BREAKING NEWS!!
Yesterday morning we got a call from our agency with news that we got clearance from the embassy! That's the last major hurdle. Now it's all about getting him home.
Our appointment with the Embassy is on Thursday, 14 July. We'll leave on Sat 7/9, gone for the week, and home for his 9-month birthday.
We just got the embassy date itinerary and will buy tickets soon. So far the prices are ranging between $2100 and $2400 EACH. That's 50% and more than the $1400 tickets when we went in April. Anyone got some frequent flier miles? Seriously. The choices are United, Lufthansa, or Emirates. Let me know!
More details and the chronicle of our experience to come...
Friday, June 24, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Inside the churches
The contrast of these two versions of Mary and Jesus - the Ethiopian and the European - was so bizaare to see, especially because they were actually placed next to each other in one of the churches, and it seemed that each was regarded equally by the churchgoers.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Lalibela
Lalibela is a town
set high in the mountains ofnorthern Ethiopia and is known for its beautiful rock-hewn churches. Probably the only good thing that came out of the new two-trip requirement is that it gave us the opportunity to travel a little and get to know more of Ethiopia. If we were picking up Bedilu on our first trip there's no way we would have travelled, as we would've wanted to get home ASAP. So after our week in Addis we traveled north for a week and were lucky enough to see these spectacular sites. The setting of Lalibela alone is mind-blowing; it's perched at an altitude of 8,628 ft amongst wild, craggy mountains and has a very mystical feel about it. There's about 13 churches - all carved below ground level (most likely to hide from the Muslims, as the majority of Ethiopians are Orthodox Christian) in the 12th and 13th centuries. The churches are ringed by trenches and courtyards, and connected to each other by a tangled maze of tunnels and passages.
Anyway, they definitely deserve to be considered one of the wonders of the world and why they aren't is too long a story, but we absolutely loved wandering in and out of them and seeing people in deep prayer during the week of Lent.
It was a very intensely emotional time for us to be in Bedilu's country, but not with him, and yet, seeing his land made me feel more connected to him. I can't wait to tell him about it!
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Selam
One of my favorite things in Ethiopia was how when passing people in any city, town, or village outside of Addis Ababa people would look us in the eye and say "Selam!" It literally means peace in Arabic and it's the way all Ethiopians greet each other. These pictures show some of the many people that I exchanged selams with.
It's a beautiful thing to be acknowledged when passing someone on the street or trail. It warms all hearts and coming back to the stone-cold faces in the U.S. made me sad. I know people here feel they're too busy to
acknowledge others or fear they'll expose themselves topotential danger, but I've been making much more eye contact with people since being back and it feels good.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Winning
I'm not talking Charlie Sheen. More like Rafa Nadal.
I was watching the French Open final this morning, as Rafa defended his title against his rival Roger Federer. While I greatly respect Roger's talents and accomplishments, I remain a big fan of Rafael Nadal. I love his grit, his passion, his focus. He is a brute force of nature, but with the footwork of Fred Astaire and the precision of a surgeon. And he can show some delicate touch when he wants to. Rafa's focus is laser sharp, and he is determined to win. When the chips are down, he pushes even harder. You can never count him out of a point, much less a game or match.
Rafa went on to win in 4 sets. And it is only after winning the final point that Rafa releases. He collapses on the court, usually on his back but today it was on his knees.
That's what it was like for us to pass court. It was like winning a Grand Slam. In tennis, you have to win seven rounds to be the champion. For us, it had been 3 years of waiting, bureaucracy, paperwork, fingerprints, blood, sweat, and definitely tears.
The Ethiopian courts are nothing like you might imagine courts to be like in the U.S. It's more like the DMV. A random, boring building on an unremarkable street. Our bus pulled up in front and immediately there were boys lining up to shine our shoes or sell us gum. We walked up four flights of stairs to the court's waiting room. It wasn't that large, maybe 20x20. There were probably 50 people or more in there, seated on chairs that lined the walls, or standing and milling about in the middle. The signage said "quiet" but everyone was talking. Every now and then, when the din of conversation grew, a staffer would come in and shush. The room was filled with people waiting for the judge, who handles international adoption cases. But the waiting room was filled not only with other hopeful adoptive parents and their agents, but also with natives who were there to relinquish their children to the international adoption process, or who were there to testify about the circumstances under which they found an abandoned child . It was rather intense. You look around, and you realize that we're all here for the same purpose, but coming from different angles of the process.
Adoptive parents are called in with their agents in groups, by agency. The courtroom itself is no bigger than a small office. It's very plain and simple. A single steel desk at one end of the room, behind which the judge sat. An assistant stood next to her with a big stack of documents. There were four adoptive families in our group, and we sat or stood in the crowded office. We passed forward our passports. Family by family, the judge went through her stack of files. Then she asked her questions to us as a group, and we all answered in unison. Have you met the child? Will you teach your adoptive child about his roots and Ethiopian culture? Do you have children? Have you told them of the adoption? Do you understand that this decision is final?
The judge was very soft-spoken, as it seems so many Ethiopians are. Bekah couldn't hear a thing, so she left the office wondering exactly what had just happened. We came in not really expecting to pass on our first try, in part because we are just protecting our hearts but also because we knew so many other families that didn't pass court on their first try or even more. But passing court has nothing to do with our "performance" in court. It's really just a formality and they want to see that you're committed. Passing court is contingent on the Ministry of Women's Affairs, which reviews every case and writes a letter of approval.
It wasn't until we got to the bus and I recapped the events that Bekah understood what happened. "Your contract has been approved. He is yours." When Bekah heard me recount those words, she collapsed and wept. It was a beautiful moment because I knew what this was: a cathartic release. We had just won.
Rafa won his 6th French Open title, tying Bjorn Borg's record, and winning his 10th Grand Slam. He is 25 and has a lot of game left in him. We have passed court, and it feels like our journey is just beginning.
I was watching the French Open final this morning, as Rafa defended his title against his rival Roger Federer. While I greatly respect Roger's talents and accomplishments, I remain a big fan of Rafael Nadal. I love his grit, his passion, his focus. He is a brute force of nature, but with the footwork of Fred Astaire and the precision of a surgeon. And he can show some delicate touch when he wants to. Rafa's focus is laser sharp, and he is determined to win. When the chips are down, he pushes even harder. You can never count him out of a point, much less a game or match.
Rafa went on to win in 4 sets. And it is only after winning the final point that Rafa releases. He collapses on the court, usually on his back but today it was on his knees.
That's what it was like for us to pass court. It was like winning a Grand Slam. In tennis, you have to win seven rounds to be the champion. For us, it had been 3 years of waiting, bureaucracy, paperwork, fingerprints, blood, sweat, and definitely tears.
The Ethiopian courts are nothing like you might imagine courts to be like in the U.S. It's more like the DMV. A random, boring building on an unremarkable street. Our bus pulled up in front and immediately there were boys lining up to shine our shoes or sell us gum. We walked up four flights of stairs to the court's waiting room. It wasn't that large, maybe 20x20. There were probably 50 people or more in there, seated on chairs that lined the walls, or standing and milling about in the middle. The signage said "quiet" but everyone was talking. Every now and then, when the din of conversation grew, a staffer would come in and shush. The room was filled with people waiting for the judge, who handles international adoption cases. But the waiting room was filled not only with other hopeful adoptive parents and their agents, but also with natives who were there to relinquish their children to the international adoption process, or who were there to testify about the circumstances under which they found an abandoned child . It was rather intense. You look around, and you realize that we're all here for the same purpose, but coming from different angles of the process.
Adoptive parents are called in with their agents in groups, by agency. The courtroom itself is no bigger than a small office. It's very plain and simple. A single steel desk at one end of the room, behind which the judge sat. An assistant stood next to her with a big stack of documents. There were four adoptive families in our group, and we sat or stood in the crowded office. We passed forward our passports. Family by family, the judge went through her stack of files. Then she asked her questions to us as a group, and we all answered in unison. Have you met the child? Will you teach your adoptive child about his roots and Ethiopian culture? Do you have children? Have you told them of the adoption? Do you understand that this decision is final?
The judge was very soft-spoken, as it seems so many Ethiopians are. Bekah couldn't hear a thing, so she left the office wondering exactly what had just happened. We came in not really expecting to pass on our first try, in part because we are just protecting our hearts but also because we knew so many other families that didn't pass court on their first try or even more. But passing court has nothing to do with our "performance" in court. It's really just a formality and they want to see that you're committed. Passing court is contingent on the Ministry of Women's Affairs, which reviews every case and writes a letter of approval.
It wasn't until we got to the bus and I recapped the events that Bekah understood what happened. "Your contract has been approved. He is yours." When Bekah heard me recount those words, she collapsed and wept. It was a beautiful moment because I knew what this was: a cathartic release. We had just won.
Rafa won his 6th French Open title, tying Bjorn Borg's record, and winning his 10th Grand Slam. He is 25 and has a lot of game left in him. We have passed court, and it feels like our journey is just beginning.
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