On the Eve of Ethiopian New Year...

This post has been building in me for a long time, but the words wouldn't form in the right order, wouldn't properly reflect what I was thinking and feeling. Right now, I have a myriad of other things to do, including laundry, and packing for our overnighter to Ethio Day in Toronto, but I am feeling drawn to the computer, so I will obey and hope that, this time, it all aligns and I can write/speak what I need to express exactly as I intend it.

Basically, it's Malia's face. As she has grown comfortable in toddlerhood, the baby roundness, has turned into a little girl prettiness that I find myself gazing at in the rearview mirror as we drive, as she sleeps, when she is deep in concentration in a way that I did not before. See, I do not just see "her" there, anymore. More and more, in my daughter's face, I see the face of the determined three year old leading her blind grandfather to taxis stopped in Addis traffic, hoping for the kindness of a few birr. I see the precious 4 year old, with her baby brother strapped to her back, watching me through the grate as I have a cold drink under a patio umbrella, longing in her eyes. I see the fragile 2 year old being jostled up and down in her own back sling, as her mother tries to sell passersby a little tissue package with David Beckham on the plastic. And, I see her first mother. Not clearly, but I get glimpses. If she holds her head just right, she is there.

And, I wonder who would she be if Grace had not brought us to each other.

I have always been very uncomfortable with the idea that anyone adopts to "save" a child- in fact, when this is said to me, especially about how lucky Malia is, I have to respond that I am the lucky one; that she saved me... and she did. But, lately, as her face reminds me of too many who, with her held tightly to my chest in the ring sling, I saw on struggling out a living in the Ethiopian sun, too many barely old enough to dress themselves, much less support themselves, yet having to try for the sake of survival, I do know that life for my baby would be very different if her Enat had not made the difficult decision that she did.

My daughter loves her shoes and often asks to wear her prettiest pair, even on a walk to the beach- would she be barefoot? Would her tiny feet be calloused and cut? Would she have ever seen an expanse of clean water? Would the water she did consume be clean enough to keep her well?

My daughter lights up at the thought of corn on the cob, fresh cucumber, getting to chomp on a whole stalk of celery, or a row of baby carrots. She is crazy for her hot milk and yogurt "smoothie" while watching "TreeHouse" in the morning- would she have ever tasted a fresh vegetable? Would powdered milk be her only sustenance for the day? Would she know that sometimes the people on TV dance and sing just for little ones like her?

My daughter is not expensively dressed, but she is always clean and happy in her outfits. She loves anything she can twirl in, and be a "princess". She likes to dance in front of the mirror and curtsy. Sometimes, she wears a crown.- Would she have anything to call her very own? Would she ever know the comfort and fun of a bath in warm water... of bubbles? Would her curls be radiant and smell like Heaven?

My daughter can count to 20 in the 2 languages she speaks and understands, working on to 10 in a third, she knows her alphabet and numbers and recognizes them easily, she loves to paint, and "draw" and play dress up. She will sit for hours building houses and castles with her foam blocks. She lives for swinging "to the trees, Mama!" in the park, and for sitting in her sand box digging for treasure. She has been to 5 live musicals and will go to number 6 this October. Having books read to her, and reading them to her own "babies" must happen everyday, or bedtime isn't complete. Fair rides, the zoo animals, seeing the goats bring a million stories told, squeals of excitement. My daughter gets bumps and scrapes, she gets insect bites and just recently, a bee sting that needed more than Mama's hugs and lullabies She is starting French PreSchool on Monday- Would she ever get to know what her own name looked like in Amharic? Would she ever learn to write it? Would she ever be able explore her creativity and just have fun? Would she sleep on a dry, soft surface? Would she have the medicine that makes boo boos "all better"? Would she ever just be a CHILD?

Now, that I have written all that out, I am afraid of how it might sound. Not so much to anyone reading this out there, but to HER one day. I am not saying "look what she has with me", I am wondering who she'd be if she did not. I mean, would it change her- inside?

Yes, Malia HAS many things, many comforts, many opporunities- it's what I am sure her Enat dreamed for her when she placed her into G's arms at the orphange. But, she also IS many things that have nothing to do with where she is now- empathetic, precocious, daring, silly, loving, stubborn, smart and funny, funny, funny. These things shine in her face, her perfect, gorgeous, Amhara face. Joy shines there, too- I am often asked if she "is really that happy"- yes she is- at least 99% of the time. I so hope that the children who I see in her, the first mother I see in her, can feel happiness, joy, a little every day, too.