What I Learned from a Dip Bath in Kenya
started from the mind of Heidi
(Heidi)
Hot and sticky perspiration runs in small rivers down my neck leaking from my scalp and continues its salty spiral down my back. My armpits feel like pools and my forearms glisten. It is barely 6:00 am.
Early in the quiet of morning, I grab my orange bucket and a small two-liter pitcher, placing them under the spigot found in the side-yard of our accommodations. As I wait for the clean bucket to fill, I arrange my towel, shampoo and soap in my private shower stall; a cement structure with the walls filled in with dried mud and coconut tree bristles.
At last I place my bright bucket of clear water on the small bench in the shower. Remembering that this water is clear but not clean enough to drink, I remind myself not to let any drip into my mouth. I peel off my sticky clothes, anxious for the cool water to wash away the oppressive stickiness left behind by so much perspiring and glistening.
Slowly and deliberately, I pour a stream of water over my head, drizzling it so that the wet fresh drops have a chance to cool my scalp before descending down my neck, over my shoulders, down my arms, cooling and refreshing as it moves on down to my feet clad in flip flops.
Frothing up my washcloth, I spread fresh smells and clean feelings over my body. Carefully I shampoo my hair, gently massaging my scalp and neck, arms and legs. And it is at this moment that I revel in the quiet and unhurried moments of my dip bath in Kenya.
Anticipating the refreshing sensation of the water, I again let it drip slowly from the pitcher to run through my hair. Rinsing away shampoo and soap, leaving chilly droplets of pure heaven behind.
Again, a third, a fourth and, if I'm careful, a fifth time I let the water cascade down my hot flesh turning it cool and feeling blissfully refreshed. When the water is gone, I do not feel despair. Rather I revel in gratitude for each drop of water that was in my orange bucket.
It matters not that I am shiny and sticky again just minutes later. The heat and humidity waste no time returning, but I hold onto the memory of the cool tingling sensations and that is enough for me to face the day ahead.
(Heather)
We are staying in the small village of Mnyenzeni, Kenya, while we wait to adopt a tiny little girl. The road to Kenya was a long one, and I am not referring just to the physical distance to embark half-way around the world from Washington State.
After five years of trying and tens of thousands of dollars in fertility treatments, Jonathan and I decided to focus our energy and resources on an international adoption instead. It was a difficult decision. As much as I wanted a baby, created from my own flesh, a miniature form of Jonathan and me, my dream in the end was to just have a baby, period. I knew that we could love that child more than life itself, regardless of where he or she was born or to whom.
But the adoption process was full of obstacles in and of itself. The legal forms were extensive, and every step seemed to take an eternity to go through.
Finally, a door seemed to open before us when we met Haji, an adoption specialist who was formerly from Kenya. He suggested that we look into a Kenyan adoption, as he had several contacts from the area.
We were sitting in the hard green chairs across from Haji’s desk when I saw a picture of Aminah for the first time. My heart melted when I looked into her immense brown eyes. I knew that there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do to have that little girl in my arms.
Thanks to Haji’s expertise, the initial process of applications and paperwork only took a few months. We have been living here for the past few months, awaiting her birth. Even though we know that our time here in Kenya is not at an end, at least we will have with us the precious child we came searching for. Thank goodness for Jonathan’s job which allows him to work from anywhere in the world. Finally we are going to meet our daughter for the first time. She will be in my arms today.
As I leave the concrete form of my shower stall, I feel a sense of renewal. Not only am I clean and refreshed, but I feel a sense of awakening, like nothing is ever going to be the same again. Today I will become a mother, Jonathan a father, all of us a family.
(Frances)
I enter the hut we have called home for the past three months. Haji arranged it all and said the family that owns this hut is staying with other family in the village. I feel badly that they had to leave their house but Haji assures me they gladly gave up their hut for the rent we were willing to pay. I sit on a mat on the ground and wring my hands. My husband, Jonathan, comes and sits next to me and gently takes my hand, squeezes it, and with a look, reassures me. It’s then that we hear the call of “Jambo” outside the hut and my heart races again.
I stand up as the social worker enters the hut. She has a bundle in her arms and I start to reach for it before Jonathan puts his arm on my shoulder and I pull back. Haji follows the social worker and behind him comes a young girl. Everyone comes in and sits down on mats and now the hut is full.
“This is Mama Emma, our social worker, and this,” Haji points to the beautiful cocoa skinned woman with the baby, “ is Eshe.” Her name, ironically, means “life.”
The birth mother. Haji had told me she would be there, that she wanted to be there to meet us but I hadn’t expected someone so young, so very young. I looked at the girl and I could feel my eyes starting to tear up. She has come to give away her baby wanting only to give her baby what she knew could be a better life. I feel a nudge from my husband and know he is trying to reassure me and help me through this. It is heart warming to know that he knows me so well.
We both smile and reply, “Jambo.” It means hello in Swahili. It’s one of the many words we have learned.
There’s a lot of talking and translating and although I am trying to pay attention, my mind keeps being drawn to the bundle in the social workers arms. I see a little arm peek out of the well-worn fabric of a kanga (a colourful piece of cloth which can be worn as blouse, shawl or head scarf) and I yearn to hold her. I look away and find myself looking right into the eyes of Eshe, the birthmother of this little bundle. She and I look right at each other and even though it only lasts a second before she looks down again, I recognize myself in her eyes.
“Mandy...Amanda,” says Jonathan and I am back in the conversation. “Were you listening?” He looks at me and realizes I wasn’t. He continues, “The last thing they need to know is if we would like to rename Aminah. Aminah is her African name and traditionally they get a Christian name as well but the mother decided to leave that up to us.”
I turn quickly and look at the mother. She continues to look at her hands. This is a privilege I was not expecting and my heart swells at the kindness this woman is showing us. I look at Jonathan and he nods in my direction. I know it’s up to me if we change the name and I know at that moment that we will.
“What is your Christian name, Eshe?” I ask.
“Maggie,” she replies quietly.
“Let’s name her Amina (which means peaceful and secure), but call her Maggie, after her birth-mother,” I say. Eshe looks up at me then. She has understood enough of the conversation to realize what we are doing and there are tears in her eyes and I feel my tear ducts starting to water as well.
Haji says, “Well, that’s the last of it then.” He nods in the direction of the social worker and she stands. Eshe quickly jumps up as well and grabs hold of Mama Emma’s arm. We all turn to Eshe. I think I heard a small gasp escape from my own mouth. I hold my breath, wondering if she has changed her mind.
Maggie says something in Swahili and I see Mama Emma nod at her and hand her the baby. She takes the baby, pulls back the kanga and gazes on the face of her baby. I’m still not breathing. I look at Haji. He nods his head as if it is all going to be okay and I let out my breath quietly. Maggie lowers her head to the baby and whispers a few words I cannot hear but wouldn’t understand if I did. She gives the baby a lingering kiss on her forehead and then walks toward me. She kneels in front of me and hands me Amina. I look down at the most beautiful human being I have ever seen and then look up at her mother and realize Amina gets it from her. I want to say so many things but I don’t know how so I just look at her. I try to convey to her with my eyes and my heart that I will do my best for this little girl. I want Eshe to know that I will protect this little girl and love her and help her and also, that I will remember this day, this sacrifice. I will tell this little girl of the wonderful woman who gave her to us and of the great sacrifice I know it was for her. I will make sure this moment is remembered, cherished and shared.
I look down again at little Amina and when I look back up, Eshe has moved next to Mama Emma and is being shepherded out the door.
(Thelma)
I am still staring after Mama Emma and Eshe when the Amina starts to cry and I am brought back to the reality that I have a baby in my arms. My baby. There must be an unending source of tears inside me because even though I’ve shed thousands of tears over the past five years, more tears are stinging my eyes. My baby.
Jonathan puts his arm around me and peers down at her. Our daughter. I look at him and his eyes are glossy with unshed tears. We smile at each other.
The rest of the day and through the night, we are working together, trying to keep Amina happy, dry, fed, safe, loved. It is exhausting and we are awkward, not knowing the best ways to do any of the parenting tasks. We feel like a team though. Occasionally we smile at each other in wonder. This is our new life.
Amina is beautiful. I can’t sleep even when she does because of the wonder of it all. I look at her tiny fists and impossibly small fingernails. Her perfect little lips, shaped like a rosebud. I gaze at her and think about birthday parties, school clothes, prom dresses. It’s all going to be perfect.
I must have drifted off to sleep because I wake up and there is bright light coming in the windows. I glance beside me and see the pink flannel blanket in the spot where Maggie had been sleeping. I sit up with a start. Where is she?
Across the room, I see Jonathan standing near a window, Amina is nestled on his shoulder and he is rocking her back and forth, singing softly to her.
It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.
I climb out of bed and cross the room to join them. Jonathan smiles up at me and I feel complete in a way I haven’t felt in the five years since we’ve been trying to have a child.
Several months pass and we are finally cleared by the Department of Social Works. It seems we are finally able to take our baby home.
We make our way to the airport. Everything is more complicated with Amina. We’re used to moving quickly and purposefully and all our capabilities seem to be slowed as we attend to our new little one and all the accompanying gear. We tried to pack simply but we still struggle to keep track of everything. Standing in line, my cell phone rings, I am holding Amina and trying to keep her from fussing. Jonathan is making sure all of our documents are ready. We glance at each other and he shuffles all the papers and our passports into one hand and carefully takes Amina from me while I dig for my phone.
“Haji,” I say, before I answer.
The airport security official calls to us that it is our turn to present our documents at the same time that Amina starts crying and Haji tells me the news. I grab Jonathan’s arm and tug him out of line. He looks at me questioningly and Amina cries on. “I’m sorry,” I say into the phone, “You’ll have to repeat that.”
I hear the words but my mind, exhausted from not enough sleep and from the excitement of the past few months, can’t process the meaning. It seems like Haji is saying that there’s another baby. Mama Emma has another baby for us. It’s Eshe’s sister’s child. Our baby Amina’s cousin. It’s a little boy. They want to keep them together.
(Maryanne)
“Not a baby exactly… he is one. His name is Jaibi ” Haji clarifies. “Eshe was describing you both to her sister when she returned home; telling her she is well pleased with you. Her sister has HIV and her husband has abandoned her. She can no longer care for her child. She is hoping you will consider adopting her son.”
“How would this work? Would we have to go through the same process from scratch?” My mind drifts and I remember landing here over six months ago, knowing we had to be residents here for at least that amount of time before we could bring home a baby. We have
submerged ourselves in the culture and have grown to love the people here. They have nothing, but are the happiest people I have ever seen. The women sing as they carry their heavy loads...their giant bundles of sticks and heavy buckets of water…and though I don’t understand the words, I feel their power. They expect to work hard from dawn ‘til dusk, and they do not complain. Ever. There is no sense of entitlement, they just do what has to be done. The women are strong and they raise strong children. And oh! the children! They have wide, white smiles that pierce your soul. Images of them stay with me long after I have left them. I would adopt them all if I could.
During our stay we have met several families from the village but Haji was quick to tell us to not “advertise” that we were here to adopt. There are so many laws, but one very important one to remember is that it is illegal to solicit for adoption. Villagers can not approach people perceived to be “in the market” as he called it, and adoptive parents are not legally allowed to inquire about adopting specific children. Violating this law would cease all adoption proceedings and families caught trying to secretly arrange adoptions could be fined, imprisoned...or worse. Understanding this law, I couldn’t comprehend how this additional adoption was even possible. Not only that, how could we get the proper documentation for Jaibi? I pinched my eyes shut and tried to block out the chaos around me and in my mind.
Haji’s voice jerks me from my thoughts. It seems he is reading my mind. “You are familiar with the laws here. Normally this would not be permitted. But there are….special circumstances to be taken into consideration in this matter.” He paused and lowered his voice as he carefully chose his words. I struggled to hear him over the throngs of impatient passengers that were pushing past us. Amina continued fussing in my arms and I passed her to Jonathan. “The child’s father is the son of the Registrar-General. The very man who granted you the adoption of Amina. He is eager to resolve this.”
(JoLyn)
Jonathan is balancing a squirming and still crying Amina in one arm while attempting to get our suitcases out of the way of the other passengers. His eyebrows are raised in questioning arcs and I know he is impatient to know what has put us at a dead stop. I shake my head at him bewildered. How is this possible? I can’t imagine that it’s legal. I can’t believe that after months of Haji urging us to walk on eggshells to make sure we didn’t compromise the adoption, that he could offer us another child hours before we left for home.
I stare at my phone and then back at Jonathan.
“What?!” Jonathan says hoarsely, rocking Maggie protectively. “Is there something wrong with the adoption?”
“No,” I reassure him. “It’s not that.” The enormity of Haji’s proposal leaves me speechless.
I realize I’m holding my phone loosely by my side and now raise it back up to my ear. I can hear Haji continuing.
“I am here at the airport with Jaibi and Mama Emma now. We’ll meet you in concourse A.”
Through the large windows, I see the threesome getting out of a taxi. With a bewildered expression, Jonathan turns to see who I’m waving at.
Our small group sits together in a small arrangement of orange plastic chairs. I watch an army of fans lazily turn the stale air the length of the concourse. We had arrived at the airport hours and hours before our flight, but time seems to be speeding up now. Haji has gone over the details, but the more he tries to elucidate things, the more confused I become. According to him, it will be easy to walk on that plane and whisk two children back to our home, disappearing from Kenya and all the government oversight.
I pull my chair closer to Haji’s and whisper. “Even if the Registrar-General disregarded every adoption law his country has, we still don’t have an immigration visa for Jaibi.” I put a hand to my chest, touching the hidden pouch that hangs around my neck and under my shirt. In it are some of our most important documents including the visa for our new little girl. Considering the time and red tape we’ve gone through to get it, it has become a prized possession.
Haji whispers back. “The American consulate is standing by, ready to issue an immigration visa as soon as you make your decision. We can have it here by courier in fifteen minutes. The Registrar-General is calling in some favors.”
None of this feels like the peace I felt when Amina was placed in my arms.
Jaibi is a charmer. When Haji handed him over to me when they first arrived at the airport, the boy had smiled good-naturedly and grabbed for my necklace. I slipped it off my neck and put it around his. He kissed my cheek and wriggled off my lap. He had shown off his new bling to Haji and Mama Emma and even Jonathan before toddling back to me. He awkwardly tried to put the necklace back over my head and then had contentedly settled back into my arms like he was the king of the world, swinging his muscular little legs back and forth where they dangled from my lap. This one will be easy to love, I had thought.
Amina shifts in my arms and yawns in her sleep. I gaze down the long hallway and watch Jaibi with Mama Emma as he ambles between groups of waiting passengers. He is endearing himself to them all. Jonathan and I deserve to have a boy like this in our lives. We can give him a wonderful life. We may be rookie parents, but we are good people. We can figure it out.
I think back to the partnership I have felt with my husband over the last few months as we have tended Amina and figured out the rhythm of our new family. In as little as twelve weeks, we had already incorporated a whole new life into our family. And now it feels like she had always been there. Could we add one more?
I try to persuade myself that if the people in charge of the laws don’t choose to follow them, that it’s okay. The people who make the rules are allowed to bend the rules if they need bending. They know best. Certainly they would know if a situation warranted fudging things a bit. I want to justify bringing Jaibi home.
Haji looks at his watch and stretches. He looks pointedly at Jonathan and then at me. “Time is running out. You two need to make a decision now. I’ll stretch my legs. By the time I return, we need an answer.” Haji strides away toward Mama Emma and Jaibi. It’s impossible for me to tear my eyes away from them.
Jonathan puts an arm around my shoulders and whispers in my ear. “This is illegal. We can’t jeopardize bringing Amina home. We’ve worked so hard and she’s ours. I don’t know what Haji is doing. He knows the consequences. We have to say no.”
I start to cry. Am I greedy? I don’t want to feel greedy for wanting two children. I look at Amina, finally asleep in my arms and a warmth rises up from my chest that feels like it’s choking me. I didn’t know love could physically feel like this. I know Amina is enough and yet I still want more. Why can’t I have Jaibi too?
Jonathan stands and grabs my hand, pulling me and Amina to our feet. “We have to go. I can’t believe we’ve even been considering this.” Jonathan gathers our suitcases and hurriedly hands a carry-on to me. I sling it over my shoulder while trying not to jar Amina too much. Jonathan heads for the security station, but I am rooted to the spot watching Jaibi play with Mama Emma down the corridor. From twenty feet ahead of me, Jonathan gently calls my name and I force myself to move forward. The line for security is mercifully short. I’m a mess; my nose is running and I’m forced to wipe it on my sleeve. I’m sweating and crying so hard, I’m leaving salty rivulets down my cheeks. I’m sure the security officers must think I’m crazy. I take deep breaths and try to focus on our amazing baby girl. I will myself to pull it together.
As we finally gather all our gear on the other side of security, Jonathan grabs my hand. He points back down the hallway to where Haji stands watching us. Two uniformed men approach Haji. The taller one taps him on the shoulder while the other stands a few feet back, his hand resting lightly on a handgun hanging from a holster on his belt.
(Heidi)
The flight home to America was uneventful. We flew from Nairobi to Amsterdam, then on to Seattle. Amina has been an angel, sleeping most of the way then cooing and endearing herself to the people around us while awake. The heartache has worn off of losing what we never really had in the first place. But in its place is a deep, wrenching sadness for what could have been for Jaibi, and for us. I find myself praying over and over again for him and his mother, hoping that they will find another way for Jaibi to be provided for.
Our family and friends were anxiously awaiting our return home. They had signs and balloons and recorded our exit from customs so that Amina coming home could be officially marked and remembered and watched for years to come. They clamored around us, anxious to see this beautiful little girl who has brought such joy to our lives already, all wanted to hold her and kiss her.
When we finally arrived at our house we found our home freshly cleaned, the nursery full of everything our little girl would need, including a year supply of diapers, a refrigerator stocked with fresh produce and a few pre-made meals ready for us to eat, as well as the pantry filled with formula and baby food and snacks, and other wonderful things like chocolate chips and graham crackers and cereal. There were photos in picture frames that friends and family had had printed from our facebook page. Pictures that would remind Amina of where she came from, of what she was made, and of a birth mother who loved her more than she could imagine.
Nestled among stuffed animals was a beautiful poem printed and framed in a frilly pink picture frame. It read, “Not of flesh, nor of my bone, but still miraculously, my own. Never forget for one single minute, you didn’t grow under my heart but in it.” So beautifully worded and so very true for me. For truly Amina did grown in my heart, for many, many years before she was actually born.
Again, Jonathan and I sought our rhythm as parents in America. Getting over jet-lag as well as culture shock. Everyone seemed to have so many “things,” and everyone seemed to be in a rush to get somewhere, anywhere, and always in a car or a train or a bus or plane. No one walked for transportation here in Washington. Instead they walked for exercise. Jonathan and I found this remarkably ridiculous as we were out “walking” Amina in her stroller one cool summer evening.
A few weeks after returning home, we learned that Haji had been arrested as had the Registrar-General. The parliament in Kenya was trying desperately to throw out corruption, a process which was taking a long time but was progressing as well as could be expected. The Registrar-General is still awaiting sentencing but Haji has been sent back to America and warned not to return to the country of his birth. Jaibi had a good ending to his story that was just beginning as well. Another sister, who lived in Nairobi and had married a wealthy man, was able to take Jaibi in and they have begun the adoption process. She too had waited many years to become a mother. I hate to think what would have become of her if we had inadvertently taken the child that was really meant for them home with us. Thankfully, so many prayers have been answered the way we hoped.
Finally, I have bought my own orange bucket (thank you Home Depot) and taken a plastic pitcher from my kitchen, and now keep them in my bathroom. On certain mornings, when I am seeking peace and tranquility as well as memories from Amina’s beautiful Kenya, I use my orange bucket and allow the sweet and clean water here to wash away my feelings of stress and inadequacy, as well as my fears and trepidation. From that same clear water I find peace and tranquility, a feeling of being refreshed, as well as a calm heart and mind that carries me through yet another crazy and miraculous day of being a mother.
Hot and sticky perspiration runs in small rivers down my neck leaking from my scalp and continues its salty spiral down my back. My armpits feel like pools and my forearms glisten. It is barely 6:00 am.
Early in the quiet of morning, I grab my orange bucket and a small two-liter pitcher, placing them under the spigot found in the side-yard of our accommodations. As I wait for the clean bucket to fill, I arrange my towel, shampoo and soap in my private shower stall; a cement structure with the walls filled in with dried mud and coconut tree bristles.
At last I place my bright bucket of clear water on the small bench in the shower. Remembering that this water is clear but not clean enough to drink, I remind myself not to let any drip into my mouth. I peel off my sticky clothes, anxious for the cool water to wash away the oppressive stickiness left behind by so much perspiring and glistening.
Slowly and deliberately, I pour a stream of water over my head, drizzling it so that the wet fresh drops have a chance to cool my scalp before descending down my neck, over my shoulders, down my arms, cooling and refreshing as it moves on down to my feet clad in flip flops.
Frothing up my washcloth, I spread fresh smells and clean feelings over my body. Carefully I shampoo my hair, gently massaging my scalp and neck, arms and legs. And it is at this moment that I revel in the quiet and unhurried moments of my dip bath in Kenya.
Anticipating the refreshing sensation of the water, I again let it drip slowly from the pitcher to run through my hair. Rinsing away shampoo and soap, leaving chilly droplets of pure heaven behind.
Again, a third, a fourth and, if I'm careful, a fifth time I let the water cascade down my hot flesh turning it cool and feeling blissfully refreshed. When the water is gone, I do not feel despair. Rather I revel in gratitude for each drop of water that was in my orange bucket.
It matters not that I am shiny and sticky again just minutes later. The heat and humidity waste no time returning, but I hold onto the memory of the cool tingling sensations and that is enough for me to face the day ahead.
(Heather)
We are staying in the small village of Mnyenzeni, Kenya, while we wait to adopt a tiny little girl. The road to Kenya was a long one, and I am not referring just to the physical distance to embark half-way around the world from Washington State.
After five years of trying and tens of thousands of dollars in fertility treatments, Jonathan and I decided to focus our energy and resources on an international adoption instead. It was a difficult decision. As much as I wanted a baby, created from my own flesh, a miniature form of Jonathan and me, my dream in the end was to just have a baby, period. I knew that we could love that child more than life itself, regardless of where he or she was born or to whom.
But the adoption process was full of obstacles in and of itself. The legal forms were extensive, and every step seemed to take an eternity to go through.
Finally, a door seemed to open before us when we met Haji, an adoption specialist who was formerly from Kenya. He suggested that we look into a Kenyan adoption, as he had several contacts from the area.
We were sitting in the hard green chairs across from Haji’s desk when I saw a picture of Aminah for the first time. My heart melted when I looked into her immense brown eyes. I knew that there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do to have that little girl in my arms.
Thanks to Haji’s expertise, the initial process of applications and paperwork only took a few months. We have been living here for the past few months, awaiting her birth. Even though we know that our time here in Kenya is not at an end, at least we will have with us the precious child we came searching for. Thank goodness for Jonathan’s job which allows him to work from anywhere in the world. Finally we are going to meet our daughter for the first time. She will be in my arms today.
As I leave the concrete form of my shower stall, I feel a sense of renewal. Not only am I clean and refreshed, but I feel a sense of awakening, like nothing is ever going to be the same again. Today I will become a mother, Jonathan a father, all of us a family.
(Frances)
I enter the hut we have called home for the past three months. Haji arranged it all and said the family that owns this hut is staying with other family in the village. I feel badly that they had to leave their house but Haji assures me they gladly gave up their hut for the rent we were willing to pay. I sit on a mat on the ground and wring my hands. My husband, Jonathan, comes and sits next to me and gently takes my hand, squeezes it, and with a look, reassures me. It’s then that we hear the call of “Jambo” outside the hut and my heart races again.
I stand up as the social worker enters the hut. She has a bundle in her arms and I start to reach for it before Jonathan puts his arm on my shoulder and I pull back. Haji follows the social worker and behind him comes a young girl. Everyone comes in and sits down on mats and now the hut is full.
“This is Mama Emma, our social worker, and this,” Haji points to the beautiful cocoa skinned woman with the baby, “ is Eshe.” Her name, ironically, means “life.”
The birth mother. Haji had told me she would be there, that she wanted to be there to meet us but I hadn’t expected someone so young, so very young. I looked at the girl and I could feel my eyes starting to tear up. She has come to give away her baby wanting only to give her baby what she knew could be a better life. I feel a nudge from my husband and know he is trying to reassure me and help me through this. It is heart warming to know that he knows me so well.
We both smile and reply, “Jambo.” It means hello in Swahili. It’s one of the many words we have learned.
There’s a lot of talking and translating and although I am trying to pay attention, my mind keeps being drawn to the bundle in the social workers arms. I see a little arm peek out of the well-worn fabric of a kanga (a colourful piece of cloth which can be worn as blouse, shawl or head scarf) and I yearn to hold her. I look away and find myself looking right into the eyes of Eshe, the birthmother of this little bundle. She and I look right at each other and even though it only lasts a second before she looks down again, I recognize myself in her eyes.
“Mandy...Amanda,” says Jonathan and I am back in the conversation. “Were you listening?” He looks at me and realizes I wasn’t. He continues, “The last thing they need to know is if we would like to rename Aminah. Aminah is her African name and traditionally they get a Christian name as well but the mother decided to leave that up to us.”
I turn quickly and look at the mother. She continues to look at her hands. This is a privilege I was not expecting and my heart swells at the kindness this woman is showing us. I look at Jonathan and he nods in my direction. I know it’s up to me if we change the name and I know at that moment that we will.
“What is your Christian name, Eshe?” I ask.
“Maggie,” she replies quietly.
“Let’s name her Amina (which means peaceful and secure), but call her Maggie, after her birth-mother,” I say. Eshe looks up at me then. She has understood enough of the conversation to realize what we are doing and there are tears in her eyes and I feel my tear ducts starting to water as well.
Haji says, “Well, that’s the last of it then.” He nods in the direction of the social worker and she stands. Eshe quickly jumps up as well and grabs hold of Mama Emma’s arm. We all turn to Eshe. I think I heard a small gasp escape from my own mouth. I hold my breath, wondering if she has changed her mind.
Maggie says something in Swahili and I see Mama Emma nod at her and hand her the baby. She takes the baby, pulls back the kanga and gazes on the face of her baby. I’m still not breathing. I look at Haji. He nods his head as if it is all going to be okay and I let out my breath quietly. Maggie lowers her head to the baby and whispers a few words I cannot hear but wouldn’t understand if I did. She gives the baby a lingering kiss on her forehead and then walks toward me. She kneels in front of me and hands me Amina. I look down at the most beautiful human being I have ever seen and then look up at her mother and realize Amina gets it from her. I want to say so many things but I don’t know how so I just look at her. I try to convey to her with my eyes and my heart that I will do my best for this little girl. I want Eshe to know that I will protect this little girl and love her and help her and also, that I will remember this day, this sacrifice. I will tell this little girl of the wonderful woman who gave her to us and of the great sacrifice I know it was for her. I will make sure this moment is remembered, cherished and shared.
I look down again at little Amina and when I look back up, Eshe has moved next to Mama Emma and is being shepherded out the door.
(Thelma)
I am still staring after Mama Emma and Eshe when the Amina starts to cry and I am brought back to the reality that I have a baby in my arms. My baby. There must be an unending source of tears inside me because even though I’ve shed thousands of tears over the past five years, more tears are stinging my eyes. My baby.
Jonathan puts his arm around me and peers down at her. Our daughter. I look at him and his eyes are glossy with unshed tears. We smile at each other.
The rest of the day and through the night, we are working together, trying to keep Amina happy, dry, fed, safe, loved. It is exhausting and we are awkward, not knowing the best ways to do any of the parenting tasks. We feel like a team though. Occasionally we smile at each other in wonder. This is our new life.
Amina is beautiful. I can’t sleep even when she does because of the wonder of it all. I look at her tiny fists and impossibly small fingernails. Her perfect little lips, shaped like a rosebud. I gaze at her and think about birthday parties, school clothes, prom dresses. It’s all going to be perfect.
I must have drifted off to sleep because I wake up and there is bright light coming in the windows. I glance beside me and see the pink flannel blanket in the spot where Maggie had been sleeping. I sit up with a start. Where is she?
Across the room, I see Jonathan standing near a window, Amina is nestled on his shoulder and he is rocking her back and forth, singing softly to her.
It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.
I climb out of bed and cross the room to join them. Jonathan smiles up at me and I feel complete in a way I haven’t felt in the five years since we’ve been trying to have a child.
Several months pass and we are finally cleared by the Department of Social Works. It seems we are finally able to take our baby home.
We make our way to the airport. Everything is more complicated with Amina. We’re used to moving quickly and purposefully and all our capabilities seem to be slowed as we attend to our new little one and all the accompanying gear. We tried to pack simply but we still struggle to keep track of everything. Standing in line, my cell phone rings, I am holding Amina and trying to keep her from fussing. Jonathan is making sure all of our documents are ready. We glance at each other and he shuffles all the papers and our passports into one hand and carefully takes Amina from me while I dig for my phone.
“Haji,” I say, before I answer.
The airport security official calls to us that it is our turn to present our documents at the same time that Amina starts crying and Haji tells me the news. I grab Jonathan’s arm and tug him out of line. He looks at me questioningly and Amina cries on. “I’m sorry,” I say into the phone, “You’ll have to repeat that.”
I hear the words but my mind, exhausted from not enough sleep and from the excitement of the past few months, can’t process the meaning. It seems like Haji is saying that there’s another baby. Mama Emma has another baby for us. It’s Eshe’s sister’s child. Our baby Amina’s cousin. It’s a little boy. They want to keep them together.
(Maryanne)
“Not a baby exactly… he is one. His name is Jaibi ” Haji clarifies. “Eshe was describing you both to her sister when she returned home; telling her she is well pleased with you. Her sister has HIV and her husband has abandoned her. She can no longer care for her child. She is hoping you will consider adopting her son.”
“How would this work? Would we have to go through the same process from scratch?” My mind drifts and I remember landing here over six months ago, knowing we had to be residents here for at least that amount of time before we could bring home a baby. We have
submerged ourselves in the culture and have grown to love the people here. They have nothing, but are the happiest people I have ever seen. The women sing as they carry their heavy loads...their giant bundles of sticks and heavy buckets of water…and though I don’t understand the words, I feel their power. They expect to work hard from dawn ‘til dusk, and they do not complain. Ever. There is no sense of entitlement, they just do what has to be done. The women are strong and they raise strong children. And oh! the children! They have wide, white smiles that pierce your soul. Images of them stay with me long after I have left them. I would adopt them all if I could.
During our stay we have met several families from the village but Haji was quick to tell us to not “advertise” that we were here to adopt. There are so many laws, but one very important one to remember is that it is illegal to solicit for adoption. Villagers can not approach people perceived to be “in the market” as he called it, and adoptive parents are not legally allowed to inquire about adopting specific children. Violating this law would cease all adoption proceedings and families caught trying to secretly arrange adoptions could be fined, imprisoned...or worse. Understanding this law, I couldn’t comprehend how this additional adoption was even possible. Not only that, how could we get the proper documentation for Jaibi? I pinched my eyes shut and tried to block out the chaos around me and in my mind.
Haji’s voice jerks me from my thoughts. It seems he is reading my mind. “You are familiar with the laws here. Normally this would not be permitted. But there are….special circumstances to be taken into consideration in this matter.” He paused and lowered his voice as he carefully chose his words. I struggled to hear him over the throngs of impatient passengers that were pushing past us. Amina continued fussing in my arms and I passed her to Jonathan. “The child’s father is the son of the Registrar-General. The very man who granted you the adoption of Amina. He is eager to resolve this.”
(JoLyn)
Jonathan is balancing a squirming and still crying Amina in one arm while attempting to get our suitcases out of the way of the other passengers. His eyebrows are raised in questioning arcs and I know he is impatient to know what has put us at a dead stop. I shake my head at him bewildered. How is this possible? I can’t imagine that it’s legal. I can’t believe that after months of Haji urging us to walk on eggshells to make sure we didn’t compromise the adoption, that he could offer us another child hours before we left for home.
I stare at my phone and then back at Jonathan.
“What?!” Jonathan says hoarsely, rocking Maggie protectively. “Is there something wrong with the adoption?”
“No,” I reassure him. “It’s not that.” The enormity of Haji’s proposal leaves me speechless.
I realize I’m holding my phone loosely by my side and now raise it back up to my ear. I can hear Haji continuing.
“I am here at the airport with Jaibi and Mama Emma now. We’ll meet you in concourse A.”
Through the large windows, I see the threesome getting out of a taxi. With a bewildered expression, Jonathan turns to see who I’m waving at.
Our small group sits together in a small arrangement of orange plastic chairs. I watch an army of fans lazily turn the stale air the length of the concourse. We had arrived at the airport hours and hours before our flight, but time seems to be speeding up now. Haji has gone over the details, but the more he tries to elucidate things, the more confused I become. According to him, it will be easy to walk on that plane and whisk two children back to our home, disappearing from Kenya and all the government oversight.
I pull my chair closer to Haji’s and whisper. “Even if the Registrar-General disregarded every adoption law his country has, we still don’t have an immigration visa for Jaibi.” I put a hand to my chest, touching the hidden pouch that hangs around my neck and under my shirt. In it are some of our most important documents including the visa for our new little girl. Considering the time and red tape we’ve gone through to get it, it has become a prized possession.
Haji whispers back. “The American consulate is standing by, ready to issue an immigration visa as soon as you make your decision. We can have it here by courier in fifteen minutes. The Registrar-General is calling in some favors.”
None of this feels like the peace I felt when Amina was placed in my arms.
Jaibi is a charmer. When Haji handed him over to me when they first arrived at the airport, the boy had smiled good-naturedly and grabbed for my necklace. I slipped it off my neck and put it around his. He kissed my cheek and wriggled off my lap. He had shown off his new bling to Haji and Mama Emma and even Jonathan before toddling back to me. He awkwardly tried to put the necklace back over my head and then had contentedly settled back into my arms like he was the king of the world, swinging his muscular little legs back and forth where they dangled from my lap. This one will be easy to love, I had thought.
Amina shifts in my arms and yawns in her sleep. I gaze down the long hallway and watch Jaibi with Mama Emma as he ambles between groups of waiting passengers. He is endearing himself to them all. Jonathan and I deserve to have a boy like this in our lives. We can give him a wonderful life. We may be rookie parents, but we are good people. We can figure it out.
I think back to the partnership I have felt with my husband over the last few months as we have tended Amina and figured out the rhythm of our new family. In as little as twelve weeks, we had already incorporated a whole new life into our family. And now it feels like she had always been there. Could we add one more?
I try to persuade myself that if the people in charge of the laws don’t choose to follow them, that it’s okay. The people who make the rules are allowed to bend the rules if they need bending. They know best. Certainly they would know if a situation warranted fudging things a bit. I want to justify bringing Jaibi home.
Haji looks at his watch and stretches. He looks pointedly at Jonathan and then at me. “Time is running out. You two need to make a decision now. I’ll stretch my legs. By the time I return, we need an answer.” Haji strides away toward Mama Emma and Jaibi. It’s impossible for me to tear my eyes away from them.
Jonathan puts an arm around my shoulders and whispers in my ear. “This is illegal. We can’t jeopardize bringing Amina home. We’ve worked so hard and she’s ours. I don’t know what Haji is doing. He knows the consequences. We have to say no.”
I start to cry. Am I greedy? I don’t want to feel greedy for wanting two children. I look at Amina, finally asleep in my arms and a warmth rises up from my chest that feels like it’s choking me. I didn’t know love could physically feel like this. I know Amina is enough and yet I still want more. Why can’t I have Jaibi too?
Jonathan stands and grabs my hand, pulling me and Amina to our feet. “We have to go. I can’t believe we’ve even been considering this.” Jonathan gathers our suitcases and hurriedly hands a carry-on to me. I sling it over my shoulder while trying not to jar Amina too much. Jonathan heads for the security station, but I am rooted to the spot watching Jaibi play with Mama Emma down the corridor. From twenty feet ahead of me, Jonathan gently calls my name and I force myself to move forward. The line for security is mercifully short. I’m a mess; my nose is running and I’m forced to wipe it on my sleeve. I’m sweating and crying so hard, I’m leaving salty rivulets down my cheeks. I’m sure the security officers must think I’m crazy. I take deep breaths and try to focus on our amazing baby girl. I will myself to pull it together.
As we finally gather all our gear on the other side of security, Jonathan grabs my hand. He points back down the hallway to where Haji stands watching us. Two uniformed men approach Haji. The taller one taps him on the shoulder while the other stands a few feet back, his hand resting lightly on a handgun hanging from a holster on his belt.
(Heidi)
The flight home to America was uneventful. We flew from Nairobi to Amsterdam, then on to Seattle. Amina has been an angel, sleeping most of the way then cooing and endearing herself to the people around us while awake. The heartache has worn off of losing what we never really had in the first place. But in its place is a deep, wrenching sadness for what could have been for Jaibi, and for us. I find myself praying over and over again for him and his mother, hoping that they will find another way for Jaibi to be provided for.
Our family and friends were anxiously awaiting our return home. They had signs and balloons and recorded our exit from customs so that Amina coming home could be officially marked and remembered and watched for years to come. They clamored around us, anxious to see this beautiful little girl who has brought such joy to our lives already, all wanted to hold her and kiss her.
When we finally arrived at our house we found our home freshly cleaned, the nursery full of everything our little girl would need, including a year supply of diapers, a refrigerator stocked with fresh produce and a few pre-made meals ready for us to eat, as well as the pantry filled with formula and baby food and snacks, and other wonderful things like chocolate chips and graham crackers and cereal. There were photos in picture frames that friends and family had had printed from our facebook page. Pictures that would remind Amina of where she came from, of what she was made, and of a birth mother who loved her more than she could imagine.
Nestled among stuffed animals was a beautiful poem printed and framed in a frilly pink picture frame. It read, “Not of flesh, nor of my bone, but still miraculously, my own. Never forget for one single minute, you didn’t grow under my heart but in it.” So beautifully worded and so very true for me. For truly Amina did grown in my heart, for many, many years before she was actually born.
Again, Jonathan and I sought our rhythm as parents in America. Getting over jet-lag as well as culture shock. Everyone seemed to have so many “things,” and everyone seemed to be in a rush to get somewhere, anywhere, and always in a car or a train or a bus or plane. No one walked for transportation here in Washington. Instead they walked for exercise. Jonathan and I found this remarkably ridiculous as we were out “walking” Amina in her stroller one cool summer evening.
A few weeks after returning home, we learned that Haji had been arrested as had the Registrar-General. The parliament in Kenya was trying desperately to throw out corruption, a process which was taking a long time but was progressing as well as could be expected. The Registrar-General is still awaiting sentencing but Haji has been sent back to America and warned not to return to the country of his birth. Jaibi had a good ending to his story that was just beginning as well. Another sister, who lived in Nairobi and had married a wealthy man, was able to take Jaibi in and they have begun the adoption process. She too had waited many years to become a mother. I hate to think what would have become of her if we had inadvertently taken the child that was really meant for them home with us. Thankfully, so many prayers have been answered the way we hoped.
Finally, I have bought my own orange bucket (thank you Home Depot) and taken a plastic pitcher from my kitchen, and now keep them in my bathroom. On certain mornings, when I am seeking peace and tranquility as well as memories from Amina’s beautiful Kenya, I use my orange bucket and allow the sweet and clean water here to wash away my feelings of stress and inadequacy, as well as my fears and trepidation. From that same clear water I find peace and tranquility, a feeling of being refreshed, as well as a calm heart and mind that carries me through yet another crazy and miraculous day of being a mother.
