We are approaching the one-year anniversary of our first trip to Ethiopia, which was the first time we met Little Boy, and when we heard those wonderful words from the judge: “He’s yours.”
Re-reading those blog posts that are linked in the previous paragraph, I realize that I didn’t really write about our first encounter with Little Boy… maybe because it didn’t go as well as I expected, and I was fearful that it would be indicative of our lives together. But, a year later, we are a family in bliss and I can look back at that first meeting with fondness.
Our first day in Ethiopia, we called the travel coordinator for our agency (as instructed) and he told us he would pick us up at our hotel the next morning and take us to our agency’s transition home, where Little Boy had arrived three weeks prior from Sidama in preparation for the final steps of the adoption. We were nervous and still a tad jet-lagged and disoriented. After eating breakfast (eggs and toast and such), the driver arrived with a van and we piled in. I believe there was already a couple from our travel group in the van who were adopting a baby boy, and we chatted with them. They were midwestern and friendly. On the way, we stopped at another hotel to pick up S and B, a couple who live 10 minutes away from us who adopted a boy the same age as Little Boy. We had taken the same flight as S and B, so we had already met them, bonded, and pretty much had playdates scheduled for the next five years. The van labored through the traffic and construction of Addis Ababa, and then we arrived at the transition home — a compound tucked away behind solid metal doors in a low-density commercial district, with no signs. The driver explained that this was the “big kid” house and the “baby” house was nearby, so Mr. P and I got out of the van with S & B.
Two little boys stood alone in the courtyard — I guess the nannies knew we were coming, and prepared them for our arrival. The boys watched us approach. S went immediately to her future son, cooing child-friendly greetings, and within seconds all three of them were smiling, holding hands, and looking very much like a family. I watched this before turning my attention on the other little boy, my Little Boy, scanning his face to verify it matched the referral photo. I think my brain was overwhelmed. Mr. P and I kneeled in front of him and smiled. He looked both terrified and sad, and he stared at the ground, avoiding our eyes. We stood like this for about a minute, unsure how to proceed. His eyes were slowly welling with tears. I tried to touch his shoulder, and this unleashed the crying in earnest. Mr. P and I started quietly conferring about what to do. Do we try to comfort him? The closer we got, the more he cried.
In the background, S and B were already playing games with their son, and S noticed Little Boy was distressed and got the attention of a nanny. She came over, giving Little Boy a hug and allowing him to cry in her arms. We watched this, helpless. Then she handed him to Mr. P and walked away, saying repeatedly “Daddy. Mommy.” (These words are drilled into the children at the transition home, but this caused the children to call every white person they saw “Mommy” and “Daddy.”)
After a few more awkward minutes like this, we tried to play with him. We put him in the Crazy Coupe car and pushed him around. The other big kids (about 12 of them, ages 3-10) were soon let into the courtyard to play, and they all wanted to play with us. All except Little Boy. He never said a word, never smiled, and barely looked at us.
Day One: Shellshocked
This whole time, the words of my social worker from our pre-travel call kept me strong. She said that “all first reactions are totally normal.” Many children will run into their parent’s arms joyously, and other children will be more cautious, and some might cry. At the time, I was thinking “Oh, he won’t cry,” but it should not have surprised me, because in both referral pictures, he looks on the verge of tears. And watching him in person for the first time, I actually developed a deep respect for him. Of course he’s crying. Of course he’s scared. What would I do, if I was put in this totally crazy situation where I was taken from everything I know and forced into the arms of two strangers who look, smell, and talk funny? And the people around me (the nannies) speak a different language and can’t tell me what’s going on?
He was like a doll, barely moving, not reacting (aside from crying), seemingly stunned. We showed him the photo album we brought of our home. He sat on Mr. P’s lap (a victory) and stared at each picture. We had no idea what he was thinking or if he understood why we were showing him the pictures. Then he suddenly pointed at a picture of Mr. P in which he was wearing a baseball cap. He turned around and pointed at Mr. P’s head… because he was wearing the very same cap! It was a glorious moment that made me almost cry with relief, because up until then I was secretly wondering if there was something cognitively wrong with him. But then I realized he was very astute and studying us intently.
Looking at the photo book (day two)
Soon after that, we left for the lunch break, after which the kids take a nap. I believe that was the day we had a “welcome lunch” with our travel group in the agency’s guest house. When we returned later in the afternoon, he warmed up to us slowly. Part of the initial fear may have been my fault, because I generally talk to kids normally (as opposed to using a cutesy tone of voice), but then I realized that my tone of voice was all he had to go on because he couldn’t understand a word I said. So I said a lot of nonsense things in a high-pitched, cooing voice. We played with balloons and bubbles. And then we said goodbye for the day. Little Boy didn’t seem to care, and was probably relieved we were going.
Day Two: How we loved his "Little Celebrity" t-shirt!
The following days are sort of a haze. I believe that was Monday, and then we had another bonding day on Tuesday, and then Wednesday was court, and then another bonding day on Thursday, and then we left Thursday night. The last day, I remember arriving at the Big Kid house while the kids were playing inside. I poked my head (not sure where Mr. P was) in the room and all the kids saw me and called Little Boy’s name. He looked at me and smiled. (Whenever he smiled, he would tuck his front teeth over his lower lip.) I’m not sure if he smiled because he was happy to see me or because my arrival meant that he could go outside and play, but he smiled and came to me.
Last Day: Some Happiness
