Lessons Learned in Gimbi

Before I share the deeply personal experience of meeting our daughter for the first time, I have some thoughts to share about Ethiopian adoption in general. This is where I get up on my blogging soapboax and get preachy.  Adoption is a hot-button topic and I think it's time I draw my line in the sand. 

I know what you're thinking, "Well, you're adopting, so you're obviously pro-adoption."  But an issue this big and complicated just isn't that black and white. Some people are super pro-adoption and feel like everyone who has ever even considered adoption should just jump in and do it.  Other people feel that adoption is full of corruption; nothing but a bunch of baby-hungry "haves" taking advantage of the "have nots" of this world.

Adoption has been controversial for a long time, but Ethiopian adoption in particular, has come under fire recently and it seems that more and more people are voicing the latter opinion. I have to admit, I have been tempted into that camp at different times throughout our journey. We have supported a child in Ethiopia for over a year, meaning we pay an amount each month to an organization (AHope), that provides medicine, food, shelter, and schooling for a child in their program who either has no parents, or whose parents can no longer provide those things for her.  At various times throughout our process with Gudetu I have thought, "Maybe we shouldn't be adopting her. Maybe this isn't right. She is going to lose her culture and, unless we are very proactive and hire a tutor, her language. Maybe we should just use the money we would spend on adopting her and support more children so that they can stay in their own country, around their own people."

I am very glad that we have supported a girl through AHope over the past year. Support is unarguably necessary. Without our money, organizations like AHope could not provide for the millions of children without parents in Ethiopia and they would simply be lost to the streets. Girls without educations would be forced into prostitution, and boys without training would become beggars or criminals.  This would be a tragic loss of potential for millions of children.

And then there is adoption. Some people consider it a despicable idea. Especially when it comes to Americans adopting from 3rd World Countries.  We have been the recipients of varying degrees of support and criticism during our own adoption process and I am sure it will only increase after we bring little Gudetu home. There have been many times when both of us second-guessed our own intentions or our ability to raise a child from another culture. We wondered if adoption was, somehow evil or damaging to children. We considered how our actions could affect Corban and the child we would bring into our family.  We wondered if this was really a good idea.

But then we went to Ethiopia.

We talked to Ethiopian citizens about their thoughts regarding adoption in their country.

We listened as nurses who work in rural Ethiopian clinics shared their experiences.

We spent time with the nannies who care for the children that well-fed Americans spend so much time blogging and debating about.

We listened to random people who approached us on the street and engaged in conversation as we were getting in or out of the car with little Gudetu.

Everyone who saw us with her expressed only their support and encouragement for what we were doing in their country. No one accused us of robbing her of her culture. No one called us "baby snatchers." No one asked for us to prove we knew how to care for her hair. No one questioned our motivations for choosing to adopt an infant over an older child.

Because each of these people actually live and work in Ethiopia. They understand what life is like for children without parents, or without parents who can care for them.  They know that once children are placed in orphanages they have already lost their culture, their language and their family identity.  They understand that life is a daily struggle for people in their country given the absolute best circumstances and they are all too aware of what could have been for a child like Gudetu.

I have learned that the two most serious risk factors that lead to death in Ethiopia are

• being a pregnant woman
• being a child age 5 or under

1 in 14 women in Ethiopia will die during labor or pregnancy in their lifetime. This is an average, meaning the number is lower in a city like Addis Ababa, but much higher in the country, where Gudetu was born. Prenatal care in the country is non-existent. Most of the women give birth at home and anything but the most perfect delivery is a death sentence. My own birthing experience with Corban would have undoubtedly lead me to be the 1 in 14 who do not survive. My little sister also would have been one of those statistics.

Most of these women leave a hungry newborn child behind. Without a nursing relative, the child has no food. Even the most well-intentioned and loving father (or other surviving relative: grandparent, older sibling, etc) cannot provide the nutrient-rich food a newborn needs to thrive. I heard that it was most common to feed newborn babies (filthy) river water mixed with grains for nourishment. Cow's milk, or the more easily-obtained, powdered milk, sometimes mixed with grains, was also commonly offered. Not surprising to us, babies still often starve despite the surviving adult's best intentions, because their little bodies simply cannot process and extract nutrients from such food. There really is no substitution for breast milk and formula for the first few months.

Nurses who work in the area where Gudetu was born said they bury 1 to 4 babies a day out in those rural villages. On a good day, only one baby dies of starvation. I hope you recognize the horror in that statistic.

Sadly, the presence of the clinic is not saving mothers. And the new orphanage is not saving babies. They are still dying at the same rate. Despite the nurses' best efforts, most women still choose to labor at home. If they experience trouble and are able to get to the clinic, or get word to a nurse, they usually wait until it is too late. And because formula is still impossible to purchase, the same number of children are still dying every day.

When we arrived at the orphanage in Gimbi we saw no formula. There may have been a can or two left that we didn't notice, but it is also possible that they simply had run out.  With 13 babies and young children who are still dependent on formula, every crib is full (some holding 2 babies each) and they run through the donated formula very quickly.  We unpacked 200 lbs of donated formula from our van and helped the nannies stack it in the nursery. They were overjoyed with the amount we brought. They danced and clapped and thanked us far beyond our comfort level. They were so thankful because they know what life for these babies was like just a few short years ago before donated formula was introduced to their region. They know that every baby they have helped nurture and grow over the past two years survived solely because of the formula. They are all too aware that for every baby surrendered to the government and placed in their orphanage, there are literally hundreds who don't survive. 

During our drive to Gimbi, we saw how closely these people live to nature. We realized how fully they rely on the rain and sun to grow their crops. We saw herders bringing goats, sheep and cows to the market to sell for meat. We saw people working hard labor because that is what is necessary for survival. We did not see one person sitting idle. Everyone was working, some far beyond what it seemed they should be able.  They have to work in order to survive.

You may be thinking, Well okay, that sounds tough. But this is how they live. They are used to it. That is like saying that a soldier used to fighting in wars.  Soldiers fight for their lives. They engage in battle because they have to. They want to survive. But they'd prefer to be at home with their families, watching their children grow.  No one wants to fight for their life.  But that is what is happening every day in the rural villages we passed on the way to Gimbi.   They were literally fighting back starvation with each row they plowed, with each cow they slaughtered, with each stick they collected and sold.

When the margin for error is this slim, a newborn baby without someone to care for it or feed it doesn't have a chance.  Someone has to fight for their survival.

Our adopting Gudetu didn't save her. The surviving relative who realized she was starving to death and made the impossible decision to turn her into the government saved her.  The government official who heard her story and placed her in the YWAM Home in Gimbi saved her.  The person who adopted the child before her, making room in the full orphanage for one more baby, saved her.  The people who donated the formula she ate during those first few months of her delicate life saved her.  The nannies who fed and doted on her saved her.  The nurse who took a special interest in her when she still wasn't gaining weight saved her. 

Regardless of how anyone feels about adoption, now that we have seen the process for ourselves, there is no doubt that adoption saved our little girl.

We didn't save her, we are just the lucky ones who get to raise her.