Day Seven and Eight - Friday, January 25-Saturday, January 26

I apologize that I haven't entered an account of the trip for over a week. It's been a busy week. The strange thing is, this entry is probably the most important one I've ever done. This is the day that Hugo came home. OK, at least he started the trip home. It actually took two days but I'm going to include them both here because I felt like one REALLY LONG DAY.

Before I get to that though, I thought all the prospective adoptive parents out there might like to know that Hugo has gained four pounds and has grown an inch and he's not even been home a month yet. His health is improving - still waiting for his ears to get better but, thank the Maker, his bowels are under control.

Speaking of PAP's...anyone adopting from Ghana will really want to pay attention to this post since you will be going through these same procedures soon enough.

Now on to homecoming day....

The car was set to arrive at 5 a.m. Hugo tapped my arm and woke me up at exactly 4:59. I have no idea how it happened but I clearly set my alarm wrong the previous evening. I chalked it up to being exhausted from the spending the day visiting William and didn't even bother to see how I had screwed it up. I was just very thankful that I bothered to look at the clock when he woke me up. I mean for Pete's sake, even the rooster had apparently slept in!

It really wasn't a problem anyway since the driver was chronically late. He finally arrived, Hugo slept on the way, and we parked in front of the embassy at 7:15.

There is an outdoor seating area between the security checkpoint and the entrance to the consular building. This is where Hugo, Boat, and I were directed to wait, along with about 80 other people after we easily passed through embassy security for the second time that week. As usual, Boat seemed to know everybody; security guards, Ghanaian police officers, and other attorneys greeted him warmly like an old friend. I commented to him that he is one of those people who can easily talk to anyone. He replied, "Ahhh, well, it is good to be nice to people because you never know when you may need someone to be nice to you." True, Boat.

After a short wait, the very nice man that started Hugo's visa interview the previous Tuesday came outside and asked everyone to gather around to listen. Every mouth was silenced and every ear bent toward the words of this kind man. He gave tons of instructions but most of them did not apply ti our situation. Every time he got to something really important he would implore his audience to realize that they had to do every task he was describing exactly to the letter or their visas would be refused or revoked. One time, as he was trying to convey to us the importance of performing a follow-up task within the defined time frame, he said, "Listen to me people. The United States is not like Ghana. They will know where you are at all times. They know where you live, where you work, where your family works. The only time they lose track of you is after you die and even then they could find you if they wanted."

We laughed several times as he interjected humor despite giving life-changing instructions. The most important direction he gave us applied to every person there. "You will receive a yellow envelope. These are the immigration documents that you will need to be able to enter the United States. DO NOT OPEN IT. If you open it, even a little, even by accident, you will not be allowed to enter the U.S. They will send you back here and you will start the process all over again."

Mental note: Do not let Hugo touch the envelope.

He called the first group of twenty-or-so people but our names were not included. He spotted us, though, came over to say hello, and moved us to the front of the line. Nice.

Inside, the process was brief and easy. I was sent to window two, received my original documents, Hugo's passport with the ever-important visa inside, and the yellow envelope from the same friendly man. I hope he realizes what a comfort his warm personality is in what would otherwise be a stressful situation. I was thankful for him and I pray that God rewards his kind actions. We left immediately and, since the taxi had waited for us this time, we were on our way.

Boat asked if it was alright with me if we made a "quick" stop at the director's office before we returned to the Home. I know that "quick" rarely means what it implies here in Ghana but since I had the visa in hand and no flight until 10  p.m., I agreed. Little did I know it would lead to an unexpected adventure.

The director is apparently in charge of an agency of attorneys that handle adoption cases. We drove to the office which was tiny and would have been completely missed had it not been for the sign hanging on the wall above the security gate. I knew we were still in Accra but I have no idea what part of the city we were now in. Boat went inside while the taxi driver, Hugo, and I waited in the car. It was the hottest day yet and we soon got tired of sitting in the backseat. We stretched our legs a bit and chased the chickens that were wandering on the street. A man, dressed for business, stopped a short distance away to pee on the wall of someone's house. Right after he walked away from the peeing spot, someone dumped a bucket of waste water over the wall in the very spot he had been standing. He missed getting soaked by about eight seconds. That would have been funny.

When we ran out of things to explore, we got back in the car for a snack. This is when the adventure materialized. A man of about 50 years walked right up to my open taxi window and stuck his face in. He didn't look happy. He demanded to know who Hugo was. I didn't feel comfortable answering personal questions but I also didn't want to arouse suspicion. Here is the conversation we had:

Man - "Who is this boy?"
Me - "He is my son."
Man - "How can he be your son?"
Me - "I adopted him."
Man - "From where?"
Me - "Who are you and why are you asking these questions?"
Man - (agitated) "Because I am concerned about child trafficking!"
Me - "This is not child trafficking. He is my adopted son. You may speak with my lawyer if you like."
Man - "Where is he from? Where are his parents?"

Here I started to get a little bugged. You're looking at his parents, buddy. I answered what I knew he meant, though.

Me - "He lives at a home for children. He has no birth parents."

For whatever reason, this last statement satisfied the man and he softened a bit. He apologized, smiled a bit, and went on his way. I texted Boat and told him to hurry up.

For the sake of clarity, I should remind you, reader, that adoption is completely legal in Ghana. It is relatively new and many of the people there do not understand it. Conversely, child trafficking happens all over the world - certainly in Ghana and other African nations, Europe and Asia, even here in the U.S. While the incident with this man was uncomfortable and could have easily led to an encounter with the police, on further reflection I was thankful that he had the concern and courage to face a stranger who was, as far as he could see, doing something potentially illegal and immoral. Props to you, Confrontation Guy.

Hugo slept on the way back to the Home, exactly according to plan. We played at the guest house, ate some lunch, then went to the Home to play some soccer with the other kids. Our clothes were SOAKED in sweat but it was so fun. It started out with just a few kids but when Hugo couldn't keep up, this happened:

Sometime that afternoon, I had one last conversation with my friend Abigail. She was a teenager for sure but it was impossible to determine just how old she might be. She seemed to really care about Hugo and asked a lot of questions about when we were leaving, where we were going, and how we were getting there. I saw it coming...the question I was hoping she wouldn't ask. But then it was out and it nearly broke my heart.

"Can I come, too?" she asked.

I had to look this sweet girl in the face and tell her the reality that there was absolutely no way that I could take her with me. Hear me when I say this, reader, that if there had been a way to bring that child on the plane, I would not have hesitated one moment. She smiled as I told her but I think she would have jumped at the chance also. Instead, I will likely never see her again and every time I think of her or look through the pictures, I ask the Lord to show her His great mercy as He writes her testimony.

Abigail

We said goodbye to the director of the Home, paid her for the room and board, and found Grace for one last scrubbing. She performed the usual, thorough cleansing, and pout Hugo in his travelling clothes. He was wearing a great shirt that we had purchased months earlier at a garage sale that said, "America Rocks!" on the front.

As predicted, Hugo fell asleep on the way to the airport which was so perfect since the flight was not until after 10 p.m. I was not sure how I was going to handle a sleepy toddler in the airport along with all the baggage, customs, and security. Plus, I figured he would have a better chance of sleeping longer on the flight if he had a nap now. So far, so good.

Getting from the front door of the Accra airport to the plane proved to be the most difficult part of the trip. There were so many levels of security, raised eyebrows, and questions asked. Hugo was scared to death. He had never been in any place like this and he kept pointing back the way we came, asking to leave. I wished there was some way to tell him about the family that was waiting for him at the end of this trek. Instead, I held him close.

Our first step was baggage check-in. The security officer for Delta airlines needed to see my yellow envelope. Before I even took it from my bag, I begged him not to open or damage it in any way. He assured me that he would be careful but I was so hesitant to hand it over. He returned it safely.

At the immigration desk, I was grilled with questions about Hugo, our relationship, and the adoption process. I had to present the yellow envelope again, and again, I begged the man not to open it. Not satisfied with my answers, I was escorted to an office where a man in a uniform with brightly colored epaulets and lots of insignia, examined my documents. Finding nothing wrong, he grudgingly allowed us to proceed..

Next was security where both Hugo and I were frisked. They made me set him down and move away from him while a stranger touched him all over to make sure I had not hidden something on him. He was panic stricken. He screamed and screamed. Part of me pitied him while another part wanted to deck the security guy. It took him a long time to settle.

We finally got to the gate and Hugo was understandably grouchy. A snack helped, as did a water. There were a group of American college kids that had lots of questions. They meant well but I had been answering questions all evening and was ready for a break. At the first opportunity, we found a quieter place to hang out.

In the Accra airport, you wait at the gate fro awhile, then pass through a secondary level of security before being moved to the "real" gate where they actually announce the boarding of the plane. At this checkpoint, I answered more questions, presented all the same documents again, both of us got frisked again, and my bag was thoroughly searched. Again. We found a window and Hugo got to see airplanes up close for the first time. It cracked me up that he had no idea he was getting on one of those or what it was going to do once he was on it.

I was in the middle of changing a very messy diaper when the security lady told me I had to go to the X-ray room because I checked bag had been intercepted. I wanted to succumb to frustration so badly but it would have done absolutely no good. I packed up Hugo and all our things, and started back the way we came. About half-way there, a man tracked me down and said that the bag had cleared and that I was free to return to the gate.

Thank. You. Jesus.

Waiting for the plane

Finally. Finally, we boarded the plane. It was a 767 with 42 rows in a seating configuration of 2-3-2. We were in row 42 where there was only the three seats in the middle since the bathrooms took the place of the two seats typically near the windows (no windows in row 42). I actually said out loud, "Hugo, these are the worst seats in the history of seats."

I was completely wrong. The seats were a gift.

There was a nice lady two rows ahead named Anne. She played peekaboo with Hugo while I got us situated. He seemed happy and wide awake despite our airport ordeal. Kids are so resilient. I asked permission from the flight attendants to hold him during take off and they said yes.

And then a miracle happened. I had been concerned about this moment for months. There were so many possibilities for what Hugo would be like on this flight and most of them were not pleasant. I had decided long ago that I wouldn't know how it was going to go until it was happening and I would just deal with it. It was an 11.5 hour flight and as hard as it could potentially be, I just figured it would eventually be behind us.

As the plane began to taxi, Hugo settled in to my lap just like he did on every car ride I had ever taken with him. The pilot brought the plane to a brief stand still then gunned the engines to roll down the runway fro takeoff. I watched Hugo's eyes go closed before the plane even left the ground.

He slept for 10 hours!

Ten hours, people. Unless you have been in this situation, I'm not sure you can understand what I felt like. Let me try to explain it. Do you know that wonderful feeling when your kids are asleep at night and the house is finally quiet after a long day? You do?

Multiply it by 100, add a complimentary glass of red wine, and a bathroom right around the corner whenever it became necessary.

Row 42, I love you.

Oh, and I forgot to mention...there was no one in the third seat in our row. After a few minutes, I slid Hugo off my lap into the two seats next to me and covered him with a blanket. For the first time in a long time, I could relax. Ghana was behind us (for now), and our family was ahead. I am nearly crying writing this as the emotions of that moment are revisited. I didn't cry then, though. I slept.

I woke up a little before him. When he finally came to, it was time for breakfast and landing. Easiest. Flight. Ever.

It felt so good to be on the ground at JFK. The air temp in Accra had been in the mid 80's at 10 p.m. Getting off the plane, I could feel the sharp sting of 16 degrees despite being inside the jet way. Hugo didn't seem to notice or care. I strapped him to my back in the baby carrier - the first time I had used it the entire trip since it would have been a major cultural shock to see a man wearing a baby in Ghana.

I waited in line at customs before being called to the desk to talk to a pleasant Hispanic lady. She asked for the yellow envelope and, tired from travel despite getting a few hours of sleep on the plane, I handed it over without the usual request to protect it. She immediately tore it open.

I about died.

I launched into this explanation of how the envelope could not be opened or I couldn't bring Hugo into the U.S. and how it had been examined several times, and.....she stopped me.

"Well, I hope I'm the person who's supposed to open it, then," she said with a sly smile. All was well.

I was escorted to a room where I had to wait a long time with a lot of other people to get a stamp on my immigration form and leave. There is so much more to tell about this part of the ordeal but in respect for the United States, I'll not complain about it. Note to PAP's - when you get to this part, have your patience dial turned up to 11. You'll need it.

We spent the next few hours finding our gate, having a snack, and watching planes. I got a coffee! Hugo slept some more on my back. It was great to be in a place where being a mixed-race family wasn't as unusual as it was in Ghana and so people didn't stare at us. I felt like we could be ourselves a bit. Hugo had his first french fries.

The flight to Pittsburgh was mercifully short on an extremely small plane. Hugo was very interested in looking out the windows but I wondered how much his mind could grasp about what he was seeing. Flying still amazes me and have a general understanding about how planes work, U.S. geography, and what things look like from way up high.He must have thought he was dreaming or something.

I texted Rebekah as soon as we touched down in Pittsburgh. We had made it. Our family was minutes away. We worked our way from the gate to the little subway that takes you to the land-side terminal. When I stepped off the train, Hugo sitting on my shoulders, I could see Stella holding a big welcome home sign far down the hallway. I ran the best I could with a nervous toddler on my head.

The meeting was an avalanche of sounds. Calling each others' names, crying, cheering. It was so much to take in. The kids wanted to hold and hug Hugo right away but he wasn't quite ready for that. I was overwhelmed with sudden exhaustion and just wanted to go home with my family.

The whole family.