Hello from Ghana,
I have greetings for all of you from the back of the car where I’ve spent the last three days. Our new daughter has had it. So, this is what she looks like.
But, it doesn’t matter, because GhanaGirl is now an American. An IR-3 Visa is stuck in her passport now. And, it only took me getting up at 4 am two days in a row to make a 7:30am appt at the embassy. GhanaGirl attempted to throw her “slippers” into the open sewer only twice, and we only had one attempt to “urinate” on the floor (too bad it was during her visa interview). We also had a minor incident while waiting in the chairs at the embassy, it involved an attempt to get naked in protest of the wait. It was GhanaGirl that did it, but if I had thought of it, I might have done it myself. Those lines are ridiculous, the process changed COMPLETELY with no notice. But, I have never felt more privileged to be an American. I waved my U.S. passport and was ushered into different lines and given special treatment constantly. Others were standing in line for HOURS for a tiny chance to have what I happened to be born with. On Fridays the embassy is only open half days. They don’t do visa interviews, all they do is hand out visas. Some people are lottery winners and don’t know until they get there whether or not they actually have a visa coming. I have never seen people happier then when that coveted passport with the golden ticket was pressed into their hands.
This time the children at the orphanage are MUCH more aware of who is being adopted and who isn’t. I pulled into the driveway this morning, with GhanaGirl, after picking up her visa and we were greeted with shouts of “GhanaGirl you are an American now”, or rather, “GhanaGirl you American!!!”. Some children picked her up, spun her, whooped or shouted. But, this was the first time I saw little faces in the background crumple. It wasn’t the faces of the children who are matched with families, I have made sure to privately reassure them OVER and OVER that they’re mom and dad are coming. They know that they’re turn is next, or the time after that. This time, it’s the faces of the children that haven’t been “chosen” yet. And, witnessing that, well, for lack of a better term… it blows. I hate it. It rips at my very soul. As GhanaGirl attempts to beat the younger children (and sometimes the older children) for the 50th time today, I am gripped with fear about how I will manage parenting five children. Then, I look around me and am gripped with fear about how I know that I won’t be parenting just five children, because immediately upon my arrival, I delivered three more dossiers. One belongs to a wonderful family that will be ultra blessed by their daughter-to-be. Two of the dossiers belong to FPD and I. We will be adding another two of Lucky Hill’s crew to our family. As I’m sitting at the Triple X tonight and the music is blaring, all I can hear are the tiny little voices with Ghanaian accents asking me “Sista, you will come back to take me to America?”. Then, I am gripped with fear about how I could have possibly “chosen”. Did I do the right thing? Should I do more? Are FPD and I stretching it too far with seven children? Are we not stretching it enough? Then, suddenly, I realize how blessed I am to be here. None of the drama or stress matter. The number of children in my home won’t matter. All that matters is making sure that the ones who don’t become Americans become strong, proud Ghanaian adults. So, as everyone cheered our GhanaGirl on this afternoon after her visa was issued, I weeded my way through the sea of faces to the ones in the back. I wiped away tears. Many, many hugs were given and many promises were made that they would always have someone who loved them, whether it was in the promised land they call “America” or here, in Ghana.
who wonders how many children her house will hold.