An Onerous Case of Ennui

A few years ago, I wrote a poem on my iPhone while waiting in the DMV.  It was aptly entitled, "An Onerous Case of Ennui". It was about a guy, bored to death while waiting in the DMV, imagining an entirely fantastic alternate reality.  Lately, I've felt like writing a sequel.

Today marks two weeks since Sherrie and I arrived in Ukraine.  After the passport fiasco, the first week was nonstop activity to get things moving: SDA appointment, travel to the region, separation petition and process, submission of positive summary back to the SDA in Kiev.  Now, we're at the point that our adoption agency's travel guide warned when it said "you will have a lot of down time."  And you could say we're bored out of our minds.  And when you get really, really bored and see no relief in sight, it starts to make you angry.  So you become bored AND angry.  We're in an apartment with not enough seats for everyone to sit down, not enough technology to keep everyone entertained, not enough room to store more than a day's worth of food.  We don't have enough hot water to shower everyone and even if we did, we don't have enough towels to dry off.  We don't have enough fluency to enjoy TV or a movie, have an easy conversation with a native or easily order food from a menu.  We don't have enough signal strength to stay on Facebook for more than 20 minutes, use Skype without dropping or watch YouTube without stalling.  To top it all off, the food we're used to eating is not readily available.  While it makes for great family time, we're utterly bored.

We had a great time bowling on Thanksgiving - and it was cheap. Around $8 for 6 people to play for an hour.  It's only about a mile away and our kids love it so we decided to walk through the park and then spend some time bowling again today.  While we were there, our facilitators came by to discuss the week ahead.

Bad news: there has been a 5-business day rule that the SDA (in Kiev) adheres to when it comes to reviewing adoption summaries.  The SDA approval is required for a local court date.  Today, our facilitator told us that the 5-day rule was an unwritten one.  It was an internal policy that the prior director of the SDA adhered to but now there is a new elected head of the SDA.  The response to the request to abide by the 5 day rule is, "where is it written"?  Well, it's not.  Therefore, the SDA can return our approval whenever they feel like it.  In essence, the court date we hoped for late this week, probably won't come until sometime next week.  Translation:  more boredom.

So we headed off to the orphanage to visit Liza and follow up on yesterday's whopper of a day.  Last night had been rough for her and rough for us too in the wake of meeting her biological mother. Around 8PM we couldn't bear the thought of her being there without anyone to talk with about what had happened and yet, with our limited linguistics, we didn't know what we could say anyway.  Nevertheless, we called Liza on the cell phone we left with her. We spoke in Russian, Liza in English. Reagan spoke first, 

"Liza? It's Mommy."  

"Hi Mommy." 

"How are you?"

"I good."

"Yeah?  I love you."

"Me too."

"Daddy wants to tell you something."

Me: "Liza, it's Papa.  Are you OK?"

"Yes"

"We want you to know that we have been thinking about you a lot tonight."

"Yes, I understand you"

"We know that today was a very hard day for you."

"Yes."

"I know it is difficult for us to communicate right now - to understand each other. It will not always be so."

"Yes.  I know."

"I love you, my daughter."

"Thank you Daddy. Me too."

When we arrived this afternoon, we were greeted with a smiling, happy Liza.  We walked down to the soccer field where she pointed to a man playing soccer with some kids.

She nodded toward him, "American".

I recognized him from the grocery store the other night.  I had seen a man in line ahead of me at the checkout.  He hadn't spoken to the cashier at all (first clue) and when he took out his Ukrainian money, I had glimpsed a greenback. 

 I called out to him and we struck up a conversation. It turns out he's not only American, but he's from the Charlotte area, just a couple hours away from us.  Only, he's already been here 6 weeks for his adoption of two teenage kids.  And he was here in April when he and his wife came to adopt two other kids.  Yep, they're adopting 4 kids from Ukraine inside of a year. They have 10 kids in total.  Wow.  And a huge heart for adoption (obviously).  He is here now with his 14 year old daughter.  We talked about how obscenely boring it is to be an American here.  Since they already had their court date, they were able to keep the two kids they're adopting with them overnight at their apartment.  He said that on Sunday afternoon, as they realized the time was approaching to return to the orphanage, the kids just clammed up and were quiet the rest of the day, dreading it.

I have to admit, when you get here and you meet these kids and get to know them, it is REALLY hard to not want to take some home with you.  They are so sweet and funny and fun - and yet wounded and sad and alone.  Most have never known true family.  Most have never known parents who love and support them.  Many have never known parents who care for their physical needs. They rely on each other for love and support.  The girls walk around holding hands.  The boys move in packs.  They rely on the State for their physical needs. But even then, it's absolutely minimal.  In the US, poverty can be defined as not having enough money to buy an iPad or to go on vacation every year.  But here...  These children own *nothing*.  They wear clothes from a community closet.  Whatever is given to them is taken away or stolen.  They are allowed one shower per week.  Meals are not very exciting - soup, bread and a piece of fruit was on yesterday's menu.  Medical procedures go unperformed unless they are life threatening. Liza has chronic tonsilitis.  Something that could have been easily resolved if they had been removed years ago.  Not only do they have no possessions.  They have no family.  This is true poverty.

To parallel this experience, on of our twins, Isabel has taken to a cuddly stray cat who she looks for every time we arrive at the orphanage.  The cat is sweet and soft but without a home.  It stays perched on a rusty hot water pipe that runs behind one of the orphanage buildings so it won't freeze overnight.  As soon as she picks up the cat, it nuzzles right up to her neck and purrs.  It wants to be loved and it wants a home.  And she wants to take it home. This is why we brought our kids here.  To see all this.  To see how great they have it. To see what true poverty is.  She announced the other day that she wants to study Russian, become a missionary to Ukraine and come back here to start a shelter for all the stray cats and dogs that walk the streets.  That makes me a proud Papa.

As we walked back up from the bleak, dusty soccer field, I looked around at the old, dilapidated orphanage buildings and thought, "Wow, there is really nothing to do at this place.  Liza has lived here for nearly 10 years.  What in the world does she do?  She must be utterly bored.  Like me."  Then I felt really terrible for thinking that selfish thought, because I have a family.