This Beautiful Life

My Healthy Kid

2012-01-25T13:05:00.000-06:00

A two weeks ago we spent the day on the road, driving to Indy, for Frey's first appointment with her pediatric neurologist at the Peyton Manning Children's Hospital. Her doctor is A.M.A.Z.I.N.G. Love her to death. She confirmed what I've known in my heart since I read Freyja's profile a year and a half ago. She has very mild CP, probably caused by a stroke during an illness as an infant. And the doctor confirmed what I've known since Frey joined our family. We have an intelligent, happy, resilient child that's doing amazingly well, both adapting to her new life, and adapting to her right side weakness. Well yeah. It's obvious. But our new doc wanted Frey to have an MRI just to rule out any vascular issues that might cause another stroke, just to be absolutely certain. And Nathan and I agreed that we wanted to rule out any future problems.

So last Monday we woke up at what I swear was the crack of dawn. Actually before dawn cracked because it was still dark outside. Frey did well at the hospital and quite honestly, I was STUNNED at the service and attention we got. Although I did find it a wee bit frustrating that all of the nursing staff butchered her name! Freega, Fry-a, Fry-JA. Sheesh! Anyway. It's not that we got anything special, but obviously St. Mary's goes out of their way for parents and kids. I'm NOT used to that! When Nathan or my dad have something done, I'm usually left fending for myself. And after 10 years with Nathan and two years with my dad in and out of hospitals, I know the floor plans by heart! I'm pretty good in a hospital setting. So it felt a bit weird to have women popping in to Frey's room to entertain her with wagon rides, puzzles, books and stuffies.

And since Frey is only 4, she had to be fully sedated for her MRI. And what do you know, in walked our SCANDINAVIAN anesthesiologist and asked how FREYJA was doing! No mispronunciation! He asked if we knew the meaning of her name, and we did. Freyja is the name of a Norse goddess and for what it's worth, it's pronounced FRAY-Yah. In case my rant above made you wonder. But what we didn't know about her name, and our doctor shared with us, is that Freyja is a Norwegian chocolate! I love it! How perfect is that? She's definitely sweet! Loved it.

Coming out of the anesthesia was hard for Frey, but it gave us some great bonding time in the rocking chair in her room. And thankfully our doctor called us right away with the results of the MRI. No vascular issues that she can see, but Frey's brain does show signs of a stroke, either when she was an infant or in utero. So the doc confirmed CP, but said that Frey might need a surgery later on for her tight muscles or short leg, but otherwise IS, in fact, a happy, healthy four year old! Love that kid!

Fashion Forward or Fashion Disaster

2012-01-23T19:22:00.003-06:00

On one hand, I totally dig the fact that my kid isn't worried about fashion, labels or having the "it" stuff. On the other hand, sometimes I don't actually want to be seen in public with her.

The Dog Days of . . . Winter?

2012-01-13T20:58:00.002-06:00

Piper has taken to jumping on the sofa when we leave the room. And she always, ALWAYS, finds the softest spot.

Daddy and His Girl

2012-01-13T20:50:00.002-06:00

During Christmas break, the girls and I went skating almost every single day, which gave Nathan and Frey even more time to bond. While the girls and I got our groove on, these two watched Mickey Mouse.

The day I took this pic, Nathan called me into the room to tell me that Frey reached up to put her arm around him. And the Minnie Mouse hat? A Christmas present from Nana that she wears inside and out! Love that kid!

The Blahs

2012-01-12T09:47:00.003-06:00

Each day I think that I need to write something down, post about what we're doing, but the reality is that I've been in a funk and sometimes even the simple things are hard to get done. I'm depressed. I *know* I'm depressed and if I were a friend of mine, I would tell myself to pull my head out of my butt and get medicated. But I have excuses. My doctor closed her practice and won't reopen for a few months. I don't like the feeling I get when I'm on medication.

I'm overwhelmed.

I have a husband that either has cancer growing in his head again OR brain necrosis, which means that parts of his brain are dying. We'll find out more in February. I have a daughter with emotional and behavioral difficulties that seem so over the top that I don't know how to deal with them. In many ways they've gotten better over the years. But some things have gotten much, MUCH worse. Especially with the onset of puberty. I have a kiddo with a learning disability that just isn't learning. And I feel like a failure because she's not learning, then I feel like a failure because I'm putting my own personal expectations on this child. I've got another daughter that needs physical and speech therapy that we let slide during the holidays, a father constantly in and out of the hospital and a house full of animals that never fail to put their bodily fluids in the one place I've managed to clean. All of these things add up, and when taken together. . . .

Yeah. I'm depressed. But I'm trying to work through it on my own, to come out on the other side. I'm trying to find the blessings in my life. And I know there are many. It just doesn't feel that way sometimes. Sometimes it just feels like a giant "I Suck" fest in my head. And I know I don't. I know I can't compare myself to the mom with two birth children, with no past trauma or malnutrition or illness. And I can't compare MY children to the children that have had every possible advantage from conception till present day. Yet sometimes it's hard not to.

Anyway. Long, depressing rambles are best saved for the delete pile. Which is probably where this will end up by the end of the day.

A Heartbreaking Adoption Journey

2012-01-06T08:51:00.007-06:00

I've spoken many times on this blog about adoption ethics. I've given thought to what I would do in certain circumstances. But the reality of an adoption gone wrong is so much more heartbreaking than I ever imagined possible, the ramifications more long term than I could ever comprehend.

I *met* Lauren through Facebook while we both tried to bring our Ugandan children home and I liked her immediately. While most of the other families seemed interested in AYAP infants (a giant pet peeve of mine and often the source of baby trafficking), Lauren and her husband wanted to adopt older children, children that might not otherwise find a forever family. She celebrated our adoption steps, gave words of encouragement, so when we finally made plans to pick up our daughter, I couldn't wait to deliver the letter and pictures to her waiting children.

While I made plans to fly to Uganda for our daughter, hoping that things would go well, yet constantly worried that something would go wrong, Lauren prepared a bedroom for her Biggies, hoping that things would go well, yet also worrying that something would go wrong. She picked out beds and wall art, hoping that her Bigs would feel at home in their new bedroom. She put thought and care into each special detail, because that's what we adoptive parents do!

As soon as we landed, I started thinking about taking Lauren's letter to her children. As someone who has depended upon others to do the same, I knew how much that letter meant! How do you convey to this chid/ren that you love them even though you've never met? How do you help prepare them for their new life, their new family? The questions crowd in. Will they like me? Will they want me as a parent?

Nathan and I rode to the orphanage with a bag of candy for the other children, but we soon realized this orphanage was beyond what we'd seen before. Hundreds of children, all rail thin, gaunt, in worn, torn, dirty clothing. I remember thinking, "Please God, let Lauren get here quickly. This is no place for her babies."

We met Winnie and Richard at the school office and while I'd expected one of the staff members to give us a more direction, more privacy, she merely pointed out the children and disappeared, leaving us struggling to talk to Winnie and Richard in a sea of attention starved children. But I did my best to tell the children that their parents were coming as soon as they could. I tried to convey how much their new parents looked forward to meeting them and taking them home to love forever. And then I asked Winnie to show me her bedroom.

Again, I couldn't believe my eyes. Row after row after row of triple bunks, surrounded by ratty, torn mosquito nets. Again I thought to myself, "Please God, let Lauren get her quickly." As beautiful, shy Winnie held the picture of her family, bigger girls came to demand a look. And I thought to myself, "Those girls are jealous. Please God, let Lauren get here as soon as possible. I don't think these bigger girls are nice to her babies."

I look back now on that trip to the orphanage, what had been one of my favorite days, a day of delivering a mother's love thousands of miles away. . . .but instead of the fond memories I had, I'm overwhelmed with heartache and sadness. As I tried to express to these two sweet, shy, wonderful children how much their mother loved them, how she couldn't wait to hold them in her arms, to read them stories and to tuck them in at night. . . .I couldn't imagine how things would unfold.

After waiting and waiting, Lauren's turn finally came. She got a court date, moved her family of three to Uganda for two months, and met her children. She and her hubby went to court and got legal guardianship of these two beautiful children and finally, FINALLY felt comfortable telling her Biggies that they were going to be a family forever. A forever family.They lived together, grew together, bonded together as a family for two months while paperwork finished up. They laughed together, played together, slept together, ate together, cried together, loved together for two months.

But on the very last step, on a day that should have been filled with joy for this new family of five, Lauren and her husband learned that the US Embassy had denied the visas for her two new children, the children born in her heart so many months ago. Their stories had been fabricated. They could appeal the decision, but Lauren and her husband agreed that continuing an adoption born of corruption and lies wasn't right. Trafficking children can NEVER be right.

I cannot express how much I admire Lauren and her husband for standing up for what is right, for standing up for trafficked children everywhere, and standing up for what they believe in. I honestly don't know if I would be so brave. I don't think I could see through the fog of my own heartbreak long enough to do the right thing. And I thank God, THANK GOD, that I've never had to make that decision.

But Lauren and her hubby are in a shitty spot right now. They have adoption debt, living expenses for a trip that took much longer than it should have, and two children they are responsible for, but who will never join the their American family. This family NEEDS the help and support of the adoption community right now.

Click HERE to read more about Winnie and Richard and to support this family through their heartbreak.

Pictures

2012-01-05T22:06:00.002-06:00

Amsbury fam Christmas card.

Christmas at Mawmaw and Papaws house, followed by the Ringling circus, which was AWESOME.

Santa pictures at the Indianapolis Children's Museum. We were afraid Frey might be scared, but we showed her pics of her sisters with Santa and we made sure everybody told her how much we LOVE Santa Claus.

Family Christmas pic on Christmas day. My family tells me that I was much less anal this year, however, I still made everybody, including the kids, wait until after Christmas dinner before they could open presents.

2011-12-01T20:42:00.002-06:00

Ok. Hair! I've got lots to write, but I'm a bit tired. It's one of those "I haven't had time to sit down" kind of days. I remembered my lunch salad at 7 this evening. But anyway. I got Frey's hair done just in time for pictures with Santa this weekend.

I got started thinking I'd do very large boxes, but her hair is just short enough that I find it hard to work with. But this kid. . . . A-MAZING! She wanted her hair DONE! She sat patiently for HOURS and each time I suggested stopping so that she could take a nap/eat/go to bed/go potty, she'd tell me no, she wanted mom to continue. And when she had half of her head done, she walked past her sisters, made sure they were looking, and then flipped her hair back and forth! Love it! And NO more of the "He, him, your son" for us!

First Snow

2011-11-30T22:52:00.003-06:00

Tuesday, November 29th, 2011, Frey experienced her first snow! Of course the bigs noticed the snow WELL before I did so they coached Frey on the word "snow". But as soon as I realized the giant flakes were sticking, I scooped Frey up, minus a coat (rockin the sucky parent with that one), and darted out the door with my kid and camera.

Frey thought the snow was positively wonderful. At first. When she held out her hand and the drops of snow stung her skin, she decided that snow was good. TO LOOK AT. But I still had to capture the moment!

Now please refer to Frey's skirt and leg warmers. I'm quite pleased with them. And myself! The skirt, made of tulle, came from the Goodwill at Halloween time. But it was the nastiest yellowed tulle you've ever seen. But a wash and a bottle of Rit dye changed that!

Frey's leg warmers are felted wool from a sweater that I thrifted for craft purposes. If you haven't accidentally felted a wool sweater, consider yourself lucky! But when you do it on purpose . . . . serious fun! Just toss any wool/lambswool/cashmere sweater into the washing machine, wash on hot, then dry in the dryer on high heat. The wool sweater will shrink and tighten up, leaving a fabric that's easy to cut and doesn't fray. For her leg warmers, I just snipped the arms close to the seam and straightened up my cut. Voila! She loves them almost as much as the sparkly pink shoes I can't seem to pry off her feet!

Boo Hiss

2011-11-30T10:06:00.003-06:00

Yesterday I got my bloodwork and results back from the doctor. Yeah me, I don't have cervical cancer. Boo hiss my cholesterol is MUCH higher than it should be. For a normal person, it isn't bad. For somebody with a strong family history of heart disease and heart attacks, it's pretty crappy. On the plus side, my good cholesterol is also off the chart good. So that's a plus.

Unfortunately, the doctor wants me to step up my fitness program to lose weight. And she wants to see me on a vegan diet. But I hate to tell her, that's just not going to happen! I'll cut out the cheese (mostly) but I'm keeping Greek yogurt. I'll eliminate chicken, pork and beef, but I'm keeping fish. Frankly I'd rather spend two hours in the gym each day that cut some of my faves out of my diet.

And I've got the girls on board to keep me motivated. We sat down and talked about cholesterol and what it does to the body, so they want to keep me healthy! I've not got two nags asking if I've been to the gym yet, but it's all good!

For my own personal motivation, I've got a picture that we took in Disneyworld for our last trip, BEFORE I lost 40 pounds, as my computer background. (Actually, I lost 55, but to keep it honest, I've gained 15 of that back). Each time I open the laptop (which is often), I think to myself, "Good GOD! Look at the size of those things! Look at how far my butt sticks out!" So when I close the computer, I walk down the hallway doing lunges or drop to do some push ups!

So anyway. All that to say that in addition to my stated 2012 goals, I'm adding cholesterol reduction! I'd like my total cholesterol to be under 185. Still on the high end, but a significant improvement!

Thanksgiving Week: Love, Drama and Memories

2011-11-29T14:15:00.004-06:00

So I found THIS blog post that I never posted for some reason. I guess better late than never.

Since Nathan worked special assignments while he was in Uganda, he still had several days of vacation left over. So he took the Friday before and the Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday before Thanksgiving off so that we could clean, decorate and spend time as a family. Awesome time. Most of it anyway.

We spent our first few days cleaning and our evenings playing games in our fire-warmed living room, laughing and hopefully learning a little. And I had the opportunity to go to a favorite thrift store that's usually out of the way with my Mom on Wednesday because my awesome hubby not only said he'd watch the kids and clean but ALSO authorized another Christmas tree! We stopped along the roadside to cut greenery but mom felt so guilty about cutting the greenery, she kept twitching and watching for cars like a nervous teenager smoking pot along the roadside!

We've now got 5 full sized threes,one small tree, and two Charlie brown trees. After my recent acquisition, I've decided to let go of two of our scrubby medium trees. But I also branched out this year and decorated our two chandliers after a friend posted a pic of one on facebook.

On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, we pulled up all of the boxes of decorations from the basement tobegan decorating our individual trees. Unfortunately, when we opened one box, we discovered that the entire box had gone moldy, somehow overlooked in the great basement flood of 2011 on Easter Sunday. We spent a good two hours trying to clean ornaments, some irreplaceable because the girls had crafted them with photos. And that set us back time wise.

But we pressed on. The girls, now in possession of the white tree previously located in the dining room, opted for a color scheme of teal, white and silver. Sophia cracked me up because she wanted it to look perfect. I don't know, but I think she might get some of my Christmastime anal retentive nature! Nathan decorated his tree with manly, nature themed ornaments and I decked my tree in Hallmark ornaments I've collected through the years.

Her First Love

2011-11-29T12:56:00.002-06:00

While in Uganda, Frey loved looking at some of the books that I'd brought for her. I'd managed to score several Disney picture books for 25 cents each at my favorite thrift store, so I bought them with the intention of leaving them at the orphanage. But since she liked flipping pages, we kept them for the duration of our trip.

So Frey came home with the images of Mickey Mouse burned into her brain. And as a treat, we allow her to watch Mickey Mouse's Clubhouse at the end of the day to help her unwind. The result has been a fierce love for all things Mickey. Which I totally LOVE, since **I** have a fierce love for all things Mickey!

I especially love Christmas time when I can get our Mickey things out. I'm too anal or Martha Stewart-y to keep lots of Mickey things out during the year (although I do have my snowglobes and vintage Disney records on display), so this is the time of year where I get freaky with my inner child. I've got my Mickey village, my Disney ornaments, and my Jim Shore Fab Five figurines out for enjoyment.

And Frey LOVES IT. She's SO very curious about the Mickey village. She's thrilled looking and looking at the tree and all the Disney characters. But like a prim little miss, she keeps her hands behind her back and looks without touching!

It makes me smile each time I see those little hands folded behind her back! It's something that she started doing in Uganda when she saw me put my hands behind my back while we walked through the museum in Mbarara! Loving these little things.

Casualties of Warmth

2011-11-29T10:20:00.002-06:00

Since getting our fireplace insert, I've been burning wood pretty much every day that it drops below 65. What can I say? I get cold easily. So what does that mean? It means Nathan has to chop a whole bunch of wood! He's got a friend at work with about 10 acres that we're drawing from, but I have a feeling that at the rate we're going, his 10 acres will be tapped out soon!

2011-11-29T09:33:00.004-06:00

During the first part of the month, Nathan had a doctor's apt and MRI at IU Med, so we decided to make a family memory out of the trip. The Westin Hotel comps cancer patients' rooms IF they have available rooms, so we knew we'd be staying in downtown Indy on Sunday night. That gave us the perfect opportunity to take Frey to the Children's Museum for the first time.

Unfortunately, one kiddo had some behavior issues for the better part of the museum visit, but Frey had a BLAST! She loved the mirrors that disfigure your body and face, but when we went into the hall of mirrors, she freaked out just a bit and wanted to hold Mom's hand for the rest of the walk. Which is AWESOME. When she seeks me out for protection and comfort, I know she's attaching!

Mary, Frey and Nathan enjoyed the Barbie section, especially making fashions on the life size dressmakers stand and the miniature ones as well! We had high hopes for the new National Geographic exhibit that promised adventure while exploring an ancient Egyptian tomb, a shipwreck and the site of Chinese clay soldiers but. . . . It was totally dumbed down. And disappointing. The entire exhibit catered to kids/adults with a 90 second attention span (really) and no previous interest/knowledge about archaeology. It was all play and no learning. Now I'm not opposed to having fun exhibits in a children's museum, but it DOES need to have information for intelligent, thoughtful, eager learners as well as fun, introductory type stuff. So sadly, this was a total fail.

After about five hours playing, we noticed Frey starting to overload. So we headed out and stopped to take pictures at some of the monuments and buildings in downtown Indy. Of course, all THREE of my girls love to have their photos taken, so we snapped and walked, snapped and walked for over an hour!

We drove out to Joe's Crabshack in Greenwood, one of the first places Nathan and I had dinner together. (This would be the Joe's where I faceplanted in the parking lot because I twisted my heel walking down the stairs. I knew Nathan was a keeper when he didn't laugh!)

By the time we got back to the hotel, I couldn't wait to hit the whirlpool! Frey DID NOT LIKE IT ONE BIT! And no sooner had we gotten in the hot tub. . . . . In walked another couple with two boys. And Nathan and I aren't particularly social. So, since Frey hated the water and since she was starting to get teary-eyed tired, I took her back upstairs to put her to bed before the rest of the crew came in. But after getting her down, I waited and waited, wondering what was taking the rest of my family so long.

They finally straggled in an hour and a half later, worn out, eyes burning from the chlorine, but eager to tell me what they'd been up to. It seems the boys, also homeschooled, wanted to play a game of sharks and minnows. And my girls (who tend to take after their anti-social parents) joined in and had a blast! I'm glad they had such a good time!

Long Time No Blog

2011-11-29T09:23:00.001-06:00

I seem to be on the once or twice a month plan lately and I'm not sure why I've stayed away. Maybe because we've had some yucky stuff going on that I'm not ready to talk about. Maybe because we're super focused on the family lately. I don't know. But I miss putting my thoughts down. It's relaxing. It helps me process. And as I've been compiling photo books for our family, this blog has been mighty helpful since I have the memory of an Alzheimer's patient. My mom and my doctor tell me it's probably the perimenopause. WHAT? Seriously? I am TOO freaking young for that! Apparently not. Anyway, it's nice to be able to go back to a certain date, figure out exactly what we did/said/felt/thought and then put it in the book. So I'm going to try to blog/compile our photobook every single day, even if it's just a short little snippet or picture. But to catch up on some things we've done, so **I** don't forget. . . .

2012 Goals

2011-11-16T09:41:00.003-06:00

It's good to have goals, and here are mine for the next year.

1. Take a nice Disneyworld vacation with all THREE of my girls. That one's easy since it's already booked and paid for.
2. Take a cheap (as in camping in a tent each night) trip to the Grand Canyon and hike or ride to the bottom during the summer months.
3. Get the girls passports and take a cruise towards the end of next year. Somewhere. Anywhere. Let's see if we like it.
4. Save enough in our emergency fund to live for 6 months without income if need be.
5. Read 12 GOOD books, worthwhile books, notable books or classics.
6. Lose enough pounds off my butt to be a "normal" weighted person.
7. Run at least one race, of any distance, just to get my running feet wet.
8. Grow at least 400 pounds of food in my yard for 2012.

Kitchen Witchen

2011-10-25T12:49:00.003-05:00

I'm making like a witch in the kitchen! I'm brewing! I'm concocting! Except my eye of newt is a bottle of chipolte pepper seasoning and my frog legs are Brussels sprouts.

I've been trying to branch out of my beans and salsa, salsa and quinoa, chili and soup rut, but the problem is there are certain flavors I love, certain veggies I love and the rest I tend to forget about. Seriously, I need a cilantro/tomato/pepper/onion/eggplant farm. No joke, almost all my veggies come from Allium or Nightshade families. The cruciferous family and I don't really get along. I dislike broccoli. I loathe Brussels sprouts. And I'm not a huge fan of cauliflower, but I'll eat it raw with lots of Greek yogurt dip.

So we're missing lots of really good vitamins and minerals, lots of cancer and fat fighting goodness. Which brings me back to witchen in the kitchen.

Kale Chips:
I've read about these babies in all my favorite magazines: Clean Eating, Eating Well, Vegetarian Times and even Urban Farm. But my family has refused all kale offerings in the past. I'll buy these giant bags of kale, cook them up with what I think is good seasoning, yet they sit in the fridge until they rot. Not even the hubby will eat the kale unless I'm there to put some parental peer pressure on him.

However. Kale chips are a hit. It's shocking really. Sophia literally snatched more bites of kale off the cookie sheet like she'd found a hidden stash of Doritos.

Wash, pat dry and de-stem one bunch of kale leaves. (center stem only) Tear the leaves into large bite sized bits, toss in a bowl with 1tbsp of olive oil. Lay them on a cookie sheet and sprinkle with favorite spices. (salt and chipolte for me) Then bake on 400 for 10-15 minutes or until crisp. But you've got to watch them and flip if they start to brown!

I love it when my kids like their veggies. Although, note to self. Less salt and less chipolte pepper seasoning in the future.

Brussels Chi
or Brussels Sprouts Kimchi
Now on to Brussels sprouts. Seriously, who likes these? I've tried making them a few different ways, but yuck. Just yuck. But I read about a way to alter the taste just a bit and thought I'd give it a go.

Wash and slice in 1/2, 1 bag of BS. Lightly toss with 1 tbsp of olive oil and broil at 450 for 15 minutes or until tender. Set aside and let cool.

When cooled, mix with 1 jar of spicy kimchi. Voila!

I actually love this. I eat kimchi because I know it's healthy, but the flavor often seems a little wonky to me. But mixing it with the broiled BS mellows out the flavors of both!

Silk Dress Re-Fashion

2011-10-21T16:57:00.002-05:00

$3 at the thrift store. I've been wanting to make silk roses for my room and decided this super pink dress would do the trick. But it also came with a belt that I decided to make into a headband for Frey.

2011-10-20T22:19:00.002-05:00

Ok, right about now I'm kicking myself for selling that suitcase at my yard sale a few weeks ago! I LOVE LOVE LOVE this idea for my mom/grandmothers idiot dog and I think this would make a FABULOUS handmade Christmas present.

Source: 1.bp.blogspot.com via Dana on Pinterest

And THIS baby! Oh my! I am seriously ready to head out dumpster diving TOnight looking for an old console TV to convert into a dog bed/cage! We've got the ugly black metal cage in our living room now since our two girls can't seem to get along and one must be caged at all times. Wouldn't this look so much better? I think yes!

Ok, and thank you to Anita G for turning me on to Pinterest!

Source: betterafter.blogspot.com via Becky on Pinterest

Can't. Take. It. Anymore!

2011-10-20T18:21:00.006-05:00

Ok, so the DOWN side to opening the entry door. . . . CLUTTER FROM HELL. Because the antique oak secretary, the antique oak cabinet, the china cabinet, the other china cabinet and the bookcases all need to be unloaded before they can be moved. So. EVERY. AVAILABLE. SPACE. filled up with C.R.A.P.

Seriously, I cannot stand this. I really can't. I like my stuff, but I like my stuff to have a place. A proper place to go so that it's either out of sight or it looks cute.

This just depresses me. I cannot function in a space like this. Can.Not.Do.It.

Not to mention the constant worry that one of the cats would take out $1,000 of wedding china. But thankfully, Thank God, that we finally got it put back together by the end of the day. I've still got my office to clean around. That still looks like a bomb went off. But my dining room and kitchen are FINALLY back together.

The entryway too.

Sadly, all the cleaning, reorganizing and rearranging means that we're having fast food for the second time today. Mom of the Year award stuff, I'm telling ya.

Damn It

2011-10-19T19:59:00.002-05:00

Yeah, I know it's not nice to say that, but it's the only thing I could think of to say. Sophia came home from youth group crying because one of the kids, during a game, stated that they didn't like black people. It just plain pisses me off. I hate stupidity. I hate racism. I hate ignorance. And I really, really freaking hate it when my kids get hurt.

On one hand, I want to protect them from everything. On the other, I know Sophia is more sensitive than most kids, but she's going to be dealing with stupid, racist people her whole life. I can't change that. I don't want her to have to learn about racism, but since she has to, I'm glad that she's able to learn about it with loving parents around. But. . . . damn it.

ANIMALLLLLLLL!!!!!!

2011-10-19T16:36:00.002-05:00

So when I first met Nathan, his good friends were teasing him that he was Fozzy Bear from the Muppets. But I think he's more Animal in the $1 wig I picked up. In a weird sort of way, I kinda like it. I'm not used to seeing him with hair anymore.

Frey LOVES her new wig, but she hasn't quite gotten her rock star pose down yet.

Man, I freaking love Halloween.

My Main Man

2011-10-18T18:53:00.003-05:00

Before Nathan and I got married, he/we bought a house that needed a LOT of fixing up. And those days weren't pretty. The days of a new relationship plus the stress of renovation. . . U.G.L.Y. Oh the fights we had. We didn't know enough about each other to work well together.

But ten years later, we've found our groove. Since we've taken over our whole house (after Dad closed his office), we've debated about whether or not to open the doorway from our entry into the dining room again. It's been sealed up since the office went in and we couldn't decide whether we should leave the least used room sealed off or open it up, hoping the air flow would improve.

However, we're planning on getting a wood insert for our fireplace in the next few weeks and finally decided that we wanted the doorway back.

The hubster getting set to start work.
He let me whack away with the sledge, except I managed to hit a stud that had been put in to stabilize the new(old) structure.

Nathan: (laughing hysterically) HAHAHAHAHAHAHA YOU HIT THE STUD HAHAHAHAHA
Me: (laughing) Uh, I'm ABOUT to hit somebody that THINKS he's a stud!

Then I threw myself against the wall, kicked it a few times and BOY does that feel good.
In two hours time, we made it HERE.

Exactly three hours in, we've got a doorway again!!! We've got some touch ups tomorrow. And then we've got some redecorating to do in the dining room. But then, we both like that stuff as well!

Somewhere . . . Over the Rainbow

2011-10-17T11:40:00.002-05:00

Friday night, or was it Saturday night? Anyway, we had TWO rainbows over our house. You can't really tell there are two though so you'll have to take my word for it. And the second rainbow was one of the brightest I've ever seen. Again, you can't really tell from the picture. So cool.

Then went for my nighttime walk and found four pennies. Double rainbow over our house and finding four pennies,I *think* I should have purchased lottery ticket!

Got My Decorating ON!

2011-10-16T19:47:00.005-05:00

And THIS is the reason I'm a packrat. In one day, I completely revamped my bedroom. I went from more of a simple room, with just a few decorations to my new happy place. And my re-do cost me nothing (at least not today) because everything came from the attic!

I snagged one of my cool 50's lampshades that had been damaged by the heat of the attic and pulled the rotting cords out of the top and bottom.

And then re-tied it with pretty yellow ribbons!

I decided an Asian inspired room would feel nice, so the three silk paintings went above my bed. I swapped the barkcloth screen and round table out of another room, but replaced them with attic finds to tie things together. Note what appears to be a taxidermy cat on the bed. I swear he must be taxidermy because he didn't move all day long.

Nathan hung my parasol from the ceiling and I paired it with the Siamese cat TV lamp that used to be my grandmothers. When I was about 10, she took my around the her house asking me what I wanted because she was convinced she was dying. It was so weird, but the only thing my 10 year old self could find was that lamp. I'm also searching around for another piece of artwork to complete the two on the wall. I freaking love original artwork and I've collected SO much that I want to display.

All of the vintage chenille bedspreads, family quilts, and 40's bedspreads from the Huntington house went into my big cabinet that I've used as a catch all during the past few years. I had everything from Sophia's first Santa picture to ten year old magazines in there. I like this much better.

And finally, a couple of old oil paintings, a silk cherry blossom twig, family pictures and a bowl of shells that the girls and I collected on what I'm sure will be my last vacation with my dad.

It FEELs good. I love being surrounded by the things I love, by the things that remind me of family and friends. And I love being in an uncluttered space.

Saturday Rambles

2011-10-15T16:59:00.002-05:00

I should probably take a moment to organize my thoughts before typing away, but typing IS what helps me organize my thoughts, so if you're reading this, you should probably anticipate a disorganized post ahead.

So Nathan and I got up early this morning to take Frey to her evaluation at Shriners, which went fairly well. We should have an appointment in the next few weeks to take her to St. Louis. Not sure how that's going to turn out, but at least it's a jumping off point for us.

We hit Sam's Club, which is NEVER a good plan on Saturday, but they had the CUTEST little dress up skirts for little girls! I'm not one to usually spend $17 on a dress up anything, especially not retail, but what can I say. This is my last child. This is my last LITTLE. I want to suck up every little bit of little-ness that I can. And my hubby, awesome guy that he is, indulges me because he loves to see me gaga over my Little. And in a show of shocking retail splurge, we also bought the classic horror collection on DVD. 60+ hours of cheesy B horror flicks from the 20's to the 60's. I think we have a new Halloween tradition in the works here.

Came home to a clean house since I bribed the Bigs with a treat if they did some cleaning while we were out. And HERE is the awesome thing about homeschooled kids. $6 in the Halloween section buying cheesy wigs for dress up IS a treat, even for my 13yo. While most girls her age are into cell phones and boys, my Biggest is still a little girl at heart. And I freaking love that.

Then it was on to cleaning out the attic, so we effectively destroyed any clean we had going. But the attic. . . . Oh my. Sometimes I wonder how we've managed to accumulate so freaking much stuff. We have 2800 square feet that is FILLED on the walls, closets, shelves, curios and bookcases with books, antiques and collectibles. But then I tell myself that we DID clean out 4000 square feet at my uncles house a few years ago, plus the stuff from Nathan's grandmothers house, plus the stuff we accumulated before getting married, plus ten years of antiquing as a married couple. But still. I'm in total clean out mode. We can't keep everything but it is SO hard to know what to get rid of. Should I sell the naked lady sterling silver that I love or the silver plate that my great grandmother gave us for our wedding gift? Should I get rid of the old time pictures of my family, Nathan's family or both? What about the African stuff we've collected during 4+ trips to pick up our girls or visit? The antique lamp that we bought as our joint Christmas present in 2005? It's just SO hard.

So anyway, I'm back to a cluttered downstairs until we figure out what goes and what stays, which puts me in a seriously foul mood. But hopefully the night WILL get better since we're going to do a few pages of seek and find, have homemade pizza for dinner and then, Mommy and Daddy and going to give the girls a few movies to watch, lock the door to the living room, and watch our own movies for the night! Bridesmaids and Horrible Bosses. I'm hoping both are good, since the last time we rented movies we ended up getting two of the worst movies made in the last year. (that would be Green Hornet and some other movie that I've completely blocked from memory)

Roasted Tuscan Tomato Soup

2011-10-13T12:42:00.002-05:00

When I was a kid, I would cringe and gag just a little when my mom would bring out that Campbell's tomato soup can. Really, is there anything more gross than canned tomato soup? I steered clear of any tomato soup, anywhere, until a few years ago, when we walked into the cafeteria at the Indianapolis Childrens Museum. The smell. . . . pure heaven.

So I tried their Tuscan tomato soup and loved, loved, loved it. Nathan tried my soup and he loved, loved, loved it as well. Since then, I've been dabbling with various concoctions, never quite mastering the perfect taste. But I think I've found it.

This morning, I wanted to use the oven, and since we're trying to be more aware of electric usage, I wanted to make the most out of having the oven on. And I've also got a boat load of tomatoes coming on. And so roasting my maters seemed like the perfect solution.

Slice (or cut in half smaller tomatoes)
Crush 10-20 cloves of garlic (I LOVE garlic so I used 20)
Chop two bunches of fresh basil leaves
and then mix that into a bowl with 1/4 cup olive oil & S&P

Lay those out on a cookie sheet, skin side down
Pour 1/4-3/4 cup of balsamic vinegar over (I LOVE vinegar so I used the big portion)
Bake on 450 for 30-45 minutes, or until the edges start to blacken.

While that's working:
In a stock pot, soften 1 (or 2) onions on high heat with olive oil. (should take about 10 minutes)
Dice a little bit more basil and toss that in after the onions have cooked.

When tomatoes are finished:
Pour whole mixture, including juices, into the stock pot, add 1 TBSP of brown sugar, give a few mashes with a masher, and simmer on low heat for 10 minutes. Pull from heat and add 2TBSP's of heavy whipping cream and VOILA! Delish, healthy and easy!

My Nightstand

2011-10-12T12:59:00.004-05:00

While I was stranded in Uganda for five weeks with a toddler that sleeps 14 hours a day, I rediscovered how much I love to read. Actually, how much I love to read good books, well written books. Not the trashy romance books that I managed to collect so many of. Don't get me wrong, the mind numbingly stupid books, with pretty much the same plot with different characters have their place on my shelf. Those are my "step up from sitting my lazy butt on the sofa and watching TV but not so ambitious as to start something worthwhile" books.

So last week I decided to tackle some of the books in my must read ques.

The Girls Guide to Hunting and Fishing by Melissa Bank

So far I'm about 2/3 through, but I can't decide whether I like it or not. Which is probably a pretty good sign that I don't. When I'm finished, I think I'll take it right back to the thrift store it came from. But if I'm being totally honest, the book isn't what I thought it would be. You see, I noticed it at several different Goodwill stores a few months back. I thought the cover looked cool with an outdoorsy type gal. I liked the title and I figured that if so many people had read and donated the book, it MUST be a good read. Plus it's a New York Times bestseller! Right? Right? Yes. Well. The cover and title shouldn't be the only reason you buy a book. My bad. And the other thing is that it's got a ton of dialogue, lots of little "snippets" of days here and there. To me it seems a bit stilted.

84, Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff

Ok, this is a freakishly easy and mostly fun read. I SHOULD be done with it. There's no reason I shouldn't. Oh wait. I read the ending, which depressed me, and so I haven't been able to knock it off. Yes. I'm one of THOSE people. But. . . . I've really enjoyed what I've read so far. It reminds me of my friend Amy over at Kinderdork. And it makes me thank God that I had the opportunity to meet her this summer. Thank you Macy's!

Master Your Metabolism by Jillian Michaels

Yes I am. And here's the thing. It's a GOOD book about nutrition and how our bodies work. It sums up so freaking much of what I've read in Runners' World, Fitness, Shape, Natural Health, Weight Watchers, Womens' Health, but it's all in one nice little package! And it's a fantastic reminder that what I put into my body MATTERS. And since I want to wear my skinny pants and boobalicious shirts, I may just reread this baby.

So that's what I'm reading. What about you? Read anything good lately?

We're Being Overrun

2011-10-11T11:03:00.002-05:00

Most days I enjoy the menagerie in our house: two adults, three children, four cats and four dogs. But for the past few days, which happen to coincide with the onset of PMS, I'm not feeling the love.

Our oldest daughter, who's responsible for pet feedings, hasn't been keeping the lids on our pet food containers. So the colony of mice has grown over the summer months. That meant that Nathan and I spent the weekend cleaning the garage of mouse droppings. Is there anything more vile? Ick! We're now rotating cats in and out of the garage for mouse control.

Our middle daughter, who's responsible for kitty litter detail after peeing in the litter box so long ago, decided to put 6-8 inches of litter in each box so she wouldn't have to clean them as often, using $50 worth of litter in just a few days. As a result, the boxes have begun to smell because she breaks the pee clumps apart and leaves chuncks behind. And our male cat with a sensitive nose let us know that he's dissatisfied with the new box situation by peeing all over the couch and new feather pillow I bought. So Nathan and I spent Friday night cleaning sofa cushions.

Our youngest daughter is still struggling with finding a routine, so she's also peed on the couch recently, in her bed, in the tub and shower. This is a one year old couch btw, so it should, in theory, be clean. It burns my butt to think we've become some of **THOSE** kinds of people.

Add in that we've got a damp basement that breeds jumping bugs, Frontline has NOT been keeping the fleas at bay, our cats seem to be on a vomit mission, the dogs have had the runs (once in the house) and I SWEAR I heard a squirrel in the attic. . . . . . .

To top things off, I found a freaking TOAD on top of the laundry pile! I am so not into putting poison out into the environment. It's bad karma for one. But I also hate how living things die when they're subjected to poison, slowly and painfully. But damn. I am seriously ready to drop about 20 insect bombs throughout our attic, house, and basement and leave for the weekend with kids and drop the animals off at the shelter. Whatever survives. . . . . should be bombed again.

I.Am.Over.Critters.In.My.HOUSE! Ok, so I would never actually get rid of any of my pets. That's not who we are. Pets aren't disposable. But I am over the chaos.

Freight Train

2011-10-10T19:47:00.006-05:00

Don't ask how it got started, but one of Frey's nicknames is Freight Train. Or Freyder. Anyway. While I took the big sissies roller skating Saturday, Nathan took Frey to the old state hospital grounds to feed the ducks. But he also managed some darn good pictures!

Breakfast Casserole

2011-10-10T19:36:00.002-05:00

New family fave: Sage Sausage Breakfast Casserole (this went into *the book*)

Pre Prep: Wheat bread of any kind, cubed or sliced in thick pieces and left to dry for a few days on a cookie sheet.

On day of cooking:

Step 1: Pan fry 1 package of organic, local sausage on the stove.
Step 2: While sausage cooks, dice 1 onion, 1 package of any kind of mushroom, and 1 bunch of fresh sage.
Step 3: Dump onion, mushroom, bread, salt, pepper, sausage and sage into a mixing bowl with 1 cup of cheese of your choice.
Step 4: Transfer to baking dish
Step 5: Beat 8-12 eggs, depending on size in a bowl. Pour over bread mixture and bake at 400 for 20 minutes.

Yum. Yum. And more YUM!

Budgets As Motivation

2011-10-06T12:34:00.002-05:00

Anybody that knows me well KNOWS that I love Disneyworld. It's the one place in the world that I can go, no matter what is going on in my life, and feel joyously happy, carefree and silly. Job insecurities, cancer, sick parents, problem kids. . . . I can temporarily suspend my worry when I'm in The World.

And my girls are growing up to love The World just as much as I. I'm sure it has *nothing* to do with the fact that it's the one place/time when mom lets them: eat desert twice a day, eat cookies and ice cream for snacks every day, order huge portions of yummy foods regardless of the "fried" status, stay up as late as they want (or can), clowns around, acts crazy and silly and screams for joy on the downhill run of Expedition Everest.

None of us can wait to get back to our happy place. So after our one day trip to King's Island for Sophia's birthday, a trip plagued with a serious case of financial diahrea, I decided that we all needed to get back to budgeting and goal setting. And I wanted to include the girls, to give them ownership of the changes we planned to make. But things like "turning off the lights to save money" and "letting pennies flush down the drain while you're brushing your teeth" are hard concepts, even for some adults.

Instead, I sat down and did my *real* budget and then did a mock budget for the girls to look at, minus the extra money that I'd built into the real budget for vacations, home improvement projects and retirement savings. After looking it over, we talked about the $$ we had budgeted for electric costs. Then we talked about ways to reduce those costs, like unplugging vampire electronics, turning off lights, going outside to read in the natural light instead of turning on lights to read inside and line drying our clothes. And we talked about how much we budget for gas and water, with ways to reduce both of those costs as well. All with the understanding that any saved $$ went into the Disney Fund.

All in all, it's been pretty darn sucessful. The girls are excited when our mailperson delivers mail and they can't wait to see the bills come in. (misguided, I know) But they want to see their progress on paper. They want to hear the words, "Hey girls, we reduced our water bill by HALF!" They are OWNING THIS change!

Sometimes I have to laugh though, when I try to turn something on, only to realize one of my Bigs has unplugged it to reduce vampiric losses! And I smile when I hear the creative ways my girls plan on reducing our water bill in half again. They're talking rain barrels, reusing greywater, and limiting flushes/showers! Pretty freaking awesome for a 13 yo and a 9 yo!

But I realized today that we may need shift our focus a bit, to step up our charitable spending, to emphasize the need for helping others. Sophia came home today, with a permission slip for a concert the youth group will be attending, and mentioned that they have scholarships for low income families.

We had a good conversation about the difference between being frugal and being greedy, the need to save money for our goals, but also give money away to help the causes close to our hearts. We've still got a ways to go, but we've got a good foundation.

October 1? Really?

2011-10-01T18:46:00.003-05:00

It's hard to believe that I've been home almost two months now. Things are still going amazingly well, but . . . . I'm constantly surprised by the difference one four year old can make. Like getting up in the morning. Somehow, morning time has doubled. I now need two hours to get everyone up, ready, fed, bathed, and pottied. And the food! I like to budget. And I'm good at it. But how can an extra mouth make THAT big of a difference in the grocery bill? Well, actually, that might have something to do with the fact that my 4yo eats like my 13yo, but anyway. And laundry? Good grief! We added one tiny little human being, not 40! Where does it come from? Seriously. I want to know. And I'm surprised at how much more my time has been divided. I suppose I've been spoiled with two self sufficient olders, but I feel like I'm perpetually in motion and getting less and less done. Anywho. She's worth it of course. But thank GOD we didn't get that sibling group of 3 kids 5 and under that I'd been secretly dreaming about. Really. Thank GOD.

Adjustments and Such

2011-09-18T18:30:00.007-05:00

You know, I've had so much to post lately, but. . .Clearly I shouldn't hit "enter".

So I'll try to share some random stuff about our adjustment to a family of five. The process of this adoption was by far the hardest of the three. Because of my Dad's poor health, I wanted, my heart wanted at least two children this time and I tried to force things. Nathan's cancer came back right after our referral, making us question whether or not we should proceed. Things seemed more uncertain, and I'm sure I had some depression going on. The travel away from my family, while fun at first, proved much, much harder than I anticipated. But for all the pain, heartache and drama DURING the adoption process, the post adoption stuff has gone incredibly well.

We knew that Sophia's adjustment didn't go well. With hours of rages every single day for the first several months, we constantly questioned our decision. What had we done? Would it ever end? Would things ever be normal for us again? Now, five years home, I feel blessed to parent Sophia, blessed to have her in our lives. But, deep down, I've feared that hellish transition with both of our other adoptions.

And it's funny, because we *thought* Mary's transition was smooth and easy. But looking back, we can see the signs of Mary trying to establish her place in the family by knocking Sophia out of hers. As a result, Sophia's behavior grew worse and worse. So while Mary didn't act out, we still had several very unpleasant months after she came home.

But with Frey. . . . . Wow. THIS, THIS is a smooth transition. Frey is a happy, smiley child. She's easygoing. AND she's the baby. Instead of being the oldest of 30 kids, responsible for not only herself, but helping with the younger ones, she's got four big(er) people doting on her, loving her, taking care of her, playing with her. It's a good life.

We've had a few tears here and there, mostly when she's tired, when she hasn't had her nap. But she sleeps well and goes down for naps and bedtime without a fuss. She's almost always fast asleep. She eats well, devouring Mexican, Indian, Chinese. . . pretty much anything we give her.

Her sisters have tried to get her to dance, but considering that neither of my girls are particularly good at dancing, their lessons don't translate well to a four year old with mild CP. She's lost another tooth, but we're pretty sure she swallowed that one as well. And she loves the cats, even cranky Aloha, picking them up and petting them every chance she gets.

She's been to her first movie. Pirates of the Caribbean. I never thought I would be one of "those"mom's that takes a young child to an incredibly inappropriate movie just because *I* wanted to see it. But she smiled the whole way through.

She's been to her first amusement park and I think we've got another thrill seeker on our hands. She got her first taste of ice cream at King's Island, where I gave her a spoonful of DippinDots. No sooner had I taken a bite, I felt a tugging on my pants and looked down to see Frey with her mouth wide open, baby bird style, waiting for another bite.

And the bonding . . . SO much easier with a younger child. I hate to say that. But for us it's true. Being able to toss her in the air, carry her around on my hip, lift her into the car. . . . all that physical touching, all that care taking, makes it so much easier to bond. For us as well as for her.

Frey got her very own Barbie Doll and now LOVES playing Barbie. She loves Little People and looking through picture books. She loves being tossed onto the sofa or bed. Life is good right now. I'm enjoying myself. And I think Nathan is enjoying himself. The girls absolutely adore their sister and I think the feeling is mutual.

My Three Daughters

2011-09-11T21:10:00.000-05:00

Thanks and a Trip HOME

2011-09-11T21:06:00.002-05:00

First of all, I’d like to say thanks for joining me on my Ugandan adventure to daughter number three. Each “ like”, each comment, each private message brought me a little bit closer to home, made me feel more connected to my life and loved ones back home, gave me a sense of normalcy that I desperately needed and helped pass some of the hardest days while I was away. I appreciated every last one of them. Truly. Thanks for sharing this journey with me.

Overall, it was a fabulous trip. Yes, there were some yucky days, but definitely more good than bad. That’s all we can really ask for, isn’t it? The good and bad mix together to weave the story of our lives coming together. I’m glad I went. And I’m glad I stayed for the whole time. I learned so much, about Uganda, about Frey, but especially about myself.

For better or worse, I love to travel, but only for short periods of time! I’m stronger than I thought but I also have the capacity to act like an overgrown baby. I can be a single parent, but I much prefer to share this ride with my husband and best friend. And I could seriously, SERIOUSLY, get used to having enough money for a personal chef at my beck and call!

I know some of my friends and family have worried that the FB/blog silence means we’re having a difficult adjustment. But the reality is . . . I’m too busy enjoying my three girls, enjoying being the mom to a four year old and enjoying being a family of five to be tied to a computer!

So for those that want to hear about homecoming:
The plane ride. . .Horrific. Dear God. HORRIFIC. Our flight left at midnight and unfortunately, as much as I hoped otherwise, I managed to wake up at 5am the morning of departure. So by the time Patrick picked me up for the airport (at 4), I already felt exhausted.

We stopped to pick up a book at the bookstore, which turned out to be closed. And we stopped at the grocery for soda and chocolate. And can I just say how very thankful I am that I only discovered rum and raisin Cadbury on my LAST day? Oh my. OH MY!
I couldn’t check in at the airport for three hours, so Frey and I sat in the “food court” for our dinner and I rejoiced when I scooted the veggies off my plate for the last time! Unfortunately, food at Entebbe airport leaves something to be desired and I found myself looking forward to the airplane food!

The folks at the airport? They’re mean. Seriously power tripping fools. The copy of our adoption order wasn’t sufficient so someone took my passport away from me and I had to run across the airport looking for a copy machine to make copies of ALL of the adoption papers, not just the order. Dragging a freakishly tired four year old, three HEAVY bags and myself through the airport is something I don’t care to do again. But once I finally got our papers copied to the Gustapo’s satisfaction, I bought three SEALED bottles of water AFTER the security checkpoint so I SHOULD have been able to take them on the plane. Sadly, the power hungry airport guy made me drink or throw away the water that I just bought. Tired, thirsty and pissed off, I whipped out some ugly American and stood in line drinking my three bottles of water.

Frey managed to sleep about five hours on the first flight, but I wasn’t able to sleep a wink, so I arrived in Amsterdam even more exhausted with slightly over an hour to make our connection. Except they changed the flight time to an EARLIER time! More dragging tied child/heavy bags at warp speed. And to top things off, I was pulled aside by the flight check in people and my passport scanned. After Nathan’s INTERPOL incident, it seems I was tagged as having travelled with a possible international suspect of something or other!

Flight #2 went about as well as flight #1. Frey stayed entertained with in flight movies and I STILL couldn’t catch a wink. We arrived in Detroit on time, but we were in the very last row of the airplane, so the very last to disembark. I made time and passed quite a few people on the walk to immigration, but unfortunately, the woman directing traffic directed me to the wrong line. Ten minutes AFTER every other person got through immigration, Frey and I still stood trying to get our stuff together. Thankfully, we had some awesome, wonderful, amazing immigration folks that did their best to get us through as quickly as possible.

And the only nice thing about every other person from our flight having left the area? Our bags were the only ones left and the security people kindly pulled them off the carosel for us! With Frey and three HEAVY carry on bags, I ran, yes I did, over to the baggage where a porter greeted me and offered to help, for a tip of course. But with 45 minutes to check my bags, go through security and race to the other side of the airport, I gladly accepted. He fast tracked us through security, checked my bags for me, and had my printed tickets before I managed to dig his tip out of my wallet! WELL worth the $$ people! Well worth the money!

Frey and I ran as fast as her little legs would carry her, without shoes mind you, since I didn’t have time to put them back on after the security, and the trip finally caught up to her. The tears came. Big time. We made it to our flight just in time to board. We had the first row, so we should have boarded last, but peeps, I had a tired, cranky child, so I jumped in there and asked to be seated first just so I could sit down!

Our last leg took less than an hour. We made it off the plane first and headed down the long aisle to baggage claim, where friends and family can wait for loved ones. About two hundred yards to the exit, I spied Mary and Sophia peeking around exit. And I heard them shout, “I SEE THEM! I SEE THEM!” And then I saw Nathan and my mom. After five weeks away, I don’t think I need to describe that moment. Freaking AMAZING. Hugging my girls, my hubby, my mom, watching everyone try to engage a suddenly shy and reserved Frey. . . .

And I’d love to describe what happened next, but honestly, no joke, I cannot remember much between seeing my family and arriving at Cheeseburger in Paradise an hour later. I vaguely remember my mom going all sorts of gaga over Frey. I vaguely remember talking occasionally. And that’s it. I had my usual at Cheeseburger, dozed off for some of the way home, greeted four excited dogs and then died.

August 3, 2011: Queen Liz and the Drive From Hell

2011-08-07T03:28:00.001-05:00

Morning started at 5am when I got a text message from Patrick saying that he would pick me up at 6:20 for our guided safari. I laid for a bit longer, tired from another poor nights sleep, but finally gave up at 5:15. While Frey slept, I cracked my door open just a tiny little slit, peeked out to make sure no wild animals rested outside my door, and then darted to the shower just in case I‘d missed any in the bush. The shower turned out to be cold even with the “heater” turned on, and as I stood naked and shivering, swatting at mosquitoes, I realized that I’d forgotten to bring the towel. I grabbed my nightshirt and made do, hoping that my wet shirt wouldn‘t mildew in the car once the day heated up. But for the first time since I’ve been in Uganda, I had the ability to dry my hair quickly! Nothing fancy mind you, just a wall mounted, oscillating fan, that created enough of a breeze to dry my hair.

I got Frey up and ready for the day, but with a few minutes to spare I went back outside to stare at the blackest night I’ve ever seen. Nathan has often talked about the stars in Mali, how he‘d never seen so many stars before or since, but it just doesn’t sink in until you’re here. With no factories, no streetlamps, no Wal-Mart’s or McDonalds, no houses with power or shopping malls, nothing obstructed my view of the heavens.

As I stood, face turned to the dark sky, I listened to the symphony of birds, whistling, hooting, cooing, as the savannah began waking up. Queen Elizabeth boasts over 612 species of birds, so the noise, the variety of sounds, blares over the land, loud yet somehow peaceful. And I watched as a single bat flew back and forth, making breakfast of the dozens of mosquitoes blocking my doorway. I finally closed my door, blocking the light, afraid the bat would fly into the room with Frey.

Our pickup time of 6:20 came and went, but I’d yet to see Patrick. So I finally ventured out into the courtyard area, mindful of any animals waking up, fearful of another warthog encounter, and noticed Patrick’s car along the road. He’d been there throughout the morning, even before my mad dash to the shower, but neither of us could see the other 20 feet away, so dark was the Ugandan night. After loading the car with luggage, we stopped at the visitor’s center to pick up our guide, Robert.

Almost as soon as we started on our way, Patrick slammed on the brakes and swerved sharply to the right. We slid to a halt just a few feet away from a hippopotamus and then we watched the it charged through the brush, still startled by his close call on the road. And not more than five minutes after that, we swerved yet again, this time to miss a female warthog tearing down the road as fast as her legs would carry her. She paralleled the car for about 10 feet, before finally zipping in front of us and into the bush on the left. As the sky turned light, we watched families of elephants using their trunks tear down branches only 15 feet from our car, wondering at the power of an animal that can uproot an entire acacia tree and making sure to keep a respectful distance. We watched blue headed guinea fowl dart across the road, looking about as graceful as a drunken sailor.

While the sky turned from gray to a pale yellow to pale blue, we watched buffalos grazing, water buck unwaveringly guarding their territory from other males, male kobs locking horns in a fight for dominance, always keeping our eyes open for the elusive lion. We stopped at another crater lake, with basins for collecting salt, but too early to see the salt miners working their trade. We all needed to stretch our legs before our long drive back to the main park area.

As we drove, we passed too many animals to count, kobs, buffalo, water buck, birds. Patrick had to stop the car once to remove an enormous acacia limb from our path, having been knocked down by elephants sometime through the night. But almost to the main road, Robert received a call from another guide tracking a lion near the place we’d just been!

Patrick rose to the occasion. We sped down the dirt road at an obscene pace, fishtailing in the dust, occasionally slamming on the brakes for guinea fowl or heron, while Frey’s little body bounced from one side of the car to the other and I hung onto the handle over my window for dear life. In ten minutes time, we’d traveled the distance it had previously taken an hour to see! Unfortunately, the lion or lions had moved on and the other guide called Robert to say that he had failed just as we pulled into the crater lake for the second time. Accepting defeat, we started the hour long journey back to the information center for the second time.

Because of active salt mining in the area and the popularity of the park, the dirt road to the park gets quite a bit of traffic, from heavily loaded trucks and full African tourist busses to Range Rovers, vans and cars, most of which always seem to be in a hurry. Close to the park entrance, I spied a African tourist bus, full of East Africans and luggage, flying down the middle of the road, headed straight for us, with the saying “God Had Mercy” written on the windshield. And I couldn‘t help wondering if that would be the last thing I‘d see, right before the bus swerved back to the right side, narrowly missing our little Toyota.

We finally dropped Robert off and planned out the rest of our day. Since most animal activity occurs in the early morning or evening, we knew we wouldn’t see much more in Queen Elizabeth, so we opted to try out luck at Ishasha Plains, home of the tree climbing lions that siesta for the afternoon, perched high in the trees.

Our departure stalled while we waited for herds of elephants to cross the road, perhaps 15 feet in front of us. Elephant after elephant, large and small, young and old, appeared one right after the other. Surrounded on all sides by elephants, there’s nothing to do but sit and watch as they tear branches and flap their ears, warning us away from their young. Finally, after seeing a break in the stream of elephants, we sped down the road, only to be stalled again, by another herd of elephants.

After what seemed like forever, we finally found the blacktop of the main road, and began the trek to Ishasha Plains. But having skipped breakfast, I asked Patrick to stop for bananas along the road at one of the roadside stands that seem to be everywhere you look. Unfortunately, the one time we wanted bananas, we only found the green ones, destined for matooke. But we finally scraped up some overripe matooke banana’s that tasted exactly like the stuff in American supermarkets!

An hour or so down the road, Patrick pulled off at a small roadside village with a “grocery” store. While he went in search of food and soda, I sat with Frey in the car. But being a mzungu woman, I soon attracted the attention of three men, who walked up to the window and proposed marriage. Three marriage proposals in five minutes. That’s a new personal record.

Sadly, almost to Mbarara, we realized that we’d overshot the road to Ishasha by an hour and we had to make a decision. Instead of Ishasha Plains, we would head back to Kampala and then on to Murchison Falls National Park. But at 12:30, we felt the four hour drive to Kampala plus three hours to Masindi could work well, leaving us a full two days at Murchison. In retrospect, I think Patrick and I both experienced temporary insanity in that moment.

The drive from Mbarara to Kampala took six hours, not four, complete with more Frey vomit ON THE EXACT SAME STRETCH OF ROAD. Because she’d had so many bananas and so much water, the vomit had a particularly soupy consistency, not suitable to be cleaned up with African grade toilet paper. I scooped the big chunks off of her, but she sat marinating in her own vomit for the remainder of the trip since I had no means of cleaning her up. But I think I’ve said it before. Your standards go down dramatically in a developing country, so I didn’t blink when I used my unwashed hands to nibble on a cracker later in the day.

The road construction never seemed to end and we watched countless busses and taxis skid, fishtail and teeter on the verge of toppling over because drivers would not slow down for turns or lane shifts. Traffic through Kampala took another hour and so by the time we started on the road to Masindi, Frey and I sat exhausted, the sky grew dark, but Patrick wanted to push on.

But if I thought driving on Ugandan roads during the daytime seemed scary, it’s nothing, NOTHING compared to driving on the roads at night. Pitch dark, save for bright lights of oncoming traffic maintaining their position in the middle of the road until the very last moment when they shifted back into their proper lane. People along the roadside, dark skin dressed in dark clothing, that we needed to swerve to miss. No streetlamps. No gas stations. It scared the hell out of me. And I wondered, more than a few times, whether I’d live to see the next day. Nighttime driving in Africa ranks high on my list of “Never want to do again. EVER.”

Almost tired to the point of tears, Patrick finally pulled into a complex that he’d heard about ,so that we could rest for the night. A woman showed us a room with three beds and we had to explain that we weren’t married; we wanted separate rooms. So she took us down the path to a banda, or large round “hut” with a thatched roof. I couldn’t believe the size of the banda when she opened the door. A large living room area with wicker chairs, sofa and tables, plus two bedrooms, each with a self contained bath. She explained that the toilets didn’t work well and they power didn’t work either, but for 100,000 shillings, or about $40, we took the rooms. But then, as tired as we were, I would have dropped quite a bit more for quite a bit less.

I settled Frey in a makeshift crib using the two wicker chairs, and took my phone/flashlight to get ready for bed. As I pulled the sheets down, I noticed something cruddy and thought to myself, “Huh. Looks like bird poop. I bet they roost in the rafters.” And then I brushed it off and crawled under the sheet, thankful to have a place to sleep. Like I said. Standards go down significantly when you’re traveling in a developing country.

2011-08-06T09:12:00.001-05:00

Last night proved rough. The quiet, out of the way hotel that I checked into during the middle of the day transformed into a happening place at night, complete with red light flashing outside my window, music blaring from the bar and doors slamming one right after the other. And since the door didn’t appear secure, at least to my satisfaction, I hesitated to put earplugs in. Just in case. The noise combined with the lumpiest bed I’ve ever slept in and the lumpiest pillow I’ve ever had the misfortune of laying my head on created the perfect poor-sleeping storm. While I’d hoped, during one of the many times I woke up tossing and turning, that I could at least sleep in, my morning started promptly at 6am with an argument below my window between a bus driver and a taxi driver. Ah. . . Up and at em!

Thankfully Frey, who often tosses and turns through the night, somehow managed to get a great nights sleep despite the fracas and woke up happy. Happy child makes happy mommy, so we headed downstairs for our breakfast of fruit, toast and eggs, which came with our $34 room. That price sure made the night a little more tolerable and I feel CERTAIN that the host at check in just misunderstood me when I asked if each room had hot water.

As we drove out of Fort Portal, I couldn’t help stare at the woman, dressed in a dress with more detail, more sparkle than many wedding dresses in the sates, ride side saddle on the boda boda and wonder what kind of function she headed to on a Tuesday morning. Old women, with bright dresses grazing the ground and head scarves to match, walked along the road. We passed a market with dozens of bicycles loaded down with large, green bananas destined to become matooke and a pickup truck outfitted with a mill for processing millet and corn on sight. As we passed a man beating a bag with a large stick, apparently the Ugandan form of shucking corn. Along the road, men from the army marched along, carrying rifles, protecting the border areas from the Congo rebels. And I watched as the Rwenzori Mountains and the steep hills surrounding the city receded, revealing grassy plains of the Rift Valley, and I felt the cool breeze of the mountains give way to the hot sun of the savannah.

We stopped along the road to take pictures of another equator crossing, of kobs and water bucks along the road, of the grassy savannah, and then we drove to the Queen Elizabeth Visitors Center, nestled on top of a hill overlooking one of the lakes. Lake Albert, I think. But as soon as we stepped out of the car, a staff member waved us over to where she stood. We hustled over and watched as a herd of ten elephants crossed the road that we had just driven on five minutes earlier.

This same woman took us into the welcome center, described to us where we stood, showed us where we needed to go, and suggested we take a boat cruise later in the afternoon, because, as she explained, most of the animals headed to the water on such hot days. We paid our $35 entrance fee, reserved a spot on the next cruise and began driving for the actual park area.
We passed a crater lake formed at the same time the Rift Valley formed, squinted to see the buffalo in the distance that came for the salt in that crater, and discovered more kob and water buck grazing in the grasses. As we drove, I began to notice that on one side of the road the grasses waved their white tufts of seed, in the distance appearing as a field of white, giving the impression of barren desert instead of grassy savannah. The other side of the road, green grass rustled in the breeze, and Patrick explained that one side had been burned but had re-grown and gone to seed.

After showing our receipt to the gatekeeper, we exited the car at yet another welcome center, and passed American, German and British tourists lying on benches on the covered pavilion leading inside. Although we had already booked our cruise, the receptionist informed us that we couldn’t pay until 2, leaving us an hour and a half to kill. Instead of the gated, grand lodge on property, Patrick took me to the affordable hostel on park grounds. Thinking me prissy, Patrick suggested that I look at one of the rooms before paying and while I wholeheartedly admit the hostel is sparse, I can’t pass up an opportunity to fall asleep listening to the sounds of the African wilderness. I paid $33 for my room, which includes breakfast in the morning at the open air eatery just a few steps away and then we all settled in for lunch at that very eatery.

When we arrived at the launch site, several people had already taken seats in a boat that holds up to 40 people, but I couldn’t find anyone that seemed official enough to take our paperwork. But we boarded anyway and donned our lifejackets, with another 30 minutes before our estimated time of departure. As that time approached, more and more tourists, mostly American, European and German, boarded the boat. Unfortunately, a few American women boarded as well, in attire completely inappropriate for the country. One wore a shirt so short I wonder that she could sit down, while another wore shorts that showed her butt cheeks when she bent over. And poor, poor Patrick. They sat across from him and he spent a better part of that wait doing everything he could to avoid looking at their immodest dress. I fail to understand why some feel the need disrespect the culture they come to get a taste of. Anyway.

As we sat waiting for our tour guide, I looked across the lake and could make out an elephant on the opposite hill, just standing and flapping his ears. But as I looked more closely, I spotted several more elephants on their way to the shore. And nothing could beat watching three dozen elephants, young and old, file down to the waters edge, en mass.

Finally we prepared to leave, but another boat left right before us, while we sat listening , impatiently, to our guide explain that we needed to have our cameras around our necks in case of a hippo surprise and that we needed to balance the boat at all times, because even though our life jackets were waterproof, they weren’t hippo proof. And then we left the dock.

Unfortunately, as we pulled up next to the mass of elephants drinking and splashing themselves at the waters edge, someone or something on the first boat spooked the herd. Nothing. No words can describe the experience of watching 40 elephants, of various sizes and ages, trumpet warnings to one another, stampeding to the safety of higher ground. Oh, the sounds of their feet, their heavy bodies, bounding through the brush and up the hill! To see the dust rise around them, to smell the scent of hot animal! To see these massive, wonderfully beautiful animals tearing through their natural habitat as God and nature intended them to! Magnificent. Absolutely magnificent.

Two of the herd remained by the lakefront, caked in dried mud, and we watched them mill around next to buffalo and hippopotamus’, splashing themselves, drinking water, flapping their giant ears, until finally they wandered off to join the rest of the herd.

And whereas during our first safari we tired of seeing hippos at every turn, this time we grew weary of the buffalo herds, laying in the water, soaking the ticks covering their bodies until they died, laying in herds along the banks, sharing space with the hippos. They watched us as peacefully as we watched them, herd after herd. Although sometimes, we passed groups of two to ten males, the ones that had been expelled from the herd by a more dominant male.

We passed birds of all varieties: kingfishers, eagles, heron, pelicans and storks. We watched them in trees, along the shore, in the grasses, sitting on top of hippos and even picking a crocodiles teeth. Crocodiles basked in the sun with their mouths open wide, while others swam near our boat, and more still dipped their heads under water as the boat approached. Hippos laid in the shallow waters, occasionally yawning so that we could see their entire mouth. And as our guide warned, we experienced a hippo surprise, as one popped his head up a foot from the boat. With his body underneath the boat, making a thud as we passed by. He took off for safer waters, and I’m still surprised at how quickly those massive beasts can move!

Oh, but my favorite hippo moment! Someone spotted a lone hippo that had just exited the water. He walked through the brush and up the hill, but suddenly JUMPED away from a bush and began running up the hill, clearly startled by a bird taking flight! Such a massive animal, scared by a little bird!

The boat cruised by a fishing village that had been established long before the national park, and we snapped our cameras while a men prepared their dugout canoes for the day. And as I snapped a picture of the man taking a bath in the lake, I wanted to shout to him, “DUDE! THERE ARE CROCS AND HIPPOS IN YOUR BATHTUB! What are you THINKING!” I’ll stick with my porcelain tub, thanks very much!

After an hour and a half, our captain turned the boat around and we headed for our dock. All in all, I felt like I’d had a wonderful day, a wonderful cruise. But no sooner had we started on our way, than our guide shouted out, “STOP THE BOAT!” He’d spotted a leopard sleeping in an acacia tree not far from the bank! The captain turned the boat around once again, and scooted us closer to shore so that we could see the cat sleeping on a branch! Oh my goodness! Of all the things that I’d wanted to see, expected to see, hoped to see. . . . A LEOPARD! Needless to say, we all disembarked happy with the cruise, flipping through the pictures tying to relive the excitement.

Patrick dropped us off at our room and Frey and I sat at the bar eating our dinner of pineapple and water, until finally, Frey’s eyes began to droop. We sat in our room for a few minutes, me typing, Frey dozing off, until I finally decided to put Frey to bed at 6:30 pm. As we stepped outside our door for that last pee before bedtime, I got quite a start! Two feet from my door, a warthog crawled along the ground, nibbling grass! And all I could think was SHIT. I snatched Frey off the ground and ran, I mean RAN into the bathroom and slammed the door! I don’t think Mr. Warthog planned on charging, but I swear he looked at me funny! Frey finished up quickly and I peeked out the door, trying to decide if we’d make a break for our room, but I didn’t see the warthog anywhere. Maybe I scared him as much as he scared me. No. I think not.

Now with Frey down, I sit here typing away in my stuffy room, listening to the sounds of insects and birds, occasionally walking outside to stare at the stars and the crescent moon.

August 1, 2011 Fort Portal

2011-08-06T09:09:00.002-05:00

Even after a horrid nights sleep, which included Frey shrieking once in the middle of the night, after which she went soundly back to sleep while I stayed awake, I woke up feeling fresh and new. Because today is my last Monday, God willing, in Uganda. Today marks the last week, a trip to Fort Portal, a safari which hopefully will include some elephants, a week away from seeing friends and family back home. Yes, today I woke up feeling damn fine about this coming week. One week, 7 days, seems infinitely more doable than 8 days or 9 days. This morning I finally found the light at the end of this Ugandan tunnel.

Unfortunately the morning got off to a rocky start when the hot water went out in our room, during the middle of my shower, no less. Nothing like freezing water to wake a girl up! But that wasn’t really the rocky part. Try getting a four year old under a cold stream of water. Not easy to do, but then I‘m not a fan of smelling urine through the day, so a shower she got. She screamed bloody murder and tried to kick the me, but I’m bigger, so I won that battle. Yep, I won. Although I practically had to climb in the shower with her, which meant we both came out soaking wet. But hey, at least she smelled fresh in the car!

Patrick arrived a few minutes late and since I needed to go to Crane bank to use the ATM, I knew we wouldn’t be getting the early start we’d hoped for. But I planned for this trip to be leisurely and relaxed, which means no stressing about a time frame! We drove to the Crane bank near the guest house because Patrick felt strongly about avoiding downtown traffic, but I wouldn’t have minded buying the follow-up to my trashy novel I finished yesterday!

I had not been to this ATM before, and didn‘t know what to make of the three police officers with very big guns outside the branch, but after realizing they were there to make sure only one person entered the ATM room at a time, I didn‘t mind their presence nearly as much. Unfortunately each time I tried to use my debit card, it came back as rejected and believe me when I say that you do NOT know panic until you’re stuck in an African country getting set for a big trip/expenditure with no money and a debit card that’s not working. ACK! Thankfully another branch seemed to be working, so with crisis diverted, we started on the road for Fort Portal, Uganda.

As we drove out of town, we passed some new sights, or rather new smells. We maneuvered around one roundabout and all of a sudden, the stench in the car literally made me gag. I’d seen some storks, known to linger at trash sites, but this wasn’t your ordinary trash smell. Not only were heaps of trash floating in the swampy water, but Patrick explained that the spot hosts multiple fish vendors selling tilapia from Lake Victoria. As they gut the fish, they toss the unwanted parts into a giant heap, creating a massive mound of rotting fish parts, a paradise for the storks, but too foul for my sensitive nose. Rotting fish and rotting trash. I can go the rest of my lifetime without smelling that particular combination again.

Not far out of Kampala, we came to a police checkpoint. We’ve passed through a few of these before, so I fully anticipated that officer with the very big gun would waive us by. Instead, he motioned for us to stop, leaned into the car to look around, and then asked our destination. Uh. . . . Fort Portal. And then the officer asked if we could take his “sister” to a district outside of Fort Portal, as a favor to him. Hmmm, a police officer with a very big, very long gun at his side wants us to grant him the favor of taking his “sister” with us? Why SURE we’d be HAPPY to give her a lift! Our new passenger climbed in, but spoke not a word during her remaining three hours with us, except to point Patrick to the place she wanted to be dropped. But then, I felt content to sit in the backseat with Frey and watch Uganda fly by, so I didn’t mind her presence or her lack of conversation.

The further we got from Kampala, the fewer people, the fewer villages we came to, much different from our trip to Mbrara, with constant bicycle and foot traffic along the road. It started to rain, the temperature dropped significantly, and yet a few kilometers down the road, the sun shone without a cloud in the sky, raising the temperature again. And then a few kilometers more and I watched as drenched men and women walked along in the pounding rain, not seeming to hurry in the least.

Corn fields with brown stalks, tea plantations with bare chested men tossing leaves into the baskets strapped to their backs, wattle and daub huts and naked babies flew by my window at 120 kilometers per hour until we finally saw enormous hills with smooth rock peeping from their tops, marking our approach to Fort Portal. The vegetation became more lush, more dense, the further we drove, and I wondered when Patrick suddenly pulled to a stop beside the road. But OH! When I looked ahead, BABOONS EVERYWHERE! Baboons in the road! Baboons on the side of the road! Baboons with babies on their backs! Baboons in the trees! We’d arrived on the outskirts of Kibale National Park!

I watched, amazed, as tourists tossed out bananas and other goodies, and I couldn’t resist the temptation of tossing a few goodies of my own. Sadly, my offerings weren’t nearly as healthy as some of the others along the road, but it seems that baboons like sour cream and onion Pringles as much as humans do. I slipped my hand out the car window and waited while a big male approached, eager to see what I had. When he got close enough to touch me, he reached his hand out for the chip and I could easily have hand fed him, but I chickened out at the last moment, afraid that he might try to climb in the window, so I tossed my offering at his feet. The five second rule works for baboons too, because he scooped up my chip and crammed it into his mouth, then looked at me, waiting for more. We drove a little further up the road, made a few more offerings, snapped a few more pictures and drove on. While I would have been perfectly happy to sit and watch those beautiful animals all afternoon, I had other things I needed to do.

The closer to Fort Portal, the more humanity along the road. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I watched a frail old man, withered and small, hobbling along the road, supported by a cane, with 100 pounds of potatoes balanced on his head. And I absolutely couldn’t believe my eyes when I spotted a naked man shaking off the water from his recent bath in the stream next to the road, with all his parts a shakin too. I caught myself squinting to verify that I actually saw a naked man, but then I realized I was squinting and staring at a naked man, so I quickly diverted my gaze. I don’t know exactly what it says about me, but I much preferred watching baboons to a naked wet man!

We followed the progress of literally hundreds of schoolchildren, most running barefoot along the road, dust covering school uniforms that started the day clean, as they raced home for lunch. The determination of these children, these families, to get an education, never ceases to amaze me. That American children have such easy access to an education and so little appreciation of it makes me feel ashamed, truly ashamed of our culture, a culture that seems to pride itself on all of the meaningless things in life while valuing none of the significant things. Ah, but there is yet another soapbox. Back to Fort Portal.

Here, more mothers carry their babies on their backs. Here the boda bodas don’t fly through the streets or dart through traffic like in Kampala, and I might just hop on the back of one tomorrow morning, just to say that I have. The streets look cleaner, more organized., better maintained. Fort Portal has a different feel, more relaxed, more peaceful. I like it here. Thus far, it’s my favorite city in Uganda.

By the time we reached the city proper, the clock showed 2:00, well past our lunchtime. Frey, seat belted in for the first time, started to cry, frustrated with being locked down, hungry and just generally in a foul mood. So the first stop HAD to be lunch. Patrick stopped and asked for an Indian place, at my request because I just can’t stomach the bland, flavorless traditional stuff. We made our way to what, at the time, I thought was a little out of the way, hole in the wall place, attached to a hotel.

And after five hours of holding my pee, I broke down and asked for the bathroom, took Frey in hand, and darted down the hallway. Unfortunately another pit latrine awaited. Frey peed all over my feet while trying to potty in the pit and I hiked my pant legs up as high as I could to avoid them grazing the filthy floor. And even though I washed my hands after, I still didn’t feel clean as we sat down to eat. The food was amazingly good, simple chicken and chips for me, but with a delicious red hot/sweet chili sauce for the chips and a warm coca cola in the bottle.
Since the hotel seemed nice, I thought about checking in for the night, but decided it might be prudent to check out the rooms first, just in case. The man behind the counter took me up a steep flight of stairs and opened the door on what looked like a nice double room. Two single beds, each with a mosquito net, sat in the middle of the room, with a desk and television in the corner. It looked just as nice, if not nicer, than the place we stayed in Mbarara, and at $34 a night, I felt comfortable booking it for my stay. While I checked in, Patrick called the orphanage for directions and we started out to Manna Rescue House, intent on taking some pictures for another adoptive mom!

Over the past six years, I’ve been to orphanages in three countries, some good, some bad, some truly awful, but Manna House ranks as one of the best that I’ve seen. When we pulled in, the children were mostly inside the office area with staff, so no greetings of mzungu, no following the car, no shouts for candy. I stepped inside and asked for D, the little girl I wanted to meet and the house matron, Vicky, pointed her out to me. We stepped outside and took several pictures, but D clearly didn’t know what to make of this white woman taking so many pictures, so we walked back and I showed her pictures of her family on Facebook. What a blessing technology can be! Halfway around the world and I can pull up images to show a child her family. Too cool.

She helped me located a few other children that I needed pictures of, showed me her bed, but I still needed a photo of a young lady still at school. So Patrick and I decided that it would be best if we left, purchased some food items for the orphanage, and came back in another two hours.
After finally locating a market, Patrick took $20 and went about shopping. Poor Patrick. For a man that detests shopping, he’s sure had to do quite a bit of it during the past month! Which is one of the many reasons I love Patrick. He’s willing to drive, shop, carry bags, carry Frey. . . .Whatever I need. As far as drivers go, I couldn’t ask for somebody more competent, or more helpful. Anyway. While he shopped inside, I hopped online and tried, TRIED, to download google chat so that D could talk to her family half a world away. Even as Patrick loaded the car, I tried typing, downloading, entering codes, but with no success. Driving down the road, pecking away while hitting potholes and washboard road bumps! Not easy!

Back at Manna, D seemed more comfortable posing for pictures and all of the kids enjoyed making silly faces for the camera. Of course if you take a picture of a child in an orphanage, make sure your “review” is on, because each picture requires a display to all parties involved! And each time one of the kids looked at their own silly face, they dropped to the ground, giggling hysterically! So much fun!

After an hour or so, we took our leave and Patrick dropped me back at the hotel. Since we’d eaten a late lunch, we skipped dinner and Frey laid quietly on the bed for a half hour before bedtime.

Day 27: Mall Shopping

2011-08-05T13:03:00.000-05:00

Day 27: Shopping
Knowing that I needed to kill time for my own sanity, I scheduled a day at Oasis/Garden City mall, with the intention of going to the movie theater and then to the park, but it turns out that you either have to leave your camera at the door or you don’t pass through. And since I’m not about to leave my brand new camera with guys I don’t know, we didn’t watch a movie. But, I’m OK with that. I had reservations about taking Frey anyway. When you adopt older kids, especially ones from remote villages, those firsts that most parents take for granted become special. First trip to the movie theater, first trip to Toy’sR Us, first jalapeno pepper. . . . Good stuff. I want us all to share those moments together, so waiting until we’re a family of 5 makes sense, although I probably won’t feel that way when I pay for five tickets! But anyway.

We wandered around Garden City mall, stopping in most of the stores, hunting long sleeves for Frey, anticipating some cold nights near Fort Portal. But either I’m too cheap or the clothes here are too expensive, because I couldn’t find a thing to meet my needs and budget. And having run the circuit, we started walking the short distance to the Oasis mall area.

That walk, no more than a block, proved the hardest walk since I’ve been in Uganda. Women sat on the ground with their tiny babies, begging for food and money. An old man with no legs, dirty and gaunt, sat with his gnarled hand outstretched. A young man, developmentally disabled, rocked on the corner, mumbling to himself. And I walked by, with purse full of money, wishing for a purse full of food stuff, but not daring to stop lest I attract the wrong sort of attention. Because the malls are frequented by the more well to do, beggars line the roadway. Their numbers are overwhelming and sometimes the suffering here, the poverty, seems insurmountable.

We have poverty in the US, but most of those considered under the poverty level live like kings compared to the average family here. It’s hard to swallow. I wish more Americans understood the conditions most of the worlds population live in. Even when we struggle, our lives are so incredibly BLESSED. We have SO MUCH. Each of us have been blessed with an AMAZING ABUNDANCE. We just choose not to see it. We compare ourselves with those that have more, neglecting to acknowledge that we have more than most. But I digress.

We finally navigated through the mass humanity surrounding the mall and strolled into Oasis, shopped around for a book, had lunch and left for the park. It had steadily rained all morning long, but the ground had already dried in most places, only showing puddles and curling mud in a few spots here and there. But the park, shaded by tree cover, still showed evidence of the rain. Muddy children bounced on trampolines sewn together like patchwork quilts while mothers flopped their bare breasts out to nurse their babies. Little ones tried to navigate the rope bridge, screaming and crying for their mothers halfway through, while others tried climbing the slides with dirty feet.

And Frey just sat and watched. I’d encouraged her, walked with her through much of the equipment, but finally decided to let her direct her own play. So she watched. And she watched. I could tell that she wanted to join the other children so badly. Yet she was the outcast, no friends or siblings to play with, unsure about this new place. And she watched. Until finally she turned to see if I was watching her, gave me the biggest grin, and flew down the slide. Then she ran, as best she could, back to the stairs and did it again. Over and over, until Patrick finally arrived to take us home. What a joyful thing to watch!

She has experienced so little, been exposed to so little. . . . I can not wait to watch her blossom at home

Day 26: Fabric and a Visa!

2011-08-05T07:47:00.001-05:00

Patrick arrived at 11:15 for our final trip to the US Embassy, a little bit later than we’d planned, but still with enough time that we didn’t need to rush. Thinking that I’d have to wait, I took my time getting Frey out of the car, checking in at security and walking uphill to the office area, but within just a few minutes of sitting down, the man told me to go through door #2.

So I walked in with Frey, ready to pick up the all important VISA, but Frieda asked me what had happened to me on Wednesday? Why didn’t I show up? Panic. Oh my goodness! PANIC!!! I stammered out that I thought we’d done the interview on Monday, while thinking to myself“CRAP, what will this mean for my timeline?” Would I need to do the interview on the following Monday when I planned to go to Queen Elizabeth? Should I leave for Queen Elizabeth that afternoon? What, what, what?

Frieda, seeing my distress, quickly told me that I HAD done the interview on Monday, but that she’d rushed the visa for Wednesday so that I could leave earlier than planned. Then she sent me back out to the waiting room while she rustled up a US Visa! Oh. . . . I love Frieda. She busts her butt for adoptive parents and really goes the extra mile. And I hate that she put forth so much effort when I still had more than a week to go, but I‘m so glad she‘s there for other families. She makes the process so much easier!

When she finally came out with packet in hand, I couldn’t believe how short she was! I know, such a silly thing to notice, but she really looked taller behind the glass window. She talked with Frey, admired her fancy socks with faces on them, and then gave me the best hug ever. So cool. Unfortunately, in the excitement of getting Frey’s visa packet and meeting Frieda face to face, I forgot to use the wonderful western loo at the embassy, so as we drove to meet Patrick’s wife for fabric shopping, I wondered if I might pee my pants before the excursion ended.

Patrick explained that we would be parking several blocks away from his wife’s workplace due to the chaotic nature of the streets we needed to travel. That SHOULD have been my first clue, but I happily followed his lead, twisting and turning through streets and alleys, expecting a large open area filled with women and tables and fabric. But that open air fabric market turned out to be a grand figment of my imagination.

We cut through a parking lot where the police opened the gate for us, passed shop after shop along the street, walked into a building with a few dozen shops on the various floors, down a flight of stairs, and finally I saw Patrick’s wife sitting behind a counter in a tiny cramped space. Then the four of us set out again, this time through the back of that building, down another two streets, each so narrow I question whether a large SUV could pass, yet filled with small cars, people and boda bodas. And when I say filled, I mean should to shoulder human, car and motorbike traffic, complete with potholes, trash and the occasional goat. But finally Rebecca walked up a steep flight of stairs and I found myself in a tiny room, no bigger than my closet, filled with floor to ceiling fabric, three women and a toothless old man.

I told Rebecca the colors that I liked, while one of the women jumped onto the counter, yanking down fabric after fabric per Rebecca’s instructions. We all smoothed our hands over the fabric, flipped the fabric this way and that, opened it wide so that the pattern would better show. Rebecca declared those fabrics inferior, bargained hard, argued, haggled, scoffed, until finally the price came to 30,000 shillings, or $13USD for 6 meters. The women at the craft market charge 60,000 shillings, so that’s a considerable discount!

Another woman handed me a long stick of bamboo so I began pointing out more fabric, more colors I liked and the process began again. While Rebecca haggled over the new fabrics, slightly nicer she told me, the toothless old man called me over and spoke to me in Luganda, apparently telling me “well played” for a white woman. For two hours, we stood in that cramped room, selecting, bargaining, buying, while Frey stood patiently in the center of all that confusion. Patrick started out standing at the foot of the stairs, then stood by the stairs, then finally sat down, clearly bored out of his mind. Until finally I couldn’t take it anymore. My head started to swim with sensory overload, so I bought seven fabrics and almost bolted out the door, so eager for fresh air.

All in all, Rebecca saved me a total of 210,000 shillings in that two hour time frame and I couldn’t let her leave empty handed. I handed her a 20,000 bill, feeling like a heel for offering her so little after she watched me drop ten times that on souvenirs that she‘d worked so hard to buy for me. But she gaped at that 20,000 bill($8), shocked that I would give her so much and thanked me profusely. She thanked me for the Goodwill clothes too small for Frey that I’d passed on to Patrick for his daughter, telling me what a blessing I had been for their family. And I felt even worse. Because that $8. .. . That’s pocket money for me. It’s CHANGE. It’s nothing to me, yet it profoundly affects this family’s week, their month, their livelihood. And Patrick, awesome driver that he is, carried my bag for me while also juggling Frey as she played the “drop to the ground and let the grown up’s carry me” game, always going above and beyond, yet never asking for more.

Driving back to the guest house, I couldn’t contain my sighs. I did very little during that exchange, but still felt absolutely drained. Rebecca did all of the hard bargaining and all I did was point with a stick. But IT WAS exhausting, mentally at least.

Fatigue and sensory overload finally caught up at the guest house and I laid down with Frey for an afternoon siesta.

Day 25 Museum Day

2011-08-05T03:29:00.000-05:00

Since Linda, our in-country coordinator works at the Uganda National Museum, she started encouraging us to visit almost as soon as we landed in Uganda. And given that I’m a nerd, I happily scheduled our museum visit this week, hoping to pass the time, get out of the house and maybe even learn a thing or two. And although we’ve driven by multiple times, even pulling into the parking area to drop Linda off at work, I didn’t realize the true size of the complex until I walked through the doors. It’s impressive, and fairly well organized, by African standards.

As soon as we pulled up, a young man by the name of Edwin greeted us at the door. Linda had arranged for a guided tour, and Edwin was to be our guide. Personable, intelligent, well dressed and well spoken, he led us into the first section of the museum: Uganda during the stone age. We peeked into the mostly dark glass cases to see tiny model villages, ancient axes, knives, spears and other tools, while Edwin did his best to explain the self explanatory exhibits. When you work for tips, its important to appear useful.

Next we toured the section on recent history, including the British colonialism, and Ugandan kings, complete with maps depicting border changes and relics from each period. Edwin and Patrick enjoyed a discussion about England “gifting” itself with several Ugandan artifacts, specifically a large clay sculpture found on the banks of Lake Victoria, while I perused the next display. I inspected each item in the display carefully before finally bothering to read the descriptions below. Penis box. Testicle box. Umbilical cord box. Ummm, what? A box to put a penis in? Really? Testicle case? Although intensely curious, I JUST didn’t feel comfortable asking for an explanation from the two men in our group. When they finally made it over to the case and looked inside, neither volunteered any information, and they both hurried off to the next display! So I‘ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out the use for a penis box, trying to think of some mythology or custom that I‘ve read about that might provide an answer, but I REFUSE to Google THAT!

I thought the cultural section of the museum the most enjoyable. Lots of spears, headdress, barkcloth clothing, fish traps, bird traps. . . The things people used in their day to day lives. Actually, the things people still use in their day to day lives in certain area‘s of Uganda. Edwin shared a multitude of fascinating little tidbits, like the use of urine to soften cow hides! Who knew? We walked through the fossil/geology/biology section, with a variety of specimens, stuffed birds, reptiles, fossils and insects, including a giant cockroach that didn’t have a thing on our nightly visitors a few weeks back.

We toured the music section, and while I enjoyed seeing the displays, they paled in comparison to the real attraction. A woman, probably about my age (you know, around 25) played the massive wooden xylophone while we looked on, bobbing our heads to the rhythm she tapped out. Once she finished with her xylophone demonstration, she moved on to the giant drum, inviting Patrick and Edwin to join her music making, motioning each to another instrument. The sounds echoed through the hall while Frey and I swayed to their music, relaxed and content. Finally she played the “harp” for her last presentation, but to be honest, it sounded more like some hillbilly fiddling, more at home in the hills of Kentucky than the smack dab in the middle of Africa!

Worried that I might lose interest, Edwin asked if I‘d become tired, but not wanting to miss a thing, I insisted that we continue our tour, lugging Frey around on my hip because she‘d become cranky. We stepped outside to find several traditional huts, all made by the locals from each region represented, each furnished with items from that area. But when I say “furnished“, I think most of us would argue that a stool, some baskets and a mat do not a furnished house make. Some had jars for milk, horns tucked into the wood beams to count the number of cattle in the family’s herd, baskets for collecting the harvest, maybe a musical instrument or two; the practical things of day to day life but nothing more. And although I thought the huts much more spacious once I’d entered, each of them could easily have fit into my living room, without the thatched roof of course!

As we walked back to the main building, Edwin shared that the museum has lost funding, not because the citizens dislike the museum, not because of lack of attendance, but because the government would like to use the land for something else. After public outcry against the plan earlier in the year, the government has created a new policy of neglecting the museum into oblivion. Without funding, the display cases remain dark, items that could be repaired remain broken, no researchers to update the exhibits to make things fresh. So sad that the cultural history of this beautiful country isn’t valued by the current leaders, that corruption and money play such a role in what should be a source of national pride, education and tourist income.

Day 24: How's Frey?

2011-07-27T11:25:00.001-05:00

I’ve written pages and pages about the sights and sounds of Uganda, of our adventure, on my own mental status, my desire to be home. But I haven’t talked much about Frey. Obviously. Since everyone keeps asking, “How’s Frey doing?”Since we sat around all day today without doing much of anything, and because they lights are out so that I can’t read, I might as well answer the burning question about Frey.

Physically, Frey is doing well. She loves fruits: pineapple, banana, mango and papaya. She loves rice, although it’s white, which we NEVER eat at home. She drinks milk, loves meat and goes crazy over boiled potatoes. She waits each night for the knock on our door signaling dinner’s ready and then as soon as I open the door, she runs down the hallway as fast as she can without losing her balance and pulls out her chair. She drinks water, but she eyes my diet coke like it’s gold. Every once in awhile, I catch her opening my bottle and I scold her that cola is for grown ups.

I think that perhaps her CP has affected her speech, or maybe the words are so foreign she doesn’t know how to form the sounds. Either way, she doesn’t talk, unless I refuse to oblige her until she speaks the words I want her to. She’s learning eyes, nose, ears, mouth, mommy, daddy, Sophia and Mary. Sometimes when we’re out, people assume that she’s unhappy or that she’s slow because she doesn’t answer, and I do my best not to let those looks bother me.

She limps, obviously, since one leg is shorter than the other, but she still tries to run and jump like every other kid. She’s scared of falling, and becomes quite upset if she stumbles and loses her balance. And although she didn’t understand the concept of holding Mommy’s hand that first day, it has now become something she seeks out and uses to maintain her balance.

Mentally and emotionally she seems to be doing wonderfully. She laughs and giggles, trusts me to lay her down for a nap without tears or drama, feels comfortable when I’m out of the room for short periods of time. She’s exploring her new world, and again feels comfortable walking from room to room in the house. She’s getting more and more used to the dog and cat, although she still doesn’t like them to be near. I finally took her hand in mine and stoked the back of Casper (the cat). She just grinned, having never touched an animals soft fur before. That’s huge progress considering what’s in store for her when she gets home.

She’s also very thoughtful. She much prefers watching what others do to doing them herself, but as she becomes more and more comfortable, she tries more things out of her comfort zone. But she truly loves to giggle and laugh. She loves being tickles, taking rides down the stairs, being tossed in the air and swung around. But her favorite game by far, at least for right now, is “Where are Frey’s arms?” when we put her nightgown down over her arms. Each time, she blasts out hysterical laughter because she’s tricked Mommy into thinking she has no arms.

The toys we brought don’t seem to hold her interest for long, but then she’s never had toys before, so I’m not too surprised. She loves flipping through the books though, except she often has them upside down and sideways while she’s flipping. But her favorite thing by far is the photo book that we sent to her via another adoptive family. Based on it’s condition when we picked her up, she only saw it once or twice before we came. That, and watching the slideshow of pictures on my computer.

She still wets the bed every other night and overall seems to be an INCREDIBLY restless sleeper. During the course of the night, she makes several rounds around the clock. And for this reason, coupled with the fact that she sleeps easily without me in the room, Nathan and I decided to move Mary and Sophia back into the same room, and give Frey the small room to herself. I’m thankful. Because through this trip, I’ve learned that I value my space and I sleep better without a restless four year old in the room.

All in all, I think it’s clear that Frey was loved, not the best loved at Ibanda, but loved. She was well taken care of and well fed given that she shared the home with 40+ children. She trusts easily, she returns love and affection, and she’s happy. She’s happy. I can’t wait to watch her blossom at home with two sisters, a mommy and a daddy.

Day 24: How's Frey?

2011-07-27T11:25:00.000-05:00

Day 23: The Surgery and Such

2011-07-27T08:01:00.000-05:00

It’s almost funny when I think about it, that first day, driving past the Surgery and commenting that we wouldn’t need THAT during our stay, so sure that our anti-malarial meds, our anti-fungal, our anti-diarrhea meds would do the trick. And yet, on day 23 of Ugandan Adventure, I found myself feeling sick enough that I called Patrick to take me to the clinic.

Although I called him at 9:30 in the morning, he didn’t arrive until 1:30 in the afternoon thanks to a miscommunication of both of our parts. Unfortunately the middle of the afternoon brought out a dozen or so people needing medical attention, and so Frey and I sat for about 45 minutes in the crowded waiting room.

Finally, a petit Italian woman called us downstairs and I had to literally drag Frey off her feet to keep pace with our tiny doctor! We settled into our plastic chairs in exam room 3 while the doctor began her oral interview. After describing my symptoms, she felt sure that I had bilharzias, parasitic worms that lay eggs in your organs, including brain and spinal cord, usually obtained in freshwater lakes and rivers in developing countries. But, she wanted blood, urine and feces to be sure.

I went down another set of stairs to pay for my services thus far, a whopping $34, and then up all the flights of stairs to the nurses’ station/lab. A pleasant Ugandan woman, probably in her 50’s swabbed my finger before jabbing it with a needle. Although I typically don’t like people that inflict pain on me, she was such a sweet woman, a motherly figure, I couldn’t help but like her. She dabbed my finger on the glass slide, handed me a cup marked for pee, a vial for poo, and sent me packing to the bathroom with Frey in tow.

And as I sat in the dirty bathroom, I contemplated that poo vial. Pee. . . That’s easy enough. It’s fairly easy to get the pee in the cup. But the vial? Come on. Seriously. She had to be joking me. How was that going to happen? To top things off, by the very nature of my illness, I didn’t have a donation for her, but when I walked back out, she turned me right back around and sent me back to the bathroom, with clear instructions for the manner in which I was to extract a sample. It seems that the nurses here don’t have time to waste on prissy Americans. And all I could think was: HELL NO, I WON’T GO!

Frey and I filed back out to the waiting room, which seemed to be even busier than before, and sat down to wait for the doctor and the results. She finally came back out and called us down to exam room #2, and knowing how quickly she moved, I grabbed Frey like a sack of potatoes and jogged down the stairs after her. She seemed clear that instead of bilharzias, I managed to pick up DYSENTERY and a fungal infection. On one hand, it relieved me beyond words to know that I didn’t have worms in my liver, kidneys, and brain. And yet on the other, dysentery, something that I’ve read about in magazines articles on the poor developing nations, seemed so foreign, so . . . Dirty, so third world. I know that sounds awful, so arrogant and judgmental, but that’s how it felt, so far low. But I’m choosing to focus on the positive right now. No worms. No worms laying eggs.

With $6 in meds, including antibiotics, antifungal, antihistamine, and a cream for my rash, I walked out of the Surgery feeling much less enamored with the clinic than I had been after my first trip. Humiliation goes a long way to color ones perspective.

Day 22: New Peeps Arrive

2011-07-27T04:18:00.000-05:00

As embassy day came to a close, I felt exhausted, to the point that I could barely keep my eyes open. Considering that I’d only been awake for 9 hours, that’s not a good sign. While Frey sat on the floor and played, Mimi the dog and I curled up on the bed and closed our eyes, hoping that a little nap would restore my energy. But, just as I started drifting off, I heard voices coming down the hallway. I got up to shut the door, and noticed two women with Betty, getting the grand tour. Since she’s given “the tour” before to people that haven’t stayed, I didn’t think on it again.

Until dinner time that is. As Frey and I sat down to our feast, always a feast when owner Betty is around, one of the young women I’d seen earlier came out to join us. Betty promptly informed Ally that her dinner was being prepared, while also explaining to me that there would be two new guests in the house.

I don’t really mind sharing the guesthouse, although it IS nice to have run of the place, to keep my food in the fridge and on the counter without fear of poachers, to sit on the patio at night to enjoy the sounds of the city without disturbance. But I’m not sure about THESE particular young women.

Both women will be working in Uganda for a year, on some type of fellowship that partners an American with an African, but their apartment isn’t yet ready. And Ally, although much more talkative than her counterpart, seems to be looking for a good time. When she asked about a “house curfew”, I couldn’t help my sigh. If she’s thinking about coming and going at late hours, this doesn’t bode well for our last week here! Clearly, while loathe to admit this, I’m older and wiser. I’m “mature”. Because the thought of going out at night, to bars or clubs, doesn’t appeal to me. At all. And worse, the thought of my precious sleep being disturbed by rambunctious behavior, appeals even less. To top things off, she was rather insulting when describing the fellowship, making condescending comments about the few people that *only* had BS degrees, so I quickly decided not to be an Ally fan.

Faith seems much more. . . Settled. She’s married. Her friends are married, some with children. And thankfully she doesn’t seem interested in parties. She’s not as friendly, but I think perhaps it’s easier to have a conversation with her for the simple reason that we have more commonalities, shared experiences. Faith I’m warming up to, and I hope, HOPE that she can balance her friend for this last week.

Finally Betty left and the girls darted between their rooms, chattering, getting settled, sharing this and that. And I felt like I’d been transported back to my freshman year in college, sharing a dorm room for the first time. But as I’ve said. I’m more mature, and the thought of a college atmosphere at this stage in my life doesn’t please me. Faith finally stopped buzzing about so that Sheila, Betty’s daughter, could help connect her Orange modem to her computer. As I sat and typed and typed and typed, I could tell that it wasn’t going well. I wouldn’t expect it to though, since Shelia was trying to hook up the modem that failed me those first couple of days.

But seeing Faith’s frustration that she couldn’t connect, with the internet, with her husband, with her friends and parents. . . Oh how I could relate! And so I offered her use of my modem so that she could send a few messages to those back home that she’d arrived. Since Frey slept in our room, I stayed in the living room, typing out thoughts, playing Purble Place for the umpteenth time, playing spider solitaire, until it occurred to me that over two hours had passed. Faith had vacated the table quite a while ago, so I went in search of my modem, only to discover that Ally had been using my modem and continued to do so!

When I asked her if she was almost finished with my modem, she said, “Oh yeah. You said you wanted to use the modem tonight.” Uh, no, I thought to myself, I said FAITH could use MY MODEM to send an email, and now I want it back! But I told her that she could finish up her mail and I’d be waiting in the living room for the modem so that I could be off to bed. Turns out that between the two of them, they ran my airtime so far down that I only had a few minutes left yesterday.

So I’m not sure how this week will go. I’m thankful that both girls will be working through the day. I’m hopeful they won’t be loud at night. And I’m ready to finish this week so that I can be on my way to Fort Portal. I’m ready for another adventure. Preferably a pleasant one.

Day 22: Monday Passport Day

2011-07-26T02:41:00.001-05:00

Unfortunately I woke up this morning at 6am, tired, but unable o fall back to sleep. For the first time since I arrived in Kampala, it has rained. Really rained. Enough to settle the ever present dust, enough to wash the dirt and dust from plants, buildings, animals. Enough to cool the air, making the morning chillier than most. At least for the day. And knowing that my alarm was set for 6:50, I opted to compute in bathroom, in the dark, listening to the sound of rain falling, and thunder booming.

Job ran late this morning, and breakfast was nowhere in sight when Frey and I stumbled into the dining area. Harriet cut some pineapple for us, while I toasted bread, hoping that would be enough to fill us for a longer than usual day. Job finally rushed in after we’d eaten what Harriet had offered, soaking wet, but ready to prepare something else should we still be hungry. Greedy as I am for Ugandan fruit, I asked for more pineapple and maybe some mango too.

I think that Job and Harriet are finally becoming used to the white woman and her Velcro rollers. They no longer give strange looks when I show up for breakfast in all my morning glory. But they’re still not used to my American sense of humor, and I’m afraid most of what I say gets lost in translation.

After filling our bellies, Frey and I sat outside on the patio waiting for Patrick to arrive. But our scheduled time of 8:30 came and went with no Patrick. As I’ve said, Patrick keeps American time, so at 8:45 I called him, worried that plans had changed. My serenity on Friday had passed into anxiousness to be finished with the passport business. Today I wanted to make darn sure that I had passport in hand, lest it mess up my plans for Fort Portal and Queen Elizabeth.

He said that they’d gotten a late start and they were on their way. And while I didn’t really pick up on the “they” while we were talking, it became clear when he finally arrived at 9:05, with Linda in tow. With the rain, Linda had asked for a ride to work, and Patrick obliged. We finally set off for Isaacs office at ten after nine. (and keep in mind, everything is to be delivered to the embassy before 10am)

At a quarter after nine, Isaac still wasn’t in his office, and I swear I saw the receptionist cringe just a tiny bit when I walked in the door. But I explained that I’d talked to Isaac on Friday and that he HAD a passport for me to pick up! She gladly called Isaac and asked for the passport, no doubt ready to be finished with the crazy American, but he’d unfortunately taken it home with him over the weekend. And so I waited. And waited. For what seemed like an eternity. Finally at 9:40 he arrived and by 9:45 we hit the road.

Ah. . . But Linda had come along! And so we had to drop her at the museum first, since it would be considerably out of the way to go to the embassy first and then drop her. So with 10 minutes to make the embassy, Patrick and I sped across town. And at 10am on the nose, we pulled up in front of the embassy.

Patrick watched Frey in the car, while I quickly made my way to the check in. With Frey’s balance issues, it’s not easy to make good time. And I needed to make good time. I handed my passport over at the check-in window, explained “adoption business”, popped through security, and trotted up the walk. 10:05. Not bad. Not bad at all.

When I finally saw Frieda, I did a bit of a passport dance, hopping from foot to foot, waiving Frey‘s passport high in the air. We double checked that the file had every needed document, and then Frieda said, “Ok, I’ll see you at 2.” I verified that I’d see her at 2 on Wednesday, and she said no. Today! She would see me at 2 TODAY! Oh.My.Goodness! Ok. NOT my plan, but I’m cool with that!

Since I didn’t want to go back to the house only to go out a few hours later, and because I *needed* to be out of the house for my own sanity, we stopped at Garden City Mall for some shopping. With that done, we headed up to the third level so that Frey could play on the playground equipment. What fun! Frey finally figured out that slides are FUN! The grins! Priceless! And I wanted to kick myself for not taking the camera today! But I didn’t know, and the embassy doesn’t allow any sort of camera on premesis.

After an hour of climbing and sliding, Frey just walked out the door, obviously finished and ready to move on to something else. And since my stomach started to growl, I thought that a mighty fine plan. We settled into the food court with multiple choices, Indian, Lebanese, British, pizza, Chinese. I, of course, ordered Indian food while Patrick ordered chicken and chips. And after an hour of pleasant conversation and yummy food, we left for the embassy. Frey, a quick study, grabbed my hand and Patrick’s hand so that she could “ride” down the ramp. And I’m always amazed and amused by the number of Patrick’s friends we run into, who see us each holding this child’s hands, and assume that we’re a family of three. Explaining is always so much fun!

Not wanting to be late for my appointment, I arrived promptly at 1:30. For a few minutes, I felt sure that I would be in and out before Patrick had time to settle in. But then another woman walked in with child in tow for her 2pm appointment. And then another family dragged their two brown babies and two birth children in for their 2pm appointment. And then another. And then finally, in walked two women, each with a baby in her arms, and I could have sworn that I knew this woman. I wracked my brain. I thought perhaps I had recognized Whitney, another AAI family, from her Facebook profile pic because I couldn’t possibly recognize anybody else at the embassy. But no. I felt sure it wasn’t AAI’s Whitney. The hair was too dark. She would have brought her son by birth. Who? Who was this woman then?

But then she settled in to her seat next to her friend, and started peppering me with questions. The accent!!!! THIS was the woman that was so snotty to us at the IOM on our second day here! OMGOSH! It’s amazing what three weeks without “America” can do for ones ability to chat with strangers! We commiserated with one another over passport woes, although I’m sorry to say that my opinion didn’t change drastically. However, I can absolutely understand her frustration. And I understand her desire to be with her children back home. And I most definitely understand that days can be hard here and we sometimes can’t help but to let those emotions seep through to our interactions with others. With that said, I don’t think I’ll friend her on Facebook anytime soon.

Finally, an hour after I arrived, the security officer sent me through door #2. Instead of Frieda, an American greeted me at the window and started the interview. She verified that we had adopted before and asked why we had chosen Uganda. And so I explained although our oldest daughter was Ethiopian, but the program had become corrupt in the past several years, that child trafficking had become to prevalent for us to ever consider that a program through which we could grow our family. I explained that although I love the Ghana adoption program, things had changed significantly since we’d adopted our second daughter, and we didn’t want to endure what could be a very long wait. And then I told her that we’d heard about a waiting child with some physical limitations, that had been passed over several times by other families, and so we began the process with the intent of adopting that child.

What did I mean by a waiting child and how was she identified? She was identified by another adoptive mom who had adopted her son from the same orphanage.

What is the reason for the discrepancy in income between 2010 and 2011? My husband lost his job in 2009 and found a job at the end of 2010.

And then a please sign here and head over to the next window to pay for the visa. Done. 10 minutes max. Compared to our experience in Ethiopia where Gail, the AAI representative, did all the talking and paperwork and Ghana where the woman scared the crap out of me, I couldn’t believe how painless, how quick, the visa interview turned out to be!

On the way back home, we finalized plans for the week. Wednesday we’re going to the museum where Linda works and Friday we pick up the visa and shop for fabric. I’ve got free days on Thursday, Saturday and Sunday, but then next Monday we leave for Fort Portal! I’m still counting down the days until I can go home, but I’ve got things to look forward to in the coming weeks, and that makes the time pass more pleasantly.

Days 20 & 21: Resolved but Sick

2011-07-25T13:24:00.000-05:00

After 8 hours of crying my heart out, I woke up ready to face reality with a positive outlook. Somehow through those hours, I came to terms with the fact that I would be in Uganda until August 8th, whether I liked it or not. And I could choose my own destiny here. I could choose to make my 18 days here good ones. Or I could choose to suffer those 18 days in miserable despair. And how stupid would it be to wallow in self pity, to waste 18 days in a beautiful country, one that I may never see again? How stubborn would I be if I refused to enjoy the opportunity given to me? And so I resolved to make the best of my time left in Uganda. Instead of thinking about all that I missed out on in Indiana, I chose to think of all the things I could do here.

First and foremost, I called Patrick to tell him that we WOULD be going out after all, just not to deliver a passport to the embassy as we had planned. Instead we would go to the embassy to schedule an appointment for next week! Instead we would go shopping! Because shopping always makes me feel better, even in Africa! TO THE CRAFT MARKET became my battle cry!!!

And I began thinking of the things that I’d like to do here, to see here. Traditional Ugandan dance? Queen Elizabeth National Park? Rwenzori Mountains? White water rafting on the Nile? Ok, well perhaps not THAT one.
'
I talked to Patrick. We settled on a trip to Queen Elizabeth National Park, Fort Portal and the Mountains of the Moon. We shopped and I found a small drum to donate to the AAI Holiday Auction to raise money for the holiday projects in each of the African countries they serve. I found a nativity that I’d wanted for my in-laws. I wandered around the bookstore in Garden City Mall, picked out a new book to add to my list of classics read on my trip. And I found happiness. Living in Uganda for six weeks is a once in a lifetime opportunity for a mother of three children, one that I’m blessed to have. I found happiness in more days to bond with my child before the chaos that her homecoming will create.

And while I stood shopping, I got a phone call from Isaac. He was much more friendly than the last time we’d spoken. He apologized for passport situation. He explained that we’d had a miscommunication. And he told me that he and his clerk were personally staking out the passport office until the thing was finished. But I didn’t hope. I didn’t get excited. I had peace in knowing that it would come before I went home in August. Peace. If it came in by the end of the day as he expected, great. If it came on Monday, that’s great too. Tuesday? Fine.
Patrick drove us home and I started on my new book while Frey took her nap. Oddly enough, Isaac finally called with the news we had waited on for the past two weeks. The passport was printed, signed and in his hands. Instead of wanting it that moment as he’d expected, I said that I’d pick it up on Monday morning.

Those 18 days still seemed long, but broken into segments, they became manageable. First Saturday at home, Sunday at church and then Monday, Wednesday and Friday at the Embassy. Then another Saturday at home, Sunday at church and Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday on the road to Elizabeth. Finally, Friday, Saturday and Sunday at Entebbe. Segments. Easy peasy.

Unfortunately I woke up Saturday morning feeling ill. Stomach rolling, head aching, and a combination of cold chills and burning up. Saturday I stayed in bed for the better part of the day, reading King Solomon’s Mines, while Frey played quietly in her bed/playpen. I vowed that I’d go to the Surgery if I didn’t feel any better. And then it was Sunday.

Day 18 & 19 American Drama and Entebbe Zoo

2011-07-25T12:17:00.003-05:00

** I want to preface this post by saying that Day 19 occured several days ago, and I am NOT in THAT place anymore.

Nothing moves mountains quite like some good ol fashioned American drama. For future travelers, take note that, from my own personal experience, Ugandans don’t like to see the American women cry!

Patrick picked me up at 8:30 so that we could go to Isaac’s office before going to the embassy, an appointment Nathan had made for me the day before he left. But when we got to the office, Isaac wasn’t there, just the office receptionist. And thank you PMS, the tears started to flow. Freely. I tried to contain them, but when even funny commercials have the ability to make me cry during my time, the possibility of stopping these tears didn’t exist. Clearly uncomfortable with the crying white woman in her lobby, the receptionist made a mad dash for Isaac’s office, to call him in private, no doubt telling him about the crazy American boohooing in the lobby. And she came out with the glorious news that a passport would be ISSUED BY THE END OF THE DAY. With renewed spirit and a dry face, I climbed into Patrick’s car, ready to go see a lady about a Visa.

And thankfully after our first unpleasant experience at the embassy, all others have gone off without a hitch. I met with Frieda, who I’ve heard so much about, from hubby and other adoptive parents, and let me just say, she lives up to all the hype! Wonderful woman. Sweet, thoughtful and also doesn’t really like to see the white woman crying! Because yes, I whipped me out some tears again. Passport would be today, but not sure when. Frieda came through and pushed our appointment back until 2 so that I would have time to get the passport! YES! Oh the elation! It looked like I could very well be coming home just a week after Nathan! THRILLING news!

Unfortunately when I called Isaac, he became angry, felt I was demanding too much. There was no way he could have a passport before 4. And so, my hopes were dashed. I had to resign myself to another week in Uganda. But, after learning that the embassy DID in fact issue visas on Wednesday, I figured all I had to do was survive another week. I could do that. No problem. We’d have plenty of time to get the Visa by Wednesday, a MUST since there were no flights out from that Friday on. And I finally saw the light at the end of the tunnel! Little did I know at the time the light at the end of the tunnel, was, in fact, the train coming to crush my spirit. But ignorance is bliss.

Not wanting to miss the Entebbe zoo before I left, I made plans with Patrick to go in the morning. Since admission is minimal, I invited Patrick to bring his son and daughter as well. He dropped me at home so that Frey and I could relax for the afternoon. But as the hours passed, I waited and waited for that phone call from Isaac saying that a passport had been printed. No phone call came. Four o’clock came and went with no phone call. But as I said, ignorance is bliss and I enjoyed my evening dreaming of home, thinking that Isaac had just gone straight home after picking up my passport.

Ah, but the morning brought a text from Isaac saying that the passport hadn’t been issued. But he said that he was on it, it surely would be printed sometime during the day. And so off to the Uganda Wildlife Education Center we went!

Patrick actually showed up with quite an unexpected carload of people! I scrunched in the backseat with Frey, Elizabeth (his daughter) and Rebecca his wife, while the nanny and Paul (his son) scrunched in the front seat. On the way to Rebecca’s work, she explained that it would be easier to handle the children with the nanny along for the ride, and I tended to agree with her. Culturally men aren’t very active in their children’s lives, although I tend to think Patrick is the exception to that rule.

The Wildlife Education Center. . . WONDERFUL! While I refer to it as a zoo, it’s really more of an animal rehabilitation center/zoo, and unlike any western style zoo I’ve ever been to. The zoo has an amazing set of playground equipment for the area, but instead of children playing, dozens and dozens of vervet monkeys swung on the monkey bars, climbed up and slid down the slides, dancing about and played. Vervet monkeys jumped through the trees over our heads, momma monkeys nursed their young just two feet away from us! Vervet monkeys climbed on trashcans, groomed each other, ran across balance beams, and slid down poles, paying no attention to the humans that walked by! Monkeys, monkeys everywhere! Freyja still doesn’t like the dog and cat at our guest house. Monkeys freaked her OUT.

Next we moved on to the buffalo and we shared the viewing platform with more vervet monkeys. One crocodile laid in the sun, while the other slowly sunk below the surface of the water as we came into it’s line of sight. We watched sea otters , close enough to touch, dance and play in the water, roll in the dirt but then dive back into the water. We walked by the two African Fish Eagles, a rescued pair, while they called to the other pair flying free in the tree above. I touched my hands to the hundred year old elder tree that I could swear Disney fashioned the Tree of Life on. Two camels grazed on grasses near the shore of Lake Victoria, while dozens of brilliant yellow birds flitted through those grasses and nested in the bamboo. As we watched a female kob, I noticed a patas monkey watching us from his perch in the trees, partially obscured by leaves. While walking over the chimps, black and white colobus monkeys jumped high over our heads, leaping from limb to limb, from tree to tree.

I loved watching the chimps! The zoo provided a brief history and social profile for each chimp in the community. I couldn’t help but laugh though, when I read that one female . . . . Uh, beat the crap out of each new member, sort of like a gang initiation! We watched them lounge in their tire swing, lounge on a tree limb, lounge on the ground. And I even got to watch as a aroused male chased after the unwilling female! Wow. My life is complete. Ha!

As we walked away and onto the next animal, I noticed a massive spider web, easily 20 feet from start to finish, between some trees. And since I’m a curious kind of gal, I stopped and searched, hoping to find the Charlotte that made such an impressive web. I finally spotted her, probably eight feet away, but try as I might, I could NOT get her into focus. I’d finally given up, when Patrick walked up to me and said, “Well, if you can’t shoot that one, maybe you could shoot this one.” And he pointed to the biggest, ugliest damn spider I have ever seen, a foot from my FACE! Dear God. Oh dear God. Easily 4 inches. I haven’t moved that fast since, well I can’t remember a time I moved that fast. Believe me when I say that I almost slapped Patrick, since he’d seen it from the start, but waited to see if *I* would see it.

Next came the Rhino’s, horn and all, the tortoises, and an ostrich. As we exited the park, we noticed that the monkeys had been replaced with hundreds of schoolchildren starting their field trips and we watched a few of them take rides on camels and donkeys.

Since we left at the lunch hour, I suggested that we stop. I’m growing tired of PB&J’s, and the opportunity to have a meal out can’t be missed. We stopped at a pizza place, but personal pizzas were around ten dollars each, and I could tell Patrick was uncomfortable with me spending that much for lunch for six. He suggested African food, and I decided that I’d give it a go.

Now normally, I wouldn’t mind trying something new. I love ethnic foods. I ate bush meat in Ghana. Loved the meals in Ethiopia. But here. . . . The food is, uh, yucky. It’s bland. It has no flavor. It’s starchy. And I don’t eat much starch. I like my food spicy, with a heavy emphasis on veggies and meat. But he finally found a little place where we could scoot two tables together to accommodate our group.

And unfortunately, traditional Ugandan food is ALL they had. Plain white rice with no flavor, matooke (mashed up green bananas with no flavor), some other thing with no flavor, and a side of chicken/goat/beef/ broth. As I sat there shoveling in matooke, thinking to myself, “eat it don’t taste it”, wondering if I could manage another bite of mush, it hit me. There were only 3.5 hours left in the workday, and I had yet to hear from our attorney Isaac. It’s hard to describe the empty desperation that filled my chest. Each bite, each breath, each blink of the eye seemed to take an unbelievable amount of effort. Only 3.5 hours and then I would be stuck without flight home. 3.5 hours.

The tears came. Silently, I stared off into the road so that nobody at the table would see, and cried, occasionally taking a bite of matooke and doing my best to choke it down. 3 hours. 2.5 hours. The car ride home proved just as painful. No longer wanting to look out at the sights of the city, I stared blindly out the window, tears streaming down my face. 2 hours. 1.5 hours. Tears. Silent, unending tears.

Patrick couldn’t help but notice. How could he not? And he asked what had turned my mood. I squeezed the words out, “No passport means no home because we can’t afford the new tickets”. Patrick, wonderful friend that he is, delivered me home and immediately went to talk with Linda about what could be done to get that passport, anxiously wanting to ease my hurt. But. . . .
Nothing could be done. The passport didn’t come. I Skyped with Nathan, only to learn that there were NO flights on Delta. The only way to get me home would be to spend an extra $5,000 on tickets on another airline. Choking. Gagging. Sobbing. Gasping for air. I couldn’t finish my conversation. I could only go to my room and finish sobbing. Harriet the housekeeper heard my sobs from outside. She knocked on my door, and gently held me while I continued to sob. No passport. No home. I managed to get myself under enough control to thank her and send her on her way, but I couldn’t stop the tears.
I cried while brushing my teeth. I cried while getting Frey ready for bed. And I finally cried myself into an exhausted sleep at 9 that night.

Day 22: Church Day

2011-07-24T08:30:00.001-05:00

Day 22: Church Day
I have had, hands down, the worst day of my trip to Uganda. Church day. It was. Horrific. Absolutely horrific. I could barely contain my screams. Seriously. I wanted to scream, rant, rage, get out as soon as possible. It was horrible.
Of all my days here in Uganda, through meeting Frey, court, the embassy, navigating the streets at night, my husband leaving, no other day has struck as much fear into my heart as today. Sunday. Church day.
I’ve spoken before about my distaste for church, for organized religion, for people that profess to be Christians yet act anything but, and yet I found myself considering the prospect of church in Uganda, where people are much more. . . . How shall I say this. . . . Enthusiastic about their worship.
For those that don’t know me well, my early experiences with church as a child were negative ones, filled with gossip and hurt, rumors and hate. The people at church tore my daddy down, and as an adult with the advantage of retrospect, the things they said were mostly true, but a nine year old can’t discern the truth behind hateful, hurtful words. Nine year olds get their hearts broken very easily. Church was about hurt, fear, hate, distrust gossip, hypocrisy, sin, hell. And those early hurts stayed with me. Even as an adult, the churches I visited still carried the those themes, the “Christians” I met, always quick to condemn me for past choices that didn‘t meet their standards of correctness, condemned for my younger self. And so, at church, I have always felt like the feral cat, suddenly caught in a trap, wildly clawing and scratching to escape the confines of all those negative feelings, embedded during childhood and young adulthood.
But finally, thankfully, we stumbled on Hillside while trying to find the lesser of the evils in town. We knew we wanted to give my mom a respite on Sunday from taking care of my grandmother and church seemed the easiest way to lure her out. But Hillside, whose staff and members tossed out crumbs of love, acceptance, healing, forgiveness, community, support, friendship, finally tamed my fear of church. The epiphany struck that church didn’t have to be a place of hate and hell, that not all Christians were “those” kinds of Christians, ready to judge and condemn anyone who dared disagree with them or didn‘t fit in the perfect little box deemed “Christian enough“. And for the first time IN MY LIFE, I have enjoyed and looked forward to going to church. Hillside feels like home, and I’m thankful for each Sunday there.
Yet the idea of church in general still brings those old fears to the surface. While I feel comfortable in my church home, it is only that specific home in which I feel safe. The thought of visiting a church, an unknown church with unknown beliefs and unknown doctrine, filled my heart with trepidation. But. . . Patrick wanted me to be there for his special day and so I said I would go.
I thought of cancelling. I thought of all the reasons that I couldn’t go. But Patrick had talked his friends into picking me up. Patrick was looking forward to my being there. And I made a promise. So this morning, I woke up and tried to let the peace flow over me. I would be fine. It would only be three hours. Once I got there, I would enjoy the myself, enjoy getting out. And I could chalk it up to one more experience that I’d had in Uganda.
But as I said, it was utterly dreadful, sickening really. Since I’ve already been rambling on, I’ll try to sum it up quickly. Instead of the normal Ugandan pastor invited a guest pastor from the US and his mentor. This man and his underling came from down south, in Louisiana. This man called himself a Bishop, a man of god, a leader of the black churches in his area. And yet. . . . Everything about him, everything that he said, everything that he did appalled me, repulsed me, sickened me. As an American, as a person of faith, this man so offended me that I wanted to shout at him to shut up, scream at him that he was a fool, an ass, an arrogant narcissist.
You might wonder what could be so bad. Here are some highlights. Church last right at four hours, three of which he spent bragging about how he had a house with 6 bedrooms and 8 bathrooms, a private lake, eight acres, a swimming pool, tennis court, and all the amenities that he could want in a house for he and his wife, since his daughters had all grown. He told us that he had multiple, expensive cars which impressed, beyond measure, the pastor of the Ugandan church. He regaled us with his unwillingness to fly coach and all of the attention he received in First Class. He mentioned on at least ten separate occasions his custom tailored clothing, everything down to his tie must be custom made, just for him. He bragged that a woman from his congregation gave him, personally, $10,000 and that he didn‘t thank her again when he realized the amount of the check, because she was just doing what she was supposed to do. And he was GOOD ENOUGH to give half of that to his church. He bragged about how members of his congregation give him money for his personal use all the time (confirmed by the Ugandan who had witnessed several such acts during his ten day visit), that he’d just vacationed with his wife in Florida at a millionaires house and didn’t have to spend a dime for any of it. All of this to a room full of Ugandans that struggle to buy clean water for their families, mosquitoes nets to keep their children healthy, and what we would consider only the most bare minimum of housing. All this while is counterpart dinked on his Iphone with the occasional shouted Amen for good measure when someone started to watch him.
He told the 140 Ugandans at church that if they worried about where their next meal came from, or if they would have one at all, they weren’t being good children of The Lord, that they were shouting at God that they didn’t trust Him, and he cited scripture to prove this was true. Brilliant considering that the horn of Africa, Uganda’s neighbors even, are experiencing the worst drought in 60 years, with mothers, fathers and children starving to death, dying on the road in search food for themselves and their families. No doubt they were Muslim since Good Children of the Lord don’t worry about things such as food.
He claimed that he NEVER asked for anything or worried about clothing, food or shelter and THAT is the reason that God blessed him so well. Seriously. He said that the reason God blessed him beyond measure is because he didn’t worry or ask for anything. He gave the example of his suitcase, with all of his custom made clothing being lost in transit during this trip. Because he couldn’t go to church in jeans and shirt, that would be so unBishop-like, the Ugandan pastor took him looking for clothing, and they finally found a obliging woman that rushed around, gathering everything he could possibly need to look his best, suit, shoes, socks, underwear, tie, belt. And he bragged, he BRAGGED that he didn’t pay this woman! This woman, who is, most likely, so far below any level of poverty than an American could conceive, and he BRAGGED that he didn’t pay her. My God. I honestly wanted to make like a news reporter and hurl my shoe at his head. Unfortunately my croc flip flops wouldn’t have gone the distance. This man needed nothing less than some military grade combat boots up his. . . Nose. And to top it off, he said that she HAD to do this for him because he was BLESSED BY GOD and he DESERVED nothing less. Oh yeah. I’m pretty sure I could find some things he deserves.
He told them that if they had only their health and no wealth to go with it, that it meant nothing, it was nothing, because to be successful in the Kingdom of Heaven, you had to be healthy and wealthy both. Such a lovely sentiment in a country where health is often the only thing a person has, and sometimes not even that.
When he “ordained” the 30 people that had gone through classes to become ministers in this church, he required them, not to submit their lives to Christ, as one would expect from a CHRISTIAN leader. No. They were required to take an oath of allegiance to the church leaders.
So much more. There was SO much more. But those are the highlights, the things that I remember most. Honestly, I spent four hours listening to this man brag about all that he had, dismiss every fear or concern that a Ugandan might have, and self congratulate himself on all the good work he’s done to bring the Ugandan pastor up right (in the 10 days he spent giving him a luxury trip to the US).
I’m just so shocked. Never. Never in my imagination, could I imagine someone coming here, pretending to be a man of God, so self centered, arrogant, insensitive, crass. This man personified every negative thought that I’ve had about religion and it renews my longing to be home, in my own home and in my church home.
And perhaps the worst part of this whole affair is that the Ugandan pastor seems to have been contaminated with the need to *have* at the expense of his congregation, the poor, the single mothers, the sick, bragging as he did about a member giving him one million Ugandan shillings, or $500US.
The family that took me to church, Pamela and Michael, suggested that I try their church next weekend. From what I can tell, it sounds like a fabulous church, doing great things in Kampala, especially with orphaned and vulnerable children. And yet I hesitate. On one hand, I’d like to cleanse my palate, to remove the taint of this church, this “man of God“. On the other, I’m not sure I’m brave enough to face another disaster like the one today.

State of the Union: Uganda Version

2011-07-21T22:49:00.000-05:00

State of the Union: I know some of you have been worried about my mental stability after a post or two on FB, particularly those privy to Trip. So here’s the deal. We have no passport. And even if we DID have a passport, I still wouldn’t be coming home.

I’m tired. I’m getting sick. And Aunt Flo is wreaking havoc. I desperately want to come home. I desperately want to see my children, my husband, my parents, my friends, my fur babies. I desperately want to enjoy my summer with all three of my children, to piddle dink in my garden, to sleep in my own bed, to eat vegetables again, to have a meal without bugs crawling on the food and on me. But it’s not going to happen until August 8.

Flights on Delta are booked solid until my original departure date of August 8. We have the option of cancelling and rebooking with another airline, but those tend to be the more expensive airlines. Which is why they AREN’T booked solid. This adoption has already cost significantly more than we expected. And I cannot, in any way, justify spending $5,000+ so that I can be home 10 days sooner. That $5,000 is a trip to Disneyworld with my whole family, together. It’s a fireplace insert that we could enjoy for YEARS to come. It’s ¼ of a new van that we desperately need. And it seems absolutely absurd to me to spend that kind of money to make it home a week and a half earlier.

I’m desperate to be home. But I’m not that desperate. So I can either sit here and wallow in my own fecal matter, whining, bitching and moaning, dwelling on all that is wrong. Or I can suck it up and act like a grown up. Sometimes being a grown up sucks, but there it is. I have 18 days left in Uganda.

Today I’m going shopping. And I’m going to the embassy. Tomorrow I’ll finish Mansfield Park. Sunday I have an appointment to go to church with a friend. Three days down right there. And I’m thinking of going to Fort Portal and Queen Elizabeth National Park. I’m here. I may never be here again. I think perhaps after seeing a few more of the sights, I will be content to leave Uganda on my list of places that I have been to, but don’t feel the need to go to again.
There we are. I’m not particularly happy right now. But it is what it is. And I choose to make the best of what is turning into a crap situation.

Days 15, 16, &17: The Mundane Business of Being

2011-07-20T12:21:00.001-05:00

Days 15, 16, & 17: The Mundane
I’ve received several messages asking what has been going on, how Frey and I are doing. I’d love to share more details about outings to national parks, exotic animals, and the sights, sounds and smells of Uganda, but the reality is that Frey and I have stayed in, with only a few exceptions, since Nathan left. A life consisting of urine, feces, spit, snot, naptime and bug bites isn’t the stuff of exciting posts. For my part, I’ve been discouraged by no word of a passport, missing my family fiercely, and finding fault with every little annoyance thanks to that special time of month that my husband is surely glad he‘s missing out on. And Frey seems to be grieving the loss of that white guy that paid her so much attention, unable to play more than a minute or two without seeking attention and reassurance, whining and crying when she doesn’t get pampered or carried, wetting the bed and sleeping poorly through the night. Life right now just. . . . Is.
Since we’re at home more often now, I’ve been able to keep Frey on her orphanage schedule a bit more. Up at 7am, naptime from 1-3, and bed at 7 seems to be working well. For me at least, it provides some respite, some alone time, yet somehow the days seem to both drag and fly by. I don’t know how, but the hours seem so long, yet by the time we’ve eaten breakfast and gotten ready, it’s almost time for lunch. And immediately after lunch is naptime, followed by a few hours of reading or playing, then time to eat once again, followed by bedtime. The day seems to take forever to end, and yet when it does, I think back and wonder how another day has passed already. I can only hope the next ten days pass as quickly as the last three have.
And it seems my mother has started pestering my husband about the goings on in Uganda, so I’m forced to give a quick little update. Although I do tend to be verbose, so it’s entirely possible that I’ll ramble on for a few pages without really saying much of anything at all. Then again, that might please my mother tremendously.
Sunday I thought would be the worst, but we stayed in, had a meal prepared by our chef, read, colored and played while we waited for word that hubby had arrived safely. Finally exhausted by my own desperation to be home and having received word that the hubby had landed, I crashed into bed and slept more soundly than I had since leaving home.
But Monday morning brought an unwelcome knock on my door. Although I couldn’t at first understand his meaning, I quickly figured out that our chef, Job, was standing at my door asking me, the “rich” American, for $20, that he would surely pay me back the following week. I told him, very sweetly, with as much innocence as I could muster, that I didn’t think I should do that, but I’d be *happy* to call the owner of the guest house to see if she thought it appropriate. Of course, that was the last thing Job wanted to hear. He made excuses, said that he didn’t have a “good understanding” with the owner, that she didn’t like him well, and please, please, please could I forget that we had this conversation. I’ve liked Job up until this point and he‘s always been pleasant to the three of us. He is, perhaps, just an average cook, but certainly the convenience of having someone available to cook for us makes life much easier to deal with. It’s a wonderful asset, one that I‘m not willing to give up right now. And while Nathan and I had talked about doing something special for both Job and Harriet the housekeeper before I left Uganda, there is no chance of that now. Because Job disrespected me. And he disrespected my husband, by coming to me a day after Nathan left, thinking that I would be an easier target., trying to con me out of money he had no intention of paying back . So no. There will be no thank you bonus for Job when I depart. And I’m still debating whether to share the incident with Betty, who I have no doubt would want to know. I can’t quite bring myself to address the issue, knowing that Job my lose his job, and yet I don’t want future families, ones that may not be as willing to say no, to feel the same sort of pressure. But then, I guess I’ve got a few days to make a decision.
I think that perhaps the worst part of this affair, the part that galls me the most, is that I now feel ill at ease in a place I once considered my Ugandan home. I worry that Job will sneak into my room to take what I was unwilling to give. I worry that additives might be sprinkled on my food in anger. I detest the false manner in which Job is now trying to ingratiate himself. And I hate that I feel the need to sequester ourselves in our room because of my un-kind feelings towards someone ever present in the house. But then, this sort of thing isn’t exclusive to Uganda. Many adoptive families have encountered the same thing. It’s just so difficult to figure out how to enjoy the company of Ugandans, have a generous heart for those truly in need, and avoid being made an easy mark by those that would take advantage.
Monday also brought more whining and crying on Frey’s part. We walked the short distance to the Nakumatt, ten minutes moving at a slow pace, except that unlike Nathan, I made her walk the distance. Not only do I think her perfectly capable of walking that distance, it’s good for her to use muscles that have been allowed to atrophy at the orphanage. Of course, I must confess that my ability to lug 40 pounds of dead weight up and down hills while carrying shopping bags also plays a role. But try explaining that to a four year old.
She wanted nothing to do with the walk and began boohooing down the road. As I walked, one hand filled with shopping bags and the other filled with Frey’s hand, I talked to her, hoping that would ease her frustration, but with no luck. The tears continued with the addition of a few, well placed hiccups and gulps for added effect. Ah, is there anything more dramatic than a four year old in full on pout? I think not!
As we walked, I heard the footsteps behind us quicken, until finally a man, probably in his mid to late thirties, overtook us. For the duration of the walk back to our house, this man turned to glare every forth or fifth step that he took, even when he was quite a few feet in front of us, I’m sure thinking what horrible parents we Americans are. And as if dealing with a crying, whining child isn’t bad enough, I had to get dirty looks from a stranger!
There is a part of me, the adoptive parent part that always wants to put my best foot forward so that adoptions may continue, that seriously contemplated picking Frey up and lugging her back, just to shut her up and quell the glares. But ultimately, the other part, the part that says “This is MY child that I will parent as I see fit”, won out. That’s a difficult balance, between parenting your child in a manner that satisfies local customs, and parenting your child in the manner that you choose. I want to be respectful. Yet I also want to encourage good habits and boundaries from the start with my daughter.
And to round out a perfectly yucky day, while I totally expected it to be so, Isaac had no word for us regarding the passport on Monday morning. With no word on a passport, the mind starts to wonder just how long this will take. Another week? Another two weeks? Three? Four? Because each Monday that comes and goes without a passport means at least another week spent in Uganda. And I blame myself for most of my own heartache in this. Because I went into this trip expecting five or six weeks. Yet when our order came so quickly, when our coordinator asked my departure date and told me that I would be LONG gone by that time, my hopes raised considerably. I latched onto the things I wanted to hear and ignored everything else. This not knowing when you’ll see family and friends. . . . So hard.
Last night I found myself counting down days, marking them off on my mental wall, like the prisoners in bad movies do on wall of their prison cell. And that sums up nicely my feelings of late. I am held prisoner, away from all that I love and hold dear, by something so simple as a lawyer obtaining a passport. As I said earlier, I find myself annoyed with each little thing. What before I found a charming part of Uganda now feels unbearable and oppressive. I hate the bugs, which seem to be getting worse as the days wear on. Although in all seriousness, I DO think they are getting worse as we head into the rainy season. I hate itching and scratching. I hate picking ants off my bread in the morning, picking ants off my cheese in the fridge, picking ants off my jelly, my coke bottle, off of everything. I hate the noise that never allows me to sleep through the night. I hate sitting on a hard toilet seat with the smell of sewage wafting up while I try to finish a book without waking up my daughter. And good God in heaven, I hate the dirt.
The dirt! As I washed and rinsed clothes in my bucket, I couldn’t help but notice the brown, dirty water. Yet I found it hard to believe that after one washing and three rinses it could still be present. I rinsed and scrubbed, scrubbed and rinsed until I finally had to do an experiment to find out if the dirt came from the clothes or the water. Apparently it comes from both. Oh how I want to be clean.
But now I’m tired, so I’ll try to quickly wrap this up by saying that Tuesday passed almost exactly like Monday. Only with less activity and more frustration on my part. So there you have it. The exciting life and times of an adoptive mom ready to get the heck home.

Day 14, Saturday Goodbye

2011-07-17T06:11:00.000-05:00

Saturday morning brought the tears, but also the realization that I just need to get through the next couple of weeks. I love my hubby. I enjoy spending time with him. And the thought of doing this by myself for the next 14 days doesn’t please me. But tears do no good. I have to do this whether I like it or not. It’s just another part of the process. Our process hasn‘t taken months, as it has for many others. I know myself well enough to know that I’m not strong enough to stay here for months on end away from my family like some moms have. I know I should feel thankful that our documents are in order, our judge granted quick guardianship and I’m settled in a place where my needs are taken care of by an attentive staff. I know this. But the knowing and the doing are two different things.

After I dried those tears, we made plans to go to the mall and perhaps the craft market again, hoping to find something in which to pack the drum, before heading to the Entebbe airport. And we did find something, outrageously overpriced and not meeting all of our needs, but something is better than nothing. Oh how I wished we had brought our duffle bag!

Although his flight didn’t leave until 11:30 pm, we started on our way at 4pm for the short journey to the airport, maybe 30 miles away. Thirty miles in Uganda could take minutes or hours, and we felt that we’d better be safe than sorry. And all things considered, we enjoyed the drive, joking and laughing, trying to soak in every last minute. And for the drive at least, I felt considerably better about my ability to function here by myself, thinking of all of the things I could do for entertainment.

My hubby even pointed out the billboard promoting Green Lantern at the theater! We joked with Patrick that it would be nice if I could watch my boyfriend while I’m here by myself, and I’m afraid that we shocked the socks off him! Because he whipped around to look at both of us, shook his head and told me that if I were an African wife, I would be beaten severely for making such a comment. While I don’t think Patrick would ever hit his wife, he’s much too mild mannered for that, his attitude certainly reflects the culture and attitudes here. It makes me thankful that we adopted Frey, so that I can watch her grow into strong women, away from a culture that doesn’t value her as much as their male counterparts. As for me, I’m damn thankful I’m not an African wife because I very much admire Ryan Reynolds manly chest.

Two hours later, through much traffic, we caught a glimpse of Lake Victoria past the trees, marking our arrival in Entebbe. With a few hours to spare, we decided to look for a nice place to eat before heading to the airport, sure that a full belly would improve what would be 26 hours of transit, not including our drive into town or the wait at the airport. Patrick took us to an exceptionally nice hotel, by African standards anyway, called the Imperial Resort Beach Hotel. And even though rooms run upwards of $300, the construction lacked quality, the bathrooms remained dirty, clearly not what I would expect from such an expensive resort hotel. But this is Africa. And standards are different here.

The waitress informed us that the buffet style dinner wouldn’t be ready for another half hour, so we attempted to walk to the beach. Unfortunately, as we approached, we were accosted by some type of security, whether police or security guard I’m not sure, that insisted we pay eight thousand shillings to pass to the beach, or about 3 dollars. Patrick argued that we were eating at the hotel and should be allowed to pass, but when a larger man with a gun came into the conversation to back up his colleague, we thought it best not to argue. So instead of strolling on the beach, we stopped at a few gift shops, then headed in to eat.

We found a table next to some open windows overlooking the water and dined with the sounds of live music and laughter filtering in. As I’ve said before, we consider Patrick a friend, and so we enjoyed our evening, chatting about life, love, marriage and children, until finally 7 o’clock rolled around. Since we’re close the equator, day and night is nearly equal. The sun rises and sets at about 7 each day, all year long. So as we began driving, the sky got darker and darker. Patrick, though familiar with the area, got turned around on the road until none of us knew exactly where we were or how to get back to the main road. Obviously not something someone trying to make a flight wants to deal with!

Rutted roads led us to dead ends. We passed by large extended families starting to gather outside their homes for their Saturday evening. I noticed a girl of perhaps 10 hula hooping as if her life depended upon her success, but not with something so commercial as a hula hoop. No. This industrious young woman found an old bike tire to recycle and repurpose! A little further along, we passed a naked young man, also about 9 or 10 years old, standing on a stone in the middle of his dirt yard, dripping wet, while life and people went about their business all around him. And then we watched as his mother came around with another bucket of water, poured it over his head and left just as quickly as she came. Can you imagine? Can you imagine your 10 year old standing naked in the neighborhood, while friends and family passed by, waiting patiently to getting clean? I can’t. Patrick, in a very un-manly gesture, stopped to ask an old woman for directions. Just a few minutes and turns later, we found the right road and away we went.

Pulling into the airport proved an adventure as well. Security is taken MUCH more seriously here than anywhere in the states. In fact, it’s taken more seriously everywhere else outside the US that I’ve been in the past 10 years. Odd considering so many folks claim to be “security conscious”. But I’ll choose not to hop on yet another soapbox of mine.

The airport requires all cars go through a security checkpoint, where the driver must exit the vehicle for inspection, trunk and bags must be submitted for inspection, and passengers must walk a path to another security checkpoint where a male and female police/army officer gives a pat down and w.anding for good measure. And I will swear to you that while I was submitting to my designated female officer, on a dark, dirt road by the airport, I heard her ask me if I was struggling. Good God Almighty! NO I’M NOT STRUGGLING! At that moment in time, as my mind raced trying to think of what I had done, and as my heart raced even faster, I would have gladly dropped down onto the ground and rolled in the dirt had she but just asked. Of course, in the back of my mind, I started to think about another adoptive mom recently arrested at the airport for brining in medication that had already expired. A more compliant American could not be found in all of Uganda, let me tell you. Landing in a Ugandan prison is one experience I’ll be happy never to have.

But then some of her other questions began to filter through the fog, my paralysis began to fade. Was I coming back? When was my husband coming back? Did we enjoy our stay? Oh thank you GOD! Never have I been so thankful to be an idiot American that simply misunderstood. Of course now I feel rather foolish, and I’m sure that officer enjoyed humoring her family with tales of my stupidity! Patrick met us on the other side of the checkpoint, we hopped in, and made our way to parking with no further acts of foolishness. Oh but saying goodbye is hard. And so we tried to make it quick, a few hugs and a few kisses and a see you soon. Two weeks isn’t that long. But . . . .this is the longest we’ll have been apart since we married almost ten years ago.

Almost as soon as we started down Entebbe road, we landed behind a truck leaking oil along the road, making the road slippery and difficult to drive on. We fishtailed more than a few times and each time I watched the lights of oncoming traffic, a non-stop stream of cars, trucks, boda boda’s and busses, praying that our car would manage to stay in the correct lane. After perhaps five miles, that truck finally pulled off, whether because of the leak or another reason entirely, I’m not sure. But I am thankful.

When Patrick had told us that it may take hours to get to the airport, I thought that he surely exaggerated, and yet. . . . We found ourselves in bumper to bumper traffic. What should be a two lane highway turned into a six lane highway, with all manner of vehicles trying to jockey for position on either side of us, crowding into any available space on the road or off, both going to and leaving from Entebbe. Groups of women, dressed up in cocktail dresses and heels darted through the traffic, trying to make their way across the road to one of the clubs I hadn’t noticed in the daylight. Men walked along the traffic, to whomever had an open window, trying to sell anything from phone cards and cooking ware to bicycle tires and chicken on a stick. Men and women sat on the sides of the road, blankets spread out with a variety of goods on top, kerosene lamp in the middle, trying to make a weekend sale. And the smell of diesel fumes mixed with the smell of burning trash almost choked me. All in all, our 30ish mile drive turned into three long hours, but Patrick did his very best to keep my mind occupied with good conversation. By the time we got home, Frey and I had passed the point of tired. We skipped teeth brush and face washing, just wanting to get to bed as soon as possible.

Day 13, Friday Chaos

2011-07-17T03:17:00.000-05:00

Friday we made plans to do some morning shopping at the craft market by the railroad tracks, not to be confused with the permanent craft market by The National Theater. But plans changed when we found out that the craft market wouldn’t open until afternoon. Instead, we made plans to pick up our written ruling at the attorney’s office and then rush to the embassy to file our paperwork, JUST in case there might be a possibility of scheduling our embassy appointment without the almighty passport.

Yet our pickup time came and went, with no Patrick in sight. At 8:45 we started to get nervous since we HAD to drop things at the embassy no later than 10 and it’s unlike Patrick to be late. If anything, he’s usually early, sometimes annoyingly so, especially when I‘ve still got my hair in rollers. We decided to call him and learned that Linda had borrowed his car the night before, but hadn’t returned it yet! At 9am, Linda pulled into the drive, but without Patrick. We sat for several more minutes, waiting for, hoping for, expecting for Patrick to ride up on a boda boda at any moment. Finally we decided that we couldn’t wait any longer. Linda drove us, in Patrick’s car, to our attorney’s office. And as we pulled up, we could see Patrick pacing back and forth outside the gate, clearly irritated.

You see, Patrick is one of the few people that I’ve encountered in Uganda that keeps “American” time. He believes that it’s better to be an hour early than a few minutes late. His grandfather instilled in him the idea that “time is the only resource that you can never recover”. But Linda, our coordinator, keeps Africa time. She’s perpetually late. Things often get pushed back, plans changed or altered on a dime. So when Patrick said that he would pick us up for the embassy but wasn’t able to do so, he got frustrated. As did Nathan and I.

It seems that he’d already spoken to Linda earlier that morning about meeting him at her workplace, the museum, so that he could get his car. So he hopped on a boda boda to do just that, leaving plenty of time to make our 8:30 departure. Only to get another phone call from Linda long after he’d arrived saying that she was with us at the guest house. So he hopped on another boda boda. But instead of meeting us at the house, he felt sure that we’d be at the attorney’s office. Which is exactly where we found him, stewing in his irritation.

Isaac didn’t have good news for us regarding the passport, but we did get our written ruling. We ARE the legal guardians for one Fedelis Kembabazi according to the Ugandan courts! But by this point, we had roughly 30 minutes to make it across town to the embassy. In morning traffic. Patrick took turn after turn after turn on roads that only disoriented us, creating panic that we wouldn‘t make it in time, until finally Nathan jumped out at the US embassy with 10 minutes to spare. Unfortunately we weren‘t allowed to turn our documents in, but we have a tentative appointment for Wednesday, assuming we can pick up Frey’s passport early Monday morning. It’s our last ditch effort, but I’m not optimistic at this point. So far, the judge has been the only person that has shown concern about getting us home to the rest of our family.

And since the craft market and the US embassy are in the same general area, we opted to try the market instead of driving back home. But we drove and drove without finding it until we finally decided to sip a coke at the mall for the hour that we thought it would take the market to open. Except that after an hour, we still couldn’t locate the market. We accepted defeat and Patrick took us to the permanent market by the National Theater, the one that’s not recommended by other adoptive parents since it’s more expensive and more touristy. But ultimately, we decided that we could gauge the pricing first before heading to the “real” marketplace.

The craft market seemed very touristy indeed, with white people milling about everywhere. Lots of little stalls sat lined up in a row with the same carvings, drums, bags and fabric as the others. Women sat perched on stools, some with children laying on a pallet on the floor, greeting each new mzungu with “Come and have a look please.” Sometimes crafts and carvings lined the floors, shelves, walls and every available space in between, making navigation through the stall a challenge. In one stall, two women worked in the dim light at ancient sewing machines, Singers from the 20’s or 30’s, sewing first clothing, then bags from the large scraps, and finally headbands out of the tiny scraps. But nowhere else at this market did I see anyone crafting the items they had for sale. I spotted several necklaces that I’d already purchased in Ghana and Ethiopia. Ebony carved busts, which I thought were unique to Ethiopia, filled almost each stall. But I did make a few purchases. I found a nativity carved in ebony wood for what seemed like a good price. I bought some colorful fabric that I’m not quite sure what to do with, but not much else.

When shopping at one of these markets, it’s best to ask the vendor their price, but to tell them that you just started shopping and if their price is the best, you’ll be back. More often than not, they’ll tell you that they’d be willing to negotiate a special price, just for YOU. But all in all, unlike other African markets I’ve been to, the dealers here wouldn’t deal much at all. While in Ghana it was a safe bet that the price was really about ½ of what the dealer first asked, most dealers here were only willing to go down 5-10% and then were perfectly willing to let a customer walk out the door.

Finally, worn down from trying to haggle without much success, we decided to look for the good craft market that everyone raves about. But even though it should have been there, it wasn‘t. Instead, where women usually line the road, rolling paper beads and men share their carvings, a uniformed officer with a very big gun paced back and forth. Patrick stopped the car to ask about the market and learned that a complaint had been filed and all the vendors arrested. Ah. This is Africa. Where the competition can be arrested on minor charges because they lured shoppers away from the more powerful businesses by offering cheaper prices and handcrafted goods. And it became clear why the vendors at that first craft mall refused to bargain much. When you’re the only game in town, it’s easy to name your own price.

Since I wanted to send my purchases back with the husband, Patrick took us to another market in the downtown area, off of Buganda Road, so I could pick up a few more things. While I shopped, Frey and the boys sat down to a traditional African lunch and cold bottles of coca-cola. Although larger, this market offered many of the same things at the same high prices, but perhaps with a few more artisans working their craft. A few women sat making paper bead necklaces, while others sewed colorful fabrics on machines that used foot power to turn the gears. More greetings of “Come to my store. Come and have a look please.“ More cowhide covered drums and chess sets in the shape of Africa. Almost the same things, but in a different spot than the last market.

One shop did surprise me with it’s size, but even though it was several times larger than most, I had difficulty navigating through the sea of women working at their various stations. But I’d seen a cross, carved of ebony with several pairs of open hands that I wanted for my in-laws, so I twisted my way through all the bodies. I made an offer. That offer was countered. And so I offered again. And then from under one of the tables against the wall, covered in fabrics and rags I thought were part of the display, a very old and very large women rolled out to give her input in the matter. Although I didn’t leave with the cross, I did leave with a smile on my face and a giggle welling up in side of me.

And I finally found our drum! Just a little backstory for those that don’t know. When Nathan and I got married, we both decided that our family coat of arms would be a drum, because we both felt the urge to live our lives differently from the rest of the world, and we’ve always tried to celebrate marching to the beat of our own drums. So in each country we visit, we add to our drum collection. Anyway. I should have negotiated a much better price for our drum, and in fact could have had a similar one for twenty thousand less, but by the time I found the one I wanted, I only wanted to be done with the shopping experience. Shopping while hot, tired and thirsty sometimes means less vigorous haggling. African market shopping can really take it out of a girl!

Unfortunately, I failed to accurately calculate the weight of that drum. Without a cell phone to call for assistance, my only alternative was carrying that freaking thing myself. Several blocks and up a hill. Through vehicle and pedestrian traffic. I managed. But I didn’t enjoy the experience AT ALL! When I finally dropped the drum to the ground, sweating and breathing hard, Patrick picked it up for me, shocked at the weight of the thing and wanting to know if I’d used a boda boda! Thankfully Patrick carried it the rest of the block to the car, but he confirmed two more times that I had in fact carried the drum myself! I don’t think he believed me, but he let it slide. Exhausted from shopping and hungry from skipping lunch myself, I called a halt. And back home we went to relax for a few hours before dinner.

Job prepared another wonderful meal for us, which we shared over flickering candlelight, not for the romance of it, rather because the power had once again gone off. But it’s a nightly thing now and after a long day out, I’m usually happy to head to bed with the sun. But before we could truly settle in for the night, the property manager Shelia stopped by, although she had told us she would be there by three to deliver our bill. A bill that turned out to be significantly more than we expected. Although Linda had negotiated $35 a night for us, Shelia now informed us that with the addition of Frey, $25 had been added per night, bringing our total to $60 per night for the better part of our stay. And she tacked on a fee of $5 per day for the modem that she had provided when we asked whether the internet was available. Thankfully I only used it for three days before buying my own. Ultimately we got some of the cost down, but we still paid much more than we should have. We came back to the room feeling used and taken advantage of, but also mad at ourselves for not asking more questions, demanding answers. Future travelers be warned, ask for any and every possible charges and have it confirmed in writing if you’ve negotiated a lesser price. And so we ended the night in the dark, stewing over our meeting with Shelia

Finished

2011-07-15T13:10:00.001-05:00

Last night as I laid down for bed, I had the oddest feeling. It’s one that I haven’t experienced in over ten years, one that I never thought I’d actually feel. And yet there I was, reflecting on our family, our adoption journey.

I’ve wanted, through the course of Frey’s adoption, to have at least four kiddos. We, or rather I, asked throughout our wait, about any other kids available in Frey’s home. I asked about kiddos in other districts, sure that I would be willing to take guardianship of one child and move on to another district to take guardianship of another. I tried to pay attention to everything everyone said about the independent process, just in case we found out about another child while we picked up Frey. I felt sure that we were meant to have four children. Heck, we were approved to adopt three this time around, so I was open to two more! Even on the plane over here, I wondered if I would meet kiddo #4. Even as we picked up Frey at Ibanda Babies Home, I wondered if perhaps another child was meant to be a part of my family.

But last night, for the first time since Nathan and I started talking about our future together eleven years ago, I feel *finished*. My family feels complete. I no longer wonder if there is another child meant to be in our family. This was our last adoption. Nathan, Sophia, Mary and Frey. This is my family. We’re together now. Or at least will be in a few weeks.

It feels good, this being satisfied with my family, feeling like we’re all finally together, somehow drawn as one family over two continents and four countries. Complete. Yet I’m also experiencing feelings of loss, of sadness, that I won’t be a part of the adoption community as an adoptive parent in process anymore. I won’t be connecting with other moms going through the same excitement, anxiousness, and fear that an adoption brings. I’m going to miss the drama that comes with building our family through adoption. But for now, I’m going to celebrate my family of five, celebrate knowing that all three of my girls found their way home to me. I’m going to celebrate being done.

Day 12: Random Thoughts On A Do NOTHING Day

2011-07-15T09:46:00.001-05:00

While Nathan is busy running Frey to her visa medical, I’ve got a chance to just hang out at the guest house, along with my thoughts. It’s going to be an easy day today. I don’t intend to go out at all.

The Making of an American Girl: Even though Frey has had little or no exposure to the outside world, to electronics and electricity, plumbing and stores, she’s adapting remarkably well. She got her first taste of American music on Tuesday and as the first few beats of Beyonce’s Single Ladies came through the earbuds, a smile lit her face. She figured out, quite quickly in fact, how to repeat her favorite Black Eyed Peas song. And she bobbed her head, ever so slightly, to Shakira’s She Wolf. She’s mesmerized by the computer, by photographic profile pics on Facebook. And she much prefers one of the “real” cameras to her Crayola toddler sized camera. Today she had her first experience with an air hand dryer, and while it scared the heck out of her at first, she was ready for a second go at it in NO time.

And like any kid, she already knows that sweets are off limits, yet she tries to discretely sneak them anyway. She’d drink nothing but Fanta if we let her, but she also loves milk, as long as it’s room temperature. She has acquired a taste for salt and vinegar Pringles, summer sausage and spaghetti. She’s fastidious, always taking the time to line up her shoes, to replace the bottle cap on her water bottle, to put something in the trash, to neatly line the toy box up against the wall. Although I’m sure my older two will break her of her neat habits within days, maybe even hours. She’s understanding more and more of what we say, of what we expect, yet she still doesn’t speak to us, merely grunting or nodding her thoughts and preferences.

The Cruelty In Africa: Those that know me well know that I’m an animal lover. We have four dogs, four cats and that number would be much, much higher if only we had the room. We use a CSA farm program for our meat because it’s important for me to know that the cow, pig or chicken that gave it’s life to feed my belly was treated in a humane way. And so I’ve been dwelling on the pig. That 300 pound pig we saw strapped to the back of a boda boda, making it’s journey to slaughter no doubt, probably arrived with internal bleeding, perhaps a broken back, in excruciating pain and scared to death. Because it’s heavy body wasn’t supported well on that bumpy ride. It’s was a cruel death. But it’s not nearly as harsh as some of the other realities here. So many babies and young children die from preventable diseases like malaria, untreated water, starvation and malnutrition. Mothers are desperate because they can’t feed their children even a meal a day to keep them alive. Fathers sometimes have little choice but to put their children into an orphanage after their mothers death, because they’re unable to work and also care for the children. Life can be incredibly harsh here.

Yet this country, this continent, is one of extremes. Because the same town that carries dozens of child sized coffins along the road, also boasts beautiful natural wonders, raging rapids, beautiful butterflies and birds calling to each other. Because people here find the joy in small things and understand that things don’t equal happiness. Here there is community and support that comes naturally, where in the US we must go to great lengths for that same sense of community. There is so much work to do here. But there is also so much to learn from this country and these people. It truly is a country of beauty and horror, of sorrow and hope, of joy and pain.

Things I Miss: Obviously it goes without saying that I miss my family. I won’t dwell on that. But there is so much more that I find myself missing as the days go on. I miss the ability to call my husband on his cell phone if I forgot something on the grocery list. I miss Frosted Mini-Wheats, air popped popcorn and I think I’d kill for some chips and salsa right about now. I miss diet sodas and I can’t believe how much coca cola I’ve had in the past two weeks. I miss jumping in my own car to run errands instead of a grand coordination with multiple parties involved just to go the bank. And I miss showers that are hot instantly. I miss cheap internet, cheap gasoline, and decent television. And yes, I said cheap gasoline. Americans, whether we want to hear it or not, don’t pay nearly as much for gas as other countries. Since I’ve been here I haven’t seen gas drop below $3.38. For a LITER.

And OH HOW I *MISS* being clean. Clean. Really, really clean. Last night after our trip to NHO, I took a shower, washed my hair twice, soaped up until I felt sure that I’d gotten all the red earth off my body. Only to step out of the shower and leave traces of red dirt on my white towel. This morning I managed to take off another layer of red that had settled on me during the night, through sheets and curtains.

I miss sleeping in a quiet, dark room without the fear of cockroaches crawling into bed with me, showering with actual water pressure without trying to seal my lips against any possible penetration by dirty water, eating without tiny ants crawling everywhere on me and on my food, brushing my teeth with water from the tap. Oh, and I totally miss sidewalks, going for a walk without fear of being run over by a bus, and streetlamps.

But there will be things I miss about Uganda as well. I’ll miss Mimi the dog. I would pack her home in a heartbeat if I could figure out how. I will totally miss alvaro, a malt pineapple drink which I’m pretty sure is the nectar of the gods. I’m going to miss ripe, fresh, juicy fruit. I’m going to miss the sounds of the morning call to prayer. It’s so peaceful. I’m going to miss seeing goats and chickens along the road. And I’ll miss my friends Patrick and Linda.

Day 11: More Bad News

2011-07-14T03:52:00.001-05:00

Sleeping through the noise of the night sometimes feels impossible. Last night was another restless night and it’s clear that my outlook for the day is based on my successful sleep the night before. I woke up groggy, grouchy and ready for a nap, which I probably should have taken except that I wanted to take a letter to a friends kiddos at another orphanage. So I dragged myself out of bed and tried my best to prepare myself for the day.

Job served sausages and fruit for breakfast, and even though my last encounter with Ugandan sausage made me want to spit into my napkin, I decided to give it a go. Surprisingly it was good, although I did my best to swallow without thinking about what went into it and where. Frey consumed four bananas and milk, so I think we’ve found a winner there.

Frey also had a poor nights sleep and awakened grouchy and whiny. Whereas the day before, she allowed the dog and cat to come close to her, today she bawled if they came anywhere near her. And this creates one of the toughest parenting issues with a newly adopted child. On one hand, we want Frey to seek comfort in Mom and Dad, to feel safe crying, expressing displeasure, likes and dislikes. Yet at the same time, we need to be preparing her for life back home, where cats and dogs run freely through our house, where Mom and Dad aren’t always going to be available to cater to each whim or change in mood. That time is quickly approaching, although not as quickly as I would like. So we opted to leave the cat and dog where they were, laying peacefully on the floor, and used soothing words to try to ease her fears.

Nathan called our attorney while we waited for Patrick to pick us up and unfortunately, he didn’t have good news for us. Even though he was supposed to pick up our court order for guardianship on Tuesday morning, he was just leaving for Mbarara (although I question the veracity of this) when Nathan called. And as for the passport, still no word, but it‘s unlikely we‘ll have it by Friday. Without these documents, we can’t turn in paperwork to the US Embassy. And the embassy staff only accepts paperwork on Monday and Wednesday from 8-10am. They need a minimum of two days to complete their investigations and only issue visas on Friday. So, this means that unless we have a miracle and can get the passport and court order in hand by Sunday night to drop off at the Embassy on Monday morning, I won’t be coming home for another 2 ½ weeks. Because even dropping off the paperwork on Wednesday, I’d still have to wait for the following week for my interview, with a visa issued that following Friday.

This news wouldn’t have been welcome regardless, but having a bad nights sleep only amplified the effect. While I managed to avoid a full on temper tantrum, I couldn’t help the tears that flowed. In many ways, I feel trapped, held prisoner here, by “Africa Time”. I think I could easily spend another several weeks here, seeing the sights, going on safaris or gorilla tracking expeditions, but my weeks won’t be spent in such a manner. My weeks will be spent at a guest house, with little access to humanity, unless I’m willing to pay for a private hire. Of course I could always hop on public transportation, but honestly, my adventurous nature has started to wane. What once sounded like a fun adventure now sounds unpleasant, uncomfortable and limiting.

Patrick finally pulled up to the gate around 10am and we started off towards New Hope Orphanage in Kampala. But in a city of 2 million, across town can become time consuming and daunting. Instead of the nice suburbs on the other side of Kampala, the road we started down clearly marked the poorer side of town. Instead of homes built of brick, we saw more and more shacks. Even the businesses seemed more shabby, more run down. The road wasn’t paved for a good portion of the drive, and the dust almost unbearable, flew every time a car or truck drove down the road. Everything we passed had a thick layer of red dust covering it. Even the live pig strapped to the back of a motorcycle, speeding down the road, showed a layer of dirty red dust. And as we passed a woman putting her tattered and stained clothes onto her line, I couldn’t help wondering how anything could stay clean in this place. Thousands upon thousands of torn bits of plastic bags flew through the air, grinding into the dirt with each passing vehicle, destroying the soil that these people depend on. Animals picked at these bits, no doubt eating them, and in turn making them sick.

Two hours later we had finally navigated through traffic jams, a boda boda accident, and a road more washed away than not. We pulled into Aggies Baby Home. Not our intended destination, but Patrick wasn’t quite sure where to go, so we still toured the compound. All things considered, it looked like a very nice facility. About 20 little babies sat at individual desks eating their lunch. All of them have adoptive families waiting for them. We toured the bedrooms, each room consisting of four or five baby beds and a twin size mattress for the room mother. We walked outside where three women bent over buckets, doing laundry. Several feet away, we could barely see the chain link fence through all of the laundry hanging out to dry. The director explained their plans for a guest house for adoptive parents, a grassy garden area for the children to play in. And the toys! I couldn’t believe that this orphanage had a swing set, bouncy chairs, floor puzzles and more! But Aggies Baby Home wasn’t our intended destination.
We hopped back into the car and drove the short distance to New Hope, as children looked on from the road and from the compound, shouting “Mzungu! Mzungu!”. Although I had purchased bag of hard candy to pass out, my meager one pound would never be enough. And so the candy that I’d thought to treat these children with never left my bag. I never imagined that this orphanage and boarding house held hundreds, HUNDREDS of children. Some are orphans. Some are boarded by their families. Why, I’m not sure. The contrast between the babies home and this place. . . Sharp indeed.

The director of the home briefly came out, pointed out the children we were there to see and disappeared as quickly as she had appeared. But the children! So beautiful and so curious! We snapped a couple of pictures of The Two and then I read to them the letter that their waiting family had prepared for them. And although I tried not to, I couldn’t keep the emotion out of my voice. Oh how I wished to convey to The Two how much they were loved. How much they were wanted. That they had a place, a family, that desperately wanted to hold them. As I read, the other children crowded round. Nathan took a picture of “me” while I was reading. But I’m not visible through the sea of children.

I asked The Girl to show me her room and she led me down the path, whispering ever so quietly that first we would see the room of The Boy. By this time, The Boy had grown tired of the show and headed off with a friend to location unknown. We finally made it to the boys dorm, two large halls separated in the middle by a small room for the house matron. Matron came out to greet me and I saw that she had been laying on her mattress on the floor, tiny newborn by her side. I don‘t know whether this baby was hers, but she seemed to take great care with it, so I think perhaps it was. Some of the other boys pointed out The Boy’s bed. The middle bunk of a triple, in a large dark room filled with bunk beds. Thankfully I saw that each bed had a mosquito net, tied neatly to the side. With so many children, that could have been neglected for the expense. And malaria is deadly here. Far too many children die of something that is easily preventable.

The Girl quietly led me to her dorm room, showed me her bed and pointed out the matrons room between the dorm halls. We showed the matron, a boisterous woman, the picture of The Girl’s family, who in turn showed it to the crowd of teen and pre-teen girls that had crowded to see what was going on. I said goodbye to The Girl and tried again to express to her how much her new family loved her, how they would come as soon as they were able to. And as I waved and walked away, a new group of young children surrounded me, shouting Mzungu, and trying to hold my hand.

I rounded the corner and spotted the car, completely surrounded on all sides by more children. Nathan sat in the car with Frey, who had become overwhelmed by all of the children seeking attention from *her* family, and Patrick had his door open, seat reclined, as if he might actually get some rest in this place. I looked for the director but couldn’t find her anywhere. And so we prepared to leave.

But leaving a place like that isn’t easy. Not only does my heart scream at me to love on these children as much as I can, but they had so completely surrounded the car, that shooing them away in order for us to move forward became another challenge altogether. We finally managed to work our way to the gate, but shouts of Mzungu followed us down the road as we drove away.
Driving away, my heart broke knowing that so many of the beautiful children that I met were orphans that would never know the love of an adoptive family. They’re too old. Just like my Frey, passed over 19 times in the past year in favor of younger, prettier, healthier children. But these children, older children, less perfect children, have so much to give, have so much joy to offer a family, if only more people would give them the chance to do so. And I can’t help but rage at a system where the children that need homes wait, while families line up, waiting for a perfect little baby to become orphaned.

Thankfully the trip home only took an hour through traffic and yet another boda boda accident. And by the time we finally pulled into the gate, I think we were all ready to be away from one another for awhile. We laid down, each of us in our designated spot, and tried to nap.

For dinner, we decided that Nathan would walk to the Nakumatt for bread to add to our leftover Indian meal from the day before. It wasn’t much, but it filled our bellies enough to stop the growling. Frey went down easily in the new toddler bed brought into our room by the owner, and Nathan and I decided to watch some House. But, no kidding, 30 seconds after we finally got the DVD working, the power went out. Harriet called Job back to the guest house so that he could get the generator running for us, but try as he might, he couldn’t get it running. And we tired of the shouting that accompanied his attempts, so finally told him that it wasn‘t a problem, that we were fine. And we sat in the dark for a couple of hours talking until we finally felt tired enough to sleep.

Introducing. . .

2011-07-14T03:46:00.002-05:00

Miss Freyja Rhiannon Kembabazi

Night #10: The Cockroach

2011-07-13T02:48:00.000-05:00

Last night, just as I got set to turn the lights off and step into bed, part of my woven mat moved! Another cockroach! I danced back and hopped from foot to foot, loudly whisper-screaming that we had another one in the room. Nathan didn’t believe me. He thought I was making things up, that my imagination had gotten the better of me. Until he got up with the flashlight and saw it for himself!

The nasty bugger darted under the bed, and so we dropped down to all fours, Nathan wielding one of Frey’s shoes, me with flashlight in hand. It moved closer to the wall so Nathan tried to use our mat to chase it back towards us. And it worked! But then I jumped up into the air and hopped from foot to foot, swinging the flashlight beam wildly! I dropped back down on all fours as I was commanded, but then the cockroach darted towards Frey’s pallet on the floor! And we both jumped up and raced to the foot of the bed, checking to see if Frey had been awakened by the commotion, checking to see if the giant cockroach was attacking our child! We carefully jerked her pallet a few feet but that just gave the cockroach room to run! He sprinted towards our suitcases lined against the wall, hiding under an empty case. But I felt sure we had him now!

We waited. We plotted. We carefully orchestrated our attack! As I jerked the suitcase high in the air, Nathan pounded that bugger again and again and again, until cockroach was no more.
For the record, Nathan will be instructed to place everything he takes home into a plastic bag with a bug bomb. Three or four times. At least.

Day 10: The Nile River

2011-07-12T13:04:00.002-05:00

Last night, Frey woke up crying at about 2am and I held my breath. Hoping. Praying. Please let her go back to sleep! And thankfully she did. Unfortunately, I tossed and turned for a hour before I managed the same feat. But she woke up smiling, refreshed and hungry from several days without much food. That skinny little butt off hers devoured five bananas and a cup of milk! Wow. And Nathan swears that *I* am the cause of the great wake up last night. He says that I snorted so loudly he and Frey both woke up. And I say, “YOU LIE!” Because I would never do anything as unseemly as snort in my sleep. Never! But what do you do with a husband that likes to make up stories about you?

As we got ready for the day, it became clear that Frey felt better, emotionally and physically. Overnight, she became a laughing, giggling, smiling, happy child. The whining vanished. The crying vanished too. And I am so, so very thankful for that! Of course there will be times when she cries, grieves, whines and grouches, but we’re starting to see her blossom

!
Today Patrick picked us up promptly at 8:30 for our trip to Jinja to see the source of the Nile river and we made it out of town with ease. The outskirts of town boasted the usual variety of shops: butchers, furniture makers, mattress sellers, and food vendors. But once out of town. . . Sugar cane plantations covered the hills as far as the eye could see on this side of Kampala. Men on bicycles loaded with sugar cane hanging off two feet on each side shared the road with huge petrol trucks, busses, cars and boda bodas. And every once in awhile, we could catch a glimpse of someone whacking away at those sugar canes with a machete. But my mind wondered how much blood has been spilled in this part of Africa with those machetes. Was the machete I just saw used as a weapon? Congo, Rwanda, Uganda. So much violence. So much loss of life. It’s easy to forget when you’re in the city, shopping at a western style mall. It’s easy to forget what happened not so long ago when you’re talking with Ugandans about their hopes and dreams.

As we drove, the sugar cane plantations gave way to tea plantations, with short shrubs so thick I wondered how anyone could walk through them. But people were walking through them, because from the road, we could see heads bobbing hundreds of feet away in the middle of those bushes, as workers harvested the most tender leaves for the tea. We even noticed a couple of Chinese factories sporting enormous Foo Dogs outside the gates and a field filled with the oh so familiar corn stalks!

The drive to Jinja only lasted an hour, and before we knew it, we were pulling into the park where we would see the source of the Nile. Up to this point, I’d had mixed feelings about our trip. I knew from what others had said that it was very touristy, but the need to dangle my toes in the Nile overcame any reservations I had. Honestly, it wasn’t particularly impressive, but we snapped several pictures with our feet in the Nile. And I’m glad we can say we’ve been there and done that.

Next, Patrick suggested that we head to Bujagali Falls, but he worried that we might think it a waste of money. Quite the opposite in fact! We walked down several flights of steep, red, dirt stairs until we came to the rocks, with the Nile breaking over them. Nathan stepped onto the rocks to let the Nile wash over his feet and lamented that he’d LOVE it if his wife would OK some white water rafting. Which I did not! Then we sat down on some rocks, a little further away from the water, and just listened to the roar of the Nile river behind us, while the mist sprinkled our arms and faces.

And for just a few dollars, we could pay a young man to go over the rapids on nothing more than an empty plastic jug. Such an incredibly dangerous occupation for so little money. Patrick told us that many of the tourists take this young man up on his offer, but I have to wonder at the type of person that finds pleasure and entertainment in another man risking his life for a dollar or two.

Unfortunately, a rainstorm shortened our time at Bujagali Falls. I would have liked to have stayed, but the local newspapers have been publishing story after story about lightening strike deaths in Uganda. And I had no desire to make like a lightening rod. So we drove out of the falls area with rain beating our car, with huge drops of rain pelting me in the backseat from Patrick’s open window.

But the rain cooled the air. And it settled the red dust flying through the air with each passing car. We watched as the red dirt covering banana leaves began streaking in the rain, allowing some of the green to finally show through. We passed toddlers and young children running through the rain, trying to make it home. Young calves and goat kids hunkered down where they had been tied for the day, tails tucked. And men and women walked along the road, going about their business as if nothing had changed.

We drove into town, hoping to find a bank where we could use our ATM, but instead found a little Indian restaurant where we stopped for lunch. I suppose this has been one the biggest surprises about Uganda. The strong influence of Indian culture. It seems that during the 1930’s, when Great Britain controlled both Uganda and India, mass numbers of Indians came to live, work and operate businesses in Uganda. They were expelled by Idi Amin in 1972, but so much of the architecture remains. And in the 1990’s, most of those expelled from the country returned to claim land that had been in the family since those early days. So while staying in East Africa, I’ve eaten more Indian food than in the whole year prior!

As we dined, Patrick, Nathan and Frey enjoyed a Bollywood movie on television! I, on the other hand, did my best to get the rice into Frey’s mouth. Where she showed NO interest in television while we watched House, this silly Indian film absolutely captivated her and made feeding her quite difficult! Oh, and yes. I’m hand feeding Frey. While I know that she’s able to feed herself, she’s never really had two adults doting on her, loving her, pampering her, making her feel special. It’s virtually impossible to do with so many children and babies and only a few grown ups. So yes, hand feeding it is.

After lunch, Patrick said that he would to Mabira Forest Reserve, known for it’s bird watching! Since it’s on the road home, it wasn’t too far out of the way! We turned off the main road onto another one of those heinous rutted, rock filled roads, but thankfully only had a few short kilometers to go. For once, we didn’t have to pay an entrance fee! We drove up to the Rainforest Lodge located on Mabira property and stepped out into a little bit of heaven. Butterflies flitted through the air, some aqua and black, others yellow with black and all of them beautiful. Birds called out sounds to each other that I’d never heard before. All under a thick canopy of green.

And the grounds of the lodge! Oh my! A hostess greeted us as we walked up and pointed out the large, round open air reception area, constructed of massive logs and thatched roof. We walked by the self contained cottages, but we couldn’t resist peeking in the windows! Each cottage sat perched on stilts, with balconies so close to the forest that you could reach out and touch the trees! The rooms were large with two double beds made with crisp white bedding, surrounded by mosquito nets. And the sign on the doors said “Monkey Business Keep Rooms Shut”. I walked away pondering what kind of guests the lodge catered to if management felt the need to quell any “monkey business” from those guests!

But my question about the quality of guests was answered at the next guest cottage. As we walked by, I noticed the trees swaying and when I looked more closely, saw the dozen or so monkeys chattering in the trees! Aha! So actual monkeys get into guests rooms at the lodge! Well that made so much more sense!

We wandered down to the pool area, only seeing one other couple the entire time, and I stuck my feet into some of the coldest pool water this close to the equator! But Frey had missed her nap and started to get fussy. So back up the hill we went, right into the massive open air community lodge, rounded with a thatched roof, two stories with an open air dining room below, lanterns and oil paintings of local birds adorning the walls and ceiling, comfortable chairs and wool rugs for comfort and all with a 360 degree view of the forest surrounding it. Perfection. Absolute perfection. We felt as if we too were perched in the treetops, surrounded by tranquility, by the chirping of birds and the chattering of monkeys. This place, this forest. . . . this is where I feel close to God, where I feel connected to something much larger than myself. A waiter brought drinks up to us and we sat, and watched, and listened, and felt this forest, so full of life. Today, this forest renewed my spirit and cleared my head. I regret that we didn’t allot more time to Mabira Forest Reserve. But it’s absolutely on my must do list for my next trip.

The drive back to Kampala passed quickly until we entered the city suburbs, where traffic slowed to a crawl. But we finally made it home, ready for a dinner of leftover pizza, Indian food and summer sausage. Frey became a fast fan of summer sausage and gobbled several slices along with a banana for dinner. She’s also been a super smiley, giggling little girl, and it’s such a joy to watch her come out of her shell. Watching her today, there isn’t a doubt in my mind that she will thrive, absolutely thrive, once she’s home with two loving parents and two usually loving sisters. And thankfully, she went down with no fussing or tears. Progress. We’re making lots and lots of progress.

Day 9: A New Day

2011-07-12T09:36:00.001-05:00

For the first time since picking up Frey, I slept through the night undisturbed. The floor pallet worked wonders once Frey finally settled down. And she was dry through the night again. Thankfully. Although it would figure that once we spent ten bucks on diapers she wouldn’t need them. But we’re still planning on using them until we figure out her habit’s a bit more! And even though I woke up at 5:45, I felt refreshed, prepared to love this child that so badly needs my love right now.

So as my two sickies slept for another hour, I snuck the laptop into the bathroom to catch up on what’s going on at home. And I thought I’d be proactive and turn the water heater on so that when the everybody else woke up, I’d be able to jump right into a hot shower. Except Nathan, that turkey, woke up and snagged the shower that I was warming for myself! I had to settle for a lukewarm shower, but that still beats a cold shower any day!

We ultimately decided that we would head out to get our business in order. Kampala is a city with over 2 million people. Even a hundred people protesting isn’t a blip on that map. And I trust Patrick as our driver. I trust that he knows where he’s going. And I know he wants to get home to his two babies just as much as I want to get home to mine. He wouldn’t take us somewhere that put us at risk. And as for the terror threat, well, they thrive on creating fear. And I choose not to let them win by making me afraid to go out into the city.

As we packed our backpacks for the day, we brainstormed, trying to think of everything we might need for the day. Through the bathroom door, I asked Nathan if we should take Frey’s anti-nausea medication. He said yeah, but then he didn’t come out of the bathroom with it! So I pushed the door open to find a guilty looking husband taking a dose of Frey’s meds! I almost died laughing! He’d misunderstood and thought I meant that we should TAKE it, not take it with us! What a dork. But we all had a good laugh at his expense when Patrick finally showed up at 9 with Linda in tow!

First, Patrick drove us to the IOM medical facility for Frey’s medical since Nathan forgot to tell him that we needed pictures first. So we backtracked to the mall and enjoyed a coca cola while we waited for her passport pictures to print. Then we called our attorney Isaac to see about a passport, the one thing that may delay our homecoming. Thankfully, he was able to see us in a half hour, so we headed BACK over to our neighborhood. Again.

We sat down next to a sweet couple for Oregon adopting two older children in Jinja and enjoyed talking with them until we were called into Isaac’s office . He told us that we probably wouldn’t be able to get a passport until Friday morning, dashing my hopes of leaving with Nathan. But with a decent nights sleep, it didn’t sound nearly as traumatic as it did the day before.

Next we headed back to the IOM for the second time. Frey and I sat playing “finger” while Nathan tried to get things sorted out at reception. But no sooner had we settled in for the wait, than Nathan came back with news that we had to have a letter from the embassy referring us to the IOM before we could be seen. At that point, it was already closing in on noon, we’d not had lunch and it was time for Frey’s nap. And dragging a cranky four year old around all day is not my idea of fun! We decided that Frey and I would head back to the guest house while Nathan headed to the embassy. Plus, Nathan’s better at being nice than I am, so he‘s a natural choice to schmooze!

Thankfully the US Embassy let one of their US citizens enter the embassy today! I’m still honked off about being denied access to my own freakin embassy last week! Anyway. Nathan spoke with the woman that does adoptions, got the letter we needed, came back for us at the guest house, and we all set off to the IOM for the third time in a day!

The IOM is, what can I say, not as pleasant as the Surgery? The staff isn’t as friendly. The nurse was somewhat snooty. The doctor was incredibly condescending. Several times he spoke to me like I was the slow kid in class! Irritating! Lots of shuffling from here to there with no real purpose. It had a different feel to it, much less warm and inviting. But then, I’ve heard from other adoptive parents that also felt the Surgery was nicer, so I should have been more prepared.

But it wasn’t a total waste of time. We met another woman adopting an older child, which is always awesome to see. Older child adoption is obviously close to my heart! And the doctor did notice something that in six days time Nathan and I have failed to notice. Freyja’s right leg is about an inch shorter than her left leg. Which could account for some of her limping and lost balance. From what we can tell, she chooses not to use her right side and the sisters didn’t force her to do so. So her muscles atrophied and began to pull back up. I’m not sure what treatment options will be once we’re back in the states, but it’s a piece of the puzzle we didn’t have until today.

Frey did amazingly well at the appointment too! She didn’t cry or fuss, even when the doctor gave her the TB needle. Although the waterworks started when I went into another building to pay the bill, they stopped the moment she saw me come out. Right now, I am her only safety net, the only thing she’s familiar with. And I’m so thankful that I finally got enough sleep to give her what she needs.

Patrick took us BACK to the mall for an early dinner , where we got money, another batch of photos, a pizza and some chicken and chips. Chicken and chips were good. They tasted like any deep fried chicken and wedge potatoes that we’d get at home. The pizza . . . . . Not so much. Tomato sauce here has and odd twang, not quite sour, but somehow off and my mouth literally waters at the prospect of a homegrown tomato from my yard. The fruit is wonderful here, but OH how I miss vegetables.

Frey tried her hand at some manipulation during dinner too! She didn’t want her food, but wanted her Fanta. She rewarded us with a tears and pout when we wouldn’t give her soda until she ate. Ah, the battle of wills has begun! But I hate to break it to her, Sophia’s already schooled us in child manipulation so Frey’s just out of luck! Good effort on her part, but as the third child, she’s not bringing anything new to the game.

I tried to do a bit of shopping, but honestly, I have no desire for shopping mall souvenirs from Kenya. I much prefer my mementos from the craft markets. Those come with the thrill of haggling with vendors! They’re less polished, more authentic. Our first priority is a Ugandan drum to add to our drums from Ghana and Ethiopia. Next priority is fabric and artwork. I want to find a Ugandan nativity and of course, we need some paper bead necklaces. We hope to so our shopping this Friday so that Nathan can take our things home with him. That way, I won’t have to check luggage at customs, just the kid. Easy is good, especially when I’m lugging a 40 pound sack of potatoes!

And finally, after eight hours of running around, we had finished with three errands for the day. THIS is Africa. This is what doing business in Africa is like. Everything takes so much longer than Americans are used to. What may take an hour or two at home takes eight hours here. It’s frustrating. But that’s just the way it is.

Our host Betty sat waiting for us when we got home. She’s such a maternal figure, Frey settled on her lap for the rest of the evening, while Nathan and I sipped Ugandan tea and chatted with her about the joys and sorrows of life, of parenting, until Frey’s eyelids started to dip and it was time for bed.

Just as we got into our room, the lights went out marking one of the rolling power outages Betty said we should now expect. We got ready for bed by the light of our one candle. Frey didn’t hesitate to go to her pallet tonight, instead she immediately nestled into her makeshift bed and went to sleep, while Nathan and I stayed up talking for another hour. Power outages mean a quieter street and that means better sleep for all of us.

As for Frey, from what I can tell, she is not a morning person. But then neither am I. She’s also doesn’t like cold food, preferring warm milk, fruit and food over cold. She has to have a nap and becomes fussy when she’s tired. She doesn’t want Nathan anywhere near her when she’s tired, hungry or grouchy. She’s learning that she’s supposed to smile at the camera. And she’s learning what we mean when we say potty, drink, bite and bed, although she still doesn’t speak to us. She likes watching instead of doing. And she’s doing her best to figure out what’s going on in this new world she’s been thrust into. A couple of nights ago, I read to her and she showed no interest in the book. But as soon as I walked away, she picked it up and flipped through it, imitating what I’d just done. She also tried imitating my nail filing. She’s watching and learning. Just like an infant would. For our part, Nathan and I are watching and learning as well.

Day 8: The Crazy Train Meltdown

2011-07-11T12:14:00.001-05:00

Nights are rough for both Frey and I. I’ve tried sharing a bed with her, hoping that would help ease her fears at bedtime. But when she moves, I wake. And when I move, she wakes and then wakes me. I’m usually awake20 times through the night. At least. And once again, my day started before 6am. Because even though we put plastic panties on Frey last night, I woke up to a wet bed and a crying child. After I got my bed sheets pulled off, I tried laying back down, but no success. Frey and Nathan on the other hand slept for another few hours on Nathan’s mattress. But I suppose they both needed it, so I won’t complain. Too much. And breakfast brought more vomit. Living the good life, I tell ya.

At least I had a nice long, hot shower this morning. It’s amazing how something so simple can improve your mood. But as I enjoyed my shower, I could hear the door starting to rattle. And I ignored it. More rattling. And I ignored it. Wailing. And I tried my best to ignore it, to give Nathan a chance to comfort Frey without mommy around, to give myself just a little bit of alone time, even if it meant hiding in the bathroom like a crazy woman. But then, my grandmother tells stories of my great grandmother hiding in the outhouse to get away from the kids, so perhaps it just runs in the family. Or maybe the fumes of the outhouse just created a crazy strain in our genes. Whatever the case, I just was not ready to face a day of 15 hours of holding and consoling.''

While my hair dried in Velcro rollers, and a four year old watching my every move, I started prepping for African laundry time. But as I reached down and started to pick up some white sheets, a giant 3 inch cockroach darted into the folds. I jumped back, hopped from foot to foot while turning 180 degrees, made a screech and almost stomped my four year old into the ground. BLAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

As Nathan chased after the giant cockroach and disposed of the other two dead cockroaches from the floor, he told me that he’d woken up several times through the night brushing bugs off of him! AHHH!!!! WHAT??? WHAT THE HELL!?! Those three inch cockroaches were CRAWLING ON HIM? I can tell you one thing, I no longer envy him sleeping on the mattress by himself! Suddenly sleeping in pee with a four year old that kicks the crap out of me all night long doesn’t seem so bad! Never, ever thought I’d say THAT! But there it is. I guess we all have our thresholds and mine happens to be giant cockroaches. Ugh!

After cockroach assassinations ended, I started my African laundry. Giant Velcro rollers in my hair, secured with a red chili pepper bandana, pants rolled up to my knees, stomping laundry in a plastic blue bucket., no makeup with a four year old stuck like glue. We wrung out the giant blankets and hung them out to dry and decided we’d had enough activity for the day.

We tried watching Big Bang Theory on DVD, but it turns out that all of the DVD’s are burned copies so it wouldn’t play. Instead we contented ourselves with a few episodes of House. And then Nathan did his best to read and watch Freyja outside while I did my best to nap, but it’s not easy with sunshine beaming through the windows and the sounds of the city blaring through the screens. Car horns, children yelling outside, birds screeching, roosters crowing, engines gunning. Unfortunately I couldn’t make it to sleep, so I quit trying and gave Nathan a chance at a nap, which he thoroughly enjoyed, while I watched Freyja.

Since we’d skipped lunch trying to nap, we decided that we would start walking to our favorite area of town on Kololo road, thinking a sit down meal at a nice establishment would be perfect right about now. But as soon as we got to the base of the hill, we both realized just how daunting it would be to make the trek with Freyja, whose balance and mobility is that of a baby just learning to walk. So back up the hill we went. I took Frey inside while Nathan headed to the Nakumatt store. Personally, I would have loved going myself, but given that Frey still screams when I’m out of her sight for more than a few minutes, neither of us wanted a repeat of a few nights ago.

While we waited for Daddy to return, Casper the guest house cat wandered into our room. Frey hates both cats and dogs, but I’m grateful that they’re around now, because I’m hoping it will ease her transition to a house with four large dogs and four needy cats. I have no doubt it’s going to be a difficult adjustment, but I’d rather her first encounter with a dog be one with a 15 pounder not a 100 pounder times four!

Casper explored Frey’s toy box, AKA the suitcase, while we looked on from the safety of the bed. Then he wandered over to our bag of cereal bars and snacks. He rooted around, I assumed just exploring the new territory. Until he jumped out of the bag with one of our summer sausages from home and took off down the hallway! I shouted at him and then he dropped the sausage and ran like the dickens, so I think he’s probably done this before! Little criminal!
But the sight of that summer sausage made my empty tummy growl, so I grabbed our open package from the fridge. And feeling kindly towards the dog and cat, I gave them each a little nibble. Mistake. Big mistake! Casper followed me into our room and sat begging. Each time I lost my grip on the piece of sausage I was air slicing, he snagged it and gobbled it down! He became so distracting that I tossed him out of our room and closed the door on his butt! But then, he just spent an hour howling outside of our door, begging for more! Harriet the housekeeper finally tossed him outside. I’d like to think it was because she didn’t want him to disturb the guests. But really, I think it had more to do with the fact that he was interrupting her afternoon soaps!

As the cat drama unfolded, Nathan finally came home with spaghetti and sauce for dinner, diapers, coca cola and chocolate! Good man! Good man indeed! We asked Job, our chef, if he would prepare our dinner, and we settled in to read and color for a bit.

But Frey started fussing, and had to be on top of me. And I was exhausted with nothing left to give to her. I‘d finally gotten to THAT point, the one where my well of patience is empty, my heart missing all that is familiar and normal, my body to tired to function. And thus began the crazy train meltdown. I hesitate to write this because, well, it’s actually quite embarrassing really. And it‘s proof that I‘m married to the best guy in the world. Still, I hate to write about taking a ride on the crazy train.. But it’s where I was in that moment and I want to keep it real for other adoptive parents out there.

With Frey perched on the bed, I got up and flung myself onto the mattress on the floor, sobbing, loudly sobbing, hiccupping, snot running down my face,, tossing my head back and forth yelling “I JUST WANT TO GO HOME!” over and over again. I saw Job look at me down the hallway. No doubt wondering why they’d been stuck with a crazy white woman this week. Frey looked on from her perch on the bed, no doubt taking notes on what to add to her repertoire. And Nathan sat down to rub my back and soothe me, no doubt wondering how he has managed to surround himself with four females that may drive him to drink. But I just kept on going. Until I finally wore myself out 20 minutes later. Not my finest moment to say the least. I think I gave my four year old a run for her money. But sometimes you just need a good cry. And afterwards, Nathan and I both agreed that Frey would be sleeping on a pallet on the floor from now on so that Mom doesn’t have a complete and total mental breakdown.

With tears dried, snot removed and sanity restored, we headed into the dining room. Our spaghetti dinner was just what we needed, relaxed and tasting like a little bit of home. Frey ate a little bit, but turned her head after her fourth bite. We didn’t push it. I figure she knows her stomach more than I do. It’s not like she’s starving. Based on her size, I’d say that she hasn’t known hunger during her stay at the orphanage. She’ll start eating when she’s ready and honestly, I’m tired of cleaning up vomit.

After dinner, we all headed down the hallway to our room and started getting ready for bed. Since Frey is usually put to bed right after dinner, we laid her on her pallet on the floor and told her it was time for bed. She screamed bloody murder for a good 30 minutes before I finally sang Frere Jacques twice to calm her down. And then she was out like a light.

Nathan and I sat up talking for a bit about what Monday would bring. My fondest hope and wish is that I could travel home with him on Saturday night. But that means a miracle needs to happen and we need to get our arses in gear. Pictures, seeing our attorney about a passport, hopefully getting a medical and a visa appointment at the embassy. All things that need to get done ASAP. But as I checking in on Facebook, we heard through the grapevine that security was heightened because Monday marked the one year anniversary of the World Cup bombings here. And we also heard through the Facebook grapevine that Monday would bring a taxi strike and riots. So that left me torn between wanting to heed the advice and wanting to get our things in order to go home. Because I really am ready to go home. I love Uganda. I want to come back and explore all that it has to offer. But not with a child that hasn’t done much beyond scream, cry, pee and vomit. It’s time for the comforts of home. It’s time to see my kids, pet my dogs, hug my parents and sleep in my own quiet room. I’m ready.

I laid in bed listening to the sounds of an abandoned, dying puppy and wondered how on earth would I ever be able to sleep with such a pitiful sound coming through the window, wanting so badly to go rescue it. My mind raced thinking of all of the things we needed to do, wondering if it was indeed safe to go out. And then it was morning.

Day 7: The Hits Keep Coming

2011-07-11T04:32:00.001-05:00

Unfortunately, the morning didn’t get better after Frey peed the bed. She was fitful, grunting and whining so that neither of us fell back to sleep, or at least not for more than minutes at a time. By 6, Frey was on FIRE with fever, but so early on a Saturday, people aren‘t up yet. Instead of trying to navigate to the Nakumatt in the dark again, I pressed a cold compress onto Frey’s forehead to keep her cool until Kampala woke up and we could get her some medical attention. Nathan was still not doing well, exhausted from being sick for so long with no sleep to heal his body, gravel in his chest and with a cough that hurt him.

As for myself, I was feeling pretty darn exhausted too. And I had a ton of laundry that needed doing because we‘d used the last of the houses clean sheets and blankets. But things have to get done. And so while it was still dark outside, I got up and did laundry African style, with a bucket and the only soap available to me: shampoo. The first load is soaped up and then wrung out, leaving the soapy water in the basin The second pee stained items that needed an extra washing then get washed in the dirtier soapy water from the first load and then wrung out and set aside. Water gets drained, the bucket is refilled with fresh water and the first load is rinsed out. And so on. As soon as daylight filtered through the windows, I took my laundry outside to hang it on the line to dry with equator sunshine.

By 7, Frey’s whole body was still burning up. I didn’t want to wait any longer. I covered her little body in cool water and woke Nathan up to tell him to call Patrick. We considered trying to bring her fever down on our own, but ultimately decided that the philosophy of wait and see is better applied in the US, where we can change course immediately if need be. Patrick arrived a few minutes before 8, and off we went to the Surgery, a hospital of sorts, more western than most that I’ve seen.

I’m not quite sure what I expected when I walked in, but it wasn‘t what I thought it would be. I’ve seen enough African movies and documentaries to have a general idea of what medical facilities look like. But I was still a bit surprised. The best comparison that I can come up with is that it reminded me of our country vets office before any remodels were done. Mostly clean, but sorely outdated. Good, interesting architecture with the bare minimum medical equipment. The waiting room had a reception desk where we cold sign in, stained chairs that thankfully had some padding, a fish aquarium that looked like it had gone a long, long time between cleanings and windows open wide to let the cool morning breeze in. The walls were probably once white, but now had a bit more color to them, probably from the red dust that’s ever present. It wasn’t so much dirty, just lacking the sterile feel of hospitals back home. I guess what I’m trying to say is that it looked used, but comfortable, like a favorite pair of shoes that’s nicely broken in. We shared our wait with a Caucasian couple expecting a child.

The nurse finally called us back and we descended a small set of stairs that led to a sunken area. Each room did double duty as both doctors office and exam room. We were greeted by a petit African woman in her late 20’s or early 30’s, and unlike in a western style hospital, we spent most of our time with her. She motioned for me to put Frey on the exam table, but as soon as I did, Frey screamed and screamed, and since the doctor can’t do an exam on a squirming, wailing child, she decided that we would all be best served if Frey sat on my lap for the examination. She looked, listened and felt all over Frey’s little body, but couldn’t find anything wrong. She looked in ears and nose, but wasn’t able to successfully look down Frey’s throat until we took her off my lap and made her wail all over again.

Our doctor decided that she wanted to run some tests because she was also worried about the fever, and so we met a nurse at the top of the stairs for the blood draw. She seemed like a nice enough woman, but she asked me to pin Frey’s legs between mine and for Nathan to secure her arms for the draw. She didn’t think that Frey would do well with it, and I’m sure she was afraid of getting stuck by a needle. Certainly a fear I understand, but the act of pinning down a four year old that is just learning to trust you is a far cry from bonding. Our little Frey is a trouper though. She wailed of course, but didn’t fling her body as the nurse feared she would. And once the initial stick ended, she calmed down considerably.

Then began the waiting. I wasn’t sure how long we would be, so I sent Nathan back out to Patrick so that they could run to the store. I wanted Nathan to look for an expectorant for himself, a pedialite type product and a fever reducer for Frey. There was no use in us both wasting time at the hospital, especially considering that Frey wouldn’t let Nathan near her.
While we waited for the results of the blood test, the nurse also asked me to have Frey pee into a pan, and although I didn’t think she had any left, she managed a little bit. And during this whole time, only one other person, another white woman, probably British, came in to see the doctor. Honestly, this surprised me more than anything. I don’t know what I was expecting. Perhaps long lines of village Ugandans lining up outside. But the reality was that this hospital in sub-tropical Africa felt calm, peaceful and relaxed, so unlike any experience I’ve had in plush hospitals with all of the so called creature comforts. Give me fresh air and sunlight any day over fluorescent light bulbs and a closed up box.

Just as Nathan got back to the hospital, the nurse motioned for us to speak to the doctor. A different doctor this time, tall, African and probably in his early 30’s. He told us that she could have malaria, especially if she just contracted it recently. If her fever doesn’t come down on her own, we’ll need to have her tested every few days. But it could also be viral. We’ll know based on how long she has a fever and whether it breaks on it’s own. He gave us something to help her keep food down, something for the fever and sent us on our way. Our total bill for blood draw, ER visit, and medicine was $40. Not an experience I wanted to have while here, but nor was it the nightmare of my imagination.

Once back home, with fever reducer kicking in, Frey crashed out and slept. So did Nathan. And while they both tried sleeping off their sickness, I sat outside on the patio, sipping warm coke from my 1.5 liter bottle, nibbling on summer sausage from our CSA back home and typed out our safari notes. Unfortunately, my respite wasn‘t nearly long enough. Frey woke up, screaming for mom, and Nathan needed more sleep than he‘d gotten. So I brought her outside with me where she tried coloring for a bit, but it’s clear she’s never held crayons before. Her left hand, while strong, isn’t accurate, and her right hand can only grip when she uses her left to close her fingers.

When Nathan finally roused, we started a campaign of “getting to know Daddy” so that I could have some peace and alone time. Nathan would walk her around the yard and then bring her back to my location so that she could see that Daddy wasn’t trying to take her away from Mommy. And thank GOD it seemed to be working. She’s let Nathan hold her and even napped on his chest for a little bit. Such an incredible relief!

We spent the afternoon with Frey trying out some of her new toys, me typing away, journaling, Nathan reading and napping until finally, we decided it was time for some sort of dinner. I sent Nathan out since there was no way I planned on carting Frey through the market, but he wasn’t satisfied with the meat on a stick unless it was right off the grill and the vendors weren’t about to let him get off cheap. Instead of $2.50, they wanted to charge him $10! He finally passed on the meat on a stick and headed to a “restaurant”. But the power was out in our district and their pickings slim, so Nathan brought home two meager pieces of fried chicken. Frey thankfully slept by that time so I let Nathan have the chicken to himself. We left Frey sleeping on the bed while we sat out in the living room chatting by candlelight. Sadly, it wasn’t nearly as romantic as it might sound, sitting listening to the sounds of Kampala by candlelight, given that we were both totally wiped and ready for bed at 8:30.

Day 6: The Very Bad and Ugly

2011-07-09T23:56:00.001-05:00

African Yin and Yang

Our African safari was amazing! But unfortunately, amazing times come to an end and are often followed by really sucky times. Such was the case on day 6 of our Ugandan adventure.

After eating a few banana’s on the way out of the village, we all settled into quiet reflection. Nathan, Frey and I were all exhausted. Patrick was concentrating on the road. And I think Linda was trying to nap. The drive passed slowly. My knee still hurt from my fall on court morning and long hours of sitting in cramped space didn’t do it any good. My giardia was still rolling and the bumps in the road made me wince every time., Frey insisted on laying on top of me, making a hot car ride hotter. And Nathan seemed to be getting sicker. What he thought was sinus or allergies on Sunday and Monday, turned into coughing and running nose on Tuesday. Which turned into cold like symptoms on Wednesday. By Thursday, it had moved into his chest. And Friday, he was even worse.

We stopped in a town called Masaka for lunch, which is the halfway point between Kampala and Mbarara. Although we keep telling Linda that we are fine eating African food with the locals, she insisted on finding a mzungu dining spot so that we might feel more comfortable. I wasn’t keen on eating and neither was Frey. She kept her rice in her mouth for several minutes before finally deciding to swallow and that’s about all she was willing to take. As for me, I didn’t want to put anything in my body because that means something must come out of my body. Not such a good thing on a busy Ugandan road in the middle of the day. And of course, my husband managed to find a crème donut of sorts. He does love his sweets. But after I’d had a bite, I decided it was darn good and finished off ½ of it for him!

Frey continued to become crankier and crankier as the day progressed. As I’ve said earlier, Nathan and I chalked this up as too much new happening in her life combined with a new and altered scheduled. We firmly decided that we would not freak out over the little things like we did with Sophia’s adoption. Doesn’t want to eat? No problem. She’ll eat when she’s hungry enough to do so. Doesn’t want to engage us? No problem. She’ll come around on her own time. Problems adapting to a new schedule? She’ll finally adapt and we’ll be patient until she does.
She refused, I mean outright refused, to be held by Nathan and only Mommy would do. She didn’t want to eat or drink. She laid on me, lethargic for the better part of the day, including the safari. But we refused to let this become an issue, sure that it was adoption related. Until about an hour outside of Kampala when she vomited everything she’d eaten and drunk for the entire day into my hands and purse. We stopped along the roadside to fling vomit into the bush, change Frey into a new outfit and to clean my hands as best we could.

Therein lies the problem with swooping into an orphanage and picking up your child and then flying out just as quickly as you came. You don’t really know that child. You don’ know what is normal and what is not. And while Nathan and I were chalking up Frey’s issues as adoption related, we totally missed that Frey was sick. Honestly, I much prefer getting to know the child on a two trip basis so that a bond can be established over time, so that you have a week or so to get to know your child in their own setting. Anyway, I’ll hop off yet another soapbox.
By the time we pulled up to our guesthouse, Nathan and I were so thankful, almost to the point of tears, that we bolted from the car. We were HOME. Back to a working shower. Back to a good bed. Back to a place where we could unpack, wander around the house barefoot, sit on a sofa and use the kitchen. Home.

Nathan gave an extra 100 shillings to Patrick as a thank you for guiding us through the park since he didn’t ask for anything extra beyond what he was going to originally charge for our trip to Mbarara, even though he spent several extra hours with us as our guide. As Nathan turned to come back into the house, I caught sight of Patrick. And his face was beaming. For us, $50 for all the extra attention and support he gave us seems small. But for him, that was a blessing. And I felt blessed that we could do that for him. Sometimes I forget what my dollars are worth.

My first task once home was trying to record our day so that we wouldn’t forget anything about the day. But as soon as I stepped out of the room, Frey began to WAIL. And continued to do so for 20 minutes I sat on the rooftop terrace typing. Nathan tried to console her, but she wanted nothing to do with him. He tried anyway because he knew that after spending 14 hours doing just that, I needed my own space to decompress.

But when I stepped back into the room, Nathan was in a cold sweat and I knew he was getting sick. Really sick. Unfortunately, Nathan can get very sick, very quickly and I didn’t want a repeat of last year with pneumonia at Gibson General. We decided that I would go to the pharmacy at the local Nakumatt.

But it was dark. And several blocks away. On a road with no sidewalks. And no streetlamps. With lots of Friday night traffic. I did well until I needed to cross the main road. That’s when traffic stopped on my side and I made it out to the middle of the road. But when I got there, traffic was flying at me in the other direction so I jumped back. Right into the path of the SUV that was now on the move again.. Panicked, I jumped back to the walkway area and right into the path of a boda boda was flying along that strip. I’m thankful and more than a little surprised that I didn’t get hurt. Thankfully the SUV driver realized I was going to die trying to cross on my own and he waited for me and stopped the car that was trying to pass him so that I could cross. Bless that driver!

I finally made it to the pharmacy where I bought antibiotics at the counter. And since I wanted the strongest thing they had, I told them it was for pneumonia. The girl asked whether I wanted that for an adult or a child and $25 later I was headed out the door. I’ve never been a fan of medicating like that, but neither am I a fan of emergency medical evacuations that are freakishly expensive! In this instance, being in Uganda with limited medical facilities, I’m not willing to chance it.

Getting back wasn’t quite as difficult as getting there, but when I pounded on the gate for entrance, nobody was around to let me in. Frey was screaming her head off and nobody heard knocking and yelling. I was almost in tears and frantically beat the door until my fist hurt, wondering what I would do if they didn‘t hear me. Finally Harriet heard and let me in, but at this point, I was agitated and just wanted the day to be over. When I walked into the room, Frey calmed down instantly. But then she started vomiting all over our clean sheets and Nathan was drinking the last of our water.

With two people sick, we HAD to have water to drink. It’s just not an option to wait until morning for something to drink. So back out for another round of beating death. I knew I couldn’t go back to the supermarket. I was still shaking from my first trip. So I opted to walk to the true African market down the road, not too far and not nearly as busy of a road, but still dark, still with traffic.

You can’t see where you’re walking at night, because you’re alternately pitched into blackness save for the charcoal fires and then blinding headlights of oncoming traffic. Something wet splashed on my feet and legs in the darkness, yet it hadn‘t rained in days. With raw sewage covering my feet, I had to keep on going, because two people were depending upon me to bring them water and help get them well. Lugging those 4 liters of water back up the hill, I decided that I would never make it as an African woman. I’m not nearly tough enough.

Finally we had everything we needed for the night. Finally I started to calm down. Nathan had his drugs. Frey finally stopped crying and went to sleep immediately on the bed when I put her down on our fresh sheets and *I* got a shower. Frey and I slept well until about 4 when she wet the bed. Damn! I wanted to kick myself. Just because she’d been dry for the past few nights didn’t mean she’d be dry every night. We pulled the blanket and sheets off the bed again, and dragged them into the bathroom where a bucket awaits for washing along with the first batch of soiled sheets, tossed on a clean sheet, flipped the mattress and tried to get a few more hours sleep.

African Safari: Day 6

2011-07-09T04:32:00.004-05:00

Today started at an early 4am. Not because I chose this, but because Frey woke up crying. Morning and nighttime are the worst for her. But then, they are for me as well. Those moments of silence allow us time to reflect on what we miss the most. I understand this all to well. So we cuddled in bed while I sang Frere Jacques over and over again, until finally we got up at 5:30. Once up, the morning seemed to get better. Frey enjoyed her first bathtub experience, although it was somewhat limited. And she ate breakfast, although not much. She seemed to be shutting down again, and Nathan and I agreed that it was OK to let her do so. The kids need to grieve and bond at their own pace. If she needed a break from interacting with us for the day, we understand that need.

Patrick stopped at our breakfast table to let us know he was ready for us, so one of the porters carried our luggage to the car and we were off to pick Linda up at her hotel. Once we had Linda, we headed to the bank one more time, just in case. And while Nathan jumped out to use the ATM machine, I innocently asked Linda if the newspaper the men were hawking at our car window was a tabloid type paper or a real newspaper paper! Innocent question I thought! Except it sparked an exceptionally animated debate between Patrick and Linda! Back and forth like husband and wife! For about 45 minutes! Nathan and I sat back and enjoyed the show! It’s moments like these, when people forget that you’re watching, that you see the real person. And I’ll tell you what. I love Patrick and Linda. I do. These are two awesome human beings and I hope to get to know them better.

Although Patrick is “just” a private driver, he is very well spoken, well informed, intelligent, quick witted and honest. His insights, his stories and comments never fail to impress me. He doesn’t have to talk often, but when he does, I can’t wait to hear what comes out of his mouth! He said something during his debate that I cannot get out of my head: we are defined by what we consume. We are DEFINED by what we CONSUME. And he took the position that he chooses not to consume something that will hurt people through gossip. Oh. .. If only. If only more people would take the same position. If only we didn’t choose to eat chocolate made from cocoa beans picked by exploited children in Ghana. If only we didn’t choose to buy tires made from Firestone rubber that exploits families in Africa. If only we didn’t choose to buy clothes that exploits workers in Asia. If only we didn’t choose to buy things that exploit our earth and her resources. If only. But I’ll hop off that soapbox now lest this turn into a an entirely different post.

The debate finally ended when we had to stop the car to ask for the road to Lake Mburo National Park, considered one of the least popular parks in Uganda because most people want to see the Big 5 game. We had to backtrack just a bit and then we headed off down one of the worst roads I’ve ever been down in my life. And I have been down quite a few very bad roads. Rutted dirt roads filled with rocks, holes the size of small cars and dusty with dry, red clay earth.
But we passed actual villages instead of the pseudo villages along the roadside. We passed schools where children in uniforms played outside. We passed men on bicycles carrying loads of bananas on each side. And we noticed more men with 5 or 6 chickens strapped in a row on the back of their bikes. And those were LIVE chickens! They didn’t look too please with their lot in life. But then, I have a feeling they were nearing the end of it, so hopefully they were happy until that point! We drove by moms putting the laundry out in the bushes to dry and whiten with sunlight and photosynthesis. Babies playing on front steps. Round huts with thatched roofs. Mud brick smokehouses. And every single time we passed a child or group of children, we were greeted with enthusiastic waves. I think that’s the closest I’ll ever feel to being a rock star! 19 kilometers of rutted roads and out of the way villages took an hour to pass through.

When we arrived at Lake Mburo, Nathan got out to pay our fees. Patrick immediately spotted monkeys, so of course I shot out of the car take some pictures! But these gate monkeys are trained by experience to expect a treat from park visitors, so when they advanced on me while I was showing them to Frey, I beat a hasty retreat back to the car! I won’t say that I ran exactly, but I sure didn’t linger! Monkey fighting is one thing I’m NOT ready to add to my list of BTDT‘s! Patrick also pointed out several birds and I did my best to capture them before they flew away, but the problem with a zoom lens is that it takes too long to zoom, so I wasn’t as successful as I would have liked. When all was said and done, we spent $107 to get the five of us into the park with our car. Not bad. Not bad at all. Especially considering that most tour companies charge anywhere from $300 per person and up. And when I say “on up” I mean mostly UP.

Upon entering the park, we spotted warthogs and impala quite close to the road! I’ve just got to say it. Warthogs are the ugliest damn animals I have EVER SEEN! SERIOUSLY!!! Have you ever seen one of these things up close and personal? Pumba from the Lion King looked so much cuter in cartoon form! Wow. Those things are proof that God has a wicked sense of humor! I’ve DID manage to zoom in on the warthogs faces and I’ve got some great shots. But this is one animal that I’m more than happy to observe from a distance!

As we progressed through the park, we spotted more impala, too many warthogs to count, water buck, and a toucan. Nathan was particularly excited about our safari and kept his eyes open for any movement. Except he’s not very good at it! He’d call a halt because he thought he’d spotted something good. To which we would all reply, “nope, just another warthog!“ But every once in awhile, the breeze through the car would carry the smell of hot animal instead of grassy plains, and sure enough, further on we’d spot some type of animal or other. We finally stopped at the main park station, but Frey was having some difficulty letting anyone but mom hold her, so I stayed in the car while the others wandered around. Nathan found out that we could take a boat around the lake for about $40 for all of us, and of course he jumped at the chance!

Before we headed off for our two hour tour, not to be confused with a Gilligan three hour tour, I stopped off at the restroom. But really, let me be honest here. It wasn’t a restroom at all. The term “rest room” implies that I would like to take a moment of rest in this location. And that would not, in any way, shape or form, be an accurate representation of the place I visited. Pit toilets. Pit toilets obviously designed by a man, for a man, that can aim his flow. The slit in the concrete was narrow, and God only knows how one is expected to aim ones poo should the need arise. And I’m sure that explains the poo located on the outskirts of said slit in concrete. And the smell. I’m not usually a gagger, but. . . . . Wow. Just wow. As for my own attempt, I did my best to hold onto my pant legs so they wouldn’t graze the floor while also holding onto the waist of my pants so they wouldn’t drop down too far while also trying to retain my balance. And I successfully peed on my feet. Isn’t that nice. Thank GOD that Freyja didn’t need to potty! I think I would have just stripped her naked and held her over the pit! Any future attempts will be made African style. In the bush. Thank you very much.

Ah, but then down the hill we went to see a man about a boat ride! When we finally got to the base of the hill, the view was stunning. An enormous lake surrounded by lush vegetation and mountains in the distance! We talked to our guide about what we might expect to see and Christmas, whose real name is Noel, told us that we would probably see crocodiles, hippopotamus, monkeys, eagles, other birds and more! But alas, I had JUST watched a program not too long ago on NatGeo about all of the hippo deaths on Lake Victoria because these enormous creatures capsize the boats! Crapola! I knew they’re out there, because we’d already spotted a group about 150 feet away! Perhaps this is a good time to appreciate the hippos through the lens of my brand new camera? But Nathan had already paid! And I’ve already said that I’m going, with my CHILD no less, on this little dinky boat next to great big hippos! I asked Christmas about the safety of a boat being around hippos, and he seemed to have a healthy respect for them, so I started feeling better and better about this ride. I assumed that we‘d stay far away from these water beasts! So what the heck, right? We grabbed our 1970’s lifejackets, bundled Frey up in her adult life jacket as tightly as we could, snapped a few photos of our expedition party and then we climbed into the 10 passenger boat , ready for our adventure!

First, we went by the papyrus growing in the lake, the same stuff ancient Egyptians used for the first paper and learned that it‘s still used for a multitude of products today! Too cool. Then we spotted a Fish Eagle, that looks a whole lot like a Bald Eagle, perched high in the treetops, hunting it’s lunch. Such an absolutely stunning and regal bird! We passed by a tree with dozens of tiny next’s that Christmas told us were bats nests, but we couldn’t’ see any means for the bats to come and go. So Christmas explained that these particular bats built their entrance at the bottom of the nest so that predators can’t eat their young. Another very cool moment!

And then finally, we headed for the hippos. Even though Christmas seemed to respect the hippo, I personally thought we were awfully damn close to them! For the record, in my humble opinion, 15 feet does not qualify as an appropriate distance away from these massive animals known for taking out small boats! They were wonderful to watch though! And about every 50-100 feet, we’d see another group of them, sometimes in groups of three, sometimes in groups of 8 or 9, but never alone! Our guide was telling us the hippos are actually quite territorial and that they will not share their space with a hippo from down the bank. As we passed by one particularly close and active group, Christmas slowed down so that we could take pictures, but just as Linda and I got them into focus, Christmas started chatting in an animated fashion that I couldn’t quite understand and TOOK OFF at full speed ahead! Needless to say, Linda and I whipped around to find out why we’d left when we were just about to get good pictures. When Christmas finally stopped the boat quite a distance away, he explained that one of the hippos had broken off from the group and started towards the boat. Awesome! We got chased by a hippo! How cool is that? I say this because I’m now far, far away from said hippo!

The hippos were just absolutely incredible to watch. Lots and lots of hippos, most of them only 10-40 feet away from us! We watched hippos jumping up in the water when I never even knew that was possible! We watched baby hippos with their mothers. Hippos tearing through bushes and plunging into the water. Hippos playing hide and seek with us. And we were all amazed to watch a group of hippos submerge themselves and swim several hundred feet. Not that we saw their bodies moving. No. We watched as the bubbles formed in their wake, marking their rapid pace near the shoreline. I honestly had no idea that hippos could swim as fast as they can. And after watching them move through the water so quickly, I thought it wise to ask Christmas who was faster, us or them! He said we were the faster mammal, but I suspect he was merely trying to ease some mzungu fears!

We spotted kingfishers, watched them dip into the lake to hunt for fish, listened to their chatter, and saw them fly to the bushes in groups. We spotted a family of eagles, a male and a female with their two offspring, high in the trees near their massive nest. And we even saw a few endangered birds that I cannot now remember the name of. Water lilies floated by and passed floating papyrus reeds attached to fishing nets near the bank. A man paddled by in his small handcrafted canoe and I couldn’t help thinking what a dangerous job he has. The mist from the white caps sprinkled us from time to time, and that along with the breeze off the lake kept us quite comfortable in the heat of the day. And then, as our tour was concluding, we finally spotted our crocodile, swimming away from a grove of papyrus!

While we approached the dock, we noticed a large group of perhaps 60-75 Ugandan school kids, headed for the boat docks, preparing to board the two boats capable of carrying 10 adults comfortably! I’m not sure if they all made it onto those two boats or not. I’m not sure I want to know! My mothers heart couldn’t take that!

I hit climbed onto dry land more relaxed and peaceful than I have been in a very long time. And I can also say that while I still love Disneyworld, I will never again set foot on Kilimanjaro Safari’s.

Since we still had quite a drive ahead of us, we all though it best to conclude our safari for the day, even forgoing lunch at the restaurant by the lake. Although I’ll confess that I was disappointed to leave such a peaceful place, I also knew I wanted Patrick fresh for the long drive back to Kampala in traffic. So when Nathan suggested that he stop at the pit toilets for a pee before getting on our way, I politely informed him that we would be best served going on a little further up the road. But I kid you not, within five minutes of saying that, Giardia struck. Patrick pulled off to the side of the road, Nathan jumped out for Warthog Watch, and I made like an African and used the bush!

Leaving the park, we spotted more zebra, impala, monkeys, warthogs, and water bucks. Passing through the village, we were greeted with the same enthusiasm that the children greeted us with the first time. Patrick stopped at a local cart and picked up about 40 dessert banana’s for 75 cents that are the best bananas I’ve had since I was in Ghana. And away we went.

After Court

2011-07-07T13:24:00.001-05:00

After court, we were all famished since we hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, but Linda works at a museum and told us of a new museum in the area that had just opened up. We decided to eat, get money and then go to the museum. Linda asked if we were going to the hotel, and we said that we could eat wherever they were going to eat. To which Linda replied “Oh, but we are going to eat African food!” And I explained that we would be more than happy to eat African food as well!
So off we set. Linda chose a place in one of the many strip areas that served both African and Indian cuisine since she knows I’m a fan. The place, for some, might not cut it. But the food was hot, fresh and good. And the conversation was easy. We talked about our girls. Patrick talked about his kids. Linda talked about her work in adoption and her cultural observations. And we all had a good laugh about the universal appeal of many pairs of shoes to women worldwide! Patrick and Linda are fast becoming some of my favorite people! We chose to pick up the tab. It’s really the thing to do when you’re eating someplace that someone chose for your comfort, not their budgets.
After lunch, we headed off to the new cultural museum for the Ankola people. But as we drove up, it was clear that something important seemed to be going on. It seems that the first ladies of Rwanda and Uganda were visiting the new museum for the first time and we would have to wait. Armed guards and military personnel roamed around. Police were out and about everywhere. And the sides of the road were filled with your average everyday people, hoping to catch a glimpse of the celebrities.
The museum compound was impressive. The displays and presentation were both informative, organized and attractive. I wish I hadn’t been so tired, because I think I would have retained so much more information, information that I want to keep locked away for Freyja because these are her people. This is her land. But sadly, we were all too tired to give the museum our full attention. Freyja began to cry and Nathan walked her outside. I continued on my museum tour, but with eyes burning with fatigue. I signed the museum guest book on the back of the page that the first lady of Rwanda signed. That’s kinda cool.
As we drove back to the hotel, we talked of our plans tomorrow to go to one of the national parks that’s in the area. We passed a huge field where hundreds were gathered to watch a soccer game. And finally, we arrived. While Nathan paid for our night, I took Freyja upstairs since it takes so long for her to navigate the stairs. I assumed that Nathan would be right behind us, but we stood at the door and waited and waited and waited. Finally, Frey started to cry. But this crying was different. It was accompanied by the fragrant odor of farting child. And I knew. First smile for dad. First laugh for dad. First word was Daddy. And the first crap is for mom. Oh joy. Since Nathan STILL wasn’t anywhere to be found, I kicked off my shoes and flew down four flights of stairs at the speed of light. Where I found Nathan just chatting away at the hotel front desk with Mr. 5 aka Perry Mason, with no awareness that he’d left us locked out of the room for a LONG freaking time. I growled that I wanted the key, but as soon as I had it, I knew Frey wouldn’t make it. Into the bathroom for a poo that would make most grownups envious. And I got my first taste of butt wiping. There are serious advantages to adopting older children! Because I’m pretty sure wiping butts is something that I could have died happy never having done.
So now we’ve packed up our stuff. Sorted what we want to take and what we’re leaving behind. My eyes are still burning with fatigue, but now they’re watering to go with it. Frey finally went down, but I’ll give her a few minutes to fall into a deep sleep before I crawl into bed. I want to make darn sure she’s out when I do. Especially considering that Nathan’s been singing to her for the last 10 minutes. And he doesn’t sing well!

Our Day In Court

2011-07-07T13:22:00.001-05:00

So we exited the courtroom and began walking away, but Mark had disappeared. We’d made it down one flight of stairs when the court clerk hailed us from the landing. It seems the judge WOULD see us after all! And so Linda tried tracking down Mark and Sister Edvina. Finally, the clerk urged Nathan and I to follow him. We met Mark on the landing upstairs. It seems he took the long way around because you’re not supposed to go through certain doors. So now we’re with our attorney, but missing Linda and the sister!
No worries. At this point, I wasn’t nervous at all. Really. I’ve been around lawyers and judges my whole life, and this judge didn’t intimidate me! Knowing that we were outside of the chambers, I told Nathan how nice it was that His Lordship was willing to see us after such a long trial! And then we were ushered in! Nathan and I both greeted the judge with a “Good afternoon Your Lordship. Thanks so much for seeing us.” Although he was busy with papers, he motioned for us to sit in a casual, offhand way. As if he were swatting at a fly. And so we sat.
His Lordship apologized to us for having us wait, but explained that he did not know until a few moments before that he had a family matter waiting. And he explained to us that HE always does family matters first, but that the trial had already started and so he had to continue. He was gracious with us. He explained things to us. Don’t get me wrong. He wasn’t sending off super friendly vibes or anything. He’s still one of only a handful of judges in the entire country and is an imposing figure. But presented as very human. To us anyway.
Not so much for our attorney. Poor, poor Mark. He was so nervous his hands were shaking. It didn’t help when His Lordship asked for our home study which was NOT in the packet. At least His Lordship didn’t find it in the packet. Or our family photo. Or Nathan’s employment letter. Thank God that we had brought two extra copies of our entire dossier with us. We gave one to Mark, who used it to supplement His Lordships packet.
Unfortunately for Mark, His Lordship gave him a serious dressing down in front of us because the papers were not in order. He exuded dominant imposing judge. At least with the attorney. He was. Not. Nice. But with us.. . . He explained that he wanted to do what was in the best interest of the child, and that legal guardianship was a loophole, a way around the need to live in Uganda for three years to foster Freyja.
He asked Sister Edvina about Freyja’s background. And asked for her recommendation, which was adoption/legal guardianship. And then. . . He said that he was granting legal guardianship! He asked when we were leaving, and thankfully, Mark was under the impression that we were both leaving next week, so the judge said that our order will be ready on Tuesday! Yeah! 3 day wait for the official paperwork baby! Thank you God that it’s not the 15 days or longer that it could have been!
As we walked out of the courthouse, Mark, Linda, Edvina, Nathan and I all started to talk about court! Mark was finally glad that it was over and Nathan joked with him that his “lucky tie” pulled through for him! I forgot to mention that while we were talking to Mark in the morning, he mentioned that he was wearing his “lucky tie” for us today! At the time we weren’t sure what to make of THAT, but hey, I’ll take it. Linda wanted to know how it went, what the judge said. And we were all talking about some of the comments that the judge made during the process!

Leaving For Court

2011-07-07T11:47:00.001-05:00

Headed to the CourthouseCourt morning didn’t start off quite the way I had hoped. After drying some morning tears, we started to pack our bags in the hopes that we would never spend another night at the Lake View Resort. Unfortunately, somewhere, somehow, I misplaced my makeup bag. Plain faced white woman it is then.
As we headed down to breakfast, I picked up Freyja and my purse stashed with Snail, ball, Frey’s camera and Cabbage Patch doll and started descending the four flights of stairs to the breakfast area. Nathan commented that I had no business walking down the stairs in high heels, a child and heavy bag, but on I went. Gripping the handrail and tilting my body backwards. Just in case he was right. Thankfully, I made it down the stairs successfully. But sadly, that’s where my success ended. Because as I stepped into the dining area, my heel caught an uneven patch, my ankle twisted, and I fell. And since I had Frey in my arms, both arms and hands were used to cushion her fall. Not mine. Nothing like making an ass out of yourself in a room full of people! The waiter that has been so gracious to us rushed to my aid, and helped peel me off the floor while Nathan collected Frey. Who thought that was just the funniest thing, mom landing on her face!
But I brushed myself off and headed into the dining hall. Where I proceeded to choke on some pineapple while trying to impress my daughter. About this time, Linda called and I went out to talk with her while Nathan finished feeding Frey. As soon as I got into the car, Linda told me that our attorney, Isaac, wouldn’t be here today because his wife had a baby yesterday. Mark, whom we’ve never met, would be doing our case. Alrighty then.
On our way to court, Nathan stopped for some sinus medication for his cold and four bottles of water, just in case we were there longer than anticipated. Linda actually planned for us to be there an hour early so that Mark could familiarize himself with our case. Thankfully, everyone was on time.
Mark turned out to be a super sweet, although somewhat young, attorney that took his time talking to us about life in the US, politics, our family and our adoption. Honestly, he seemed much more personable than our real attorney. He seemed competent and intelligent. I felt sure we were in good hands!
While we chatted, Freyja played well with her snail. And she’s an intelligent child, even if she’s non-verbal. At one point, I pointed to one of her blocks and said “blue”. Then I pointed to my fingernails and said “blue”. Without prompting, she picked out the second blue block and handed it to me! Smart cookie! After playing for an hour before court, Mark gave us the cue that it was time to head into court! But we had to be very, very quiet because there was already a case being heard.
So we tiptoed in, bowed to the judge and sat down. After the judge and the six attorneys got up for a bit, Mark informed us that there was a case that was before us, but we would be up next. And so we waited. And waited. And waited. And waited.
It seems that the case that was before ours was actually a trial. Goody. So we waited while the first attorney questioned, and by questioned I mean that his client read papers that were given to him by his attorney), his client about his property in Uganda. It seems that his family owned property since the 1930’s, but during the presidency of Idi Amin (horrible dictator that encouraged unspeakable atrocities for those that don’t know), his family abandoned their property and went back to the UK. Thirty years passed, his brothers died, and now he wants his land back.
At this point, the case has my interest. I mean, it is a question that I’m sure comes up for expatriates that choose to buy property in a foreign country. I guess perhaps it’s my background, but I was glued to the action.
Enter the second attorney. Mr. 2 as I shall refer to him droned on and on and on. He asked the same question over and over and over. And then Mr. 3 and Mr. 4 did the same thing, even asking the same questions that had already been asked by Mr. 2. Now it was just irritating.
Add to that Frey hadn’t yet had her bowl movement, and I feared that the fidgeting meant potty time. But the bathroom was on the lowest level and we were on the second story. And while Frey does well with most things, stairs are a struggle for her. A slow, difficult struggle. And with one fall under my belt, I wasn’t anxious to repeat the stairs with Frey in my arms. But on the other hand, sending Nathan, a white man with a black little girl, didn’t seem like a good plan! And so I tried to gracefully get out of the courtroom and we walked to the basement. Where I couldn’t find the bathroom. I asked a woman, but she didn’t speak any English, so I wandered a bit. Finally, I broke down and interrupted two men, probably attorney’s based on their dress, where the bathroom was located. At which time, one of the men looked me up and down and announced that the bathroom was over that way, but he really didn’t think I should be in there. I thanked him and walked away wondering if I would get into trouble for using facilities that were meant only for staff.
Yeah. And then I actually walked into the bathroom. And it all became clear. This attorney didn’t think the white woman in heels and a skirt could navigate the pit toilet with a child in tow! Haha! And I will show him, I though! I hiked up Frey’s dress, squatted her over the hole, and she started to pee. Down her leg. Ok, so maybe the Ugandan attorney knew a little bit more about this white woman than I gave him credit for! But let me just tell you! Had I NOT had a kid in my hand, I would have squatted over that hole and peed like a pro!
All in all, it was shaping up to be a less than stellar morning. Until Mr. 5 came along. Mr. 5 is the Ugandan version of Perry Mason! Mr. 5 is sharp witted, quick thinking and silver tongued! He got the witness to admit not vigilant in his business practices and he actually had the witness admit that 1. He had a secretary for his business. 2. That he himself was the secretary for the business and 3. He had no records recorded of any meetings that he’d had. Ha! And then,, at one point, he managed to get the witness to admit that he was INCOMPETENT in open court!!! Had I not been sore from my fall and trying to entertain a very bored, hungry four year old, I would have loved watching more of Mr. 5! But then we were back to the other numbers merely rehashing what Mr. 5 had already established.
Throughout the process, I watched the judges interactions. Our judge seemed fair, intelligent, and having a sense of humor that he did his best to hide. He asked questions for clarification and seemed engaged with what was going on. And every once in awhile, I noticed him watching our interactions with Frey. Thankfully she’s quiet and calm for a four year old! And this, more than anything else, alleviated my fears about court. This was a judge, I felt sure, that would rule in the best interest of this child.
Finally, it seemed this were wrapping up, although the attorneys spent another half hour trying to decide on a date to continue the matter. Finally the judge told them that the days he offered were the days he offered and a decision was made. Now, Mark told us, the judge would take about an hour break and then see us *hopefully* when he came back. This was at 2:30. I didn’t look forward to waiting longer, but such is life. We left the courtroom and I hoped we would have time for some grub.

Getting Set For Court

2011-07-07T11:46:00.000-05:00

6am and it’s time to start getting ready for court this morning. Except I’d like to linger just a bit longer before the chaos of the day starts. I’ve now been relegated to computing in the bathroom and thankfully there is quite a large tub that I can lay in. The only problem with that is occasionally my tender flesh sticks to the tub when I want to scoot! That and I’m always afraid a giant cockroach will crawl out of the drain!

This is an interesting tidbit. At least it was to me. STORKS ARE **HUGE**!!! I guess I’ve never really seen storks before, or perhaps not African storks, but these things are easily the size of a 4yo child! Easily. And since we’re on the top floor of a hotel with a tin roof, through the day and night it sounds like we’re being bombarded by bombs when the land overhead! Big BOOMS followed by smaller booms as they come in for landing. It took us awhile to figure out what the heck was going on.

Last night was. . . . Rough. F woke up quite a few times through the night. Nothing to eventful, but lots of grunting and MY GOSH I didn’t realize any one person could toss and turn that much! I still don’t know whether she was cold, hot, unhappy, had to poo or was just as irritated as I was with our loud and obnoxious neighbors talking loudly until the wee hours of the morning. Oh, and answer me this: How can a tiny little body take up an entire king size bed? I do not know. But she sure did. Nathan ended up sleeping on the floor and I was in a tiny little corner ready to fall off on top of Nathan! I’ve been beaten up by a 4yo! Oh my and the Frere Jacques/Baby Jesus thing is GOLD I say! I think I’m about at a point where I could chant that in my sleep! Thanks to the fellow I. mom that tipped me off to that one! We had asked the sister about what they used to soothe, but Linda says she’s quite the introvert and didn’t talk to us much. The joy of the internet!

Day 4 Concludes

2011-07-06T13:19:00.000-05:00

Can I even express how much I love my hubby? Beyond words. While F had her meltdown, I had one of my own. The poor nights sleep, 36 hour rush job to get F, the emotional upheaval of the day, worry about court tomorrow, and F’s grieving did me in. So as Nathan held onto F in her fifth hour of crying he also did his best to soothe his bawling wife. Seriously. What a guy. LOVE HIM!
After my cry, I pulled out every toy in my arsenal and finally engaged F in a game of push the ball. Daddy got the first smile by bonking her on the head with the ball when he tossed it. REALLY? REALLY????? Come on! He cracks the kid on the head and she smiles for him? What the HECK! I’m down on the floor acting like a total idiot and he bonks her on the head and she smiles for HIM? What.EVER. But I’ll take it!
That seemed to go well and so we moved onto the other toys. She finally got the hang of a toy where she sorts shapes and drops them into a caterpillar. And THAT my friends was our “in”. She got so focused on that toy and EVERY. SINGLE.TIME she put it in the right spot, I made an enormous fuss over it. For about an hour. I’m sure our “neighbors” just loved me! But I got a few smiles of my own, so it’s all good!
Since the hubby needs to eat on a schedule, we put the toys up and headed down to the dining area. We passed one of the hotel staff on our way down the stairs and he stopped Nathan and asked, “Is that your wife?” “Yes.” “Is that your daughter?” “Yes” “Well HOW did that happen???” Haha!
While I looked over the menu, Nathan played bouncy drive on his knee with F. And THAT got the first giggle! I can’t even put into words how totally priceless it is to watch a child that is so closed off, that hasn’t said ANY words in our presence, to laugh and giggle and be open with us. The. BEST. FEELING. EVER!!!
Dinner was a success too. Cream of onion soup with bread chunks. Check. Rice with veggie stew. Check. Avocado? Well, that earned me a look of “What nasty thing did you just put in my mouth?” And of course, fruit is what it’s all about. But then, I’m the same way here. I’m afraid nasty Sam’s Club pineapple isn’t going to cut it though. And more and more laughs! And giggles! And smiles! And some foot wrestling with Daddy! She is SUCH a Daddy’s girl! And let me just tell you, she has Nathan wrapped around her pinky. She’s a cutie pie, that’s for SURE!
But here’s the thing. As I sit here in the bathtub of our hotel room thinking, reflecting, I know lots of parents talk about love at first sight. Or loving their kids from a picture. And in one sense, we do. We commit to a child. We hope for a child. And we’d fight to bring that child home. But for me, that sort of love is more of obligation, a commitment. Like I love my grandmother even though I don’t particularly like her.
And so, those laughs, smiles and giggles, for me, allowed me to see MY child. My daughter. Not a child that I’m legally tying myself to. Not the child we’re adopting. Not the child that I’m agreeing to parent. MY CHILD. I guess we both passed over the hump. I’m emotionally drained. I don’t think I have anything left. Seriously. I almost cried because the waiter brought our soup to us even though it’s a buffet. Yep, the floodgates have opened!
I know we’re not over the grieving. I know there will be more tears to come. And that’s ok. Because F is allowing us in a little bit. And she’s allowing us to comfort her. I can’t ask for anything else.

The Meeting

2011-07-06T08:48:00.000-05:00

And as Nathan got ready to hug one of the stragglers, the slow kid on the block that was headed straight towards him, I had to tell Nathan that THAT was his daughter! What can I say. Mom’s know. Dad’s maybe not so much. But mom’s KNOW the face that they’ve dreamed about for months and months. Then again, maybe some dad’s DO know, but as I think I’ve mentioned before, Nathan is often pretty darn clueless at times!

Nathan scooped her up, hugged her, loved on her, and cried like a baby. And I nearly flung my bag on the ground looking for my camera. And then it was my turn. With munchkins surrounding us on all sides, Nathan handed F to me. And then I hugged her, loved on her and cried like a baby. F took it all in stride. She cried when we put her down to follow the Sisters to her room and so we scooped her back up. She loved the book that made noise and the cabbage patch doll, and was willing to put them down. That is, until somebody else came to touch them, and then she scooped them back up again. We asked a few questions of the Sisters, but then it appeared it was time for us to go. We were asked if we had brought a dress for F, so we changed her into her new dress and flip flops that I picked up at a yard sale for 50 cents. The child is OBSESSIVE about these flip flops! If one slips off, she immediately starts looking around for it. I thought that perhaps she wouldn’t mind going barefoot since all the other kids were barefoot, but once those shoes came out, those things were ON.HER.FEET!

I was a bit worried when we decided to go back to town to pick up supplies for the orphanage, thinking that perhaps she wouldn’t go with us, but she began a soft whimper when I put her down and walked towards the door. So we scooped her up and took her with us. Now let me just say that as of right now, I have not heard a word come out of her mouth. The Sisters assure me that she’s intelligent and CAN talk. We just haven’t heard it. She doesn’t smile much, but ever once in awhile, one of the sisters could get her to smile. She walks pretty well, and can tip the bottle of water to drink for herself. More than we thought she would be able to do. She has a definite preference for Nathan. No question she’s a daddy’s girl!

We stopped in town and negotiated, rather poorly I think, for some sugar, rice and maize flower and then also purchased some diapers for the two week old baby and two month old twins that just came into the orphanage. We handed out cookies to the kiddos left behind while I bawled at the injustice at so many babies with families. As we headed out for good this time, I watched as F watched EVERYTHING. I mean, this kid just WATCHES. She still hasn’t said anything. She still hasn’t smiled for N or I. But she stepped into that car with us, sat on our laps and drove off.
It always amazes me the trust that these kiddos place in people they’ve never met before.

Unfortunately or maybe it IS fortunate but it doesn’t feel like it right now, F has already started the grieving process. After we ate an outrageously expensive lunch at our hotel that was not in the least appetizing, we headed back up to our room since it was nap time for F. Except that she wouldn’t for love or money go to sleep. We put her on the bed with us, hoping that she would fall asleep on her own, but after about 45 minutes of playing with her doll, I saw the telltale self soothing rocking. I scooped her up, and the tears started. They haven’t really stopped in four hours. At least now she’s lying quietly on the bed, but I think she’s still fighting sleep. Poor baby is exhausted but I’m sure is scared to death. Her world has been rocked. And not in a good way as far as she’s concerned.

Knowing what I know now, it would have been best to meet F the day that we have court. My fear at this point is that she’s going to FREAK. OUT when she sees Sister Edwina tomorrow at court. As for me, I’m having a bit of a “Holy Crap I Have NO Idea What I’m Doing!” moment. If you’re the praying sort, please pray that things go well tomorrow and that a broken little heart feels some healing.

Day 4: The Drive to Meet F

2011-07-06T06:52:00.001-05:00

Driving To Meet F:
Linda and Patrick picked us up on time to head to the orphanage. Since Linda had come a different way when she last visited, she wasn’t quite sure how long it would take to get there. But we narrowed it down to somewhere between thirty minutes and two hours.
The first part of the drive was truly lovely. I now understand where Gorilla’s In the Mist got the mist part because the mountains and grasslands were surrounded by a foggy mist. The further off the beaten track we drove, the more waddle and daub huts we saw, the more women in traditional outfits we saw, the more bikes we saw. Instead of the motorcycle boda bodas, men peddled bicycles with women riding side saddle on the back. We passed men biking with full loads of bananas or bamboo. We passed more and more naked babies playing in the dirt. And hill after hill covered in banana trees. A very pleasant drive with the cool air blowing in the windows!

The drive ended up taking about two hours total and thankfully, or perhaps unfortunately, nothing eventful happened on the drive. As we drove higher and higher into the mountains, got closer and closer to F, I wasn’t sure whether I was experiencing a horrid case of Giardia or nerves. Turns out it was just nerves. Because as excited as I was, I was also in a fit of sheer panic. I don’t know who this child is! I don’t know her likes and dislikes, her habits and routine! WHAT ARE WE DOING???

Linda asked me if I was having cold feet, but I don’t think that’s really what it is/was. I’ve had to guard my heart for so long, fight the temptation of feeling like THIS is forever, because until the judge says yes, she’s NOT ours. This adoption is still out of our control. So no. I didn’t have cold feet. Because I hadn’t yet jumped into this with both feet.

Patrick wasn’t quite sure where we were going, but we finally found the place, way up in the hills, out of sight from the main road. The road we used to get there was rocky and red. No pavement here. We heard the shouts of MZUNGU! MZUNGU! And finally. We were there. I spotted the signs first, and I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. I was about to meet F. A child that I’ve loved, but haven’t truly given my heart to. A child that I didn’t know but planned on taking home with me and raising as my daughter.

We pulled into the compound. There were men working in the yard, building something or other. And nobody else was around. We stopped the car and waited for one of the Sisters. And nobody came out. Finally, we walked into the office area. And nobody was around. Finally, a little boy, maybe two years old, came hurtling towards us with arms outstretched, ready for the mzungus to pick him up! And then the rest of the swarm came. Swarm really is the best word for 20 busy little bodies that surround you, tug on you, hug your leg and cry for your attention. We greeted each new body with a little hug.

Day 4: The Morning Hours

2011-07-06T06:50:00.001-05:00

As I’m sitting outside of my hotel waiting for Linda and Patrick, I hear the sounds of storks squawking, roosters crowing and a larger mammal somewhere off in the distance. I’m not quite sure what it is, but it sounds a bit like a howl, so anything from a monkey to something much, much bigger. It’s mixed in with the sounds of boda bodas on the outskirts of town and perhaps a few trucks. And I’m watching as the mist rises off of the man made lake in front of the hotel, out of the trees. It’s a beautiful morning. A bit nippy. This isn’t Africa hot since we’re at a higher elevation. There are mountains and hills everywhere, but I think we’re close to the Rwenzori Mountains. Except I don’t think we’re close enough to see them. I had hoped we would. And my feet are soaking wet from the morning dew that has mixed with the red clay dirt from yesterday to make my feet dirty already. But this is Africa. Who has clean feet in Africa? I think I hear an owl hooting somewhere.

Our breakfast this morning came with the hotel room and was the standard African breakfast that I’ve come to know. Baked beans, scrambled eggs, some beef sausage that I will never again touch, and wonderful, plentiful fruit! Papaya and pineapple, passion fruit and watermelon. So delicious. Although I confess that I almost pulled a Sophia and spit that beef sausage right back out. Sausage in Africa is not something that I ever want to try again, but I’m sure I will on my next trip. Just because if MAY be different this time.

The sun is starting to come up over the trees and the sky has a soft peach glow through the mist. It really is quite lovely here.

Getting Set to Meet F! Day 4

2011-07-05T22:28:00.001-05:00

Day 4, Getting set to meet F
You know, it’s funny. On the way to our hotel yesterday, I tried to console myself by imagining the wonderful western style shower that awaited me in our big western style hotel. Cause, you know. . . I saw pictures on the internet. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA Yes. Well. That’s just pretty freaking hilarious.
So our hotel is, uh, a little more. . . Rustic shall I say? I sat on the bed last night, and it’s pretty much like sleeping on the ground. Really. So I tell Nathan, “Hey, the bed is REALLY hard.” I don’t know if he thought I was lying or what, but he comes over and FLOPS down! ROFL! I think he hurt his tailbone. And the mosquito net was all up in our faces so I finally tied that up. I’ll brave the malaria because I wouldn’t have gotten the four hours that I did with a hard bed and mosquito net from Hell.
I’m not even going to discuss what passed for a shower this morning. Anita says fresh mommy? Well, maybe if I put some perfume on! Anyway. . . .
Thoughts of a mom getting set to meet her four year old daughter for the first time: Is she going to like me? Is she going to be as big as I think or little? Will the clothes that I brought fit her? Is she going to have multiple hour tantrums like Sophia did every single day? Is she going to shut down like Mary did? Or is she going to do something else that I’m totally unprepared for? Is she going to freak out if she stays the night with us tonight? Is she going to freak out when she realizes that she’s leaving the sisters? Is she going to smile and laugh? Will she like the toys I brought? I wonder which will be her favorite? Will the shoes fit her? I sure hope so, because I don’t see anything around her that I want to put her feet in. Will she like the food I have to offer? Will she be a picky eater? Just how much English does she not know? Will she have hair that I need to jump right into? Should I take an outfit for her to change into right away? Will the sisters be disappointed with our meager one bag of donations and rice? Will they think we’re good parents? Will F be afraid of my white skin? Can I do this? What if the judge says no? Can I stay longer to appeal the process if he does? Will she like me?
So many thoughts and fears. It’s so weird, this meeting of a child, a living breathing child with likes and dislikes already formed, a four year old that will hopefully be ours. And then I rage at the circumstances that created this orphan. These Western business practices that build nations on the backs of third world workers, creating poverty beyond imagine, creating orphans because parents cannot afford to keep their children. But now it’s almost time for breakfast and for the day to start.
So. . . Which toys should I take? I think the brown baby doll and something that makes noise would be a hit.

Day 3, Part 2: Flat Tires and Zebras

2011-07-05T12:51:00.000-05:00

Day 3 Flat Tires and Zebras

After the chaos of the morning, learning that we needed to leave right away, we rushed to the bank to take out money, buy a modem so I could get back on line, and then back home to toss our stuff in the suitcase. We were ready, but seriously grouchy, within an hour. Yeah. But then I forgot we’re on Africa time. Three hours later we were still sitting in Kampala at a Java Hut while our driver got his tire fixed because he couldn’t afford to fix it until we paid him for today. THANKFULLY by that time, Xanax was doing it’s thing and I was feeling fine. Seriously. Just at peace with the whole thing. I can’t impose my western standards on another country just because it bugs me.

As we got further and further from Kampala, the sights started to change. The hundreds of people walking the roadways gave way to long horn cattle and naked or barely clothed children playing in the dirt piles, playing with an empty bike tire, and yes, even kung fu fighting make believe bad guys. I saw more mosques today than I’ve seen in my entire life and it’s always fun to see all the “God” sayings on passing vehicles!

The road started out quite rough. Dusty red dirt in many places covered the leaves of banana trees, cars, people. It got into our car, into our faces, into our noses. And the potholes! There are some things about Africa driving that I DO NOT miss! There are no stop signs or stop lights. People don’t really use turn signals. Driving is really a series of gunning the engine, swerving hard to the right, then swerving hard to the left, and back and forth and back and forth, until eventually the driver slams on the brakes to avoid animals, humans, trucks, boda bodas or any combination thereof. And then the process begins again.

Unfortunately for driver, Patrick, we had a flat tire about halfway through the trip. Not surprising given the condition of the roads! As he swerved to the side of the road, we all bailed out. On male Ugandan and one male mzungu changed the tire while one one female Ugandan made herself useful at the trunk of the car, and one female mzungu did her best to pretend she was on some beach, some where. . . . Actually, I decided that would be the perfect time to take some pictures of the countryside and avoid the whole tire thing entirely. Thankfully the men folk made quick work of the tire and we started off again with three good tires and one of those sad little half tires often referred to as a spare!

And then we were stopped by the police. I’m still not sure why, but as soon as Nathan started to roll down his window, Patrick, Linda and I ALL told him to roll it up! Thankfully, after popping the trunk, we were allowed to pass.

More driving, more of the same sights, until we started to pass some large animals. And I couldn’t quite wrap my brain around it at first. But then it hit me! ZEBRAS!! THOSE ARE ZEBRAS!!! WE JUST PASSED ZEBRAS!!! The first batch was about 20-30 feet from the road and the second batch was further off the road. I think I scared the hell out our driver, but unlike my husband, he didn’t yell at me for yelling about wildlife! Instead, he stopped the car so I could run back and take some pictures. Good man, that Patrick! And that super expensive (to me) camera with the kick ass zoon TOTALLY paid for itself!

The rest of the drive, every time I saw an animal, I perked up. “OH!” “Oh, just another goat” “OH!” “Oh, just another goat.” Thankfully we didn’t have far to go. We’ve made it to our destination, although we won’t go to the orphanage until tomorrow morning. It was getting late enough that we all felt it would be best to settle in. And so here I sit. Typing and getting ready to COMMUNICATE. Oh internet, how I’ve missed you!

Hi Ho Hi Ho It's off to meet F we go!

2011-07-05T05:52:00.003-05:00

Ok, I will just tell you upfront thast I'm typing in the car on African road. Expect typos. Since we're on the road now, I'm in a much better frame of mind. And it has NOTHING whatsoever to do with that little white pill I took! So I'm going to meet my daughter. May be tongith!!! Depends on traffic and road conditions but my guess is that it will e tomorrow and I'll be taking an asprine in a few. Have I mentioned that I really love Uganda. Again, not doing business so much, but I do love it! Ok, will post more later. Probably when I'm bored off my booty in the six hours it's going to take to get there.

Day 3 Chaos

2011-07-05T04:18:00.001-05:00

Day 3 Snafu
Ok, my roll with the punches ability seems to be waning. That could also be the fact that I missed talking to my girls, couldn’t connect with Salem about what’s going on, couldn’t connect with my parents to see how things are going there, couldn’t connect with friends to feel like a bit of home.

Last night our plan was to go to the attorney’s office, the US Embassy and then on to New Hope Orphanage to visit a friends kiddos. This morning, our in-country coordinator was late as usual, but that’s ok since the lawyer was late too. We talked with the attorney about court, what was expected of us and what to expect from the judge. And then he asked our plans. Now, Salem and I had planned for us to head over to The Orphanage on Tuesday, but Linda said that would be Wednesday. And I wrongfully assumed that Linda and Salem had been in contact. So when the attorney heard that we weren’t going to leave until tomorrow, he was like “NO, YOU GO TODAY! YOU MUST SHOW THAT YOU ARE BONDED TO THE CHILD IN FRONT OF THE JUDGE. THEY ARE **EXPECTING** YOU TODAY!!!”

WTF. So. . . Linda insists that we go off to the US Embassy while she finishes work at her real job and gets a bag together. Except the Embassy won’t see us. Then she “negotiated” with a driver to take us to our destination for $250 plus gas, when we’d discussed with Salem that it would be about $100. So now we’re throwing things in our bags, scarfing down our lunch, I’m in tears because I can’t get on the internet to talk with Salem or the US embassy, am spending a whole freaking lot more money than we had planned, and I’m in a full on panic. Oh yeah. And we found out that F has no English skills! I had been under the impression that they spoke English at the orphange, but obviously I was mistaken. So it just hit me that we're going to be picking up a child that doesn't know us from Adam, doesn't speak our language, can't communicate her needs. And I'm going to be here how long? OMGOSH! What am I doing???

So let me just say this. Right now I love Uganda. I love the people. I love the atmosphere. And I have enjoyed myself tremendously. But I don’t like doing business here. And I don’t feel like Linda has things under control. It is what it is. We’ll roll with the punches and hopefully I won’t whip out some ugly ass American on anyone. It’s not pretty and I hesitate to post this to the world. But. . . It’s where we are and these are the real feelings of an AP in process.

And no worries. We’ll be fine and things will work out as they should. Today just turned into somewhat of a bad day.

Day 2 Part 2

2011-07-05T03:59:00.000-05:00

Day 2 Part 2
After we got the call from Linda that we wouldn’t be going to New Hope this afternoon, Nathan and I decided to hang out on the roof until about 4:45 and then set out for dinner. As we started walking, we noticed that there were easily over a hundred children of all ages in their school uniforms walking along the road. One little girl from the Islamic school, probably six or seven years old, maybe a few years older given that children here are often small, stalled while talking to one of her little friends. I could tell that we were a bit of an oddity to the kids, but this little one wanted to get a closer look. As Nathan and I got closer, she cut off her conversation with her friend and started walking slowly, so that we soon were beside one another. She very shyly turned to me and whispered hello. I returned her greeting and asked her name, which she told me but I can’t remember. And then every so lightly, she brushed her fingers across the back of my hand, to see what white skin felt like. She looked at me then and I just smiled and continued walking.

This little girl practices the faith of Islam. This shy, beautiful, curious child that is like any other child her age. . . Is also a child that some in the states would ridicule, hate, disrespect, distrust. And that bothers me. Here, Muslims and Christians get along. Here, it’s easy to see that we are all just human beings, trying to do the best we can in the best way we can. It’s a pleasant change of pace.

Since we’re getting our bearings around our neighborhood, we opted to take what we knew to be a shortcut through some of the market area of the neighborhood. Oh my goodness! So much fun!

In addition to the hanging meat, there were chickens stacked high for sale, not to be shipped off on some truck to the butcher, but for mothers and wives to purchase on their way home from work! Alive! I started a bit when the woman I was walking beside had a parcel that started to move! Fish, tilapia I assume, lying in piles on a table next to a giant fish without a head! Carts with pizza dough balls ready for making into pizza. Sweet potatoes, tomatoes, onions, and corn in carts for purchase. Women sitting in the doorways of their tiny shacks, sewing machines at the ready. Love it. I love every minute of it.

We settled on The Red Lantern for dinner. It’s in the Kololo district. You know, where the white people hang out. Even though it was on a main road, it truly was an oasis in the city. A large round building with a thatched roof sat at the top of the hill with some smaller “buildings” with thatched roofs also on the property. The birds chirped. The mosquitoes flew. My belly grumbled! After looking over the menu, Nathan and I decided to try pickle and vinegar chicken’s feet, a soup and our entrées. I’m sorry to say that we both “chickened” out of the chicken’s feet when we found out they were served cold! Two LARGE bowls of soup that easily could have made a meal, plus rice, plus sweet and sour pork, plus kung pao chicken and three cokes came to $25 US. Considering that was our only food purchase for today and that we have enough left over for lunch tomorrow, I’m pretty darn pleased with the experience! The food was different, but quite yummy! I did have to break down and pick the 50 dried peppers out of my kung pao though. I’m good. I’m not that good.

The walk back seemed to go quickly, but we did encounter some traffic. I managed to get nicked by a boda boda on the street though. Nothing major, but I do need to be more careful!
All in all, a good day. Except for the fact that I can’t get on the internet. I’m seriously ready to knaw my arm off like a crazy personb!

Observations and Thoughts: Day 2

2011-07-04T07:46:00.002-05:00

So thoughts for today:

My feet are caked in the reddish brown dirt of Africa. Those of you that have been here know what I’m talking about. And I’m fine leaving it there. For a little while at least. Because as soon as I step down the street, I’ll be covered again. It’s dirt. So what? I guess the continent that you're on is the difference between being a backwards hillbilly and a world traveller! Otherwise I definitely have hillbilly feet going on!

I saw some fabric in the local market area that I’d like to have before I leave. It’s chartreuse and lime green. Right up my alley. I think my one big splurge might be a more traditional outfit in bright colors, but I’ve got some time to decide. I wonder if I could pack enough fabric home to have drapes made for my living room? THAT would require a whole bunch of fabric though, so maybe just enough for trim.

We passed by the local police station today. Round huts, made of corrugated tin, some with thatched roofs, some with tin roofs, none with plumbing or toilet facilities of any kind. But, those certainly aren’t the worst that I’ve seen in this area. Compared to some, they’re spacious and nice. But then right next to that are brand new apartment buildings, with balconies and gyms. This discrepancy is hard to reconcile. The difference between poverty and wealth, SO much greater than most Americans can comprehend.

Out of five hours walking, we’ve only had one beggar approach us. One. And it’s not like we’re walking in the best areas! That’s pretty amazing. Much different than both Ethiopia and Ghana. Kampala at least is much more developed than Accra or Addis Abbeba. And yet. . . . It is so far from what most Westerners know.

I’m a bit freaked out by the mosquitos. I’m getting bitten like crazy. And I’m kicking myself! They’ve never been bad on my trips before, so I assumed that everyone exaggerated their prevalence. Not so. They REALLY are bad. In our rooms, outside, inside, everywhere! Come on Mefloquine, do your thang!

Day Two

2011-07-04T07:37:00.000-05:00

Whoa. Was that my arse that just rolled by? Cause jet lag just kicked it. Seriously. Kicked. It.

It probably doesn’t help that I stayed up until midnight last night on face book, but that’s the time when friends and family are up, so I tried to be too. Of course, SOME friends and family were still up this morning at 6, so . . . . I got up too. I’ve done dumber things, but I’m not sure that I’ll be able to keep that schedule up. Not to mention, my body is still trying to figure out what the hell just happened to it.

As of yesterday, our “plan” according to our in-country coordinator was A. go to the US Embassy to check in and B. Go to the New Hope Orphanage because she was supposed to go yesterday for some business and I need to go to drop some things off. That was yesterday. And this is Africa.

I suppose if I was going to give advice to someone that’s never traveled in Africa before, or to someone that isn’t sure about travel here it would be this: to always assume that the person you’re talking to is “thinking out loud” about things that they may (or may not) want to do or are able to do. If you go into things with a Western expectation that things are set in stone, well, you’re setting yourself up for disappointment.

It’s not so frustrating for me, because I’m the “think out loud” type. Just because I verbally process that I *plan* to get the laundry done, mow the yard, school the girls and make dinner doesn’t mean it’s actually going to happen. It’s just me making a verbal list for myself of things that, if at all possible, I hope to accomplish. It’s not set in stone. It’s just a loose plan.

That’s pretty much how it is in every African country I’ve been to. That’s just the way it is. Now, we could hole ourselves up in our guest house, waiting for someone to show up for this or for that. Or we could grab our phone and head out, making sure that we can change our plans if we need to.

And that’s what we chose to do today. Thankfully. Even though I woke up at six, we weren’t really moving out the door until 10. Breakfast and tying a knot took up a good deal of that time! But at ten, we headed out the door for some more exploration. We went the opposite way of what we did yesterday, which found us right by the IOM! As I walked towards the sign, I felt sure that THIS was the place I was supposed to take F for her physical, but wasn’t positive. Until we rounded the corner and saw a white woman with two brown babies. Yep! Definitely the place!

So off we headed down the road. Now I don’t know about others, but when I see another white person, obviously in the middle of an adoption, my first inclination is to stop and chat. Especially when it’s clear that they’re fellow Americans! But as we approached, we waved and called out a hello. And this woman. . . Uh. . . Turned her back on us? I guess that’s it. She snubbed us! So we got closer and called out a hello again! She finally consented to grace us with her conversation and found out she was adopting through Lifeline. Unfortunately, I form opinions quickly, and this one wasn’t a positive one. I try to brush off the snub, telling myself that perhaps she had had a bad day. I don’t know the circumstances of her adoption. But what can I say. To me, another adoptive parent, she appeared cold, unfriendly and snobby. I can only imagine how she comes across to the Ugandan’s she meets! Everything we do, every interaction that we have, reflects on fellow Americans. It reflects on fellow adoptive parents. For me personally, I feel like I have a responsibility to put a best foot forward. At all times. But that’s me.

We walked a bit further and decided to turn around. Nathan was starting to get a blister, so I’m afraid it’s back to the dorky tennis shoes, and I needed a bathroom. Plus, it’s hilly here, so my buns were starting to burn! Clearly I should have walked a bit more on the treadmill on my days leading up to our trip! But anyway, by the time we got back home, we were sweating like pigs, hungry and thirsty. We opted for a PB&J and then laid down. Just to cool off, ya know? But cooling off turned into a couple hour nap! I would have enjoyed a few more hours, like say 15, but then I’d be right back where I started, trying to adjust my clock to Uganda time.

While I’d love to head out for a bit more walking today, middle of the day heat isn’t time to do that, so we’re on our terrace, in the shade, typing and reading, reading and typing. Our new “plan” for tomorrow is meet our lawyer, go to the Embassy and go to New Hope Orphanage. If I were a betting woman, I’d bet that we only get one of those done!

Random Pics

2011-07-03T15:23:00.003-05:00

Here's one of the goats that we have roaming around just down the road. Such creative names!

Some butchered meat ready for sale.

This is the "please take my picture while I still look halfway decent" travel pic.

Betty

2011-07-03T12:55:00.002-05:00

Suffice it to say that I had no interest in meeting my host this morning. I was still exhausted from lack of sleep during our flights. Add to that a poor nights sleep thanks to waking up after a three hour “nap”, a head full of wet curlers and a headache from dehydration, and I wasn’t feeling very social. But . . . You can’t be rude. Betty had stopped by to see how we were settled in, even though she doesn’t live here, and it would have been bad form not to talk with her over our late breakfast.

And it’s in moments like those, when I feel like I have nothing left to give anyone, that I’m blessed beyond measure, renewed, reenergized, restored. Betty sat down at the table with us and asked about our trip. We told her that we were adopting a little four year old girl that had been abandoned as an infant. And Betty shook her head in a knowing way. Instead of what I expected, a response of how blessed our new daughter would be in the US, which seems to be what other Ethiopians, Ghanaians and Ugandans in poor circumstances say to an adoptive parent, Betty talked about the extreme poverty in the outlying villages. She spoke of a lack of options for parents, about the orphan crisis. And then. . . . .

And then Betty shared with us, in her quiet and thoughtful voice, that her husband had passed away 20 years earlier. He died of AIDS. And she prayed, fervently prayed after his death that God would give her just five more years. Five. That’s all she needed to see her youngest daughter, then only a year old, off to a good boarding school after her death. Five years. And that was twenty years ago. She just watched her youngest daughter graduate from University. We all shared tears at the table. And I felt blessed.

As we drove off with Linda, we found out that Betty has her own TV show. She’s turned what could be a sorrowful event in her life into something positive. She advocates for HIV and AIDS awareness using her own HIV status. Betty and her story. . . Powerful. Powerful indeed. And I’m so thankful that I got my butt out of bed to share breakfast with an amazing woman doing amazing work in her country. She's one special lady.