A belated finale, or a month and a day

Zola's bassinet on the flight from Kinsahsa to Brussels

It's been just over a month since we arrived home from Kinshasa and began life as a family of five.  Compared with almost daily blog posts in Africa, I've done very little about documenting Zola's (and our) life now that we're back home.  But home we did come.

It's hard now to remember all of the little details that were part of that very long journey home.  (Which is, of course, why I wrote so much while I was there.  Like childbirth, the details tend to disappear over time.)  On Wednesday morning (February 20), our protocol, Simon, picked us up from the procure to take us and our bags to the airline office downtown.  This avoids having to haul and check in bags at the actual airport in the evening, which makes everyone's life easier.  As it turns out, it also made it possible for us to even leave that night.  The airlines were insisting that Zola didn't have a ticket, despite the fact that I could produce a confirmation printout with reference number.  They wanted me to the call the travel agency we'd used to book the tickets.  I had to explain, to the best of my ability, that it was 4AM in the US and it was...unlikely...that anyone would be available to take my call.  Since the airline people kept talking to Simon, who spoke no English, rather than me, I still can't be sure of what happened.  I think that the problem was the result of my having a round-trip ticket while Zola had only a one-way ticket.  So while she did have a ticket, it wasn't being recognized as valid because an infant lap ticket is only valid when attached to an adult fare.  In the end, I paid $30 to someone and it all got worked out.  (I didn't know that, though, until we arrived at the airport that night and someone materialized our boarding passes, which meant I spent all day kind of worried we weren't actually leaving.)  My attorney told me the trip to the airline office would last about ten minutes, so I didn't have a bottle or anything else for Zola, who became hot, tired, and hungry while there for nearly two hours.  I hardly wanted to create a scene at the airline office, so I spent a lot of time swaying back and forth with her in the carrier, which I'd fortunately taken.  We were already in our travel clothes since we were checking our bags, and I quickly gave up on any hope of going home "clean."

Zola rocking her bunny shirt at the Brussels airport

After we got back from the airline office, I snacked on the little food I had left.  I paid our hotel bill, tipped Leone, who had cleaned our room and been very kind to both me and Zola, took all of our extras to the common room for others to use, and tried in vain to sleep.  Zola napped some, fussed a lot, and as the hour got closer to 6PM, I got more nervous.  I ended up in the bar with some friends and eventually in the lobby.  Jacky and the driver, Sammy, arrived shortly thereafter, and after hugs and farewells to Heidi, Keela, and her husband, we were off.  The drive to the airport was long, slow, and hot.  It was now nearing Zola's bedtime, but she was hot and so fussy.  Jacky seemed concerned that I was taking her out in public with a wet onesie (from drool).  I assured her I had spare clothes, but they were all warmer clothes for Brussels, Newark, and home -- not anything I could put her in in the heat of Kinshasa.  When we got to the airport, it was dark out.  Simon, my protocol from the airline office, met us there, and Jacky said they'd wait until we had our boarding passes in hand to leave.  It was a bit harried following Simon through the airport.  He didn't talk much, and I was never sure when to follow and when to stand back.  He got our Go Passes, took us through the first of probably seven security checks, got our boarding passes, and then gave all of our documentation to the DGM office to check.  From there we went through security again and into the VIP lounge, which is just an air-conditioned waiting room with drinks.  From there, he said goodbye.  At that point, I was still a little nervous about getting on the plane, but it seemed like we really were leaving.  I was excited to take Zola home, to be back in the US, to see my family.

Zola's picture on her visa packet,
which went to the customs worker in Newark

We weren't in the lounge long before we boarded the plane.  I was one of the first ones out, and no one hassled us.  We took a little bus out to the plane, and a kind older lady offered us a seat.  Our luggage was checked and we were wander before boarding.  Once on, I was happy to see that I had been given a seat in the bulkhead, which provides more leg space and room for the baby.  It also meant I would be able to use a bassinet during the flight so Zola could sleep.  There was a nice Belgian girl next to me who asked about the baby, gushed about how cute and well behaved she was, and gave me advice on hair and skin care.  She talked about growing up in Brussels with friends who were adopted and wanted to make sure Zola didn't end up looking poorly cared for because I didn't know about Black hair and skincare.  There was a nice gentleman on the other side who didn't say anything but smiled and made faces at Zola during takeoff.  It was after 9PM by this point.  Zola was wide awake taking in all the sounds, sights, and faces around her.  The pilot or stewardess would come on, and her eyes would get wide looking for where it was coming.  After takeoff, everyone else in the row moved back to empty rows so they could lie down to sleep.  The steward for our area put up Zola's basket, and within a few minutes of laying her down, she was asleep and stayed that way except for one bottle feeding.  I ate dinner, tried to sleep (the arm rests didn't go up across my row, so I couldn't lie completely down even with an empty row), and watched some movies and television.

We got into Brussels around 5:30AM, and I had to wake Zola up to get off the flight.  I got her cleaned up and changed into warmer clothes, and we worked our way to the gate for our flight to Newark.  We had to go through security again and get wanded after we set off the metal detector at the gate.  There was, blessedly, a Starbucks, and while Zola slept in the carrier, I drank a mocha, ate a muffin, and read.  She woke up as it started to get lighter out, so I found a patch of empty floor, put out her blanket, and let her watch the world go by.  She sat and stared at everyone around her, the noisy carts that rolled by, the people talking, those who stopped to say hello to her.  We passed several hours this way before we boarded our next flight.  We were once again pulled out for an extra security check, but all seemed to be in order and we got on without much delay.  We did not have a bulkhead on this flight, but we did have an empty row, which meant I could put Zola down in the seat next to me to nap or play.  This flight, unlike the one in the opposite direction, had the full movie selections like the Belgian Airlines flight, so I watched several more movies, ate most of what was served me, and kept Zola happy.  I have to say -- I do not think my other kids would have traveled this well at her age.  She really did so, so well.

In Newark, waiting for our final flight

We arrived into Newark in early afternoon, and it was definitely one of those moments of being happy at my Americanness.  I've never been to Newark before, yet it felt like coming home.  We got a great view of the New York city skyline and the Statue of Liberty, which was fun to show to Zola.  I turned my phone on for the first time in two weeks, sent Wes a text, called my sister.  We did a lot of walking and dragging to pick up our luggage and take it and us through customs.  The lines for US citizens and permanent residents were short, but it seemed like everyone in front of us was either having trouble providing necessary documentation or getting grilled by the customs officer.  When we finally got up, I answered a few questions.  The officer pointed out that her visa did not give her a first name, which was the first time I realized that both her passport and visa had errors (something I am now trying to fix with the readoption).  In the short run, it was annoying that they couldn't get this simple thing correct.  In the long run, the error could only have been corrected by getting her another (read: third) passport, which would have meant moving our embassy dates, which would have meant we would be affected by the 3-6 month investigation period and she still wouldn't be home yet.  So it was ultimately worth it to have the error.

We had a few hours to kill in Newark.  I ate a little and chatted with some other people.  This was the first place I'd been with Zola that people just came up and asked about her -- very different than being in the DRC or Belgium.  There was a dad from Ohio who has an adopted Black daughter who came to say hi, and a grandmother/granddaughter pair sitting across from us at the gate who made chitchat.  We also met a US Airlines pilot from Nigeria who'd had problems with security coming back in.  I think my favorite moment was when a janitor in the airport stopped to say hello and seemed genuinely confused when he was told that the baby was not the Nigerian man's but mine!

The flight back to Nashville was the worst.  They didn't (as on any of my flights) preboard people traveling with children, so we were one of the last ones to get on.  This was a puddle jumper, and even though I only had a backpack, it was stuffed full and difficult to maneuver along with the baby to the back of the plane.  Then someone was sitting in our seat.  Then they'd put me in the wrong seat -- we needed to be somewhere else so we'd have two air masks in the event of an emergency.  I think everyone in the back moved around three times for us.  The lady next to us was very large and kind of crowded me.  And Zola was so, so tired.  It was already nighttime for her, and she just needed to sleep. I had to hold her, and the seat became unbelievably uncomfortable by the end of the flight.

We landed a bit early, fortunately, and I will say that I could hardly contain my emotions.  I was SO tired.  And smelly.  I did stop to change Zola into her "coming home" outfit in the bathroom.  Which was fortunate since we got in early and the family was running a bit late.  I was confused when I didn't see them just outside of security, but when I looked down to the baggage claim area, I saw them all there.

Thirty hours after boarding our first flight in Kinshasa, Zola arrived home.  Our family was together.  And life as we know it began.

Meeting her, family edition

Thirty hours to get home -- tears of joy!

Smiles for daddy

Oliver and Zola bonded right away.

First picture as a family of five

With Grandma Neiheisel

The men with the children

With the grandparents

Big brother helping

Matching jammies for the sisters!

Sortie

Tonight is my last night in Congo.  My bags are packed except for the things we’ll need tomorrow.  I have a list next to the computer with a reminder of the items still to go in my carry-on – my computer, phone, Zola’s bottle, my toothbrush.  On the desk, I’ve set out on my doxycycline pill to take tomorrow morning, the rest already in my carry-on, as I have to take it 30 more days in case of any latent malaria.  I have our travel clothes laid out, which seems strange since our flight doesn’t leave until 9:25PM.  But we have to meet Jacky and our protocol, Simon, at 9:00AM tomorrow morning to go to the airlines office to check our bags.  That way we won’t have to shuffle them along at the airport tomorrow afternoon in the heat.  Once our bags are gone, it’s just me, Zola, her carrier, and a hefty backpack with all we’ll need to get us through the 24+ hour journey home.  There’s a change of socks and underwear for me.  My glasses and more contacts.  Some pajamas for her (the plane is cold) along with a blanket and two more cold weather changes of clothes.  I’ve got as much formula as I could pack in, some burp cloths, a few toys, a book for me, should I find myself with free time on the plane…  And a thick, still sealed manila envelope of immigration documents to give to the fine folks at Newark who will let my baby girl in the country.  The rest is tossed in a green bin to share with families who are still here and to put in the common room for others who might find themselves in need.  I grabbed a bag of nuts, some tuna, and a converter there myself – oh, and a mini-Crock Pot I will use tomorrow to heat some water for Zola’s bath.  Last night’s attempt with just the shower water did not go well (screaming baby).  I have money in three envelopes – one for my hotel bill, one for the exit tax, protocol, and “VIP lounge,” and one for a tip for the lady who’s done our housekeeping and taken a shine to Zola. 

The last two days have been very slow but are coming to a productive end.  On Monday, after breakfast with friends, I basically spent all day in my room playing with Zola, napping, and reading.  I had hopes that my exit letter would come, but I didn’t hear anything from Jacky all day.  In the afternoon, we wandered downstairs to the bar (more a social gathering area that also sells water and beer than a traditional bar; way more babies) and sat with other families and their kids.  Right around 5:00PM, Jacky appeared with a helper in tow (and none of her hair – she’s got a super chic crop going now) and asked if I could get a flight for Tuesday night.  I said I could try, and she said my exit letter would be ready.  She then started to think about getting everything in order for my departure – the driver, the protocol, the documents – and I assured her I was fine to depart on Wednesday as planned.  No need to mess with the travel agent.  No need to pay a change fee.  Easy peasy.  So Wednesday it was.   She said she would be by on Tuesday with all the documents.  I emailed Wes and my family and started to tell Zola about traveling home.  She ate two bottles and fell asleep, then reawoke and got the dreaded shower bath (just putting her in there made her start to scream!), and then finally wrestled herself to sleep.  Can I say that, while these two weeks in constant contact has probably been good for our bonding, it’s going to be very nice to be able to put her down in a crib and give her some room instead of having to watch her moan and groan and squirrel her way around the bed?  I had a Snickers to celebrate, then read until bedtime while watching for response emails from my family. 

Today was more of the same, with a bit of purging and packing figured in.  We had a nice breakfast with a new family who arrived last night.  Today they met their nine-month-old son, L, and are settling in with him.  I took some clothes and children’s medication and bibs and things to Keela to use in their orphanage and foster home – stuff I can easily replace at home or won’t use (read: Zola is too big for the clothes I brought here!).  Zola took a good mid-morning nap, and I read a bunch and found a satin crib sheet online to help address the serious bald patch she has on the back of her head.  The weather today was as cool as it’s been since I got here.  I took a shower mid-afternoon and then put on a thin, long-sleeved shirt and the jeans I wore here on the plane and I wasn’t hot at all.  It was really pleasant.  I sat outside for a bit until the vendors down the street made it necessary for me to come inside, lest I spend the entire night saying “No, merci,” in response to their entreaties. 

At 5:00PM, I still had not heard from Jacky, and we had big dinner plans.  Keela and Dan, Heidi, me and all the kids had a driver available, so we decided to have dinner at a place called Nice Cream that our friend Christine recommended.  The place is really nice, owned by a French or Belgian woman.  They serve everything from waffles and crepes and coffee to burgers and sandwiches and salads.  I got a ciabatta with tomato, mozzarella, basil, and some pesto on it with a little side salad.  It tasted amazing.  And what would dinner at a placed called Nice Cream be without dessert?  Keela and I both ordered the Brownie Explosion.  Um, yum.  Way too much for one person, but after two weeks of tuna and nuts, I went for it.  Whatever weight I lost while here is certainly back!  Just before dessert, the guesthouse called to let me know that Jacky was there.  We’d left our number, just in case she showed up.  I told her where I was, and she sweetly drove over to deliver all my documents.  I now have my exit letter and all the documents necessary to leave the country.  Many are the original adoption documents I’ve received scans of over the last few months, which we’ll use back in the US for re-adoption. 

Once back in the room, I packed and Zola squirmed herself to sleep (no wonder she’s missing so much hair on the back of her head!).  One part of me is ecstatic to be leaving, one part is in a bit of disbelief, and one part really hopes I get to come back sometime.  For another adoption, yes.  But also just to be here.  Maybe so I can see the place a bit more and not just be the White lady with the Black baby who has to stay in the guesthouse all day, lest she and her young child be attacked by angry mobs.  Perhaps at some point I’ll come back and teach for a month at the American School.  Or maybe in the next ten years, Congo will undergo a dramatic change, and I can bring my whole family back as tourists.  There are some great wildlife sites near here that were too far out to attempt with a child.  I know for sure that I want Zola to be able to come back.  She will grow up more or less an American.  She’s only six months old, and by the time she’s a teenager, she may or may not have any real interest in her Congolese heritage.  But I want to make sure I give her repeated opportunities to learn about and feel good about it.  I can say that, after trips through at least a dozen countries other than the US, there’s something about this part of the world that is simply welcoming.  Warm, in both the literal and figurative sense.  Colorful.  I want her, and ideally all my children, to know that the whole world is not just like the US – that it is at the same time wildly different and strangely similar – and to be able to truly appreciate a culture that is not the one they know best, but one they understand. 

For now, I will revel in the knowledge that this time tomorrow night, Zola and I will be snuggled on a plane, getting ready for takeoff.  There is a sadness in taking her away from this place where she was born and was loved by a woman and family she will likely never see again.  But there is also great joy in knowing that she is heading to a family who will love her just as much, in a different way, knowing she is a permanent part of us.  Zola is coming home.

Attached

It’s fair to say that in the last few days, Zola has become clearly attached to me as her mom.  That might be the only thing that’s happened in the last few days, though.  It’s been pretty quiet.

There was a little activity on Friday, I suppose.  In the morning, we said goodbye to Joe and Lindsey and their son J as they headed back to Kentucky.  It was nice to not only see a family leaving, but also someone who was with our lawyer to know how the departure would work.  Jacky pretty much arranges everything – a driver to take you and your bags to the airline office in the morning, then to the airport in the evening (flights through Brussels leave at 9:25PM), a protocol to walk you through all of the checkpoints at their airport and escort you into the “VIP lounge” (read: seats, air conditioning, and the ability to purchase water).  Some families have had to arrange all of these things by themselves, so it’s nice to know it’s taken care of.  We still have to pay for all of it, but knowing they’re people Jacky trust is good.  Jacky happened to mention while here with the Barths that she thought my exit letter would come by Saturday so I could travel home on Sunday.  I didn’t get too excited – nothing here is for sure until it’s actually happening – but I did get my hopes up a little that I was closer to home than I thought.

After the Barths left, Sabin came to St. Anne’s to take me out to more foster homes.  These were homes that were “too far out” to go to last Sunday.  As per usual, we left almost two hours after we were supposed to.  Jacky came to the first foster home before getting dropped off at the court building in one of the communes, I assume to work on another family’s case.  It didn’t seem like we traveled very far geographically, but between traffic, huge potholes and deep puddles, and sometimes unsurpassable roads, it took a long time to get everywhere.  And it was hot.  And smelled (exhaust fumes + burn piles = ugh!).  Zola was a trooper once again – for the most part.  When Sabin and I were waiting for the driver to take us out, I decided to use the toilet downstairs before we left, so I asked Sabin to hold Zola.  I went, did my business, and as I was leaving the bathroom heard a baby screaming.  Turns out it was mine.  Sabin was already walking down the hall towards me when I got down to the lobby.  I guess when I left the room, Zola lost it.  That’s the first time (but not the last time!) it’d happened without some other explanation for her getting upset. 

The areas of the Kinshasa we drove to on this outing were a bit more impoverished and less urban than what I’d seen before.  They were still densely populated, but there was less infrastructure – no true stores by Western standards, a lot of shanties and lean-tos with people living in them, lots of kids out playing soccer, hauling water, and girls singings and playing games together.  I know it may sound strange to say, but in even in what most people see as vast differences between home and here, I see something still familiar.  It is more similar to me than dissimilar.  We’re not out in the bush here (which I’ve also witnessed among the Maasai in Tanzania).  It seems like everyone here is selling something.  Even walking down alleys where the car couldn’t drive, I would see chalkboards on the gates to people’s lot with prices on them for water and Coke.  Truth be told, it seems like there’s way more people selling things here than buying, but I guess people are hustling however they can to get by.  And even in the more impoverished areas, there are very “middle class” homes by Congolese standards.  One foster home was along this very alley – we had to walk across a makeshift bridge to cross some water runoff, and passed some chickens and goat tied out between the car and the foster home.  When we opened the gate to go in, though, there was a tidy lot, and in the house was a bright, clean living room with a television, some basic electronics, and well kept furniture.  Along many of the places we walked were men sweeping the dirt entrances to their lot with simple brooms.  In a place where streets are strewn with trash and no building looks maintained by Western standards, people do care for their property and themselves.  All around I see women in beautiful clothes, men (even in the heat of the day) in long-sleeved button-up shirts, and children well groomed and their hair plaited and braided.  In so many ways, it is a country of contradictions (but then, aren’t we all).

Throughout the afternoon we drove between foster homes and orphanages to visit and take pictures of children who are being adopted by people in the same group as me.  I saw one to three week old babies who felt so tiny, terrified a 2-year-old when I tried to take his picture, and waited for one foster mom to change a little boy into better clothes for his photo.  At each place I was invited in and given the very best seat in the living room.  At the first home, one mom asked if Zola was my daughter.  Sabin told her yes, and she seemed pleased.  At another home with two infant babies, I set Zola down on the couch next to me to hold one of the girl.  Within 30 seconds, my girl was falling apart.  She did not like sharing mom’s lap with another baby.  Sabin was pretty amused. 

At the end of the day, we returned to St. Anne’s.  I think we ordered pizza for dinner, but I honestly don’t remember now.  The days and dinners have started to run together.  I did have my first Congo beer that night, though – Primus.  Not bad, and very cheap. 

Saturday was a hard day.  Because my attorney had told me she thought I would get my letter, I was torn between wanting to sort belongings and begin to pack and trying to stay grounded in the event it didn’t come.  I was getting sicker, with a cough and sinus congestion, and I hadn’t slept well Friday night.  Zola had become pretty fussy – constantly wanting held and played with and unwilling to be independent at all.  My patience had worn thin, and the internet had gone out Friday afternoon and not returned.  Zola and I spent the entire day in our room – napping on and off.  I emailed Wes to have him check on flights for the weekend, in case the letter came, only to learn that I couldn’t fly out before Monday at the earliest and I had to notify them by noon Saturday.  Needless to say, I was frustrated – with not feeling well or sleeping well, with Zola’s fussiness, with the travel agency and the airlines and the DGM office.  I gave myself the day to just be down and resolved to feel better on Sunday.

And so this morning, we did a bit better.  We skipped breakfast so we could sleep in, then spent most of the day in the room reading, playing, and napping.  In the morning Christine left with her mom and daughter, M, after being here for three weeks.  It was great to see another family go, knowing I am likely to be the next.  While we were saying goodbye, one of the women who works here at St. Anne’s came by and took Zola from me to talk with her.  She didn’t have her but for a minute before Zola let out her cry and the woman dutifully returned her to me.  It can take awhile for kids to attach to their parents, but evidently Zola and I have a solid start.  She may not know I’m “mom,” but she knows she wants to be with me. 

Mid-afternoon a friend came by with her daughter, T.  Heidi has adopted other children and so was a great source of solace in my frustration from Saturday.  T and Zola are hilarious together, smiling and laughing at each other and trying to grab one another’s hands to chew on them.  The girls eventually needed naps, so we split.  In the afternoon, I got to Skype with my parents and brother.  Adult contact, especially from home, whether in email or Skype, really makes my day, so this was a treat.  My brother got to see Zola finally, and my parents got to see her again and will hopefully meet her in person later this week.  After, I went to the supermarket down the street with another couple and their son, A.  We had dinner in the restaurant upstairs and Zola did reasonably well.  I had an omelet with mushroom and onion, fresh orange juice, and a banana “milkshake” (banana, milk, and it was cold!).  It tasted good, and since I haven’t been hungry to eat much recently, probably gave me a little more energy.  We did a little shopping – a few snacks, including the M&Ms I had this evening, some extra diapers and wipes since I’m running out, and Qtips to remove the smelly gunk from Zola’s ears.  We met back up with Heidi afterwards and visited until Zola got fussy for bed.  I gave her a wash before bedtime as she’d started to smell, removed said gunk from her ears (which was part of the smelly problem), and packed her off to sleep.  My only disappointment of the day was not getting to Skype with We sand the kids.  He worked until midnight last night, so I’m not sure if he just didn’t think to sign on (he doesn’t really use Skype normally), and my emails went unreturned.  Hopefully my exit letter will come soon, though, and I can see him in person.

My scheduled flight is set to leave Wednesday night.  If I get my exit letter tomorrow, we may move it up, but if not, I’ll hope the letter comes Tuesday or first thing Wednesday morning so that I can travel home.  Tuesday marks two weeks since I left the states, and I would really like to be on my way home by then or shortly thereafter.  Zola and I have done fairly well, but I am beginning to long for a comfortable piece of furniture to sit (and sleep!) on, a nice fresh salad, water safely drunk from the tap, and maybe some ice cream – to say nothing of my husband and two children.  But, these things are unpredictable, and we shall deal with whatever happens.  One way or another, we’ll get home eventually.  Everyone does.  And at the end, my family will all be together again.

One week

It’s Valentine’s Day in the Congo (except not, because it’s not really celebrated here), and I have now been here a week with my little love.  It’s been a long week.  You could tell me we’ve been here for three weeks and I’d almost believe you.  And yet, it hasn’t been too hard.  I think that will come, as more time passes, but so far, we’re all doing okay. 

Zola’s fussiness Tuesday night turned into a really bad night of sleep.  She would cry, moan, scream, didn’t want her pacifier or only wanted the bottle (but wasn’t eating).  I began to lose patience as the night wore on and wished for the first time since getting here for my own house and a rocking chair.  And, not for the first time, my husband.  The next night she slept better after a rough start (and ibuprofen, just in case), but thanks to her constant passing of gas, my post-nasal drip and sore throat, and the lack of exercise that’s part of being here, I slept poorly.  We’re both tired.  She cat-napped the last two days, mostly in the carrier while we’re out, with no big long nap like we’d had in the previous days.  She finally went down for a big nap this afternoon, just in time for us to go out for a group Valentine’s Day meal at a nearby restaurant.  This morning I went looking for drugs for me, just to make me feel a little less uncomfortable during the day, and realized that the acetaminophen I brought is PM.  I’ll probably take some before bed and then hope she doesn’t have another bad night.

The last two days have mostly been filled without outings.  Wednesday morning I went with a group of other adoptive parents to several of the large markets around here.  The outing is organized by an American woman who lives in Kinshasa with her family.  Her husband works for a mission organization that provides flights to people doing work in underdeveloped areas of the world like the DRC.  His particular job is mechanics on the planes, but others are here as pilots, medics, and so forth.  They’ve been here since April.  They’ll leave at the end of the year, then raise funds to come back for another three.  She’s started doing weekly runs to the markets for the families who are here doing adoptions.  She arranges the van and driver, who also helps at the markets, and goes to several different guesthouses and hotels where families commonly stay.  It’s a safe, low-stress way to go to some of the places that can be a little scary for Americans, especially those with young, Congolese children in tow. On our trip was two families here at St. Anne’s, plus me, and two families from another Catholic guesthouse across town.  Those families have been in Congo for one to two months because of various issues with their cases. 

We set out at 10:00AM in a blessedly air-conditioned van and started at a fixed-price shop where the goods are made by local people with disabilities.  There was lots of cute stuff, but I picked out two adorable dolls for Emme and Zola.  They’re nice and big, and I think Emme will like carrying hers in her carrier.  From there we went to the more common outdoor market.  I think we were literally the only customers there.  One mom who was there with two older girls and has been in country for a while stayed in the van.  She’d already done enough shopping, and she said the guys at the market liked to use the children as a way to get parents to buy stuff.  In addition to Lisa and the driver, there was an art dealer who walks around and helps families at the market.  He ended up hanging with me as I bought a variety of small things, mostly jewelry but also a toy for Oliver and a rattle for Zola.  I went to look at his art at the end and ended up buying a painting that I really liked.  It was pulled around a wooden canvas frame, so he pulled it off and I’ll have to redo it at home.  It’s not fancy, but I think it would be cute to hang in a hall or in the girls’ room – pretty colors that capture the feeling of this place.  Our last stop was the fabric market, which is just around the corner from St. Anne’s.  The fabrics are extensive and very beautiful.  They only sell them in six-yard bolts at around $3.35/yard.  I ended up buying four and definitely wish I’d had time to look a lot more.  It’s not a place where you can really haggle, but I want to get a little more variety than what I did yesterday (mostly blues and greens that will look pretty on both girls, and hopefully a skirt or something for me in there).

Lisa offered to take everyone out to lunch before heading back home, but Heidi, one of the other moms from St. Anne’s, and I decided to come back in so our babies could eat and sleep and cool off.  I fed Zola, looked through what I’d purchased, and relaxed a little before Heidi came up to see if I wanted to walk to Hassan’s for coffee with her and Keela.  We went over by ourselves – always a sight, since we’re three blonde women with very young Black babies in front carrier – and enjoyed waffles, crepes, and coffee.  On the way there, we saw a church service in session.  We realized that it was a special service in celebration of the visiting Catholic Cardinal, Francis Arinze, from Nigeria, who is one of the men reportedly being considered for Pope now that the current one has announced he is leaving the papacy.  While we were enjoying our sweets, a man at the table next to us came to chat and practice his English.  He, like evidently many of the people here, was confused as to why we were carrying around Black babies.  We explained we were adopting and why, and he seemed pleased with our answers.  He then proceeded to – if we understood correctly – try to pick up Heidi and ask her out for Saturday night!  She politely demurred but I think was unnerved by the experienced. 

After our snack I went looking for a few things.  It’s strange the little things I’ve looked for at the supermarket but can’t find – nail clippers, floss, a baby bottle that holds more than four ounces.  I can give you a long list of places to find carved elephants, malachite necklaces, stringed instruments made out of turtle shell, and even a small preserved crocodile, but I can’t find floss.  I did find toothpaste, which was good.  In the evening, we ordered in dinner.  It turned into a bit of a fiasco, as the driver brought way more food than we ordered but also insisted we pay for it.  When Keela realized the order, she was bold enough to call and argue for a refund (a word that I don’t think exists in Lingala!).  They did send the driver back, who demanded the extra food and then provided 1/3 of the cost back.  He was pretty unimpressed, and I doubt we’ll order from there again for a while. 

Today was more of the same.  I was up early because of the poor night’s sleep.  Joe and Lindsey wanted to go back to the market because they hadn’t had enough time the day before, so they got a driver through one of the other mom’s here, Christine.  We started at a more traditional art gallery, which had lots of beautiful paintings.  Had I not already purchased one the day before, I certainly would have gotten something.  Instead I picked up several handmade postcard type multimedia images (ink and fabric) that I think I can frame under a custom mat to have for Zola.  They were $1.50 each, so it was an easy way to take home something else for the wall without paying a lot or ending up with something large to carry home.  From there we went back to the market, where our art dealer friend – and probably everyone else there – recognized us and came over to walk around with us.  He was actually really helpful.  Joe is a very impressive bargainer and helped me get a few more things way cheaper, and when the guys wouldn’t come down in price, our handler would help us.  I have some pretty things to take home, for sure.  As we were leaving the market, Joe pointed out a small chimpanzee in an area where they sell birds and birdcages.  He was so cute, sitting there with his little banana or whatever he was eating.  It’s time like those I so wish I could take pictures!

We decided to do the fabric market later in the day in favor of time for lunch and naps for the kids.  Joe had arranged for one of his seller buddies on the street to get me a small RDC (that’s the DRC in French) soccer outfit for Oliver, and I went downstairs at 1:00PM to meet him.  He’s been very nice to the Barths, helping them find items they wanted to buy, including today a Bible in Lingala.  At 3:30, I begrudgingly woke Zola up from a nap to join our whole group out at a restaurant for a Valentine’s Day celebration that one of the mom’s arranged.  It was fun walking over together, but shortly after we got there, we found out that our walk has raised to the notice of some locals and perhaps police offers.  Several of the moms were really nervous about walking home, but Joe, who seems totally calm about that kind of thing, assured them it would be okay.  Zola was fussy the whole time we were there, which made it hard to enjoy being out (perhaps in combination with the lack of sleep), and I was ready to go pretty soon after finishing our meal.  The food was definitely good, if pricey (as it is here), and it was nice to get out again, though.  Just as dinner was ending and we paid, Christine’s daughter climbed up in her grandmother’s arms and then vomited all over her grandmother and the main dining room of the restaurant.  In the course of the next ten minutes, she got sick twice more.  At that point, I was cranky with Zola, nervous about all the unwanted attention we were drawing, and just ready to go.  I felt so bad for Christine – these things ALWAYS happen at the worst possible time (for me, when the kids are in their car seats and I’m driving).  We walked quickly and directly back to St. Anne’s without incident.  I gave Zola another bottle, after which time she took a little nap and then played a bunch.  She went down after yet another bottle around 7:30PM, and so far, she’s been pretty still here next to me on the bed.  Here’s hoping we both have a better night sleep so we can enjoy tomorrow.

The other family with my attorney just got their exit letter today.  They came after their son’s visa was already issued but one day after me.  The exit process can’t start until you have your child’s visa, so I’m only 2-3 days in.  But, if my letter comes as quickly as theirs does, I’ll be able to leave on my scheduled flight next Wednesday.  It seems like a long time out, but I know we’ll be fine.  Joe and Lindsey want to go back to the fabric market again tomorrow before they leave, so I’ll join them if I can.  If not, I might go back out with Lisa next week, just to fill our departure day with some last minute fun.  For now, I’m just thankful that I’ve gotten to see so much of city in relative safety, enjoy the company of people I certainly would otherwise not have met, and have had pretty minimal challenges with Zola.  All cause for celebration – minus the vomit.