 year old, left alone - I see Ben, my own son at that age. I see the bewilderment, the fear, the loss. And it is what I need to sit with Fort while he is struggling - while he pushes and pulls me at the same time. To love is to risk.  I want him to risk it.

Painful patience

I feel like I am watching Fort's heart melt. Painfully so. I hear if you have frostbite it is quite painful to thaw out. Who knows when the time came that he had more emotions than he could bear. And so he just put it on ice. And now, with his skin drinking in kisses and his fuzzy head nestling under mine, he is beginning to feel again. 

It is so hard to watch him. Struggle with feeling. I take comfort from the fact that he lets me be his comfort. He rejects the arms of the house mothers when he goes into one of his crying jags. Even though he often goes limp in my arms, he does not push me off. And it rolls off him in waves, first slow, even moans growing into sobs and sometimes the anger just overcomes him. His little body twists and kicks against mine, but not against me. What is he fighting?  Who?  Does it have a face?

There is fear that this will linger, that it will be disruptive to our family, and that I will not be filled with this painful patience at home because I will have more than just him to balance.  Under that fear lies a calm pool, and in it I see Fort's real self.   He is a sweet affectionate boy who was not lucky. Please don't call him lucky. He will not feel that, even when he is happy and safe. He will always have a hole from these years which were robbed from him.  But after he goes through the painful process of connecting again, he will find that boy again.  

Although yes, I guess there is a part of me that feels like though he may never feel it, he is one of the lucky ones.   So many stories swirling in my heart, each a painful reminder of how cruel people can be.  All of these children who will never get a chance to make it.  And then smacking up against these stories like a tsunami are these remarkable people who are changing the lives of those they can. And the currents of generosity are enough for me to make peace with humanity. 

For the orphanage where I have found Fort is a remarkable place, like a halfway house for the bereft to re-enter the world. The children have gone through the shock of a bed to sleep in, food at dependable intervals, toys on every shelf, and clothes that are just theirs. When I bring him home, it will seem like gross injustice to have such luxury for just one family, but perhaps his little brain will be more accepting,   And be able to move from one painful world to a softer place. 

Thoughts in a dark night

It is 4:30 am in Uganda.  A rooster is crowing. Several dogs are barking. Is there another animal outside?  A strange screech.  I hear footsteps. They said it would be the guard making his rounds of the perimeter. I am inside my mosquito netted bed. A small headache. I dreamed of breaking my teeth. 

I just talked to Steve and the kids as they were going to bed. Ben scored a goal at soccer tonight. They went to a children's museum. They seem to live on another plane, one where mothers don't leave their children on a bus because they were born with a small birth defect. One where people don't have sex on average 50 times a month. One where the government doesn't sweep up street children because Hilary Clinton is coming to visit - where they are put into prison until they are 18. Even the little 1 1/2  and 2 year olds. Even the girl whose scalp looks like it was burned by boiling water or oil. One where the director of a childrens village of 200 kids - built an developed by well meaning Mzungus (outsiders) -isnt found to be sexually abusing the kids. And when he is found out- the place is shut down and the children are released to the street.   With nothing. 

I have been here one day and I have already heard so many stories. Every person holds so much tragedy in their hearts. The 2 1/2 year old twins who just came to the orphanage. Their parents are alive but their mother is dying or dead.  They have been from their father's care, to  a foster family that decided they didn't like them, back to their father - who one day didn't pick them up from daycare. He has moved out & they can't find him.  Then they'd went to an overcrowded government home before finally making it to the Home with Fort. I met them today. The 2 girls, Emily and Maria, are as sweet as you could wish. How have they made it this far?  And every day so many stories. 

Sad little stories inside these resilient kids. Who somehow still smile. 

It is tough to be here. We are more lucky than we know.

Mama Adrienne

Well the trip was an extra 11 hours or so, but I'm here!  For a few days I'm staying with Jurjanne- she & her husband Chris started the home, Kaja Nafasi. And she has wifi- Sweet!  It feels decadent to sit on the bed in her guest house, emailing & facebooking and with the lights on too!  I appreciate Jurjanne- she and Chris have opened their home to me, and are totally dedicated to doing right by these orphans. But Corin, who left in June, was the one I connected with more. Jurjanne is a little on the brisk side. Both of them are from the Netherlands, and Dutch is their primary language. So the English and culture barriers are there too. Plus Jurjanne is the one who first said no to me possibly adopting bc I was not with their US agency. But I'm getting past that today. She told me about her 2 Ugandan boys she adopted- one left at 8 months home alone daily--malnourished and abandoned. And the other left on a bus just days old, probably due to a medical condition he has. The stories here are tough. 

But Fort's story is improving. I finally got to see him today!

Yes, I saw our son today.  Jurjanne asked me if I wanted to take a nap after finally getting here. I said, "I'd like to see Fort". She had some errands to do, so we changed some money for me, got a Ugandan cell phone, and had lunch. Then we drove over the bumpy & busy roads to Kaja Nafasi - the babies' home. When we got out, Fort was right in front- riding one of the little "boda boda" bikes another volunteer bought for the house. He looked up & zoomed away with his little pack of boys. When Jurjanne & I got out of the car, he came over to us but was so shy. He wouldn't look at either of us. Jurjanne said "do you know who I've brought to you?". And he looked down and said "Mama Adrienne". She asked if he could give a hand to me. And he did. And I held his little hand and said "Hello Fort. I'm going to be your mama, ok?". And still looking down, he smiled & nodded and zoomed off again. I sat and waited for him to come over. Slowly he sat by me. Later he took my hand and showed me around. He was clearly filled with mixed emotions all day-shy, friendly, silly, cuddly, clingy & sad.  When he is silly, he has the brightest smile full of straight white teeth and these beautiful big brown eyes. His hair is fuzzy and he smells of dirt, baby oil, and sweetness. He was certainly jealous and territorial with me - he would cry when I would let another kid on my lap, even alongside him. 

I took him into the bathroom to go "susu". After he washed his hands I picked him up and we looked in the mirror. I said "hello Fort". And he said "Hello Mama Adrienne". I told him "I am happy". He said, ""I happy too". 

He understands English fairly well & speaks some too, but I don't think he could articulate what he was feeling- maybe not in any language. It'll be a process. He has times where he just inconsolably cries. He cried for an hour in my lap, and cried himself to sleep. He took a nap for about 45 minutes laying on me.  I rested too.   But when he woke up, he started with the crying again. A plaintive low cry, slow sobs.  Like he wasn't even checked in anymore. But he let me cuddle him and hold him while he cried.  Tough little Man. Who knows what he is feeling, or what he is allowing himself to feel. 

I am feeling good about our first day. He was not happy when I left. The house mothers say that is wonderful- he is bonding with me from day 1. But it is very hard to see him begin to work through this, and have to learn that I will be back tomorrow. 

I have come a long way into world the dusty, loud, sweet smelling, heart breaking world of Uganda. 

A new normal?

I am in the Amsterdam airport and I have a huge headache.   I'm probably dehydrated and definitely sleep- deprived, but it's probably mostly due to the ball of anxiety I have been carrying around. I got to the Columbus airport (was it yesterday?) and suddenly was so overwhelmed.  Like maybe I had been doing so much planning that I hadn't fully comprehended the magnitude of this next step. 

I'm flying to Uganda for a second time. When I meet Fort again- (hopefully tomorrow!)- I will be able to introduce myself to him as his mom!  And Steve comes in a week to meet him for the very first time. I cannot imagine how we will all feel. I am so anxious for Fort - I want him to be happy and excited but I don't want to deny him any opportunity to mourn. He is losing the life he knows, whether it is perfect or not. He has been in many rough spots, but now he is in a delightful orphanage. He doesn't know our family- our warmth, our joy, our love- but he knows what he is saying goodbye to. That cannot be easy. I'm sure his goodbye will not be one swift cut. You cannot separate yourself from your past quickly, like ripping off a bandaid. Plus I don't want him to let it go. I want him to bring it with us. So we can have that as a part of who he is, where he is from, and take a step forward to heal. 

I want to go to the first orphanage he was brought to - the one that isn't so delightful. I wasn't sure if I should take pictures or document it. A girlfriend of mine was adopted when she was a baby. The culture of adoption has changed- being aware that adoption is a moving river is a big part of the education classes Steve and I took. But one thing that she said sticks with me- that it is all a part of him and his story, and someday just having information to fill up the blank holes will be reassuring, even if the pictures aren't pretty. There is going to be so much that we can't find out, empty pieces of his story we may never learn- she is right to encourage us to actively search out any information we can find. 

He will have a new life with us. And hopefully he will get used to it quickly. A new normal. Us too. It is hard to fathom how I will feel caring for another child, and potentially one that will require so much of me. I have tried to be realistics about the needs he will have and the time it will take to integrate ourselves into each others' lives. But you never know. There' is a big - what if?  I hope Fort and I learn to be patient with each other. Although it will affect all of us, I know it will mostly be me down in the trenches with Fort. That's what I signed up for. But can you ever truly know?  I suppose it's the same basic fear the first time you have kids- certainly when I was pregnant with twins!  Somehow, we'll make it through and figure our our new way to be. 

Why I Shouldn't Blog

Well, first there is the very real truth that I don't get to sit down in front of a computer very often.  And when I do I seem to be interrupted by "Mom! Mom! Mom!" of the three little kiddos I have running around here.  So those who check to see if I've blogged (thank you those 3 of you) are usually sorely disappointed.

But the main reason - the one that has kept me from blogging these past months - is that the story is getting blurred.  Already.  It was MY blog - my story of adoption, travel, and what I was going through.  I was careful not to over-share about my husband, or my kids.  But now it has become HIS story.  Yes, there is a HIS.  There is a little guy & he has a name: Fortunate.  He is called Fort.  (Big sigh of happy). So when I start to write about my anxieties, my struggle, my worries - it is all interconnected with his story now.  The story of his adoption which I will tell him now and as he grows older.  Is this fair that other people know so much about him?

So I thought I can start by telling the story that we have decided to tell him when he is young.  Later, if he wants more details, he can ask about them.  And he can choose to share those details himself.  So here is his story as we are telling it.

He was found abandoned by a woman and brought to an orphanage.  This orphanage was overcrowded and could not accommodate him.  He was transferred to a new, small "Babies' Home" that only had kids younger than 5.  When he was brought to the smaller home, he had no name, no papers, no information.  Only the name and number of the woman who found him.  But when they tried to find her, they could not.  So they named him Fortunate and gave him a birthday - the day he arrived at the orphanage, November 24. 

Some of the details are blurry, but sadly we have no knowledge of his family whatsoever.  By their estimation, he will turn 4 in November.  He is called "the clown" at the Babies' Home, because he is so silly.  (Gee, I wonder if he'll fit in here?) He was brought to the smaller orphanage with another girl.  I am not positive, but I think it may be the girl Eva I met when I was there.  They seemed like 2 peas in a pod.  So she is the person he has known longest in his life.  And it seems as though she was recently adopted by a family in Uganda.  We hope to be able to keep in touch with her so that Fort can have a personal connection in Uganda, and someone who shared his early life. 

He is super healthy - no major illnesses or lingering signs of malnourishment.  He is not developmentally delayed either.  He is emotional, and seeks attention, but I feel like that is normal for a preschooler, let alone one in an orphanage setting.

In Uganda, boys are much less likely to be adopted than girls.  I am not entirely clear of the reason, but it is widely known.  Healthy orphans under 2, and especially girls, are likely to be adopted by Ugandan families, and the court system highly prefers this.  Because Fort is a boy and also over 2 years old, we hope the courts will see the unlikelihood that he would be adopted there.  The other cultural factor is children, especially boys, are expected to be stoic and not demonstrative.  Since Fort is outspoken and emotional, he could easily be shunned by local families.  Here in our world, he has a chance to be just be a normal kid. 

We have a court date of August 23.  There is a chance the courts will deny us our application to be his legal guardians.  There is a greater chance the court appearance will be postponed, and this usually happens on the day of.  So I have to plan for this trip as our chance to introduce ourselves to Fort as his parents, to see what his daily life is like in the orphanage, to learn about each other, and to hopefully have our day in court. 

If all goes well, I will return by myself in September to apply for his US visa.  It's a long, long process.