Author: Amy Medina Page 92 of 233

Grace’s Pilgrimage

“I’m from Moshi,” Grace would always proudly announce.

Yet she had never been there since she was 10 months old.  So one of the main purposes in our road trip was for Grace to finally see the city where she was born.  There’s a lot of questions about her history that we won’t ever be able to answer, so we want to be able to fill in as many holes as we can.  Grace needed to see Moshi and her orphanage–to put together a few more pieces of her identity.

So we drove 340 miles up north to Moshi, the city that rests in the shadow of Kilimanjaro.  She saw the building where she lived until she was 10 months old; she toured the orphanage and she met Mama Lynn, the founder of Light in Africa and the woman who welcomed her as a newborn.

This visit was meant to be all about Grace, but I found it to be a pilgrimage of my own.  It all came rushing back to me–the first time I met her, the three subsequent trips up to Moshi by myself to fight for her paperwork, the social worker who battled me on it.  I was relatively new to Tanzania, new to adoption or even any kind of parenting.  That same year, I had a miscarriage and had gotten my hopes set on two other children whose adoptions fell through.

I wasn’t just fighting for a child, I was fighting to become a mom. The wait felt excruciating.  It finally ended on November 1, 2006.  Grace entered our lives with her sunshine, and our lives were never the same again.

God has been so good to us.  It was good to remember.

outside the building that used to be the baby home where Grace lived for 10 months

at Light in Africa, outside the Girls’ Home

with Mama Lynn

Road Tripping, Tanzania Style

Road tripping in Tanzania is nothing like road tripping in America.

First of all, the roads are indeed paved, but all of them are only two lanes with no center divider.  Which means that you share the space on the road with enormous buses and semi-trucks, at 70 miles at hour, many of them in chicken contests, passing into oncoming traffic.  Heart attacks abound about every five minutes.  There ain’t no cruise control out here.

Police stand on the side of the road with speed guns, which adds to the heart attacks since the legal speed limit is constantly changing.  It often feels as if the color of your skin, not your speed, determines how often you are pulled over.

Bathrooms are as scarce as the ever-elusive leopard, yet when you do find one, you wish you had just used the bush along the side of the road.  Fast food consists of mushy fries and tough meat…we ate a lot of peanut butter.

Yet when you see these pictures, I’m guessing you’ve never had these sort of sights on any of your American road trips.  Makes it all worth it.

We have an intern, McKenna, visiting this summer, and we wanted to show her (and our kids) more of this breathtakingly beautiful country.  We were not disappointed.  It was a great week.

“Tree of Baboons”

Dinner

See the little bumps on the left?  Baby.  Oh yes.  

Sure, let’s put a viciously aggressive King Cobra in a cage that has cardboard around the glass and holes in the wood.  Then let’s provoke it so that it shows its hood to the visitors.  Sounds like a great idea.  

Occasionally in Africa, we do actually swing on vines.  

Visiting a Masai village.  Learning about the Masai is standard business in first grade at HOPAC, so we felt like it was important that our kids got to see the real thing.  

….aaaaand they dressed me up.  And then laughed at me.  I can’t say I blame them.  The Masai are some of the most beautifully elegant people I’ve ever seen.  This white girl just can’t compete.

There she is in all her glory:  Mount Kilimanjaro

We drove for a half hour on a road so bumpy we thought our teeth would fall out, but were rewarded at the end by a natural, crystal clear spring.  Oh yeah….and monkeys jumping around over our heads, dropping seeds into the water.  Utterly amazing.  

Read this if you care about international adoption

Three weeks ago, I found out that illegal inter-country adoptions are taking place in Tanzania.  You might have read the rantthat I wrote that night.  It’s usually not a good idea to publish blog posts when there is steam coming out your ears and the pulse is visible in your neck.  But after yelling into the phone to a friend, she encouraged me to go ahead and write anyway.

Now that I have calmed down, I still have no regrets about what I wrote.  But I do have more to say.  This message needs to get out into the adoption community.  If you have a friend who is considering inter-country adoption, or if you are part of an adoption group or on-line community, will you please share this with them?  I want this to spread.  This is really, really important.

Call me naive, but I guess I figured that inter-country adoption abuses were happening only by seedy, scummy, dark alley agencies.  I figured that people who got hooked in by them were either really ignorant or had bad motives.

But instead, as I started to network with others who had these concerns, and they sent me links to agencies who are doing these adoptions, and families who are paying for them, instead I saw well-designed websites for agencies with experience.  I saw beautiful Christian families with fundraising pages saying, “Help bring our Tanzanian baby home!”

So then I went back to the Tanzanian law, and I read it again, and again, and I tried to find the loophole that the agencies claim to have found.  But instead, it just became clearer to me.  To adopt in Tanzania, you must live here for three years and you must foster (in country) for three months.  There are no exceptions.  At best, these families and agencies are encouraging Tanzanians to break their own laws, and at worst, they are essentially participating in child-trafficking.

Then I figured, Maybe these agencies just don’t know any better?  Maybe someone has lied to them?  Maybe they just need to hear the truth?

So I wrote to them.  Each of them, personally.  I wrote to the families too.  I spelled out the law.  I begged them to reconsider for the sake of Tanzania and adoptions here.  I was respectful and professional.

Yet now, over three weeks later, I have heard nothing.  From anyone.  No response.  Crickets.

And I think, How can they do this?  How can they deliberately break another country’s laws?

There’s a word for this; it’s called ethnocentrism.  It’s defined as the belief in the inherent superiority of one’s own ethnic group or culture.



That’s got to be what is driving this.  These agencies must be thinking:  We know what’s best for Tanzania’s children.  We don’t care about their country; we don’t care about their government.  Tanzania can’t take care of their orphans, so we’re going to step in and do it for them, whether they like it or not.  



It’s the ugliest kind of American arrogance.  And it makes me sick.

Unfortunately, it’s also made me cynical about inter-country adoption in general.  I think about other African countries whose adoption programs have bit the dust:  Rwanda, Liberia, now Congo and Uganda and almost Ethiopia.  It’s easy to blame the corrupt officials in those countries who ruined these programs, but it makes me wonder how much the agencies are to blame as well.  

Listen–I don’t want to heap guilt on the adoptive parents here.  If you adopted from one of those countries, you were trusting your agency–and it’s very possible that everything was above board.  Plus, I definitely trust God’s sovereignty in all these situations; the kids that came home were meant to come home.  At the same time, I don’t want future adoptive parents to unknowingly contribute to corruption.  We must stop this.  

Now that I have this knowledge, I feel that I must take action.  Since the agencies have ignored me, I am going to higher levels of authorities.  I am contacting embassies and the accrediting organizations for these agencies.  And I will also start by calling them out by name, right here.

These are the agencies I know of who are facilitating illegal Tanzanian adoptions.  Please avoid these agencies at all costs, for adoption from any country.

Little Miracles (Texas)

Joshua Tree (Florida)

Life Adoptions Services (California)

International Orphan Aid and Adoption Assistance (EAC)
(Ohio)

A Love Beyond Borders (Colorado)

Faith International Adoptions (Washington)

If you are a parent considering inter-country adoption, please don’t be scared off by this!  There are still millions of children out there who need a family, and it is very possible to do this ethically.  This is my advice:

1.  Start your research with this blog: Parents for Ethical Adoption Reform.  I recently learned about PEAR, and wish I had known about it sooner.  For example, PEAR was sounding the warning bells about adoptions in Congo years before everything there started falling apart.  That information could have spared many parents from incredible heartache.  This blog is an invaluable resource for adoptive parents.

2.  Research your agency well.  Look for the details.  Ask questions about their philosophy.  Make sure they are Hague certified (though that fact alone doesn’t guarantee anything, since all of the above agencies are Hague certified).  Don’t just go with the agency that seems cheapest or fastest.

3.  Research adoption in the country you are interested in on your own–don’t just depend on the information your agency gives you.  Be very wary of countries who have “just opened up” or which are war-torn or suffering from a natural disaster.  As much as those kids need homes, the country will rarely have the infrastructure in place to maintain ethical adoptions.  For the sake of all the children in that country, don’t be tempted by an adoption that bends the rules.  

4.  I believe that a child’s need for a family trumps culture, so I would rather see a child in an American family than stuck in an orphanage in their own country.  However, I do not believe that a child’s need for a family trumps truth and justice.  Children should not be adopted by breaking another country’s laws. Adoption is no longer honorable when it fuels corruption.  



This is an emotional subject.  We are talking about children here–orphaned, vulnerable, often with special needs.  Each child has a face and a name and a story.  Adoption culture often emphasizes making a difference in the life of Just One.  We can’t fix the problem for all of them, so let’s just focus on One.  I get that mindset.  It’s significant.

But we can’t see only the parts without stepping back and looking at the whole.  What if, by focusing solely on the One, we make life a whole lot harder for Many?  There must be a balance between making a difference in the life of that one child, and yet thinking about the bigger picture as well–the child’s country and government and larger story.

Let’s not allow brokenness to breed more brokenness.  Let’s be a part of the solution, not make the problem worse.

Have You Been De-Wormed Lately?

I was at the pharmacy, picking up some amoeba medication for our gardener.

As I was checking out, the pharmacist asked me, “Have you been de-wormed lately?”

“Oh!” I said.  “That’s a good reminder.  No, I haven’t.  I’ll take two for adults and three for children, please.”

When in Tanzania, it’s important to remember to de-worm every six months.  Just like going to the dentist.

Me Too! The Fight to be Seen and the Joy of Seeing

I don’t know what it’s like to give birth to a child.  I’ve heard it’s pretty astonishing; the pinnacle of joy, when a child enters the world from your body and you see his face for the first time.

But you know what?  I am honestly, genuinely happy for my friends when they have new babies.  Not a hint of jealousy.  Because I have known an equal joy.  Maybe it’s not exactly the same emotion, but I guarantee that the intensity is the same.

Gil and I returned last night from a whirlwind trip to Forever Angels, with the purpose of selecting our next son.  The contradicting emotions of feeling both heartbroken and elated clashed against each other the entire time.

The 50+ children at Forever Angels are treasured.  Their pictures and hand prints line the walls.  They eat well.  They each have their own bed.  The staff truly love these children and it shows in the way they interact with them.  There are scads of short-term volunteers who bring games, songs, face paint, and bubbles into the children’s lives.  They do everything they can to show the children they are valuable, loved, cherished.

But still, it is not okay.  Because to live in an orphanage means a daily fight against invisibility, a daily fight to be seen.

The children engage in this battle in a variety of different ways.  Some have figured out that if they are the smiliest, cheerfullest, and most affectionate, they will get the attention they crave.  Others fight–and they fight hard.  When a stranger enters the playground, they run to get first dibs on her lap.  If they succeed, they fight off–physically–anyone else who dares enter their territory.  And if the lap-giver stands up, or gives another child a turn–they scream bloody murder.

Others, I think, have just given up.  One little toddler took a turn on my lap yesterday.  When I moved her to give a turn to another, she cried a little, and then her expression filled with the most desperate despair.  She sat with her back to me, motionless, for a long while.

I held a baby in the tiny baby room–she was just a few weeks old.  I filled myself up with a baby fix and then looked around, on instinct, for someone to give her back to.  It was a harsh moment to realize that there was no one to return her to.  I just laid her gently back in bed.

Most children learn to say Mama or ball or no! as their first words.  For these children, they learn first to say Me too!  They yell it at the top of their lungs.  These past two days, the children saw me as another lap to fight for, but they craved Gil even more.  They rarely see men, so they were so excited to find a guy who would swing them around by their feet, wrestle them to the ground, and make them paper airplanes.  Me too!  Me too!  Baba, Me too!  


They are beautiful, but many times I could barely hold back the tears.  This is not how it should be.  Children should not have to fight for attention.  Children should not have to fight for a Baba to see them.  They should not have to worry about becoming invisible.

Yet our purpose there this weekend was to See One.  To see the one who is supposed to be ours, to look up and say, You are the One.  You are mine.  I see you.  Forever.  

It was only one, but at least it was One.  And it was incredibly obvious to us.  The decision was impossible because of all the others who were not chosen, but the decision was easy because we had no question that he was the One.

All of a sudden, this One’s life has completely changed.  No longer will he need to fight.  No longer will his future be full of uncertainly.  He has been seen.  He will become a Son.  And he doesn’t even know it yet.

So when a mother talks about giving birth as a pinnacle of joy, I believe her.  Because I’ve felt it too.


(We haven’t included a picture of our son yet.  He won’t get to come home for a few weeks.  There is still paperwork to be gathered and the police need to write a report concluding that no relatives can be found.  Give us a few weeks, and then we will happily introduce him to you!)

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