Day 5 - 3/2/2012

Pick Up Trip – Day 5 – 3/1/12

The ‘Honeymoon Phase’ with some of the kids is starting to wear off and the realization is setting in that they’re really going to be siblings.  Mighty’s strong personality is starting to wear on Brinley’s sensitive nature.  Brinley has always wanted a sister and in her mind she had this euphorial idea how it would be to have a sister where they’d play dolls, dress up, and put makeup on each morning.  Mighty hasn’t really fit that mold for her yet.  Mighty’s background and culture hasn’t molded her into a little ‘girly-girl’.  Her culture hasn’t allowed her the luxury of an easy life where these things are typical for little girls.  They’ve watched their mothers work from sun up to sun down in order to support their family – and they’re expected to do the same.  Additionally, the Ghanaian culture expects the woman to be a strong, non-emotional figure. Although Mighty doesn’t quite fit the ‘non-emotional’ mold just yet (she’s super moody with polar mood swings), she’s definitely figured out the strong, bold roll…and that is starting to wear on Brinley.  There is going to have to be some mommy-Brinley time where they visit about the new dynamic and how it’s going to work.  Likewise, there is going to be plenty mommy-Mighty time where the new family culture is explained and expected.  It will take months or years to figure out…I just hope we don’t have an estrogen bomb go off in our house before that happens!

Agbesi has quickly learned that nearly anything he does will garner the giggles or belly laughs from his brothers.  Of course, those of you who know Brody know that it doesn’t take much to make him laugh.  Agbesi has figured that out and has accented his silly personality ten fold.  He is such a clown and the more he does the more the boys laugh at him.  The problem is that he gets louder and more obnoxious and rough as the days go on.  I’ve told the boys it’s OK not to laugh at EVERYTHING he does because we don’t want him thinking that’s the only way he’ll be accepted…but the kid is just so dang funny it’s hard NOT to laugh at him!  For example, we were walking into the girl’s bedroom to have family prayer and as we were leaving our room he looked at Brody and said, “Brody, you have a SMAAAAAL butt!”  Try and have a strait face on that one!

We stayed the night again at the hotel in Doryumu last night.  Last night was much better than the first since we didn’t have any emotional blowups or any attacks by killer ants.  I’d gone into each room and exhausted nearly a whole can of RAID before we’d went to bed just to ensure we didn’t have the same problem.

Today when we woke we all started to notice that we’ve acclimated to the near unbearable humidity and heat.  The morning air actually felt cool even though it was only ten to twelve degrees cooler than during the mid-day heat.  I can still feel the heat – we just don’t have any spontaneous sweating fits that require a change of clothes!

We were all still pretty worn out from the long day before.  All of us slept in until just after 8:00 which was a treat.  John N. called and mentioned the driver would be picking him up around 8:30 and heading our way so we could all go out to the children’s village.  We’ve felt it important for the kids to return in order to say good-bye and to have some closure to that chapter of their life.  It’s been interesting to play in my mind what this day would be like and feel like.  I’ve had mixed emotions thinking about it and wondered if it would be an awkward meeting or it would be a neat experience.  In the end it was both.

The drive from Doryumu was nearly two and a half hours to Abadgikope.  It was a long drive but very interesting and beautiful.  We passed through miles of open country that looked what I’ve seen on the Discovery Channel.  There were enormous red clay termite mounds, grassy open plains with enormous bulky African trees scattered sporadically throughout, and little villages of twenty to two hundred little houses dotted along the main highway on which we traveled.  The closer we got to the biggest lake in the country, Lake Volta the vast plains started to transform into more of a tropical jungle with palm trees, mango trees, and undergrowth as dense as I’ve ever seen.  The soil had changed from the red thick clay to a sandy soil.  It was obvious we had entered into the cassava area as there were small placer farms of various sized cassava plants that became denser as we traveled further into the Volta Region.

John had brought three other children from the home with him to pick us up, so there were eight kids under the age of 14 in the van with us.  So after 24 pee stops along the way we finally arrived at the village. 

As we started to approach I began to notice what I was seeing was not anything like what I’d pictured in my mind’s eye.  There were carefully handmade mud huts with grass-thatched roofs littered throughout the area.  There was no developmental planning but rather a hut placed in proximity to family members or close family friends.  Of course there was no running water or indoors plumbing.  There were community outhouses and a community well placed in the center of the village.  Agbesi told me they could not drink the well water though because it was salty, so in order to get drinking water they would have to walk nearly two miles to the creek.  This area is sustained by cassava.  Nearly everyone in the village is a farmer of cassava and produces some product from it to be sold in the market.  Agbesi’s mother peels, slices, dries, and then grinds the cassava.  Then she places it into a big bowl to fry over the fire.  This type of cassava product is called garli (or something like that).  The people here use it on top of various dishes to add flavor and heartiness.

While we walk through the little huts I take special note of Brody, Brinley and Tyson.  I want to know what’s happening inside their heads and what thoughts they’re having.  I’ve been praying that they have life-lasting memories and experiences while here and I’m hoping they’re having one now.  None of them are saying much.  Of course, neither am I.  My mind is still trying to grasp the reality of what we’re witnessing and trying to still reconcile what is going through the minds of Mighty and Agbesi and their families – knowing this may be the very last time they’ll ever see each other.  My mind races with speculation on what their reunions will look like.  Will they run to each other and embrace with a big hug?  Will they harbor any ill feelings toward them for giving them up to the home? 

We approached Agbesi’s family home first.  It was a small brick built building painted white on the exterior walls.  It was simple in construction and design – it server the purpose for which it was built…to provide shelter.  In fact, it was nicer than most in the village.  To the left of the house was a work area covered by a thatch-roofed awning.  As we rounded the corner of the last house and came into eyeshot of those working it was Mighty’s auntie who noticed us first and ran to greet us.  We had the pleasure of meeting Dogbeda and Agbesi’s mother on our first trip to Ghana and Dogbeda had clearly remembered who we were – there was no way to communicate we were coming beforehand – but yet she still remembered us.  She ran to Brandie and the hugged for a brief while sharing feelings I’m sure only a mother can have.  She ran around the family taking time to hug each of us and make sure we were completely welcome.  Agbesi said something in Ewe and walked slowly toward the working area.  It was a little darker under the low grass roof.  I could see a woman busily working over a fire making something out of cassava.  As he got closer he noticed a familiar face and ran quickly over to his mother.  He gave her a big hug and then slowly stepped back as she spoke to him. 

I’ve never had such a cornucopia of emotions going through my heart as I did in this moment (and I know I speak for Brandie and well).  My stomach had little excitement butterflies as I watched a little boy’s (and girl’s with Mighty) face as he approached and hugged his mother.  It was clear he was excited and happy to see her.  At the same time, I saw the somber, sober look from the mother as she acknowledged him.  They were two very different reactions.  I couldn’t imagine what was going through this woman’s mind and how she was keeping so stoic at a time like this.  After the little hug she kept busy doing anything other than engaging with him.  She tended to her fire, went into the house and swept out the entry, then came back to the work shed.  I couldn’t gage what she was doing – either trying to not confront what was really happening OR she just didn’t have any affection for the boy.  I have to believe it was the prior and not the latter.   

Others came to visit us.  I didn’t know who any of them were but John or Richard would tell us who each was if either of them recognized the new people as they joined the group.  Later, while sitting with Delight and the older girls at the home did I learn the names of some of those people and that some of them were actually relatives of Agbesi.

Brandie had taken special care to prepare a photo book for each mother.  Each book had several pictures we’d taken of the kids on our last visit.  Brandie let the kids give the books to their respective mother – it was tender to watch them look through the book with their relatives and friends.  They’ve never had pictures of anything, let alone their selves.  You could see the pride well up inside of them as their eyes searched for similar emotions in the faces of the small group surrounding them.

Next we walked a hundred yards or so to Mighty’s family home.  There we were able to meet the rest of the family who raised her.  None of them – like most of the others in the village – spoke any English so we had to rely on Richard and/or John to help translate.  At this house Brody and Brinley started handing out rubber Ghana inscribed bracelets to all of the kids who had been congregating and following us around.  It was a huge hit and made all parties feel special.

Our time was growing short so we stood to say our good-byes.  The whole village experience was neither as climatic nor dramatic as I had thought it would be.  I was emotionally shocked at the mundane reaction of both families as these children walked away.  It was almost like they were excited to see the strangers in the village more than they were put out that their children were leaving.  It was truly a very strange situation for me.  I’ve thought quite a bit about it and still believe it was the right thing to do for the kids.  They needed the closure for that chapter of their lives so that they could move on to the next.  They had started to turn that page several weeks ago when we were here before.  It was obvious they were comfortable with us since while we were in the village we were their ‘security blanket’ – meaning: if they were embarrassed, shy or a little scared it was us they’d come to hide behind or talk to.  I’m sure this little visit was just as confusing to him as it was to us.  The only difference is that at some point we adults will be able to work through it mentally.

We were already in an emotional blender when Pastor John said he needed to go check on another family in another small village before we could go.  He said he’d heard that one of the children who had just been adopted out of the house recently just today had a little brother born.  John was very worried about the baby’s safety since the reason the older brother was taken in is because the mother is mentally unstable.  He recounted how some men in the village will sexually abuse this woman because they know she has mental disabilities and is not able to keep them away.  Because this remote village does not have basic medical care – let alone any type of birth control – the woman has been pregnant several times.  I honestly didn’t know if my heart could take any more this day.  I was getting physically tired from the long journey and now emotionally fatigued from the kid’s village – I just didn’t think I could take any more.

We pulled into the unknown-named village of a few dozen homes.  There were no established roads so the driver just drove in between the little mud huts – left here, right there, now strait ahead and then to the right…we had arrived.  Just like what had happened yesterday at the feeding there were several people who had noticed the strangely pigmented visitors in the van and began to follow.  When we arrived at that house John invited me to come, but I just couldn’t do it.  I asked him if he would like to borrow my camera – so he and Richard disappeared into the home while I stood by the van.  More and more people showed up and suddenly there was a fairly formidable crowd at the sliding side door of the van.  One of the older ladies in the crowd approached and boldly started looking into the van to see who was in there.  She was very nice and warmly welcomed us to their village.  She started talking with Brandie and asked if she wanted any more children.  I laughed out loud and told her no – since she was joking.  The only thing was that she didn’t laugh with me.  She continued to tell Brandie she needed another good, hard working girl to take back to America with her.  She looked over her shoulder and hollered something to someone – before long a young lady stood by her side…maybe 10 or 12 years old.  The mother introduced her as her daughter and told us this was the daughter that we should take.  She tried for nearly 10 minutes to ‘sell’ us on the idea of taking her daughter.  Then another mother approached me asking ME to take a little boy of maybe 6 years. I tried to explain that I could not – first, SW would not permit us to simply take children at will and second I could not afford it nor do I have space for them.  The worked and worked on us while the rest of the small crowed watched and chimed in approval every now and again.  I was starting to get REALLY uncomfortable at this point.  I noticed Pastor John come around the corner of the van with a small child maybe two years old.  When he came next to me he had a consternated look on his face.  He gently said to me, “This boy is a special needs.  He is four years old.”  I couldn’t believe what I was looking at.  This little tiny creature couldn’t have been 20 pounds and clearly had mental disabilities.  The young mother was behind us talking loudly and wildly at John.  To my untrained ears it sounded like maybe she was upset that he had her child.  John looked at me again and said with tears welling in his eyes, “They want me to put the child in the van and take him with us.”  Then and there I saw into the heart of this mountain of a man.  He was being torn in two by the two things he respects the most: the sanctity of children and the laws of his land.  John is a defender of children in the name of our Father and it literally was tearing his guts out to see this poor child not be cared for properly.  And yet…there was nothing any of us could do.  Social Welfare would have to be the ones to initiate the child coming to a home for care…so tonight – and every other night from here on out – the prayers from the rooms of my house will include a very concentrated plea that the process for this little man and those others we saw will soon begin.

This was the absolute pinnacle of all my heart and soul could bear.  I selfishly pleaded with Father that he would remove the suffering of these people so that I could relieve the pain in my soul.  I wanted to cry or yell, or fight…I didn’t know which – or maybe all of them at the same time.  I have never – EVER – felt these emotions well up inside of me before.  I didn’t even know what I was felling only that it felt like it was burning a giant hole in my chest.  I don’t even know how to explain it.  I’m not even sure if there are words in our modern language to aptly describe what I saw and felt and witnessed.  If there are – I don’t have them in my vocabulary.

When we loaded in the van and started heading for home the van was absolutely silent for nearly 25 minutes as we all just drove and tried to figure out what had just happened to us all.  I sit here a full 24 hours after the fact and still can not think about it without my eyes tearing up and the aching hole in my chest returning.  I know there should be something I/we can and should do about it, but the largest part of me just wants to quickly cover it up and put it behind me.  I have never, ever seen anything like that in my whole life – and selfishly I hope I never have to witness it with my own eyes again.  Not because I don’t want to help, but because I didn’t like the feelings I had and I don’t like feeling helpless.

Until tomorrow....