Passport Update: Part Three

I don't want to bury the lede, so I'll just get right to the point: This may very well be our final passport update, because K's passport has been printed!

The last few weeks have been extremely rocky and emotionally difficult. Seeing a picture of our little love's passport this week, with her new full name, and bright shining eyes (what a big girl she is!) was a gut-wrenching relief. 

Since my last post on 1/31/19, there were more starts, stops, and tears than I can count. What a rookie I was when I noted in that post that the worst of this certainly had to be behind us. Obviously, I was wrong, and should probably just keep my mouth shut with my assumptions and guesses.

Here's a quick run down of what's been going on:

2/7/19: We learned that our agency, WACAP, is merging with another well-known agency, Holt International. Holt was on our short-list of agencies, and we have trust in their experience and knowledge. But, this could not have come at a worse time for us, personally. 
(My reaction: "OF COURSE. YEP. THIS IS GREAT. COOL. EXACTLY WHAT WE NEED RIGHT NOW.") 
Over the last 3+ years, we have built a relationship with WACAP and our program manager, and we learned that she is leaving the agency entirely, and has taken a job elsewhere. It's difficult to describe the feeling of being handed over to a new agency, knowing that we'll need to fill out some more paperwork (COOL), get to know a new program manager, and hope that they care about us as much as our past program manager has. Because she's a pretty great human, our WACAP program manager has offered to provide intermittent support on nights and weekends, to help us through the final stages. This is above and beyond, but is a testament to her commitment, and we could not be more grateful.

2/14/19: Civil and political unrest hit a new high in Haiti. It began around February 7th (well, last year, really) and we'd been following it closely. Much of the day-to-day life in Haiti has paused, as masses take to the streets to protest government corruption and insane inflation. On this day, the US raised the Travel Advisory to level 4 ("Do Not Travel"), due to the safety concerns caused by the widespread protests.

I won't do justice explaining all that has led to this, but I highly recommend taking a moment to do some googling about the history of the government (led by both a president and prime minister), the PetroCaribe deal, and the extreme economic inflation. It's disappointing that this is not more widely publicized in US news circuits; many friends I spoke with had no idea anything was going on. It only seems to pop up in the form of sensationalized stories about violence. But, I digress. 
Here are a couple of sources that explain some of the recent protests.
PBS

NPR

2/15/19: We learned that Embassy personnel and their families have been asked to evacuate, and the adoption visa processing has been suspended. We know that the passport printing has stopped as well, so this means that our last two steps to finalize our adoption will not be possible until the country is safe enough to return to a semblance of normalcy. Through this, we have felt some comfort in knowing that K's creche is fairly remote, and heard word that things were okay in her area.

After this announcement, we wept. I prayed. We watched from afar, feeling helpless, sad, scared, and concerned. As the protests continued, the president and prime minister did nothing of value to hear the concerns of the people or move towards meaningful resolution. We continued to read stories of people being unable to purchase food, water, or petrol. This beautiful country, these amazing people, they've had enough. 

Since this time, a relative sense of quiet has resume. It's a tenuous quiet, from what we understand, because nothing has actually been resolved. Protests could resume at any time.

2/25/19: We see an announcement that the Embassy will resume visa processing. Tacked on to this announcement is a warning that travel is still not recommended. This could mean that visas are completed, but families cannot travel to pick up their children. We don't know what this means for us; we are still waiting.

2/28/19: Late in the evening, after tucking Eisley into bed, I settled on the couch to decompress from the day. I glanced at my phone and saw an email from our former program manager. This was unusual, as we typically only hear from them during business hours. This means I'm on alert during the day, vigilantly keeping an eye on my inbox from morning to afternoon. But, once I leave the office, if we haven't heard anything, I assume it was another lost day, and I try to breathe until the next morning dawns.
I opened the email and realized she was emailing because this was the big one: K's passport is done.

Up Next: Visa

We've reached the final stage: visa. Our agency has told us that this stage is the only one that seems to move with any sense of consistency. If this holds true, K's visa could be printed within a week. Once her visa is printed, we can bring her home. 
But, because nothing can go smoothly, there are a few potential hitches we're keeping in mind.

1. The US Travel Advisory is still at a Level 4, and we don't know if we'll be allowed to travel, or when the Travel Advisory will be reevaluated. 
 Technically, we can book flights directly through airlines, but major travel search engines (Orbitz, Travelocity, Expedia) have removed Haiti from their search filters. For a short time, at least one of these search engines posted a message that traveling to Port Au Prince is illegal, which is wholly untrue and infuriating. This has since been removed, and now the airport codes are simply not recognized. This is already creating negative impacts on the Haitian economy, and likely will continue to impact tourism for an extended period of time, even when things are safe.

2. While we might be able to book a flight, our travel into the country could put undue strain on the resources of the creche. They provide us with transportation, food, water, and a space to stay. While we pay for this through our adoption agency, this is still a difficult time, and the focus should be on caring for the kids. 

3. There are undoubtedly other families who are also in limbo, and eager to travel to pick-up their little love(s) too. The creche only has two rooms to house families, so it's unclear how this will be handled. We would happily rent a space nearby for the week that we will spend in-country, but don't know if this will be an option. 

In the meantime, thank you for your prayers, good thoughts, good vibes, compassion, kindness, sensitivity, hugs, and high fives. Keep it coming.

Passport Update: Part Two

A short update, because I need a space to process.

I remember waiting in anticipation for Eisley to be born. Each day approaching her birthday was filled with a mixture of excitement, wonder, curiosity, and discomfort (because I was a whale and she was eight days late). I am disappointed that right now my feelings mainly rotate between apologetic (for not having answers for people), guilt (about work), frustration, and sadness. Then, I feel bad (more guilt) for feeling all these negative feelings, and not focusing on the delight ahead of us, and loop right back to apologetic again. It's a fun ride I've put myself on. 

My backfill at work has been selected for when my leave of absence begins (and I am genuinely excited for her), so naturally the  "is it time yet?" questions have increased. I am trying to be polite and patient with my "I don't know. I'll let you know when I know!" responses. Lately, my patience is waning. Or, maybe it's just that my emotional capacity is limited and less flexible right now. I fully understand the need to know and curiosity. I wish we could liken this to pregnancy, where the timing and expectations are familiar, and the experience is shared, and typically neat and tidy and comfortable. This just isn't like that. That's not to say that people haven't been kind and gracious and understanding. Each of you has been. 

Ultimately, we don't really have any updates. However, I thought I'd jot down the pain we've been feeling the last few weeks to share some of the limbo we've been living in.

1/15: As shared recently, we learned on this day that K's passport needed to be signed off by the creche's director, G, in-person. She was out of the country, and expected to be back in Haiti the following week.  This was a new, unexpected requirement, and for an unclear reason.

1/25: I reached out to ask if G had been able to sign-off on the passport yet. She had not, and would not travel to do this until the following week--a bit of a "lost" week, in our eyes. This delay was likely because another family needs her signature for their daughter's passport as well, so she probably planned to do both at once. We are thrilled for them, as we "know" them in the adoption community, but selfishly sighed at the delay. We also learned that the kids have to be taken on the trip to the immigration office, which makes the trip a bit more complex (and, I would guess, hard on the kids). 

1/28: G took the girls down to complete the sign-off, but "the system was down", so she could not complete the requirement. A wasted trip.

1/31: There is new confusion between our agency, representation, and immigration office; they are asking for a random document. No one seems to know what it is or why it's being requested. We don't know when this will be resolved.

To add to this, we also learned two weeks ago that K has a rash and infection on her leg. She is going to be fine, as far as we understand, but there is nothing that kicks me into mama bear mode faster and harder than my child being sick (or hurt or sad). Not being able to get a real-time update on her healing, and not being able to snuggle her and comfort her is nearly killing me. 

Additional Ambiguity

When we were first informed about this passport step, our agency hoped our passport would be printed by end of January-early February. They believed we might move quickly to Visa after that (the final stage). Well...now is the end of January, and the passport completion is not in sight.
Instead, we're starting to get the sense from others in the community that this might be the beginning of the passport phase, which is thoroughly confusing, and creates an even more fuzzy sense of how far out we are from being able to pick-up K.

We have been acutely aware throughout this process that things go sideways all the time, and there is "no normal". I am just so sad and frustrated that we are SO CLOSE, but obstacles continue to present themselves like mean and stinky whack-a-moles, and we haven't been equipped with a mallet. I know that we are through the longest part of the process, and the worst is behind us (it has to be, right?). I know that there is joy and wonder and our beautiful daughter ahead of us. I know that someday we'll look back at this period of time and wince, but feel less of this pain. But, while I know these things in my head, my heart can't quite catch up, and I just want to hug my littlest girl. 

For now, I'll squeeze Eisley tighter and keep carving out a space for self care: spending time at the gym, plugging into a favorite podcast (Reply All!), praying for peace and patience, and taking deep breaths. A lot of deep breaths. And wine. 

Passport Update

Oh, friends. We're close to bringing our little girl home, but still not quite there yet. 
I keep thinking my next update to our blog will be "the big one", but it just hasn't happened yet.

Catching Up

Back on 12/14/18, we received an update that K's file had moved to "MOI" (Ministry of Interior). This is where all of our paperwork is double-checked before our dossier is submitted to have a passport printed (essentially another layer of immigration sign-off in Haiti). This was apparently after it had proceeded through MOE and MOFA. So many "MO's". I don't fully understand all that happens in each of these stages, or even how long we were in each. But, the fact that all of our paperwork has gotten through each gate is worth celebrating. 

When they sent us our receipt notice for MOI, our agency told us that after getting through this step, we'd be in line for her passport, then her visa, and then we'd be able to bring her home.  Our agency's best guess (this has been their guess for many months) is that we were looking at "end of January" as the best estimate to when we would be able to travel and bring K home. But, as December ticked by quietly, trickling into mid-January, we have felt this estimate slip farther away. 

Over the last few years, whenever we've taken a vacation or a short trip away from home, we've nearly always received an adoption update of some kind while away. I was recently lucky enough to take a brief sunny vacation with some of my best old girlfriends (old as in "we've known each other since elementary/middle school", not old as in number of rotations around the sun). We spent time together, lounged, and did essentially nothing. It was pretty dang close to my idea of heaven (food, books, sun, friends), but I still found myself checking my phone, looking for that little email icon indicating "the big update" from our agency. Nothin'. I'll admit that on the flight home I felt overwhelmed and sad, and I just kept thinking, "I'm flying to the wrong place. This should be going to Haiti." 

Most Recent Update

Today, we received an email from our agency titled "Passport Update". My heart rate rocketed and my stomach jumped into my throat as I opened it. (Did yours do that to, when you saw the title of this blog post? Just being a little cheeky, I suppose, and sharing in the experience.)
Sadly, the update is not "the big one". K's passport is nearly ready, but the Haitian entities have determined that our power of attorney in Haiti (our creche's director, G) must sign in-person. This is unexpected, atypical, and unexplained. To make things more frustrating, G is out of the country until next week. This means that the passport will sit and wait for her to arrive back in Haiti and make the trip to the sign it. Once this is completed, the passport will be delivered to the Embassy, where it will be finalized, and her visa will be issued thereafter. We were told this usually takes "just a few days", but all of the "typically" and "usually" language we've heard over the last few years has proven inaccurate for our family, so please, don't hold your breath.

So...When? And then what?

Many friends (and even more co-workers) have asked how much notice we'll be given to book our travel, and when we'll know. This is yet another "shrug!" response. Some families travel when their passport is at the Embassy with the hope/assumption that the visa will be completed while they're in-country, and the timing will line up for when they plan to fly home. However, if the passport or visa is held up at the Embassy, this could backfire. We can't afford to travel open-ended to Haiti, so we'll likely wait to hear that her visa is complete before we book our flights to pick her up. Once we get there, we'll stay in-country (either at the creche, somewhere else on the island, or a combination of the two) for about a week before we are able to travel home. 

I've never really considered leaving the workforce, or being a stay-at-home parent. I love my job. It is a part of my identity. I find purpose in what I do, work with a kick-ass bunch of people, and am so grateful for the opportunities I've been given and the growth I've achieved in my million years in this corporate life. An mid-management career in HR with a mega-corporation is certainly not the path I ever thought I would take, but it has been rich and rewarding. 

However, I recently had the joy of spending some time with a good mama friend who has taken a break from working outside of the home to raise her littles, and it has given me a thrilling glimpse into what being home during my leave (~9 months) might be like. I am just so ready to pour myself into it all.
Admittedly, it is strange to feel as though I've reached a point in my life where I'm eager (and scared) to dedicate my soul to raising our girls for awhile. To wake up with a focus on bonding, teaching, learning, and breathing. (I'm not saying I'm planning to leave my job; I'm not!) I'm just over this wait. Tired of the lack of answers and clarity. Exhausted at being patient. 

I'm certain we still have a lot to learn ahead of us. I'm positive we're about to board a roller coaster that may feel a bit like having a newborn again (which was very hard for me), and a bit like nothing we've ever experienced before.  There will certainly be challenges ahead of us, but delights too. Let's just dive into it: the mess and the joy of it all.

Happy Birthday to Our Sweet K

Bonn Fèt, Bèl Pitit Fi Nou


Happy birthday, our beautiful daughter. 
Today, our littlest one turns three. She's still in Haiti, we're still in Seattle, and my heart is somewhere in between. I don't have any updates to share about when we'll be able to bring her to her new home, but I needed a space to process some of my thoughts and emotions around this.

I remember when Eisley turned three: we had a small party at our old house, with just family. It was sweltering, and the icing on her celebratory cupcake was sliding off, but she didn't mind--probably because she was wearing a birthday crown. I don't remember the exact gifts she received, but it's likely she was given books, puzzles, and imaginative play toys for her budding brain and imagination. 

Today, it's likely that K's birthday will pass quietly. Here, we will be celebrating "with her" from afar. Eisley is excited to sing happy birthday (let's be honest, she's excited to sing anything), and we'll probably enjoy a treat for K. We'd be honored if you celebrated with us, however you'd like and wherever you are!

As we began approaching the holiday season this year, it became clear that we would not be traveling to Haiti to pick-up K in time to celebrate her birthday, Thanksgiving, or (in all likelihood) Christmas in her new home. Against all advice, we have been holding our breath, thinking that November was our miracle month, and we'd be bringing her home before ringing in the new year. 
Here's why November has been such an important month for us:
-Almost exactly one year ago (November 28, 2017), we flew to Haiti to meet K for the first time.
-One year before that, November of 2016, Justin and I took a vacation to Boston and saw a little girl in an email, and just knew it was our daughter. Spoiler alert: it was! (I wrote more about that during that time, in this post.)
-One year before that, November of 2015, we had just been accepted into the adoption program with our agency, and officially began this winding journey. 

So, you can see why we were praying that November of 2018 would be when we'd get to the turn page, and begin writing the next chapter together.

Some Thoughts about Gifts and Things

The other vein of thought I've been mulling on is related to adoption, but also related to parenting in general. 

Over the past couple of years, we've been slowly gathering items that will be just for K: bright clothes for all seasons (think of the weather she hasn't experienced yet!), books starring strong girls and characters that look like her, a soft doll, warm blankets, small puzzles and toys. In the crèche, the kids aren't really able to have anything that is "just theirs". Essentially everything becomes a shared item, and we observed that this meant that toys and books were often hoarded and/or fought over. Because of this, things were often quickly broken and abandoned. We take for granted that playing and learning to take care of things are learned behaviors, and the reality is that this isn't a priority in the crèche. To be clear, this isn't intended as a criticism, this is just one of the many difficult realities that we experienced.

We also know how easy it is to take for granted our access to "stuff". The age of Amazon and fast fashion makes it easy to choose from a wide variety of things, get them quickly, and then discard/replace/get more. In my opinion, this lessens the value and appreciation, and can quickly turn us into "thing monsters". We're trying very hard to raise our family by building traditions, especially around the holidays, that center around service to others and giving, to try and balance against the overwhelming noise of the consumerist culture in which we live. But, I digress. 

I share this because we are in a unique position to introduce K to ALL OF THE THINGS, but feel a responsibility to be thoughtful in how we do this for her. I'll note that we are actively trying to do this with E too, but there is a unique difference between the two girls in this vein, based on their early upbringings. In our adoption journey, we've learned that too much (too much stuff, too many sensory offerings, too many experiences too fast) can be very overwhelming. So, while it's tempting to smother K in toys and trips and things, we'll need to be aware and take it slowly. And, just like any parent raising kids realizes that you can't raise all of your kids in the same way, we know that just because K is not far behind E in biological age, her development won't be the same as E's was at three years old. It will be thrilling to continue to introduce her to chunky wood puzzles, crayons and paints, and imaginative play toys, and watch her learn and express curiosity, and grow!


Jwaye nwèl, zanmi ak fanmi

Merry Christmas (and happy holidays), friends and family. Justin just brought up the Christmas tree and all of the accoutrements from the storage under the house, and Eisley is dancing around the house with glee, ready to decorate. I'm going to pour myself a cup of coffee and try to soak in the warmth of the season. Love to you and yours.

Adoption Decree, Adoption Certificate, and Article 23!

On August 29th, we received an email confirming that our Adoption Decree had been completed. The Decree shows that we are officially K's parents, and she has been given our last name. I don't think words can express how special it was to see this in writing. About one month later, the Adoption Certificate was sent to us; yet another official document with official signatures indicating our approved adoption. These were two huge steps, and continued to move our paperwork forward through Haiti, towards the finish line. With both of these documents, there was still no clarity on when we'd get to bring K home. To be frank, I didn't have the heart to publicly say this again, which is why I've delayed publishing this post. So, we've continued our patient wait, enjoying the gorgeous conclusion of summer in Seattle, and the colorful turning of leaves. Eisley moved into her pre-K class recently, and we've watched her continue to flourish and grow. It's funny how life keeps moving along, minute by minute, despite part of your heart being 3,400 miles away.

Justin and I arrived back home yesterday after an amazing week away celebrating our 10th year of marriage. We flew into Liverpool and spent a few days wandering the city, marveling at the strange Giants, touring the bombed out church and the Tate, and, of course, watching Liverpool FC take on Man City at Anfield. Then, we hopped a flight to Rome and spent a few more days eating ourselves silly and walking miles upon miles to see the sights. (Three simple words: cacio e pepe). We stayed in an adorable walk-up apartment that overlooked a courtyard and a cobblestone through-road. Each morning, we threw open the old wooden shutters and enjoyed a rich espresso in the window before heading out for the day.

I am so grateful to have gotten this quiet time with Justin, just the two of us. As we were talking about this trip a few months ago, we knew it was possible this was our last "big trip" together for some time, with the adoption impending. There has also been some turmoil at work recently, so it was well-timed for us to step away, re-center, and soak up some time together. How blessed we are. 

When we arrived in Liverpool, I told Justin, "For some reason, I feel like we'll hear an update about K while we're on this vacation."

Funny how these things work, because one day later, we received an email from our agency indicating that our paperwork had moved to the Ministry of Justice. These last steps are the most unclear to me, to be honest. We know that there is a series of signatures and checkpoints. We know that our paperwork goes through the Ministry of Justice (MOJ) and also Ministry of Interior (MOI). There is an application for her passport, and another visa appointment, and then we should be done. However, how long each of these takes and in which order is fuzzy. 

A day after the MOJ email, we received a second update: our Article 23 was issued on 10/4, certifying that the adoption has appropriately met Hague Convention procedures. This is another huge sign-off, and up next will be that visa appointment at the Embassy! 
Based strictly on the recent families who've finished their adoptions, our agency's best estimate is anywhere from ~1.5 to 4 months for these last steps to be completed. This means that we could be booking our trip to fly back to Haiti and bring our little girl home. Please pray for quick processing, safety through the hurricane season, and hopefully the next update you'll see from us is our homecoming plan! 

A couple of other things on my heart:

• There was a meeting held recently where IBESR shared updates on a recent evaluation of the 700+ orphanages/creches in Haiti to ensure they're meeting expectations. This will apparently lead to many orphanage closures, updates, and a focus on family reunification and foster care. There is a lot that I don't know about this, and much to be fleshed out and implemented. Adoptin is not always the right solution, and it is encouraging to see Haiti continuing to evaluate how to funnel resources to support children in the right ways.
• One of the amazing girls we met at K's creche is a super intelligent, kind, spitfire 7 year old. We knew that a family had been trying to seek a referral for her, and recently learned that they were denied. She is considered a "Waiting Child", and our agency is advocating for her placement right now. My heart has been hurting for her, as we can see her flourishing, and know she will continue to do so when she gets to her home. I truly wish our circumstances were different, and we could seek her as well. I'm praying that she is able to be matched soon.

Our Second Trip

It's been nearly a month since we returned from our second trip to Haiti, and I'm still waking up at odd times in the middle of the night, briefly thinking I'm lying in the quiet dark of the creche guest house in Kenscoff. I should start by noting that we don't have any updates on our timeline to bring K home. This trip didn't provide any insight into that, and we are still waiting (anxiously, impatiently) to hear about when our documents will finish their march through the court system, and when we get in line for a Visa and Passport (meaning, almost homecoming time!) 

This trip was very short (Thursday night-Monday afternoon, including travel), and not nearly enough time with our love, but was the amount of time we could both get away from work right now. Fortunately, we found that we were able to easily slide back into the daily routine we'd established on our bonding trip last winter. 

When we arrived back on the grounds, we were met with a solemn-faced K. We typically receive one picture of her each month along with a brief "status report" of her health and developmental growth, which doesn't vary much month to month. Based on those pictures, we have been slowly watching her grow from afar, but it was wonderful to see in person how her little legs had grown taller, and her healthy glow remained. When we first peeked into the room she lives in, it was post-lunch potty time, and many of the the kids were running around squealing and giggling. We tried to observe K for a moment without her seeing us, but the nannies quickly spotted us and handed her off (which is so jarring). We do think she recognized us, but the grins we'd seen a moment before turned into a set jaw and inquisitive (and suspicious) glare, which remained for most of the rest of our time in-country. I was even surprised to find that bringing out snacks was not a go-to way to re-engaging with K, as it had been last year! (Smart decision, my little love!)

To be clear, we did not expect K to run to us with open arms and be immediately joyful to see us again. That's just not her personality (thus far)! It's also not fair to expect this from such a wee one, after so many months away, and in such an environment. 

Over the few days we were there, we spent time with K and all of the kids, and were excited to get to reconnect with many of the kids we so cherished from our first trip. K warmed up to us for brief moments, mostly just before nap time and bedtime. But, we didn't have enough time to fall back into a solid routine with her. She was not interested in one-on-one time, playing and coloring up in the classroom, like we did daily on our bonding trip. It was disappointing, but we were grateful to soak up every moment with her and the other kids. We spent most of the days on the play field with the whole group, where we brought out the big legos, blocks, and building toys for the kids to play with and share. It was during this time that K would "allow" us to sit with her, play a bit with her, and be silly. She wasn't interested much in sitting in our laps, like she used to, but I can also very easily chalk this up to her being a 2.5 year old, striving for her independence. (That's my girl!) During play time, we were thrilled to see developmental growth: she was able to push together big legos on her own (and would also play with me by handing me the toys, asking me to put them together, and then taking them back and pulling them apart again); run around independently on the field; and even identify when she needed to go potty! 

A funny side note; the most grins and giggles I saw from K were during potty time. The creche's potty-training and toilet time method is very interesting. Directly following breakfast and lunch, all of the kids in K's room were stripped of their pants and sat on a plastic potty chair. They sat here for nearly an hour each go before they were cleaned up and clothed again. Because this was such a long period of time, the kids get a little stir-crazy, and it's kind of hilarious. If you wandered into the room during this time, you were bound to see the kids hollering, tossing their shoes at each other, laughing their little heads off, and, eventually, running full-bore around the room, tiny naked butts abound. It was a smelly time of day. For some reason, K would open up a bit during potty time, and she'd participate in all of the loud and raucous silliness occurring. We would peek in to see her brilliant and slightly devious smile, because we didn't get to see that much during other times.

Overall, we didn't hear much from K during this trip. We did hear moments of her very tiny voice, but it seemed as though she was not interested in communicating verbally much. She clearly hears others and responds to questions and directions, but where many of the kids were babbling, teasing, and hollering, she was not apt to join in. I don't know that this is a concern, but for now, just an observation we noted.

Speaking of speaking: The weekend prior to our trip, Justin and I were finally able to participate in a Haitian Creole bootcamp, led by the inimitable Gloria. Anyone who is interested in learning Creole will come across a handful of reputable and thorough resources, Gloria being one of the big ones. We've been working (painfully slowly) through her curriculum since our first trip, but I will be the first to admit that learning another spoken language is very challenging for me. I also recognize that I've been allowing this statement to be an excuse, blocking my energy and motivation. Taking part in a three-day intensive bootcamp with Gloria and a handful of others was incredibly impactful and helpful in growing some of our language skills and understanding of the structure and application of Creole. Because of this, we felt just a tiny bit more comfortable in our communication on this trip, more equipped to express ourselves and connect with the nannies and children. The driver, director, and a couple of the nannies even recognized our (again, very minor) improvement, and it helped us to continue to build relationships. We have a long way to go, but being the foreigners in-country, we recognize that we are responsible for learning the language and culture of Haiti, as opposed to expecting that everyone meet us where we are and speak English. We feel a great sense of responsibility to ensure that K's heritage is present and recognized in our home and in her upbringing, and this is one of many important facets of that! (Plus, it's an amazing, rich language, and just really cool to learn.)

One of the more difficult parts of our trip was saying goodbye to one of the creche's founders and directors, L. As shared in a previous post, we knew that he was very ill, and seeking treatment in the States. Shortly after that post, we learned that the treatment was not successful, and L had returned home to Haiti, to live out his days in peace, surrounded by family, friends, and the beauty of his home country. We were not honestly sure if we would make it back to Haiti in time to see him again, and even if we did, if we would be able to spend any time with him. When we first arrived, we were able to speak with L on the phone, and he said he would plan for us to visit during our time at the creche. The driver, Roberto, let us know that L was "doing okay". 
Likely due to L's illness, and G's sabbatical to care for him, we noticed a few small differences in our stay at the creche. Among these, our meals were slightly different, and the electricity was not as stable, so we experiences periods of time where we did not have electricity in our room.
Roberto returned on Monday to take us to the airport, and we were pleasantly surprised to hear that we would be able to stop and visit with L before proceeding to Port au Prince. L had clearly gone out of his way to rise from bed to see us, and despite his pain and discomfort, proceeded to act as the welcoming and kind host he has always been. We kept our visit short, and it is a memory I will always hold in my heart. After we returned to the States, we learned that L was no longer able to accept visitors, and he passed away shortly after, returning home to the Lord. I don't think I can truly express the gratitude I have for L and G, and for the many, many lives they have touched so deeply. We are so blessed to have known him.

I'll leave you on this lighter memory: On the first day of our trip, we saw enormous buckets of ripe yellow mangoes carried into the creche, and each day following, the kids were each given an entire mango to enjoy. It was a sticky mess, but I've never seen a happier bunch of kids, sitting in the sunshine, devouring the sweet fruit. (Hot tip: you may use this as a torture mechanism on Justin. He cannot handle sticky hands.) They were experts at cleaning out the fruit, from skin to pit, and this was one of many times that I took pause to reflect on the simple joys in life. We have so much to be grateful for, and so often feel burdened by the fray of work, raising E, daily routines, etc., and get caught up in the complaints and stress. But (and if you know me, you'll hear me say this often, semi-jokingly), boy are these FIRST WORLD PROBLEMS. To return to Haiti and the creche reminds me that there are much greater things in this world to care for, worry about, and direct our passion towards.

My challenge to you: Next time you find yourself annoyed by traffic, or when your Amazon Prime order arrives later than you wanted, or when you can't find your cell phone...just stop for a moment. Open your eyes and look around you. Reflect on all of the good you have. Express gratitude. Recognize the pain or needs of others. And, most importantly, give.

Our Bonding Trip: Part Two

Bonjou zanmi!

We're settling into the swing of a hot and busy summer here. May brought Mother's Day, June brought my birthday and Father's Day, July will bring Eisley's birthday, Gloria's Haitian Creole boot camp, and a trip to see K again! We are missing our little love like crazy, so have booked a (very quick) trip back to Haiti at the end of July. We'll again stay at the creche, wake up with the roosters, and spend the days playing, cuddling, and feeding K snacks. (This is the current way to her heart and one of many reasons why I know she is my girl.)

I'm counting down the days until we get to squeeze her again, and I admit that (among many emotions) I'm feeling nervous. How much will she recognize or remember us? Will we have to rebuild our connection from scratch, and spend the entire trip working to reestablish trust and comfort? Will the nannies continue to laugh at our poor attempts at Creole? (Just kidding. This one is a given, and that is okay. We're working on it.) 

I realized that in the midst of our busy days, I've fallen off the blogging train. I've even had a draft percolating since we came home from our bonding trip last December about some of day to day experiences in Haiti. In all honesty, it took so much energy and emotion to process the experience, let alone refine it into consumable words, that I've not been able to go back and finish that particular draft. However, in thinking about actually being back in country again, I wanted to dust it off. 

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If you want to put yourself back into the scene again, go back to Our Bonding Trip: The Arrival and Our Bonding Trip: Connecting with K.



A few memories from how we passed the days on our bonding trip last year:

As we settled into the creche, it took some time for us to find a routine or sense of normalcy. Two weeks is a long time to be in one place, let alone in a small orphanage tucked away on a remote mountainside in Haiti. The surrounding area was breathtaking. We had a small deck behind our bedroom with just enough space for two chairs and a table that overlooked the mountain and surrounding foothills. During the kid's nap time or when the sun went down, Justin and I spent time sitting here, decompressing. Reading, writing, listening to music or podcasts, or just gazing down at the valley below, it was a small space away from the chaos of the day. 

In the morning, children who lived in small shacks in the valley climbed up the hillside to walk to school. Goats grazed on the brambles here throughout the day. In the evenings, the sounds of parties drifted up the mountainside, bonfires crackling. 

After waking in the mornings, we took turns running (almost literally) through the cold, slimy shower. The bathroom was fed by a water reservoir above the building, and at times it collected a thick, dark green algae. On lucky days, the trickle of shower water slowed more than usual, and unexpectedly spit out chunks of algae. A free spa experience! 

We were fed our meals away from the children in the classroom that overlooked the playfield. Typically we ate before the kids, so as soon as we'd downed our food, we would hurry back to K's room and help with the feeding/entertaining/dressing. (Really, we tried to assist with whatever we could, however we could insert ourselves.) During our first week in the creche, K was still in the infant/waddler room, so the help seemed mildly appreciated. During our second week, when she moved into the toddler/preschool-aged room, the little ones were expected to feed themselves. It was challenging to watch this transition, from no autonomy (in fact, they were discouraged from using their own utensils in the littles room, perhaps because of how slow and messy it was, and it was hard for me to adapt to that) to total autonomy at meal time. 

We passed the days with K and the other children playing and sitting, mostly on the play field. Once K was semi-comfortable with us, we scooped her up and spent a couple of hours with just her in the classroom space. This allowed us some time away from the fray of all of the children, connecting with her individually in a quiet space. It was clear at first that she was not sure yet how to play. Blocks, crayons, playdough - it all seemed foreign. This was a good reminder to us that in this environment, with so many children and only so many hands to go around, one-on-one learning time was just not possible. But with some time and patience, we saw the most incredible strides, even to the point where she could mimic us pushing a paintbrush around on a canvas or stacked up blocks and then gleefully crashed them down, like any other two year old. Each activity lasted mere minutes, but each minute of play gave us a tantalizing peek into her growing, hungry, capable brain. On a few of the days, she was overly tired and not interested in playing, and I was able to rock her to sleep. I feel teary now thinking about her napping in my arms, her soft snores and hot breath on my neck. These are the delicious moments.

After she grew bored with us, and our small bag of snacks was not enough to distract any longer, we'd take K down to the field where the other children were sitting or playing. I may have mentioned it before, but this had been built not long before we arrived, and it is an integral space for them to play safely together. I can hardly imagine what they did before it was there, and feel so grateful for all of the hard work others put into creating this space. The kids were down there for many hours each day, and the first few days moved slowly. Then, we learned to bring down a bag of big legos, blocks, and soft toys from the classroom space and dump them on the field. The first day or two, this led to total chaos: they did not know how to share or play together. But, kids are remarkably smart, and they soon learned to (mostly) disperse the toys and the bags they'd come down in. These, a small tricycle, and a couple of soccer balls passed the afternoons in the sunshine. K would usually sit contentedly on or near one of us, hoarding a pile of legos, and screeching when friends tried to take them from her. I think I was chanting pataje (share) and pa jete (do not throw) in my sleep.


Lunch was served, and the littles were quickly put down for naps. Sadly, there was very little play time between nap, dinner, and bedtime, but we found spaces of time that we could slip in and be silly with the kids, or bring K outside of her room to play with us and a few soft books in the setting light.


When the noise of the children crying became overwhelming, we would leave the creche grounds for our daily walk. I'm not a great estimate of distance, but our walks took us over the winding, pothole littered roads back to the main road; maybe 30 minutes each way? Part of our walk was dusty and desolate, part of it was verdant and populated. We'd practice our Bonjou! or Bonswa! as we passed groups of children in their school uniforms, families sitting outside of their small homes, or motorbikes taxiing passengers to and fro. More than once, brave school children darted out to practice their English with us. One afternoon, a little girl clamped onto my hand and held on, staring up at me with wide eyes down the long path home, while her two girlfriends stared and giggled. We were clearly a foreign sight, a novelty, and it was humbling.

We got into a regular routine of walking down the mountain to a particular bend in the road where we could pause and sit on the wall built next to the road and look down over the valley and all of Port au Prince. It was gorgeous. At times we could watch fog and clouds roll over the hillside, shrouding the city. We could almost taste the precipitation hovering in the air. I don't think I would have made it through the two weeks without these walks that broke up our days and allowed us some respite together.

On the second week of the trip, when the second couple came to the creche, we'd sometimes walk together. The wife of this duo has spent time working in Haiti, and was much more comfortable in making her way around. On our treks, we wandered by what appeared to be a small store front, a small wooden building with items stacked on shelves. Outside, locals often sat around tables or a small grill, drinking and throwing dice. With her additional knowledge and confidence, our new friend recognized that we could purchase bottles of dusty, cold Prestige, the local beer, from the shop. Amusingly, one evening, we had dinner at the director's home, and director L slyly mentioned that he'd heard we had enjoyed a Prestige the prior evening. "I have eyes everywhere." he commented and laughed. 

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Baby girl, we know from the few pictures we've seen that you are growing and changing every day. We miss you so, and will be there soon. Nou renmen ou, manman ak papa