JAN 22, 2010

So with all that’s been going on in Haiti, I’ve begun thinking seriously of changing our adoption country to Ethiopia.  The fact of the matter is that I wanted always to adopt, and to adopt where the need was the greatest.  Ideally I would have liked to have adopted from Pakistan, since the need there is beyond imagination, but Pakistani adoption laws are ridiculously hard to wend through.

Race Factors

My husband is caucasian, and I’m brown (tech support brown, not lawn services brown, as someone in some movie or telly show once joked).  Our biological daughter seems to be a mixture, sometimes brown, sometimes white, mostly just a typical mixed kid.

When we first looked into adoption, we went down the list from Pakistan to Afghanistan to Kazakhstan, trying to stay as close to the racial mix that most closely resembled our daughter Aliya’s physical make-up.  And for the past six years, as we’ve looked into this journey, it’s been Kazakhstan that we’ve focused on for those reasons.

Until today.

Today, as my 4-year old daughter and I were looking through pictures of the wreckage in Haiti, we saw a little girl in a makeshift hospital.  She was beautiful, big eyes, curly hair, skin as dark as the deepest bark of an old tree.  My daughter turned to me and said, “maybe she can be my little sister.”

I was stunned.  My daughter, 4 years old, saw that which I could not.  She saw through race.  She saw a little girl, in need of a family, and her heart opened up to this little child.

Some Thoughts on Race

Inter-racial adoptions are fairly common nowadays.  It’s typically forward thinking caucasian parents who choose to adopt children of different races. 

Now I have always, always, always thought east African children to be stunningly beautiful.  Ethiopian children in particular are beyond gorgeous.  But that’s as far as it goes, because (and I am very uncomfortable saying this) Pakistanis are inherently racist.  Like most people of the former colonies, we are so influenced by the upper crust British attitudes of 200 years ago that we discriminate even amongst our own, idolizing those with light eyes and light skin.  In fact, while it was somewhat acceptable for me to bring home a caucasian American, I don’t doubt the story would have been utterly different had I brought home someone of the (offensively termed) yellow or black variety.

But I am no longer Pakistani.  I have lived in the US for over 18 years.  I spent five years in Brazil.  The vast majority of my life has been spent outside of Pakistan, and certainly, away from Pakistani people.

Last year I rallied for Obama, not because he was a mix, but because I saw in him someone who could turn around the nation after Bush’s somewhat Crusader-like, misplaced administration.

I have friends from each end of the racial spectrum, and in these friends, irrespective of their ethnic and racial origins, I have been impressed and astounded by how amazing these people are.  What’s race got to do with it?

Ethiopia

So why have I never considered Ethiopia?  Because of the careless remarks that some stranger may make?  Because we may never look like a “natural” family?  Who the hell cares?  The purpose of adoption was to create MY ideal family - and my ideal family is not based on race.

I know I will have a lot of protecting to do, a lot of heartache to navigate as my child encounters the inevitable racism that unfortunately still exists in the world.  But it will be my responsibility to help her wade through it, to come out ahead, a happy and very, very, very much loved child.

As for those who are thoughtless or hurtful in their remarks - well, I’ll just have to deal with them, and hope and pray that my daughter will be bigger than they are, that she will not carry a grudge for the rest of her life - a grudge against their ignorance.

My Husband

But perhaps what I worry most about most is the impact on my husband.  He’s at the top of the food chain - a tall white man.  Perhaps you find me too blunt in the way that I mention this, but come on, it’s the truth and you know it.  He epitomizes everything that recent history, shaped by Western (read caucasian) culture has taught us about supremacy and power.

Except that he’s not typical at all.  Darin married MOI - a brown immigrant with a funny accent and a serious inability to understand baseball or American football.  He is a terrific dad to our zebra daughter.

If we were to adopt an Ethiopian girl, it would be he whom people would stare at were he to take our little ones for a walk.  The brunt of the public shock (for shock there would be) would be an outcome of the sight that he would make with our crazy little mix of brown, brown+white, and black.  Can he be that brave?

Can he truly be committed to this or are his deeply white, mid-western, Martinsvillian roots too deep?  Can he truly see beyond that which most men of his racial framework have never been able to see through?   

I hope so.  I know that he is an extraordinary man, but I also know that he is burdened by his racial past, and the racial prejudices of his people.  I had to cast aside my own cultural racism over time, but not many people look at the world as I do. 

Next Steps

We are fast facing the deadline by which we have to choose the adoption location.  I must confess to a strong desire for Ethiopia, but I depend on Darin’s opinion.

It’s not that Kazakhstan is a bad option, after all, all these children need loving families, regardless of their ethnicities.  However, truth be told, of all the children in the world it is the ones classified as “black” who most need the help.  And to me all that matters is that I bring my daughter home - whether she is black or white or green.

HKV

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JAN 1, 2010

We’re adopting!

About 12 months from now, I should be on my way to Kazakhstan, where my little girl awaits.  She is somewhere between 2 and 4 years old, has brown hair, brown eyes, pink cheeks and a twinkling smile.

I think of her all the time.  Who is she?  What is her name?  Has she been happy in the baby house? 

How will I communicate with her?  Will my spoken Russian be passable by then?

The decision to adopt is a strange one.  Each person has a journey to recount, a story fashioned from many heartbreaks and hopes.  Ours is an offbeat story, and this is how it started...

8, 9, 10...

I read the book Annie when I was 10 years old, whilst living in Brazil.  Our swanky flat overlooked a favela (shantytown) in the Morumbi district of Sao Paulo.  I remember standing on the balcony after reading that book, and thinking that an accident of fate could have reversed the course of my life and that of any child living in the favelas.

I decided at that moment that I would adopt. 

As the years flew by, I got laughed at for discussing adoption.  Coming from a nation where fertility rates need some serious curbing, coming from a family that claims to trace its origins back over 1000 years, I received great opposition to my comments about desiring adoption. 

It was only after I got married, had a lovely, lovely daughter, and still continued to talk of adoption that the family began to relent.  My husband, no stranger to my desire to adopt throughout our decade together, also finally relented.

Why not have another child?

I was always an odd bird: I chose vegetarianism at 14, practiced yoga since the age of 7 in some form or the other, and studied astrology in any spare time.  The idea of adoption was not far behind choosing tofu over kebabs, if you know what I mean? 

There are more than 6 billion people in the world, most of whom live lives that you and I would consider unacceptable.  For me, the chance to change the destiny of one child equated to a chance to change the destiny of an entire tribe over time.  Besides which, I firmly believe that blood bonds can be trumped by the bonds of matching souls. 

I have two sisters of my own, my very best friends in the world.  Although they are probably genetically identical to me, we are three very different people - we even look different. 

This friendship that we have is the result of my parents’ efforts.  We were not allowed to quarrel.  We were always, ALWAYS, taught the importance of sticking up and being there for each other.  As a result, we became inseparable.

I think back and wonder if this was due to biology as much as it was to psychology.  Sure, it’s thrilling to see my grandmother’s eyes show up in my little nephew, but for me, it wasn’t enough of a reason to avoid what I felt was my destiny - to adopt.

The love I feel for Aly is intense in ways I cannot begin to describe.  It is a loved forged of time spent together, a wall built from heartache-shaped bricks.  This love has strengthened as I have come to wrestle with her strong personality as it burgeons before me.  Why should that process not repeat for an adopted child?

Love happens after sleepless nights spent holding a sick child, followed by the relief of morning, when fever breaks.  Love happens when one is greeted by pure delight as one walks in the door after a hellish day.  Love happens with hugs and kisses and tears amid the pressures of everyday life.  What’s blood got to do with it?

Have you seen that film, Australia?  If you’re a Michener fan, see it.  The visuals are stunning.  Stunning too is the love of the adoptive mother for her son, and his love in return.  When separated from one another through unfortunate circumstances, he “sings her to himself” in Maori style from miles away.  He is calling out to her, drawing her to him with the wind and the shifting sands.  It is a beautiful sentiment, and any parent can understand the devotion they share.  I feel that sentiment for my adopted child already - and I hope that time and attachment will only strengthen this.

Being Scared

I’m petrified.  How will this impact the family?  How will it play out in the future?  Am I making a huge mistake?

I’ve agonized over these questions over the last six years.  However, being in favor of adoption for over two decades, I can safely say that I feel I have given the matter enough thought.  There’s a risk involved, certainly, any time so momentous a decision is taken there is risk involved.  And the addition of a child is a stressful event under the best of circumstances.  The addition of an adopted child adds tremendous complexity.  But we are ready to try.  And once our little girl is here and our little ones are together, there will be no going back.  We’ll just have to make it work.

Choosing Kazakhstan

My daughter Aly is a mutt.  She’s part Caucasian, part Asian (South Asian).  In looking at her you would be hard put to describe her nationality.  We’ve heard her described as Polish, Italian, Mexican and God alone knows what else. 

Aly is all that the confluence of East meets West should be.  In searching for our adoptive child, we wanted to encounter the same mix, so as to preserve as closely as possible, a visual consistency within our family.  It’s hard enough that none of us are of the same race.  We wanted our girls to look passably like sisters so that strangers would not burden them with their thoughtless remarks (thus making our adopted daughter conscious of her “differences.”)

Kazakhstan was a natural choice for our needs.  The country has a rich culture and history (despite what Borat makes it out be).  It has been part of the Silk Route, provides great diversity of religious and racial frameworks and has some of the best orphanages (baby houses) in the world.  Children from this country typically adjust well to their new lives.

It is an expensive program, about $35K - $40K.  There is a time frame of about 12-15 months before a little girl fitting our profile is brought home to her new life in the US.

Next Steps

I’ll continue to update as we go through the process.  As of now, we’ve selected an agency and begun the compilation of our dossier.  We are learning about the country, its people, and delving into basic Russian so that we may be able to communicate a little while we’re there.

Wish us luck!

HKV