Melkam Gena

It is Christmas in Ethiopia today.  Merry Christmas, Melkam Gena, Feliz Natal to all of those whom we love in Ethiopia and to all of those who love Ethiopia in the US.  A few days ago, we were invited along with other Ethiopian adoptive families, to celebrate Gena at the only Ethiopian restaurant in our area (two hours away).  The owner of the restaurant does this every year as a way to teach Ethiopian adoptees about their beautiful heritage.  This was the first year we participated.  There were Ethiopian dancers and musicians.  There was free and delicious Ethiopian food.  There was celebration.  There were cute kiddos everywhere.

Scootle-doot was mesmerized.  This was the first time (as far as we know) that he saw professional Ethiopian dancers.  This was the first time since Ethiopia that he did not stand out by wearing his traditional Ethiopian shirt.  Where a few weeks ago at school, he was the kid wearing the different shirt, here he was one of MANY little boys his age dressed alike.  He and the boy-pack bonded almost instantly.  They formed a little mosh-pit in front of the tiny stage.  They danced and laughed.  Most of these boys were complete strangers, but for a few hours, they were brothers.  They had more in common than any group of boys Scootle has met since being in the US.

Checking each other out.

First there are three ...

Scootle-doot in awe.

 

Getting their groove on.

Now there are more ...

Boo takes a break from running around to see what the fuss is about.

The music was loud.  Good loud.  It was impossible to stay still - the rhythm was infectious.  If it weren't such a small place and if it weren't the kids' day to shine, I would have been right in that mosh pit.  The dancers were powerful.  It was a multi-sensory experience.  Then it happened.

Something happened that made me lose it altogether.   I was already on the verge of joy-sorrow-gratitude tears when SHE got up and danced.  Do you see the tall girl in the picture?  I am glad I did not get a picture of her face because it would have been unfair.  She was in her moment.  I barely met her family.  All I know about her is that she is about 12-14 and she had been in the US for only 2-4 months.  All of the little kiddos were dancing and having fun, but they didn't really KNOW what they were doing.  They didn't remember or didn't REALLY know how to dance the Ethiopian way.  She walked in between them after a few numbers and started to DANCE.  Her shoulders and head snapped perfectly.  She held her dress.  She did not look at anyone.  She did not smile.  She looked up the entire time.  She was not doing this for us.  She was doing it for herself.  The catharsis was palpable.  Her face almost shone with the enormity of the moment.  It was as if she was transporting herself to a time less confusing, a time she knew, a time she danced with those she loved, a time where she was at home.   At one point, since no one could take their eyes off of her, the three Ethiopian female dancers stopped dancing and held their arms out to acknowledge her.  She was not stealing the spotlight.  She was the light.   I am about to cry right here in this coffee shop as I write this because this was one of those moments.  A kairos moment, for sure.

I don't know a thing about that girl other than what I already wrote.  I don't really know at all what was going on in her head.  But I know know what it is like to be a 12-14 year old girl and I am learning enough about transracial and intercountry adoption to know her life is not easy right now.  I have a feeling, though, that if she is as strong as her dance, that she will be something else.

As for my little two.  They ARE something else!  I am so thankful that they were able to experience this day.  They belonged like nowhere else.

When A Hug is Not Just a Hug

One of the very frustrating things about where we live (which will probably drive us out of here in a few years) is the lack of anything Ethiopian.  Our entire state has one Ethiopian restaurant and it is 2 hours away, in a city we aren't fond of, which is also way off our beaten paths.  Three hours away, in a neighboring state, there is an Ethiopian restaurant we love.  It is between our house and Bill's parents' house, so we try to make it there as often as we can.  Aside from one Ethiopian woman we know in town, who is against adoptions from Ethiopia and has treated our family quite rudely, Ethiopian restaurants are the only places where our kids have seen adult Ethiopians since we left Ethiopia almost two years ago.  Crazy, I know. 

So this past Sunday, as we were returning from a long weekend and Grandma and Apapa's house, we stopped at the restaurant.  As you walk in, there is a half wall dividing the front door from the dining room.  Our boys were walking beside us, unseen by the Ehiopian waitress on the other side of the wall.  She greets us kindly, but everything changes once she sees the boys.  Scootle-doot greets her with the "Selam" he was practicing in the car.  She swoons and gives him a hug, speaking to him in Amharic.  The sight takes me back and my breath catches in my throat.  They look so beautiful together.

We have a delicious dinner.  Scootle tries out his random Amharic words on her.   The boys eat so ravenously that we realize we will have to order a lot more next time.  Our common plate is completely clean, every bit of injera eaten in glee.  The food is celebrated among us.  Our waitress smiles contentedly.  Our boys have charmed her.

As we get ready to leave, she gives Scootle another hug.  And then, something unusual happens.  Boo-boo, who was being whisked by Bill to go and get in the car, turns around and runs, with an incredibly determined look on his face, into the arms of the waitress.  He never does that with strangers.

I often wonder what is going on in the minds of my boys - this time especially.  I know those hugs were not just hugs.  Consciously or unconsciously for them, this woman represents a piece of themselves that they have lost.  A piece they haven't experienced for a long time.  A beautiful, loving Ethiopian face reflecting their history back to them.   And all I could do was stare, so happy for them and so full of wonder.

Tonight I Make A Photobook

I've been putting this off and putting this off.  I have only started and I realize why.  I have started making a photobook for someone in Ethiopia.  This someone is a link to the boys, someone who loves them, someone who thinks about them everyday.  I began looking at pictures from Ethiopia, from where our story as a family of four began.  A knot immediately made itself a lodging place in my throat.  In the day to day of laughter, tantrums, school, dinner, baths and meals together, one can easily lose sight of all of the pain through which our family was born.  Pain that will always be a part of us, along with everything else. 

I had to stop and write this post.  I could not go on.  How do you explain to that someone in Ethiopia that K was born deaf?  And how do you explain that he can now hear?  How do you explain the gadgets on his ears?  How do you explain that A doesn't understand much Amharic or Sidamic anymore, but that he has started reading small words in English?  Though he has forgotten the language, how do you explain to someone that they are not forgotten, but that A often mentions this person and that person and that person in his prayers?  How do you explain the inconceivable material differences between the life the boys now have and the one they left behind?  How does one hold all of these tensions, all of this love and all of this pain?

I have been avoiding this lump in my throat, this tightness in my chest, these tears I just cried.  Time for courage.  There is someone in Ethiopia who needs to see our boys' smiling faces, to know we did not forget, to know that we will always be woven together.  

A Year Ago

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Last year, this week of December 17-25 was an incredible week.  A week of meeting, of falling in love, of confusion, of pain and of the feeling of holding one another at last.  Now our old memories join the new ones and I am left in complete awe.  A and K, you are the most amazing gifts.

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