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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.