Tragedy

Last week when Hani and I were weeding, she very carefully pulled a long piece of long grass, exposing the sweet, succulent piece at the bottom. She put it in her mouth and sucked on it saying, "Mama! This is water like in Sidama!" She explained that she was very thirsty in Sidama, and that she learned to pull the long grass up so that she could suck the scant water from the end. I can't stop thinking about how thirsty she must have been to appreciate that little drop of water.

Melese is little. I mean, not even on the charts for his age... except for his head. The first time we brought him to the doctor he was at less than 5th percentile for height, less than 5th percentile for weight and 84th percentile for head circumference. Kinda funny, right? His huge head on this little tiny body. We joke that he is like a lawn dart, because every time he falls he falls directly to his head. We actually wondered if he might be a little person, because his proportions are so different than any toddler we had ever seen. But he's not. He's actually so little because when the body is malnourished, it tries to save itself by sending all of the nutrients to the brain. The rest of the body stops developing, in the hopes that the brain can be saved.

Hani and Melese are from Sidama. It is the birthplace of coffee. The land is beautiful, but harsh. People survive by being subsistence farmers. And there is a drought. There has been for several years in a row. I read one report that struck a chord with me, since I am a farmer's daughter. They said that a local farmer, Hussein Muhammad, rubbed two sheaves of wheat together and the husks turned to dust in his hand. His whole field. Everything he had planted was gone. They have no crops left. Their watering holes have dried up and their livestock are dead or dying. Food prices have risen 270% in some areas.

The famine that is coming will effect 15 million people. In 1980, Ethiopia became famous for pictures of starving children. Over one million people died. One million. That's like the city of Dallas starving to death. This famine is expected to be far, far worse. I can't comprehend what that would look like. But Hani and Melese can. They've spent days, weeks, months being thirsty. And hungry. Feelings that the average American really don't have any clue about. They are safe now. Eating pasta salad and far too much ketchup right this minute. But the family that they left behind in Sidama are right in the heart of the area hardest hit. Three little boys are on my mind, just three out of millions, are sitting in the hot sun being hungry and thirsty and maybe dying. And they are breaking my freaking heart. I can't help them specifically. But maybe, just maybe, if enough money for food and water and help goes towards Sidama, a little trickle will get to them.

I have said it before and I will say it again, that my children are beautiful and special and miraculous. They are these amazing little people who I fully expect to change the world. But it was nothing that we did that made them so special. There are millions of children, just as special and wonderful and incredible as they are. They should be growing up to change the world and they aren't. They are dying. Their parents are listening to them cry for food... food that they can't give them. And this is a travesty. And it makes me so angry... and so ashamed.

I can't stand the thought of those little boys with my son's eyes waiting for food that will not come, so we're going to help. And I hope you will, too. Here are some ways you can.

Plumpy Nut Fundraiser- Plumpy Nut is a life saving food suplement. It has been proven to work better than anything else that they have tried.

Doctors Without Borders

Not Your Mama's Popovers (if your Mama could cook, that is)

If you are desperately looking for something to cook for supper and your cupboard looks like this...

and you don't want a meal consisting of plain noodles or plain rice (or noodles or rice with grape jelly on them) and you think to yourself, "Self, remember when you used to make popovers and make a filling? That was delicious! Why don't you do that any more?"
It is at this time that you might spontaneously decide to start making popovers for supper.
You might think, "All that they are made of is eggs, milk, flour... we have everything!"
But then you might start cooking and realize that you don't have regular milk, you only have almond milk. You'll probably decide that this will work fine. And then, once all of the eggs and milk are beaten together and it has gone to far to turn back, you might realize that you only have wheat flour. You'll continue on, not wanting to waste all those eggs and milk. And then you might remember that the reason you quit making popovers was that your popover pan broke and all you have is a muffin tin. You'll convince yourself they are pretty much the same thing. But they aren't. And then, your popovers will turn out looking something like this:
Little, eggy, hockey pucks. Which, I might add, are very difficult to fill with the truly delicious creamed vegetable mixture you made. So you'll have to slop it all on top and hope it hides what your children might dubiously refer to as "muffins."
Theoretically speaking, of course.

My Hani...

When we went to Ethiopia to visit, Hana was terribly scared of us. She cried every time she saw us. I went upstairs to help feed Melese and Nathan was left with Hana in the courtyard with only the guard to keep them company. When I came back downstairs, Hana was slowly walking back and forth across the courtyard with Nathan holding one of her hands and the guard holding the other. It was then that I saw the first little glimmer of that sunshine... her huge eyes blinking like an owl.
When we came to bring her home, Hani was excited to see us. She cried once when we got to the guest house and everything suddenly got really real. She loved the clothes and toys we brought for her, and wanted to make sure she got to keep them. Every day she packed everything that belonged to her in her 'bursa,' a big, red Hello Kitty bag. It was so heavy, but she wanted to carry it herself, and she wouldn't leave anything behind. Every night when she started to get tired or she had had enough of trying to communicate with us, she would go to her bed, carefully set her shoes at the foot, and climb into bed. When I woke up in the morning, she was always watching me sleep. I often wonder how much she actually slept during those hot, humid nights as we listened to the sound of the herd of donkeys under our window and the hyenas digging through the garbage pile that was at the end of our neighborhood.

When we went back to the care center and saw her friends, she told them all, "I've been with Americans all night! I can hardly even believe it is true!" At least, that's what the nannies said that she had said. It could have been, "Wow, that crazy white lady sure does snore!"
Things were a fairy tale for her at first. So much attention and love. No real competition, because she had me and Melese had Nathan. She was content and happy and cooperative and pleasant for the entire trip home. And then her competition, in the form of Meron, arrived.

I have never done anything so hard as to try to learn how to love Yenenesh while she was being mean to Meron. Every. Single. Thing. was a competition. Every thing that went contrary to what Hana wanted was a slight and a sure sign that we hated her. She went through about a week of tantrums that lasted for an hour at a time and occurred several times per day. It was so hard to be the mom that I wanted to be for her. I was at war with myself, understanding her need to control her environment and find her place in our family, her incredible grief and confusion and trauma... but hating what she was doing to Meron and to Melese and to Nathan and I. I know that others have tales far, far worse than I concerning their newly adopted 4 year olds, and I knew all of the things that could happen. But nothing could have prepared me for trying to protect two children, one of whom was being hurt and the other who was hurting.
After that first week, an uneasy calm descended. She was... a lot. Too much. Too eager to please, too in our faces, too upset at any type of redirection, no matter how gentle. It was easier to deal with her, but still hard to like her. Because it wasn't her. Not the real her. Then, the other shoe dropped. We went through a week in which she finally found her voice. Told us off at every turn. And then, at the end, sat in my arms and cried for her family in Ethiopia. She finally had enough language to ask why. And I told her. And she understood. And she transformed into this... wonderful little person she was meant to be... the one I got just a glimpse of on our first trip to Ethiopia. The one I can't do without.

My Hani is pure sunshine. She is sweet and good and kind and helpful. She is a perfectionist and a fierce competitor. She is so open and loving and trusting, which is absolutely miraculous if you take into consideration what she has gone through. I don't understand how it is possible that my tiny, chubby little girl with her big belly and sad eyes turned into this tall, achingly lovely girl.


I rocked with her tonight, before I put her to bed. She almost purrs with contentment when I hold her. She looks into my eyes and glows, soaking up my love. We have a game that we play, that she started when she was working on remembering her English words. She says she loves me as big as the room. I say I love her like the house. She says she loves me like a train. I love her like 20 trains. She loves me (said very excitedly) like 5!! trains (still working on counting...). Tonight, I said I loved her like the whole world and my Hani Yenenesh said, "I love you like... like... my family" and gave me a big kiss on the nose. I can't think of anything bigger than that.