Connections to Ethiopia Grow Deeper

Adopting from Ethiopia connected us forever to East Africa. However, it was up to us what that connection would look like. When I first started blogging here as an effort to give back, I researched many things Ethiopian. I came across Ethiopia Reads, a charity focused on building libraries in the founder's home country, which I mentioned in an early blog. With a few months, I put together a couple boxes of books and sent them to their office. When I did so, I discovered an interesting connection. Their US office is not far from my parent's home in Denver where I grew up. I received a lovely thank you note. The Reading Angel picture above was on the cover along with this story inside.

“The Reading Angel depicted on this card is one of the hundreds painted on the ceiling of the Church of Debre Birhan Selassie in Gondar, Ethiopia. Built in the 17th Century, it is the only churches remaining after the city was invaded in 1888. It is said that a swarm of bees descended on the soldiers as they attached the church compound and that the Archangel Michael stood before the large wooden gates with his flaming sword drawn. It is considered one of the most significant churches in Ethiopia.”

The story provided another connection. My husband is named after this Archangel and my second son's middle name is Michael.

To add some Ethiopian themes to our children's book collection for our daughter, I searched on Amazon.com. I found amazing books by Jane Kurtz. She was born in the Pacific Northwest where we now live. Two of our favorites are “Fire on the Mountain” and “Trouble.” She grew up in Ethiopia and her amazing books gave our family a richer view of a very different experience that is now part of our family. Late last year, I found her on facebook and sent her a note of thanks and asked if we could connect.

On that same day in December, I saw Ethiopia Reads again and browsed their website more deeply. I saw on their "how you can help" page opportunities to raise money for a library in a school. I was intrigued. My parents and my husband are teachers. We believe strongly in the transformative power of reading. This opportunity appealed to us. I sent an email to get more information about raising funds for a library. I received a wonderful response back from Jane Kurtz. Turns out she is leading the library planting effort. She commented on received both my requests through facebook and Ethiopia Reads on the same day. And she mentioned her fascination with all the ways we are interconnected. After our discussions, we decided to move forward with the library.

I reached out via facebook causes as well as directly to many family and friends – you see it at the top of the blog. The response was amazing. One friend and his wife showed their support with a much larger than expected gift and a note "for Leyla's library." I was so touched. I felt tears fill my eyes at the simplicity and beauty of the note. "Leyla's Library" now seemed so much closer. A senior executive I worked with some years ago sent in a large contribution. In his enthusiatic response to our efforts, I also learned about his similar work in his homeland. Many others helped in smaller ways. Some surprised me: my yoga teacher, friends of my teenage son, people I had lost contact with but still had their email in my system. One of those friends shared her story. She was one of the founders the Young Women’s Leadership Charter School which serves “at risk” girls in urban Chicago. Oprah modeled her girl school in Africa after that one. I never knew any of this but I was inspired to hear it. I also heard from people I didn't know at all including an Italian family who had similarly adopted an Ethiopian daughter. The connections were building and stretching different directions.

In a few short months, we are close to having the funds for the first library which will bear our daughter’s name. Given the tremendous support and gaping need, we plan to begin work on fundraising for a second. We are starting fulfill the promise we made to ourselves and to our baby daughter to help in the land of her birth. Our connections are becoming stronger and more defined. And Leyla (our little sunshine angel seen below at 15 months) will have a place there she can truly call her own.

The Gift of Possibility

As a mom, and even more so as an adoptive mom, I worry, many times needlessly. We knew development delays, and some issues we aren't familiar with in the U.S., are the norm for children adopted internationally. The doctors told us we were fortunate that Leyla came to us as an infant. When she was first home, we needed to get her tested her for TB. I remember learning about TB in school but my recollection was TB was a disease from the past except for a rare case. Not so for many parts of the world I learned now. Fortunately, the results were negative.

We also had her tested for an intestinal issue. Eighty percent of Ethiopian children have it so we were not surprised when the results were positive. To resolve the issue, we needed to administer a onetime dose of medicine. It sounded simpler than it turned out. Leyla had an amazing gag reflex. When the medicine hit the back of the throat, she projected it back out. After trying multiple times, we gave up and called in reinforcements. It is sad, but it was somewhat gratifying for me to see the nurses in her doctor’s office struggle too. They ultimately had success. I then got an unexpected call from the health department because this intestinal issue isn’t common here. It was a reminder of how far she had come.

During one of our early doctor's visits, we received some troubling news. Her head was growing disproportionally fast compared to the rest of her body. The doctor did not seem overly concerned since proportions of African children are different than those in the Americas. This was news to me. I expected proportions to the be the same everywhere. We had the option of having an ultra sound of her brain through her fontanelle. This brought back memories of shortly after the birth of my first son. His fontanelle was completely open rather just the ordinary small triangle in the front. At that time, we were also offered an ultrasound of his brain. For him, they had large access since there was little bone getting in the way. In each case, we chose to have the ultrasound and the ultimate news was good. But for the period between learning our child may have a significant medical challenge and when they told us everything was fine - time stood horribly still. In that stillness, we did some serious worrying and praying.

We recently needed to complete a family report as part of our adoption follow up. I got the chance to review doctor’s notes of her most recent check up which I normally wouldn't have seen because they are not shared. Our regular physician was sick and I met his partner for the first time, a preeminent adoption specialist. (I included a link on the right side of the blog.) Leyla was just two. When the doctor walked in to the exam room, Leyla began explaining to her that the baby was crying in the other room because he was sad. And he was sad, “because he wanted his daddy.” The doctor laughed and expressed some amazement at her communication skills.

She demonstrated them again to the nurse who was giving her the age appropriate vaccinations shots. The nurse administered the first shot into one of Leyla’s chubby thighs. Then Leyla emphatically pulled her pant leg down. She pointed her little finger in the nurse’s direction and said, “You all done!!” As we concluded the visit, the doctor expressed how pleased she was with Leyla’s development and joked that she could see her as a CEO one day. I remember driving home and feeling the amazing release of the early worry about her development. I could now let myself see her life stretching ahead of her full of promise.

We joke that our biggest concern may keeping up with her. She is a bundle of energy and will power. I often get tears of happiness in my eyes where I hear her singing all the words to the songs on the radio which she does with regularity. She lets her brother know when she is unhappy with them by ordering them to “go sit on the stairs” - our time out place. And follows that with "Come here and give me a kiss" and then lavishes them with hugs and says “I love you so-o much.” She is beautifully full of life and potential. Here is a recent picture of her proudly showing off the spongebob slippers her brother Damian bought her for Christmas.

Happy Birthday - Happy Homecoming 2010

On the second anniversary of our daughter’s homecoming which also happens to be my birthday, I find myself reflecting back. I remember having so many concerns. I worried about bonding with our new daughter and her successful integration into our family. I also worried about the travel, remembering not to drink the water, and the vaccinations. I worried about taking care of an infant who would be a stranger to me and I to her for the first few weeks. I worried about how my boys, then seven and eleven, would adjust to a new baby in the house with their settled routines and comfortable roles. I worried about my husband adjusting to new fatherhood as he approached his 50th birthday. I worried about her health, potential developmental delays and special needs given her start in life. I worried whether as a family we were prepared to deal with what was to come. I am not much of a worrier so all worrying was very unsettling

I probably worried most about whether I would have the same bond with our newest child as I had with my two boys. Would I intuitively understand her like I felt I did with my boys? Would I understand what she needed during this phase when she couldn't ask? Would I understand the "why" of her actions like I often did with the boys? Would I be able to provide the nurturing safety net that I strove to with other children? Would she feel the intense connection to me I desperately hoped she would? I felt a heightened responsibility as the mother. Those early months and years would set the stage for her in life. All these concerns weighed on me as we traveled half away around the world to Ethiopia to meet our daughter two years ago.

I remember waiting in our Addis Abba hotel to be picked up by the van that would take us to WACAP house where we would meet Leyla for the first time. I emailed friends and family nervously as we passed the time. African time, as we had been warned, was between 30 minutes to an hour later than the appointed time. We were ready just in case this was the rare occasion they would be on time (which incidentally it was not). My heart pounded as we rode in the van. A typical view of what we saw out the window as we drove along is shown above. We made small talk with the another family who was also meeting their daughter for the first time. Part of me wanted to withdraw into my head with my thoughts. The drive reminded me of starting labor in that it was both exciting, frightening and inevitable – within and outside your control.

The van pulled up to a gate which seemed to open unnaturally slowly as we waited. We drove into a concrete courtyard where some older children were playing with a soccer ball. We could see the rooms where the children slept bordering the open area. Everything was clean but minimalist. The staff led us to the main room which was set up for a traditional Ethiopian coffee ceremony. Reeds were strewn on the floor. Coffee beans were roasting and filled the air with a wonderful aroma. I truly felt exported to a different, exotic and wonderful world. But thoughts of meeting our daughter still dominated. An eternity passed before the nurses walked in with three baby girls.

I instantly recognized Leyla’s beautiful, sweet face from the pictures. She was a petite girl with surprising thick, bare thighs poking out of her dress. Her eyes were, and still are, her most striking feature. They are a liquid inky black and pierce through you. On our first meeting, they took in everything. She didn’t appear afraid but rather curious in a very focused manner. Holding her was heaven, just drinking in her baby smell, feeling her silky smooth skin and running my fingers through her soft black curls. The backside of her head was rather bald because she slept on her back and rubbed it the nurses told us. I did the same as a baby – interestingly. We postulated that the staff often put her in hats to cover it. I loved every inch of her, even her bald spot. Below is a picture from Ethiopia with Leyla in one of those hats. I see more looking at it again. Now, I know the look on Leyla's face is a wary one. She raises her eyebrows just a bit and her mouth is not as relaxed when she is unsure of what is happening.



We visited her each day. She came to us easily although she had a clear bond with one of her nurses. It was wonderful to see that bond but also bittersweet because it was one that could not be sustained as she moved into her new life with us. On the day before we traveled, we were allowed to take her back to the hotel with us. Our long trip home (33 hours in total) was noteworthy in that it was generally uneventful. Leyla was a "spitter" but smelling a bit like milk most of the time seemed a minor inconvenience. Leyla's big eyes took everything in - she seemed to want to look directly into the eyes of each person who entered her line of sight. I noticed on our flights she would study someone until they made eye contact. She would hold it briefly and then, as if satisfied with the connection, move her gaze to the next person. It gave me a sense of the deep person she is inside although she was a mere 6 months at the time.

I recall during the early days home feeling a sense of being slightly overwhelmed by all the changes that come with having an infant in the house. It brought back memories of when my boys first came home from the hospital although then I also had to deal with the physical recovery and fun hormones. This time, I instead had the unfamiliar weight of the worry about bonding – her bonding to me, her bonding to her brothers and they to her, bonding with her dad. I felt inadequate in a more extreme way than I did with my boys because I did not know what soothed her. I didn’t know what would make the transition better for her. I found my confidence in my image of myself as a mother was a bit shaken. This was new territory and I needed to learn a new set of skills and approaches. My third child entered our lives in a fashion where the connection was not already formed as it is through pregnancy and early infancy. It was hard to fathom but I didn’t know my child then although I loved her with all my heart.

Now reflecting back, I find it challenging to bring those feelings back to life. Leyla has done so much to make herself not only an integral part of our family unit but also the hub of joy and activity. I have a much younger sister and I recall a similar experience when she was a little girl. Everyone wakes up and asks, "Where's Leyla?" Beginning the day with her is guaranteed to start it with a smile, a hug or a laugh and often some combination. I previously blogged about the boys bonding with their little sister and it is a source of much happiness to me. Two years later and they still regularly comment on how much they love their little sister and how glad they are she joined our family. My husband is similarly smitten and she dotes on him.

Maybe it’s because I am in my middle life and am more reflective, or maybe it is because of the doubts I originally had, I find a vivid delight in the small moments with Leyla. My heart leaps every time she adds “My” before “Mama” and says it in her most definitive tone, “MY MAMA!!” I feel amazing when she violates my personal space as she snuggles with me in bed, making sure she has a body part of hers overlapping one of mine. Often that includes pressing her face against mine and saying, “You awake, mommy?? I awake!” The cares of the moment disappear when I pick her up from pre-school and she runs to me yelling, “Mo-o–mommy!” and wants to be scooped up. In the middle of the night, if she wakes up and calls out, “I want my mommy.” - I feel wonderful and happily settle her back down to sleep. She has a habit of gratuitously lavishing me with “huggies” and “kisses” and says “I lub you SO MUCH!” which makes me wonder what I did to deserve such bliss. Leyla imitates me in a way that makes me laugh at myself as well as her. She wags her finger at her brothers when they bother her and says, “I NOT happy wit’ you!!” I know where she heard that before. She also enjoys teasing (you can see an example in the last picture).

However, I feel a lurch in my stomach when she will on occasion innocently ask me, “Are you my mommy?” I always answer, “Of course, I am your mommy.” I know one day the question and answer likely will not be so easy and direct. For now, I cherish the simplicity of the love we share. Hopefully, it will set a good foundation to help us weather whatever lies ahead. I have so many wonderful mommy/daughter memories from our first two years together. You can see some of my favorites below.

















On my birthday which now has so much more significance, I couldn’t ask for a better gift than being loved fully and deeply by my youngest child (and my terrific husband and two amazing sons). Leyla, we all love you so much and can’t imagine our lives without you. You have brought us so much happiness, learning and laughter.

Happy Birthday to me; Happy Homecoming to Leyla.

Precious Connections . . .

Many things I took for granted before we adopted our our daughter took on new or different meaning to me. I know I cannot fulfill all my daughter's needs when it comes to connecting with her culture or understanding her path to our family. I find myself looking to put things in place that will help her during the times she will need to seek help and guidance elsewhere. I don't know what it is to be Ethiopian. I don't know what it is to be adopted. I don't know what it is to be birthed in one continent and raised in another. As a mom, I want to be all things to my daughter - to be her guide on her journey. But I know I will fall short and so I plan.

I realize, as I reflect, I will fall short in that capacity for my sons too. But I honestly had not given that much thought before Leyla arrived. I know as boys there are parts of their journey that their father and the other men in their lives will need to take a leading role. But those differences are the norm in families. Perhaps that is why I felt more comfortable believing what my sons needed would naturally be there for them. However, I am less sure about that too as I watch my eldest enter his teens. The world I knew growing up as teen no longer exists and he will face challenges I didn't.

When we went to Ethiopia to bring home our daughter, we traveled with two other families who were also meeting their daughters for the first time. Both families had connections to where we live. Interestly, both mothers had grown up in the area although their families now live elsewhere. We discussed keeping the girls connected as much as we could. Each year since, we were able to get together with one of those families. They have a biological daughter Hazel (who accompanied her parents to Ethiopia) and their Ethiopian daughter Naima. Naima is about 6 months older than Leyla.

When we met our daughters, that age gap seems quite large. Leyla was a tiny 6 month old and Naima was a tall slim one year old, walking and starting to talk. I included some photos of the girls from that time in Ethiopia below.
The first summer visit together the age difference had diminished but still was evident. Leyla was a few months past her first birthday and just mastering walking. Naima was closer to two and happily running and talking up a storm to her sister. Our boys really enjoyed meeting Naima and Hazel because it allowed them to connect to their sister's time in Ethiopia before she joined them. Dimitri went out of his way to form a connection with Naima who was a bit shy when we first arrived.

This last summer, the age difference was barely evident. And they started to notice each other in a different way. Naima said to her mother, "Leyla has curly hair like me." It struck me this potentially was the beginning of a deeper connection. Only Leyla's brother Dimitri came a long on the visit (Damian had a soccer game and was disappointed he couldn't join us). Dimitri at thirteen was a hit with the four girls. He is wonderful with kids and pretty much will let them do anything so they have fun. And the girls took full advantage. The pictures are evidence of that..




Since that visit, Leyla asks me with some frequency to see the pictures we took. She will ask me "Can I see my friend Naima." She doesn't seem to tire of looking at the pictures of the fun times they shared. Something clicked with her and made an impression. I hope it is the beginning of a something she will be able to nurture and grow. Naima has a unique shared experience with Leyla. And it may be able to provide some of the answers or support they will both need as they grow beyond childhood and examine their history as well as their path forward.

Like Leyla, I enjoy looking at these pictures because of the joy that exudes from them but also because I want Leyla to have all that she needs for her path - especially what I know I cannot provide. And these pictures make me hopeful . . .

September 11

September 11th never meant anything to me before 2001. I recall vivid details of that day and the days that followed. Small details became etched in my brain because of the horror of the day - like who I met with immediately before seeing the television screen with the burning towers. I have a hard time remembering meetings from last week much less nine years ago. I recall the eery strangeness that came over me when I looked in the sky above our house where planes regularly circled when they couldn't immediately land at nearby O-Hare airport in Chicago and saw nothing but blue for days. My youngest son was 7 months and I wondered what kind of world would he grow up into. My sense of security was ripped away and in its place was a raw appreciation of how fragile and illusory that sense was.

In 2008, I gained a new meaning for September 11. September 11 is the Ethiopian New Year. Around this time of year, we received the referral of our daughter and an introduction into her Ethiopian culture. The Ethiopian calendar (Amharic: የኢትዮጵያ ዘመን አቆጣጠር yä'Ityoṗṗya zämän aḳoṭaṭär), is based on the older Alexandrian or Coptic calendar, which derives from the Egyptian. But like the Julian calendar, it adds a leap day every four years. Like the Coptic calendar, the Ethiopian calendar has twelve months of 30 days each plus five or six epagomenal days, which comprise a thirteenth month. The sixth epagomenal day is added every four years without exception on August 29 of the Julian calendar, six months before the Julian leap day. Thus the first day of the Ethiopian year, 1 Mäskäräm, for years between 1901 and 2099 (inclusive), is usually September 11 (Gregorian), but falls on September 12 in years before the Gregorian leap year. The year 2003 begins today September 11 in this calendar.

I looked for pictures to show the joy and celebration that my daughter might be experiencing in her native land today. I was surprised to find pictures of little girls that looks strangely familiar although I had not seen them before. I looked back at picture from Leyla's second birthday and saw her yellow dress that mirrored the yellow flowers decorating the young celebrants in Ethiopia. How appropriately similar they looked including the life and fire that shines out of their eyes.


Now both meanings I have come to know for this momentous day intertwine as I reflect. I celebrate the amazing culture that was not mine until my daughter made it so. I also remember the inhumanity and humanity that is exposed in tragedies driven by hate and misunderstanding. I see a connection in the sharing of cultures which leads to greater appreciation of both uniqueness and sameness. A part of me wishes for a way to replicate what happened in our family on a massive scale although I know hearts change on an individual level. Our family now reflects 4 cultures - Dutch, Greek, Ethiopian and American - and our hearts are open to appreciating and learning about the many others that make up the mosaic of our globe.

Melkam Addis Amet -- Happy Ethiopian New Year.

Growing in my heart

I recently saw this lovely poem (by Fleur Conkling Heyliger) shared by a proud adoptive mother:

"Not flesh of my flesh
Nor bone of my bone,
But still miraculously
My own.
Never forget for a single minute
You didn’t grow under my heart,
But in it."

This sums up beautifully what I am sure many adoptive parents feel. It certainly captures our experience. To bring your child, who was destined to be a part of your family, from the other side of the globe, makes you believe in things bigger than yourself like miracles, destiny and more . .

These feelings did stop at my husband or me, they extended to our sons. The youngest recently told me as we were walking alone together, "I love her (his adopted sister) so much it fills my whole heart. It's a wonder there is room for the rest of you. But somehow there is." I gave him a big hug. I understood exactly what he meant. I watch each morning as Leyla gets up and runs to find "the boys." They each bend down so she can wrap her little arms tightly around their necks and give them good morning kisses. The look of joy and peace on their faces as she does this ritual warms you to your soul - it is so pure and real!

Both brothers have their own unique relationship with their sister. The youngest loves to goof around with her and find ways to make her erupt in peals of laughter. Her laughter is quite infectious. We find it is nearly impossible not to laugh along with her once she gets going. My eldest has a more nurturing relationship with his sister in part because he is eleven years older. She will cry for him if she is hurt and a parent is not close on hand. Below are some favorite pictures of my boys with their cherished little sis. The love they have for each other, grown in their hearts, is a special joy for a parent to witness.

Why Ethiopia?

There are certain questions I get with some frequency since we adopted our daughter. One of those is “Why Ethiopia?” I was recently asked this question again from a prospective adoptive parent on Adoptive Families website. Excerpts from the email I received are below:

“I just wanted to tell you that I have been really inspired reading your blog. . . . When we first began researching adoption (about a year ago), we talked about Ethiopia, but were both so afraid of the unknowns and decided it was not for us; however, I have always felt that it was where we should be. . . .. . Your beautiful story has inspired me and concreted the idea in my mind that we are being called to that country. How did you decide it was right for you?"

The truth is we didn’t originally start thinking about Ethiopia. A number of our friends adopted children from China and a few from Romania and Russia. We wanted to add a little girl to our family since we had two sons. After that our biggest concern was the health of our new child. We were open to a slightly older kid, up to two years of age, given our boys were 6 and 10 at the time we started the process. We began looking into adoption with the thought that China likely was the path for us. We assembled the massive amounts of paperwork and even prepared ourselves for the long wait that was anticipated with China. At the first informational meeting, we saw a family from my son’s elementary school. They were considering Ethiopia. I found it very interesting since I did not know anyone who had adopted from Ethiopia. I did remember learning about Ethiopia from early Bible classes and school. I was intriqued but did not give it much more thought.

We moved forward with China without considering Ethiopian at that point. I remember vividly when I received an email from our adoption agency while we were visiting my husband’s family in Greece that summer. I was sitting under an umbrella being the one in the family most likely to turn an angry shade of red under the hot Mediterranean sun. I feel a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as I read the message . . another family where one parent had a similar health history as mine had their paperwork rejected by China. We were just getting ready to submit our paperwork. The agency strongly recommended that we consider another program since we would likely be rejected as well. I had not considered, much less prepared myself, for this possibility. I felt the tears sting in my eyes as my husband gently asked me “What’s wrong?”

I believed in my heart that there was a third girl child we were supposed to adopt waiting out there for us. As I let the bitter disappointment go over a period of weeks, I realized she was not in China. And I needed to explore other possibilities. When we returned to the states, I reviewed other countrie's programs and decided to look closely into the Vietnam, Russia and Ethiopia. I interviewed with the leaders of each program at our agency. We decided on move forward on parallel paths with Ethiopia and Vietnam given that Vietnam had many question marks and Ethiopia was still a pioneer program for our agency. We started our Ethiopian paperwork and then never did much with Vietnam. The more I learned about Ethiopia generally and through our process, the more peace I had with our decision.

As we explained this change in plans to our boys, my eldest said with complete candor something I could not even say to myself, “They won’t give you a baby because they think you are going to die.” Wow – that one hit me right at the very core of my being. I knew he was right but hearing it out loud was another thing altogether. Somehow, hearing him say it with the tone of total indignation at the injustice of it was a small comfort. Having your children want to protect and defend you is a special thing indeed – although it felt bittersweet given the circumstances.

Ethiopia has a long and rich history as one of the ancient countries. We found many similarities to my husband’s Greek culture: the climate, the traditions, the food and the focus on family and community. When we traveled to Ethiopia, we felt welcomed and very much at home. The foliage and vegetation reminded us both of my husband’s homeland. Here is a picture of our time in Ethiopia getting to know our new daughter.


I believe you receive the children you are meant to have no matter how they come to join your family. Our daughter is no exception. She is so completely one of us while also being completely Ethiopian and uniquely her own person. What seemed like a devastating piece of news at the time put us on a path to amazing joy. As my eldest son will guilelessly say (and does so with almost annoying frequency), “I am so glad China did not work out otherwise we would not have gotten Leyla.”

I saw this recent quote which spoke to me: "When you learn something from people, or from a culture, you accept it as a gift, and it is your lifelong commitment to preserve it and build on it."--Yo-Yo Ma, American cellist

I feel this applies exponentially when you accept the gift of a child from another people and culture. My youngest son asked me, “Are we Ethiopian now?” I answered, “No one will look at you and see Ethiopian but you are Ethiopian inside if you accept that connection to your sister’s homeland.” He said, “Good.” He doesn’t give me as much insight into what happens inside his head but clearly he viewed being able to connect with his sister’s country as a positive.

The answer to “Why Ethiopia?” is simple: because that is where our daughter was waiting for us. And we accept the lifelong responsibility to honor the gift we have gotten by way of Eastern Africa. Here is a picture of the family recently celebrating Leyla's second birthday at a local Ethiopian restaurant.