copies

Maybe we'll learn that we can pick up his passport today. If things go smoothly it is possible to finalize everything within 2 weeks from picking up the passport. But US Embassy only does certain tasks on certain days so it is easy to see how it won't play out so perfectly. That said, we have to book our tickets home now, without knowing our final date, because it is required to renew our visas. I don't know why we only got a 60 day visa. Maybe we thought that would be plenty of time! I will go home no matter what, and Eric will stay for any glitches that arise. Or, if we are fortunate, we can fly home together.

Today's interesting project is to make a gbillion copies of Lu's folder from the babies home. His intake papers, visits to the doctor, etc. Most businesses are in tiny closets off the street- from fruit seller to copying center to hardware store-so we were thrilled to find a copying center in a mall where we can spread out (on the floor) and organize lots of differently sized pieces of paper. And then cross the street and stop in at the French patisserie. (In this country you need to have a reward for every task accomplished.)

Everyone on the street asks, How's the baby? Well, he is well. He crawls (he couldn't when we first met him) and he walks holding only one parent's hand. He eats everything we eat (we figure if he likes it and it doesn't cause diarrhea it's probably OK). He doesn't care for chicken but likes goat and some times beef. He prefers macaroni and cheese, pizza, and peanut butter bread to anything. Already he's so American. Vegetables are kind of hard to get here but he likes cucumbers, avocados, cooked carrots. He sleeps in until 8 or 9. He learned to sit and spin yesterday. Favorite toys: pill bottles, nail clippers, toy cars, doors and latches. He can't say words but understands a lot. Lots of babble. Knows a couple sign language signs. Likes dogs. My favorite part...he loves to dance and drum.

dance and drumming

We attended the Ndere dance troupe with a friend who is also adopting. Unforgettable.

passport

Each day has been much more calm since the good news. I still have a meltdown around 4pm - late in the afternoon when I've been carrying Lu around for hours in a wrap off my right shoulder, heat stressed, just having deboarded a bus snug with folks, and I become increasingly indecisive about how to coordinate access to internet, milk, dinner, whatever remaining errands in the day, and then I snap.

I find it interesting how much stress I can bury that just bursts out in the late afternoon like a pregnant Louisiana sky unloading a rainstorm. Yeah, I'm overheated but I had been absolutely unsettled underneath waiting to find out whether I'm a mother. So that grip on me has been unfurled. I just have the usual afternoon crap of not having a car (not that I would drive in this traffic) or internet or a fridge, small things I have learned to love.

So we broke down and bought a wifi router/modem and now have access to the internet in our home. A wildly freeing move. That is the first thing I would do upon arrival, in retrospect.

Anyway, we applied for his passport today. I felt like we were in Africa. No info center. No signage. Go to room 6. Don't say a word. 

this day is a great day

This is the day your life will surely change.

The honorable judge granted us legal guardianship of Luke. The dam finally broke today. An emotional flood like no other. I have been so frustrated lately that I couldn't sleep at all the night before and I woke up and wrote this:

I need to unload. If I haven't been at the breaking point yet, I'm certainly there now. I hardly slept last night from the raucous of the dogs barking down in the valley, and other annoying party sounds going on. So I will likely have to retract everything I say.
I just don't think we can on like this. We're going to have to pick a day and just say, We're done. We're broke. We have to get back to work. Pack our bags, check the baby back in at the babies home, and call it a failure. There's a limit to how long this can keep going on, emotionally, financially. The strain on so many people back home caring for our animals and home and work. It's just becoming too much. And, in truth, we wonder if the best thing for Luke is to be in America. Perhaps he should stay with his people, no matter how life plays out. I don't know, but something, or someone, is going to have to give in. Call a truce.

And so the judge spoke. Aghhhh!!!!! Man! Our second thought, was Shit! Now we're parents! This is real! What did we just do!

To celebrate we went to the Olympic-sized pool at a resort nearby and had fish fingers and a burger poolside. (Luke likes fish fingers.) There was a wedding taking place within the resort, with live music and drumming, and traditional dancing. A lovely backdrop. I guess all the world is celebrating.

Now we can start getting his passport, an official physical exam for immigration, and set up an appt for acquiring his US visa. Sometimes waiting for that final visa appt can take awhile so I may return before Eric and Luke.

Sunday

Sunday. Temperature 84F. Cool breeze, not too humid. There are small animal vets here. Usually a hole in the wall with a desk up front and a couple of rooms in back. Looks like the human clinics they have on every block. When Luke first started staying with us he had a bad cold. His lungs were wet and congested. He quickly gave it to me. We had gone across the street from our hotel to get some local take out - red beans, rice, matoke - to bring back to our room. While waiting, I peeked in next door to the 24-hour health clinic and saw a woman mopping. I asked her if there was a nurse or doctor around to look at Luke. She dropped her mop and whipped out her stethoscope, listened to his lungs, and handed me some Clavamox for $16. By then our food order was ready and we went home. !

The real business for vets is likely in knowing your goat and chicken medicine. The goats run loose in little families. There may be a kid nearby moving them alongside the road to nibble on some free greens. Though many just seem to know where home is, more like a wandering dog looking for extra morsels. Though they seem to be more wary of cars and look both ways before crossing the street. Perhaps being born prey animals they are naturally more cautious to the hazards of anything.

I saw more dead pets in a week stay in Naples, than I've seen in a month here. Italy was a mess. I saw two dogs get hit by cars; dead bunnies in a pet shop - apparently the shopkeeper hadn't noticed yet; a few dead cats outside of dumpsters. The most striking thing here is all the mangy dogs that aren't noticeably itching, and one steet dog with non-weight bearing hind limb lameness. I've only seen two puppies and no kittens. There is an animal shelter here, which I would like to visit if it wasn't such a hastle getting around this city (with a baby). Someone I met had found some pups on the side of the road, so young still their eyes were closed. She called the shelter and they came out within an hour on a boda-boda (motorcycle) and whisked the pups away.

The boda-bodas make life here a lot more convenient. You can hop one anywhere. But they weave in and out of traffic, you may lose your knees, or your head. Few drivers wear helmets. People transport everything imaginable on these. Twenty live chickens. A twin mattress. Fifty pineapples. Twenty-foot long pipes dragging behind or 10-15' pipes transversally. Four grown men. I'm trying to uphold my US standards for baby care, yet if I wish to fit in culturally, I'd just hop on sideways with the baby in one arm and my groceries in the other.

Can anyone explain why the Muslim prayer is going extra long this Sunday morning?

2014

war

'This was when she stopped believing in man's rule on earth. She turned away from every person who stood up for war. Or the principle of one's land, or pride of ownership, or even personal rights. All of those motives ended up somehow in the arms of careless power. One was no worse or better than the enemy.'

Refugees from south Sudan are arriving in Uganda. Mostly Christian missionaries from what I can tell, young American families with children. Some are involved with orphanages. The kids swim at the club and don't know why they're on vacation. The lives of the adults, in limbo. We will be home soon. That is something they can't say.

If we lived here long enough, the things we value would have to shift. Give way to a life more manageable. One can't go on with the tension we feel here everyday. We'd begin by including the rooster that crows at 3am, and the dogs that rummage through the neighborhood and break into howls, as acceptable noise. Maybe we'd eventually include the Muslim prayer at 4am that reverberates over all the Christian homes everyday. And 1pm. And every evening. We could aspire to include the amped repetitive party music that blasts from the churches down in the valley through all hours of the night. Kampala is a city that never shuts up. I don't know where we could go to escape it but out on safari or deep within ourselves.

I wonder if safari would be conducive to a toddler....

We're plenty impressed with getting through a night without a waling babe, having perfectly strategized to reroute the meltdown with water bottles, milk bottles, a cracker;  nesting guests through paper walls. We're raising someone else's child. We're impressed by everything. Tiny toes. Tiny heartbeat. When he cries after a bath, and the water was too cold, he looks like I just gave birth to him. What events were not in place? What skills, what people, what cultural beliefs. What disease. What finances. Here and at home. What are our histories that led us to have met one another. Was there an alternative to us? Was it any better? Can we make up for it and provide for any losses.

I live on air here. Not yet tan. We take antimalarial pills daily. Three US dollars a day. We eat mango fruit spread and g.nut butter on toast. We dust our ankles red on our walk to town everyday. We all cry once daily then feel better til eve. Babe falls asleep watching the lizards hunt flies on the ceiling over us; suckling warmed milk, fresh from a bath. We scan the horizon and watch the birds turn into silouettes of bats; enjoy a glass of something dusty from France we found in the corner of the store.

lizards

Anyday we may hear the judge's decision. Will we get to be a family like so many others, or will we carry on as a couple and allocate our wealth to new furniture? Why has motherhood been so evasive? And now in the hands of a stranger? Whichever way the winds blow, I imagine we'll carry on with no regrets. We are lizards in waiting on the ceiling at night. 

 The sun is on my back. I'm cleverly shading Lu and hope he will wind down and take a nap. We're at the pool with other expats and some local families. We just had the best breakfast across the street at the Euro cafe: maple infused pancakes, sausage, home fries, fruit ( pineapple, lime, lemony orange), eggs with white yolks, bacon...with cappuccinos.  Competitive with any trendy Portland brunch place. Many adoptive parents have said this before, but we would all prefer children to be raised in their own cultures by their own families. Even if aunts or grandmas raise them. We hope we are adopting those that won't thrive in their own families, and in their own communities. We met a Welsh filmmaker today who adopted a child from Uganda many years ago and lives and works here now on child trafficking issues. Child trafficking is largely funded by international adoption and the large amounts of money involved. This isn't the forum or time to get into this but it's certainly something we talk about and are trying to educate ourselves on. We have met the birth mother and grandparents and believe our case is legit, but you never know. Might there be an alternative that supports that family so they could care for Luke? Although that's a good idea to implement, this Luke would likely be dead- like the 4 other children in the family. But that's a story for Luke to tell. 

eric and lu

Since I have become a parent: it's as if I lost an arm (left arm now just holds a baby) and introspection occurs only at dawn (before anyone wakes). So I am learning to spread peanut butter and cut pineapple one-handed; and write at home in an email draft then paste it into my blog when I am near internet. Internet is a half mile walk away, down a red dust road into town. Some boys will stare, the girls will laugh at the freak show we are. They genuinely seem to wonder how a black child came from my loins. Reverse albinism I tell the folks in dare.
 We have found a nice little town to stay in (a town basically swallowed by Kampala) but it is relatively quiet, lush with palms and banana trees, and near a country club and Euro cafe with Internet. Its early morning now and I awoke to long, lyrical bird song, yet fell asleep to some repetitive woman waling over a steady bass beat. Religious chanting? CD skipping? Pollution, including noise pollution, is sort of the way of Kampala. The city smells of burnt plastic. And it is. They're burning it outside your window. I made an error earlier comparing Kampala to the East Village. Think Canal St. (with goats and chickens and mangy dogs). Everyone lined up hawking whatever, like a never-ending thrift store - unfortunately, none of it worthy of bringing home, no momemtos or bright African print fabrics).
 Today we'll get our membership at the country club. There's a pool, WiFi, tennis and restaurant and maybe a chance to meet others. It's easy to indulge when you spend most of your days darting stares; walking almost 2 hours to a bank in the moist heat, and 2 hours back, with a baby strapped to you; just as far to get a decent loaf of bread (quite good! we found a French patisserie with brioche chocolat, fresh multi grain breads); and other errands on a packed minibus-taxi (like a westfalia) into the city which is like going to a Rick Springfield concert in '84. Yes. Without question, we deserve a poolside moment.

So let's talk about Lukuli (Lou-KOOL-lee). Since he just woke he'll let me know how much I can tell. Once he came home with us he was a different sort of guy. He slept a solid 11 hours and woke up smiling. And basically he's been that way ever since. So maybe you're not so traumatized.?? Maybe you realized our milk was from a cow and we have cheese and you never looked back? We have even returned to the babies home, and met with his primary caretaker there, and he seems to be plenty comfortable with us.

Except today. He likes to go out in the day, or he gets bored and antsy. We were a little slow getting ready to go to the pool and he had a complete meltdown. Eric and I are discovering how to parent together and I presume are falling into pitfalls familiar to all parents before us. I will be practicing quiet dignity while said child yanks on my hair and cries and grabs at hot oatmeal with his hand. Here at the pool now, he clings to me like a scared koala and makes me feel most wanted. By the way, the pool and resort were last updated in 1973. It's not exactly the resort I envisioned, more like an old American govt pool with red clay tennis courts and screaming kids in the pool. (It was the old American embassy club that has since become more community-based.)

:-) :-) 

Luke turns one

Luke's 1st birthday is today! We came upon some random balloons in the pizza place and the party started. I think we'll run down the aisle in the Italian market and look for some toy cars to race on the kitchen tile tonight. Two more days until we head back to court. Time is just dragging. We're stir crazy and anxious and bored and miss our dogs and cats and life. Though we are hanging at a muzunga cafe (white person) cafe enjoying iced lattes, so we're mnot totally hurting. Luke is bored so I guess we can't lounge too long...

No electricity to write

I envisioned writing every night, posting lots of photos, sharing this great experience with everyone. But you need electricity to do that. The storms here take out the electricity weekly, and then, hey, sunny days do too it turns out. We've been living in a busy equivalent of the East Village but imagine it with goats, chickens, mangy dogs (I can't even look at the dogs). It's a nice apartment with a balcony and many views down into everybody's backyards. We spy a lot and probably know things we shouldn't.

Baby Luke is with us. We pronounce it Lukka or call him Lukuli (a street nearby here that leads to some lush er areas.) We are moving in a week to this greener area up on the hill where there is a veranda and 3 well-cared for German Shepherds (people have guard dogs, not really pets). He is a funny kid. It's all very strange becoming parents suddenly, and then sorting through the stresses of walking the streets with Howz your baby? Wherez the mother? Mostly people are cool and thank you for having Jesus in your heart to have helped out.

I'm runnin gout of internet time, nee to grab diapers and head back to camp. Dec. 17 the judge will make her ruling as to whether Eric and I are fit to be parents. She really didn't like that I was going to be the primary earner. How could a man raise a baby? Ask my brother. He did a great job. So Luke is not ours and we are not sure if things will pan out in our favor. Strange that it has been reduced to making a good income- after a year of prep and waiting and hoping.