A Mother's Sacrifice

By Francis D

My wife and I had heard about the difficulties in meeting with the birth families of adopted children; what to expect, the emotional highs and lows, the benefits and the concerns. Truthfully, I wasn't looking forward to this meeting. In fact, I didn't want to do it at all. Traveling without my wife was stressful, especially for my first trip out of the United States. Meeting our children for the first time, I felt alone and unprepared. Although we had three biological children already, nothing could prepare me for these meetings.

My meeting with their birth mother and her friends was a powerful experience. It was something that I had actually tried not to think about. Up until ten minutes before leaving for the visit, I wasn't sure it was going to happen, and I was content not to force the issue. I had only been with our children for a few days and the experience was wonderful, but very frightening. Girum was doing very well. After a day or two of fearful glances and occasional smiles, he was opening up and bonding with me. His sister, Bethlehem was another story. I thought she would never come around. From our first meeting when she was presented to me and put in my arms, she screamed and screamed and screamed some more. I was unable to get within a few feet of her without her running away or screaming. She would only let the nannies and nurses hold her. I feared that in a few days, I would be in the airport, alone, with a boy who barely knew me and a screaming, uncontrollable toddler. Everyday, I questioned whether this was the right thing to do or why I didn't just send my wife instead, staying at home with our three girls, watching my favorite T.V. show and eating my favorite snack.

Then in the midst of my lowest point in Ethiopia, Mulat, our driver, tour-guide, and friend said, "Are you ready?" I screamed to myself, "NOOOOOOOOO," then picked up my cameras, and got in the front seat of the van. Off we went. Where? I wasn't sure but I knew I was in for a life changing event. What would I say? I almost felt apologetic, and even a bit guilty. I was the man taking her children away. Would she embrace me or want to strangle me?

I hoped that the ride would be long, maybe a flat tire, or even engine trouble might delay this meeting. We traveled around the city, seemingly in circles. The busy streets, lined with homeless women and children, students in their school uniforms, and young men holding hands seemed so strange but at the same time familiar. Growing up and working in a large urban city had prepared me well for the sights and sounds of Addis but as I tried to draw on my life experience to help me with this meeting I was coming up empty. Suddenly we pulled over and I could feel my heart racing. I looked around for the familiar site of a "street woman". No one was approaching the van until suddenly a man came over. I thought, "What is he selling?" But he reached his hand through the window and introduced himself. He was a local social worker. He had arranged the meeting and would travel with us. This intensified the situation. I didn't quite know why he was there; for my benefit or for the birth mothers. Was he here to judge me, to somehow finalize the adoption proceedings? Our case was unique in that, it was rare that a birth mother was still living. Many of the other families had met birth relatives, even birth fathers but very seldom birth mothers. I felt enormous pressure but at the same time I was able to look around on the drive and soak in some of the environment. Hopefully when the children got older I would be able to draw on this trip to describe in as much detail, my meeting with their birth mother. I tried to focus and to notice the small things. Peoples faces, greenery, the sky and the sun. The air was fresh and still, but I felt very uneasy. We finally stopped on small side street outside a house that looked as though it could have been in a New Jersey suburb.

We went into the house and met a middle-aged couple but Girum and Bethlehem's birth mother had not arrived. She was on her way as we sat down in the living room. I was introduced and we exchanged uncomfortable glances. Mulat explained that this couple was friends of the birth mother and that they allowed her to live in the house on occasion. Birtahun, the birth mother, was not from Addis but from the north. She came to Addis looking for work and these were family friends. She lived on 8-10 Birr (1 U.S. Dollar) per day, when she could find work which is barely enough for her survival let alone two children's. All of a sudden a small woman about my age came through the door with an older man. She wore clean clothes and in no way resembled what we had seen all week with regard to homeless women. She was very meek and shy at first and finally came forward into the room. We were introduced and shook hands. She sat to my right on another couch and there was an awkward silence for what seemed like a few minutes but was actually about thirty seconds.

The silence was broken when Birtahun began to cry. The impact of losing her children set in more because I was there, a face to put her children with. Prior to this moment, I had not really thought much about how she was going to feel. I knew how I would feel, and I tried to understand how the children would feel, but I never really thought about the loss, sorrow, and at the same time joy, that their birth mother would feel. She had only been a name, and a brief description to us. I fought back my own tears but they weren't tears of sympathy. I was actually just as upset over the fact that I doubted her love for her own children. As a mother she was making the ultimate sacrifice, giving her children to strangers in a strange land, with the hope, that they would live a better life and that she would eventually see them again. The meeting was very intimate and Birtahun expressed her desire that we make sure the children understand why they were given to us and that she loved them very much. I showed her pictures of the children that I had taken during the week and I also showed her video from the week and from my family back home. I think it helped her to see video of our house, my wife, and our other children. She seemed reassured that her children would be loved as if they were our own but at the same time they knew their birth mother and what she did for them out of love and not desperation. We had seen many homeless women traveling around the streets of Addis with their young children in tow. I am sure she could have done this too, but she was selfless and sacrificed her life instead. Every day that she wakes up she is going to have an emptiness that she will never fill or even replace. Although the children will experience this, they will have us and their siblings to help them out.

I used everything in my power not to curl up into a ball and cry uncontrollably. Mulat was next to me but he invited Birtahun to sit beside me. I tried to console her by putting my arm around her and patting her gently on her shoulder but her sorrow was too strong. She had probably been dreading this meeting more than me. At that moment, all my fear and loathing went away. I began to realize the measure of Birtahun's sacrifice. As we sat next to one another, we talked. Mulat translated everything said between us. She spoke about her hopes for the children. She wanted to look me in the eye and gauge my intentions. Once she saw that I was sincere she felt more at ease. After a few minutes I asked if I could take some video of her speaking to Girum and Bethlehem. She agreed and for the next few minutes I recorded her speaking to her children. She wept and spoke on and off, as if a piece of her was dying. For several moments she stared into the camera, hoping that the children would someday understand and forgive her. As a parent, I could not imagine the pain that she felt; the loss and the guilt. What she was doing was a great sacrifice but with no personal reward. The reward is for the children and for our family. I began to respect her and admire her. She was a strong woman. I promised her that I would not let the children forget her and that they would always love her.

I took several more pictures and the meeting was over. In a few minutes we went from strangers with pre-conceived notions about each other to friends struggling in the same fight for our children. We embraced and thanked each other. We promised to keep in touch through Wide Horizons, sending updates and photos and she gave me some of her only and most precious possessions; pictures of her with the children. We drove off and I reflected on the way back to the house about what we needed to do as adoptive parents. It became clear and with the help of Mulat I understood that Adoption adoption in Ethiopia is not only about money or even saving a few children. It is not only about helping these children live a full, healthy life but also to become educated. The goal is for the children to become doctors, engineers and professionals that may someday go back to Ethiopia to help contribute to a struggling society. As we arrived back to the guest house, I envisioned Girum and Bethlehem stepping off of a plane, in their mid twenties, with a college education and love and appreciation for Ethiopia. I pictured them rushing over to Birtahun and embracing her, telling her that they loved her and thanking her for her sacrifice. And lastly I envisioned Birtahun, meek and weathered but with a huge, beautiful smile. The responsibility of adopting is great, but the responsibility of the promises made to their birth mother and to Ethiopia is far greater. I never felt that there would be a social responsibility to a culture that I knew little about but after meeting Girum and Bethlehem's birth mother, spending time with the great people at Horizon House, and experiencing the highs and lows of Ethiopia and its culture, we now understand our responsibility.