Her Story

{March 20, 2011}

As with her photo, I can’t publish Kate’s African name until after the adoption is approved, but her name means “Her Story.”  And that’s exactly why we were here in Bahir Dar...to roll the camera, to investigate and gather her story, as much as we could.  I never dreamed that we would discover as much as we did.

At 8 AM on Sunday morning, we nervously awaited Nebretu’s arrival in the hotel’s open air lobby.  We had no idea what to expect.  I was gearing up for a suspicious or at-arms-length official who would check our passports and tell us we already had all the information there was and to leave things alone.  I was ready for that, expecting that. I was geared up to get nothing, but hopeful to get something.

He arrived on foot.  We made small talk; it was awkward.  He asked where the child was thinking she would be there; he was clearly disappointed not to be able to see her.  Sweet and kind, but guarded – he’s had hundreds of these babies in his care over the past 4 years.  We showed him her picture.  He was interested and said she was beautiful and looked healthy.  Knowing we should never overstep our bounds, violate international law, have any appearance of fraud or bribery or ask for too much, we were very guarded, taking it one careful step at a time.  Even getting an appointment to speak with someone at the orphanage here was kind of unusual, special.  We asked a few general questions and then he asked us the unthinkable, “Do you want to come and see?”  I clapped my hands to my chest in spontaneous joy.  YES!  YES!  YES!  We were going to get something!  The door was opening; we would get a glimpse!  We assumed he would make an appointment for Monday morning, you know, during business hours, and that would be that.  Instead, he stood and said, “Let’s go!”  Gasp.  This was incredible!

He hailed us a taxi and we zoomed, er scooted, (see Taxi! Post) down the main thoroughfare about 1 mile and then turned right down a seemingly residential area for a few blocks.  The road dead ended at a hospital, the only hospital in the entire region, intersecting with a rocky, dirt road.  We got out of the taxi and Nebretu paid the driver 2 birr ( = .13 cents USD).  We were quiet, holding our breath, soaking it in.  We would return to this area several times over the next few days to allow our minds and hearts to really absorb it all.  Eric would give out Birr and candies, and print outs of pictures we had taken of their happy faces, true treasures for them.

This was a busy intersection.  It was the marketplace, the kind you imagine when reading your New Testament.  Other than brightly colored plastic items here and there, it might as well have been from that era.  I’m still pondering the scene, days later.   Smoke arose in the morning air from ancient coffee urns set on hot coals outside each shop.  Mangy dogs roamed.  Items of all kind hung randomly from the shop’s rafters.  Barefoot villagers and homeless draped in ancient clothes milled about with walking sticks mixing with locals wearing “modern” hand me downs and rubber shoes.  The lame and the blind were present, begging.  Many were hungry, putting their fingers to their lips, wanting food.  Street children approached; there are about 2,500 street children in Bahir Dar.  And by children, I mean little ones, too, like 2 and 3 and 4 years old:  abandoned, impoverished, living on the streets.  They were the least afraid, approaching with smiles and practicing their English with carefully formed and cheerful “hellos!”  One girl pointed to a nearby cat and proudly said, “CAT!”  Ladies sat on burlap sacks and cleaned lettuce leaves or dried chilies, spreading out their wares.  People traded, talked, communed.  And everyone stared.  We were a spectacle.  A white pickup truck rambled past.  As with Addis, this was another random mix of old and new.  But new isn’t our kind of new.  New here is old, ancient, modernly ancient.  A little boy stands next to a spigot which is dribbling water into a large red bowl.  It would be hours before it would be full.  He poses for a picture, but doesn’t smile.

We didn’t know where this was going, so we just followed Nebretu.  About 6 storefronts from the hospital, he stopped and pointed, “There.  She was found there.  

 This is a common place for babies to be found.”  It was the last shop in the row, the continuing dirt road to nowhere was beyond.  There was a pile of rocks out front and I imagine that was the spot where she was laid.  Woah, this was the spot.  It was far more primitive than I had ever imagined. 

We followed Nebretu past the hospital the other way, a mere 30 yards to the orphanage.  This is where the policeman brought Kate when she was found that morning; wrapped in a hospital blanket and laid in that spot.  By the rocks.  He invited us in, allowing us to take photos and video.  My heart was racing at how incredible this opportunity was.  I was going slowly, not wanting to miss anything.  We were getting to see it all and to capture it on film, for Kate, and the rest of us who need to see this, too.  I couldn’t believe it! 

The orphanage is behind a gate, like most of the “new” houses.  Over the cracked asphalt courtyard hang clotheslines with clean laundry drying in the sun.  The little house has 3 rooms.  The first room holds 10 cribs and 9 babies.  They have room for 1 more.  The oldest is 9 months old; he stands and rocks side to side, as if practicing a scrimmage.  We play with him, imitating his sideward sway; everyone laughs.  We visit each of the other babies, one by one, stroking a cheek, giving eye contact, whispering precious thoughts.  I wonder if anyone visited Kate when she was there and gave her the same fleeting hope.  Most of the babies are days or weeks old, all found yards away, just like Kate. Mosquito nets hover over each crib, used only at night.   A bottle is in each crib and each baby is wrapped warmly in a blanket.  Sheets are soiled with spit up; I can relate to that!  There is a set of twins, two boys, who were about a week old.  Another tiny baby was just 3 days old.  Some were wide awake and smiled; others slept.  Two nannies oversaw them all, providing a bottle for incremental sustenance whenever they awoke.   The bottle was given to them while they lay in their crib.

The next room was for “older” kids.  It was a room with 3 beds in it for 5 kids.  That’s it, just the beds.  A third room housed wooden lockers and a menagerie of stuffed animals and toys crowded in a corner.  There was also a tiny kitchen with a sink, a refrigerator and a machine for making injera, a staple food for Ethiopians.

In the back was another small building with the office, a room with a table and tiny chairs where the older kids ate, and another room with a  TV, getting very poor reception.  In here we met the older kids, who were watching a kid’s show.  They were about 4 or 5 years old…precious, precious.  And all HIV positive – unadoptable, unwanted.  They sang us a song and clapped, so happy to entertain us.  I rewarded them each with a piece of gum; it was all I had on me.  Each received the foil wrapped sweet with two cupped hands and a bow of the head.  We wanted to scoop them all up and take them home immediately.  We returned the next day with small candies for each of them.

Kate lived here for 3 months until she was moved to Addis, to the “lucky” orphanage where she is now.  Hundreds of babies pass away here, they don’t make it.  By God’s good grace, Kate escaped death and disease at this place.  We are so grateful to Nebretu and his staff for their loving care of her, and to God for carrying her through.

There’s much more, but that’s enough for now.