Our Journey to Ethiopia... Day 4

We awoke today just as we had every other day. The difference was that we knew some families would not have slept as much as us the night prior. This had nothing to do with waking babies ready to be fed. This had everything to do with the fact that four of the seven families would be meeting birth mothers on this particular morning (one family would meet the birth mother the next day). There were two of us who would not have the honor, privilege and stress of meeting our children's birth family. When Tom and I first found out that there was no record of a family for Abraham, I cried. I was broken for him. To not know his roots, I knew, would be a very hard thing to deal with as he would grow. This particular morning though, I was at peace knowing that we would not be meeting his birth family. I knew for the other families it would be one of the hardest things they would ever have to do.

As we walked downstairs to order breakfast, we came upon all of the families who would be heading over to Hannah's Hope that day. Almaz had suggested the rest of us to hang back at the hotel while the families met each other. This meant a long morning at the hotel. The last meeting was scheduled for 12:30, and there was not a lot to do at the Union. AGCI was not only our adoption agency while in Ethiopia, but also our tour guide of sorts, so leaving the hotel was not really an option. Instead we got to spend some time getting to talk with the other families, watch children go a little stir-crazy from boredom and get to know the staff at the Union.

The women and men that work at the Union Hotel truly are some of the kindest people I have yet to meet in my 30 years on this earth. They are always ready to serve (yes, I know that's their job, but they serve with passion, kindness and wholeheartedly - as if serving to truly make their customers happy - not just because they have to). Three women that stick out to me are Rosa, Lilly and Trudy. They would always come up to us with such big smiles and ask if we needed anything or if we wanted them to hold our children. We were always willing to give Abraham up to them knowing that this would be the last time he would be held by the people of his native country. They would lavish him with adoration, kisses and affection that you would never see in the States. These women will always be remembered as three of the most beautiful women I have had the pleasure to meet (there were more, I just wish I could remember their names).

While down ordering breakfast, our waiter asked for my order. After telling him I would like pancakes again, I asked his name. He said it twice and I tried to repeat it as best I could. Finally he just looked at me and said, "No, you no get." We all have a tremendous laugh - this guy would just tell it like it was! If you used his pen to sign your bill, he'd make sure to tell you, so that he would get it back. I loved this guy - and no - I still can't pronounce his name!

Knowing that we had four hours to wait until being able to head over to Hannah's Hope was excruciatingly long. I had NO cause to complain though as I looked in the faces of our traveling companions. The look of worry, stress, and anxiety was clear to see. Shawn and Megan were the last to go and having three children under the age of 10 waiting for that long was very hard. They did such an amazing job of being patient, but I know it was incredibly difficult for them. After families began to arrive back at the hotel, you could see the relief that had washed over them. They said that the meetings had gone well and that it was such an honor and privilege to get to meet these amazing people. I will not share any of their stories. Seeing each of them come back with nuggets of history for their children made me grateful for them. At the same time my heart was completely saddened. Tom and I would have no history to share with our Abraham. We know nothing of his biological family. While wrestling with this, God clearly spoke to me... "Kristin, I am the Creator - I have created Abraham and have been with him from the beginning. I have never left his side and I never will leave or forsake him. I have brought him into your arms knowing that you would love him, care for him and show him My incredible love, grace and My tender Heart. Have courage and faith Kristin - know that I AM God and I KNOW Abraham. He is mine and - I am his history." Peace washed over me knowing that God had and always would be with my son. He is his true Father, just as He is mine.

It was finally time to head over to Hannah's Hope to head out to lunch at Addis' golf course! As we walked to Hannah's Hope I was so excited to see all of the children. Unfortunately, the babies were in their nap time and all of the other children were most likely doing school. I was thrilled that we were getting to witness so much of Addis, but saddened as well because we did not get to spend as much time at Hannah's Hope. My guess is that because they were so short staffed, we just made things more stressful in an already stressful environment. We all loaded up into the vans once again and headed out for lunch. I know that for the families who had met with biological parents, this was a relief - they were glad to be able to get out and have a nice, relaxing lunch.

We arrived at the golf course - it was gorgeous! There were tables set out on the lawn and it was incredibly luscious and green. They had this amazing walkway that was lined with various flowers of every color you could imagine. Reds, yellows, purples, blues... it was breathtaking. I was once again struck by the dichotomy of this country. Here we were sitting at this beautiful golf course, ordering salmon, chicken pasta, doro wat and not 100 feet away there were people literally starving to death! Here in the States, yes - we have the poor and hungry. Fortunately there is enough food to feed these people. I'm not saying it always happens, but there is NO reason a person in the US should go hungry. In Ethiopia, it's a different story. The rising cost of food, droughts, and the number of people that need to be fed does not match up. There is not enough food to always feed everyone and people, babies, children are dying because of this. Yet, here we were eating all of this food with leftovers. One thing I tried to focus on while there was finishing my food. It didn't always happen, but now that I'm home - I dish what I can eat. How I wish it was as simple as packing all of our leftovers and shipping them to Ethiopia.

Hanging out at the golf course.

Our friends, the Mastrella's with their amazing and gorgeous son Miles! We love these guys (we loved all of our traveling buddies - how amazing each of them were to us)!

While leaving the golf course, I remember looking over at all of these men at work. We noticed they were cutting the grass, not with a lawn mower, but with weed whackers. It was quite a sight to see, 5 men all chopping away at the grass of a golf course with weed whackers! Suddenly, we all heard a thundering noise and our heads turned up to the sky. We looked up and saw a helicopter heading straight for us. The kids were thrilled - I doubt any of them had ever seen one. Just beyond the borders of the golf course a military base was stationed (that's what we all guessed anyway). The helicopter touched down 100 feet away from us with enough wind to make you notice. As we drove away, people were lined up along a fence watching the spectacle. I still wonder what was going on and what the helicopter was up to. I'm guessing I'll never know.

We headed back to the hotel. A little while later Almaz walked over and told us we would be visiting the Fistula Hospital. She said that the people at the hospital had asked us not bring babies, so Abraham and Tom stayed back at the hotel. I was expecting to get in the van and drive again, but we walked no further than a block and there we were, standing at the gate of the Fistula Hospital. I've copied a portion of information about Fistula from the official Fistula Foundation web-site so that there is some background information about what Fistula is and why it is so devastating to these beautiful women...

The most devastating of all childbirth injuries

An obstetric fistula

develops when blood supply to the tissues of the vagina and the bladder (and/or rectum) is cut off during prolonged obstructed labor. The tissues die and a hole forms through which urine and/or feces pass uncontrollably. Women who develop fistulas are often abandoned by their husbands, rejected by their communities, and forced to live an isolated existence.

More than two million women live with fistula

Eradicated in western countries at the end of the 19th century when cesarean section became widely available, obstetric fistula continues to plague women throughout the developing world. It is estimated that there are 100,000 new fistula cases each year, but the international capacity to treat fistula remains at only 6,500 per year. The United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA) estimates the world's population of fistula sufferers at more than two million.

Nerve damage and psychological trauma

The WHO has called fistula “the single most dramatic aftermath of neglected "childbirth." In addition to complete incontinence, a fistula victim may develop nerve damage to the lower extremities after a multi-day labor in a squatting position. Fistula victims also suffer profound psychological trauma resulting from their utter loss of status and dignity.

As we walked through the gates of the Fistula hospital, we were greeted by the most beautiful, fragrant trees budding to the point of bursting. It was an oasis for these women who had endured more than any woman should have to endure. I'm sure as all of them walked through that gate for the first time they must have thought that this was their saving grace, and they would be right. We walked down some concrete steps, under a covered walkway that led to the administration office. We were greeting by their PR woman. I have to say when she opened her mouth, her English was perfect and you could tell she was not only an educated, smart woman, but a woman with a passionate heart about Fistula patients. She led us to a room where she explained the history of Fistula and the lives in which these women must suffer through all because they were either too little, too young, or too undernourished to be able to give birth. We learned that this would happen all over the world if it were not for the miracle of Cesarean sections. The rejection these women face is haunting. I remember looking over at one picture that was painted by a Fistula patient. It showed a gaunt face hiding behind bars. We were told that these women are rejected by their husbands and then sent back to their families. Their families almost always take them back, but they are shunned to a back room. The reason being that the odor is so offensive that their families' neighbors and friends do want want to visit because of the odor. Thus, they are treated as cattle. They are fed, and pushed into the back room to live out their lives essentially as hermits.

Our guide (I so wish I could remember her name, but I can't) then took us on a tour of the hospital. As we left the doors of the conference room, I was extremely nervous. Would these women think we were intruding, would they think, "Why are these Americans here, what good is it doing us to have them come walk through and see our shame?" I wanted them to know how much I respected them and was in awe o f their courage, strength and endurance, but how could I say these things? I did not speak the language. All I could do was to genuinely smile at them and show them my love and compassion through my eyes, my hands and my arms. As we reached the first ward of women, I noticed this girl run up to our guide. She could not have been older than 12. Our guide told us she was there for another reason, but I couldn't help but think that there were plenty of other girls her age who were suffering from Fistula. This little girls' smile lit up the room and she was thrilled to be able to take the tour with us. We all walked in the door and there before us were 12 or so beds full of the tiniest, most unique women I had yet to meet. Their ages ranged from teenagers to women in their 40s. At first they just stared at us. Our tour guide told us about this section of the hospital (this is where they would go when their surgery was successful and they were in the recovery stage). Before leaving, we asked if we could shake their hands and hug them. We were allowed. As I walked up to this young girl, I was struck by her rugged beauty. She had these dark tattoos on her forehead that must have been unique to her tribe. She was sitting up talking to another friend. She looked directly at me with her enormous brown eyes. I walked straight over to her and said, "Salem" (hello in Amharic). I extended both of hands and she reached out and grasped them. My eyes welled up and all I could say was, "Thank You." I leaned in and hugged this amazing young woman and with that she gifted me the most beautiful smile. I had numerous encounters such as this and was in awe of the unique look that each woman had , the way in which she carried herself, and the grace it took for each of them to allow us to love them while in such a difficult situation.

We walked through the rest of the compound, smiling and waving along the way. We NEVER once encountered a rude look or gesture. In turn, we were greeted with humble smiles and waves - as though we were doing them some sort of favor. These women simply amazed me! We continued on our tour and ended up in large room full of women lying in hospital beds. We were told this was where they awaited surgery, and where they would come after having surgery. The moment we walked in, you could smell urine. They keep this hospital very clean, but when urine is constantly leaking, the smell lingers. To be honest, I was overwhelmed. Here were all of these women staring at us wondering again, why all of these Americans were here? I think our tour guide was just going to show us the room and then move on. We asked if we could say hello to them. She agreed. I knew there was no possible way I could say hello to one and skip the rest. I went down each aisle on both sides and greeted each of them with a genuine smile, a double hand squeeze and a thank you. Each and every one of them was incredibly humble in their response. I was floored by these women who had already endured so much. How could they still carry themselves with such grace, humility and love after all they had been through? There was one woman in particular who stood out to me. She was the oldest woman I had seen at the hospital (our guide had told us one woman had lived with Fistula for over 40 years - what agony). She seemed thrilled to see me. I grasped her hands and with that she pulled me into her. We kissed three times - one on the right cheek, one on the left and one on the right cheek again. She said something to me in Amharic that I didn't understand. I began to cry as I told her how amazing I thought she was and how thankful I was that she let me come and visit this beautiful hospital. Of course, she had no clue what I was saying, but her eyes spoke what I could not understand. She was grateful - grateful that someone would hug her. She had been shunned, neglected, abandoned for so long. To think that someone would interact, much less touch her - I'm sure was something that was foreign to her. That woman will forever be in my heart as a woman of integrity, grace and beauty. I pray she is healed and able to return to her family even more amazing than when she left.

As we prepared to leave, I thanked God for the Hamlins and their dedication to these women. I thanked him that they educated these women, taught them trades so that they could earn money back in their villages. I thanked Him that the Fistula foundation was able to open four more hospitals in the North, South, East and West of Ethiopia so that women from all over this country would not have to live with this tragedy. I thanked Him for allowing me to meet these amazing women and to get to be a part of something so incredible and special.

I couldn't take any actual pictures of the hospital, so these were downloaded. These are women going through physical therapy (as many of them have legs that go into atrophy from lying still for so long due to the leaking of urine).

The rows and rows of hospital beds. It was in this room that I met the older woman who claimed my heart.

After returning back to the hotel, I filled Tom in. He wished he could have gone, but was glad I was able to experience this and pass it onto to him. We hung out for a while, rested for a bit and then headed downstairs to meet up with everyone to head over to Hannah's Hope for our Traditional Ethiopian Feast!

When we got to Hannah's Hope, one of the special mothers came running up to us. She swooped Abraham up and smothered him in kisses and affection all the while calling him his sweet nickname "Abrish" - sounds like Obrish - short o. His name is actually prounounced Obrohom in Ethiopia). She whisked him away into the house. I was so grateful for this woman (and the other special mothers), to know that she had loved my son for over three months. To know that she had showered him with all of her love, attention and affection brought me to my knees. How can these woman constantly give away so much love and yet have to give up all that they have poured their hearts and souls into? These women are heroes to me. To know when they get a baby or a child that they will have to love them like their own and then give them up to someone that they don't even know is something that I cannot comprehend. 10 minutes later, two of hi s special mothers brought him out to us. They were doting on him, kissing him and talking affectionately to him. Suddenly, they both began to cry. I knew the entire time that they were in Hannah's Hope, they were saying their final good-byes (I'm crying as I type this). This precious boy that they had come to know and love would be leaving them forever. Yes, they would see pictures, but they would never again get to kiss him, hold him, cuddle him. Watching them say their goodbyes to my son drained me of any tears that I had left. I tried to tell them how grateful I was, to hug them, but I don't think they could face me. Sofiya turned away to walk home, thus walking away from my son forever, holding her head down - crying tears of loss for her sweet Abraham. Oh Mekedes, Sofiya and Fantu - thank you for what you have done for our Abraham. Thank you for the love you have shown him, for raising him and letting him know that he can trust, he can love and he can hope. I owe you more than I could ever repay. I love you for what you have done, and for all that you have sacrificed...

Abraham saying goodbye to Mekedes.

Abraham and Fantu - bonding with a bottle

Sofiya - Abraham's special mother who left for home crying.

While all of this was happening Almaz was handing out our documents from the US Embassy, explaining that we could not open them - only the officer at customs in the US. I let Tom do all of the listening, figuring he'd fill me in later. Then Almaz told us to load up to head out for dinner. Mind you... it was already past 7 by this time - late for children :). As we drove through road upon bumpy road of small shops, and people bustling about I noticed how incredibly loving the Ethiopian people were to each other. Men would walk down the road arm in arm, holding hands. Young men, old men, it didn't matter. They were companions and enjoyed being close to each other. It was such a welcome sight to see. I was struck once again by the differences in our cultures. Here in the US, men usually make sure to sit with a seat in between them if they go to a movie together. In Ethiopia, being close is a fact of life. They embrace this.

We arrived at the restaurant. I looked around at what seemed like a beautifully decorated, large hut. As we walked in my eyes drifted upward. On the ceiling was the most amazing painting - a story of Ethiopian herdsman and farmers. It was gorgeous. Underneath the painting were large sticks which were wrapped in some sort of twine - I assume these were holding up the roof! We had a bit of a tough time getting in as we were a HUGE party - a group of 25 (kids and all)! We all sat down and ordered our drinks. While we were waiting, a group of musicians came on stage and began to play some traditional Ethiopian music. It was such a beautiful and unique sound with drums, flutes and some sort of harp/stringed instrument. Tom was feeding Abraham as he was exhausted and more than ready for bed. The music started and instantaneously Abraham's head whipped around to find the source of the sound. He wiggled to get free, so Tom stood him up. As soon as he was up, he started grooving! He wiggled his little body and whipped his head back and forth to the beat. I could NOT believe this kid. He was/is wired for music!!! He absolutely LOVED to dance and continues to be that way at home too. It was/is the most adorable thing! Everyone looked over and noticed - getting quite the kick out of our little bee-bopper!

Eventually we were led outside to where a feast of traditional Ethiopian food was set up for us. We lined up to have our hands washed by a man holding a gold pitcher. He would pour water over our hands, we would scrub our hands with a provided bar of soap and then rinse with the pitcher again. We all got some injera and laid it flat on our plates - I got some doro wat (chicken and boiled egg stew), some pureed lentils and I tried some lamb stew. It was all DELICIOUS! YUM - it made me want to learn to cook these dishes! The injera was quite sour - Tom really liked it, but it got to me a little. The restaurant was kind enough to make a dumbed down version - which I preferred :). Not long after eating, Abraham pooped his pants so I took him to the bathroom. While in there (changing him on the floor - thank goodness for traveling changing pads), a woman in her fifties, dressed very nicely came out of one the the stalls. She began talking to me in perfect English (very little accent), asking me all about Abraham. I told her a brief version of our story and asked about her. She told me that she had lived in the States for over 15 years and had now moved back to "retire" in Addis. She worked for the UN and would be going back and forth between Ethiopia and the US in here "retirement." Here I was, in the presence of a UN worker who was trying to help her country. WOW! I thanked her for her kindness and walked back inside. As I passed by the gate separating the street from the restaurant, sure enough there was a row of white SUV's with the letters UN stenciled on them.

It was getting late, but before we left we were able to witness the most incredible dancing. There were two women and two men who would dress in different outfits for each song and then come out and perform a traditional dance. During one of the faster songs, one of the women did a solo. She began to roll her head and it just kept going faster and faster. I was convinced it was going to pop right off! Luckily it didn't, but I could not believe how she could do that to her head! Amazing!! Tom and I agreed that this was the most spectacular night and we thoroughly enjoyed every aspect of it.

We finally loaded up around 10:30 and started to head out. On my way out the door, the woman from the UN (who I had met in the bathroom :) ), reached over to say goodbye. I leaned in to give her a hug! Once again I was reminded of the differences in culture. Here was this woman who was obviously in the upper echelon, yet she was thrilled about our adoption, and kind enough to say goodbye and even give me a hug. I don't think that would happen here - maybe - I just don't know.

The incredible artwork on the ceiling and the "sticks" holding up the roof.

All our our drinks together - do you notice the one bottle - yes, that's Abraham's unfinished bottle because of the dancing!

This is a typical pose - big eyes, bottle in the mouth, and finger pointing as if to say, "Yeah, so I'm eating again.... I'm a growing boy!" He finally settled down after about 20 minutes of dancing!

Me and my little dancer boy!

The Ethiopian Dancers and Musicians

As we drove back home, I knew this would be our last night in Ethiopia and tomorrow our last day. My excitement at going home to see our other two children was mixed with feelings of sadness. I would be taking my son home, but at the same time, I would be taking him away from some of the most beautiful, amazing, humble and gracious people that I had ever had the privilege of meeting...