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.
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