Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Two months exactly from getting the referral, Garen and I were on a plane to Uganda. Hugging our older boys goodbye, without knowing when I would see them again, was one of the hardest things I had done as a mom. Keegan moved home from college to be with Zade while we were gone. He would willingly commute to classes. Grandparents and friends were going to look in on them often. I wasn’t worried about them, but I knew how badly I was going to miss them.

The number of states I had visited was in the single digits. The closest I had been to international travel was a Disney cruise we had taken over a decade before. What I was about to do was CRAZY. I was moving to Uganda, with no idea when I would be home. I was moving to Uganda with no experience living in a foreign place.

The enormity of what I was doing was highlighted in a small way when we landed at the Amsterdam airport. I hadn’t slept in over 24 hours; I had not been able to eat because I couldn’t look past all I had to do and my head hurt so badly I could barely see. Garen went into a little shop and came back saying, “I think this is for headaches. Nothing is in English, and the clerk didn’t speak English. Maybe just take two?” And then it took me a hot second to figure out the toilets. The coffee didn’t taste the same. I was assaulted by innumerable languages written and heard. I felt like a shell. No one saw me. No one could understand me. I was alone in a crowded place. Garen and I sat and just held hands, squeezing one another every few minutes to remind ourselves we weren’t completely alone.

Boarded for the last leg of the journey I was paralyzed. I was heading into something so unknown that I had no way of knowing what all was unknown until I was there and not knowing it. I was about to meet my youngest son, what if he hated me? What if I couldn’t communicate? What if the judge said no and we had to go home alone? What if something happened back home and we were a 24-hour journey away? What if I had to live in Uganda for six months after Garen had gone home? That was the projected timeline. How could we afford that? What if I got sick? What if the plane crashed into the sea? What if I lost my passport?

Saint Jude must have had his hands full with me in that moment because when we landed in Uganda it all fell away. It was pitch black. Eleven o’clock at night. We were the only white people in sight. But the sing-song lilt of Ugandan English was so beautiful to me that I was instantly enchanted. The warm, sticky night air was scented with a foreign but delicious scent that I miss today. Every person we encountered gave us a smile, even though it was late. And walking out of the airport to the crowd of men holding signs with names was a scene straight from a movie.

We found our driver and immediately fell into an easy camaraderie with him. We chatted all the way from Entebbe to Kampala. He helped us get our bags out of the car and left us to check in. We were given chilled glasses of mango juice at midnight and I fell in love with the hotel we had chosen to live in for the duration of our stay. I kept saying I could not wait for the sun to rise so I could see my new home. I had fallen in love with the adventure of it all. There would be anxieties along the way, but every day I would grow to love Uganda more and more and more.

Our driver had promised to be back early next morning for us to go meet our new son. Garen and I could not sleep. We took some time to unpack and to try to make things fit in our tiny, tiny room that was going to be our new apartment for a while. And I tried to be okay with the lack of space.

We fell asleep and I slept more deeply than I ever have in my life. However, the strange birdsong had us up early. Birdsong is being kind. That dumb bird screamed and screeched us awake every morning we were there. I hated that bird. Now I miss that bird.

I tried to shower but the water was so scalding hot that we couldn’t use it. We went down to the front desk to ask for someone to take care of it and our impressions of everyone from the night before was absolutely correct. Everyone was so happy to help us.

Garen and I went to breakfast and what fun it was to sit in the restaurant, with all its windows open to the cool morning breeze, the sounds of the traffic waking up, the calls of people to one another as they arrived at work. So many amazing foods to try, we quickly threw out the advice to not eat fresh fruit or vegetables for fear of sickness. It all looked too good to walk by and ignore. And we never once got sick.

After breakfast, the girl from the front desk found us wandering around the gardens and asked why we hadn’t complained about our room. She declared it was too small for an extended stay and insisted we look at several rooms and choose a better one. So, the rest of our morning was spent repacking our belongings and moving to a bigger room. The new room was higher up and had a balcony we could sit on and look over the treetops. I was very relieved; it would be far easier to live in this larger space.

And suddenly it was time. Time to be taken to the orphanage and be introduced to our son. There was so much to look at and see and I wanted to soak up as much of Uganda as I could for my youngest son that the drive didn’t seem to take that long. I was determined to hold all the sights and smells and happenings for my Mini-est Miller. If he was going to be American, then we would be Ugandan as well. That only seemed fair. And in a city of more than two million there was certainly so much to see and learn.

We turned from a paved road onto a dirt track. The house on my right was one room, made of brick. There was a cow with giant horns tied up in the dirt yard. A dog lay in the shade and a small child ran around with a stick. A woman cooked over a fire just off her front door. A few yards on and we were at a pair of large metal gates. They opened a crack, and we were ushered through. There was so much bustle and life going on behind those gates. Curiosity of the Mizungu, white people, spread impossibly fast and soon a crowd of children was following us through the rooms.

I was so impatient. I wanted to shout, “Just show me my son!” but I didn’t. And suddenly we were standing before a door. When it opened, we saw a room with so many, many bunkbeds in it. And Aggrey was saying, “Timos! Come say hello to your new Mommy and Daddy.”

The little boy from my dream, with his eyes glued to the floor, slowly, slowly walked over to us. He knelt down in front of us and held up his hands. A traditional Ugandan greeting by a child to an adult. My legs literally gave out and I fell to my knees in front of him. Surprised he looked up and I booped him on the nose. What I wanted to do was grab him and kiss his little face and hug him forever, but I didn’t want to scare him.

When I booped him on the nose his little eyes got wide and he gave me the shyest, most beautiful smile I will ever witness in my life. And then he was gone. Because Garen had reached over me, scooped up the Mini-est Miller and held him tight. The smile Garen got from this tiny little boy was not shy in the least. It was joyful. Timos loved his Daddy from the first moment he laid eyes on him. And my heart swelled. There was an immediate connection, and I knew there would be no problems with bonding or attachment issues. My relief was incredible.

Garen wouldn’t put Timos down for a month! These two explored Uganda together and let me tag along. Sometimes Garen would feel guilty and apologize that Timos so obviously preferred him. It truly didn’t worry me in the least. I knew that where one attachment was formed, another could follow! Once Garen went home, leaving Timos and I to finish up the Visa process, we would forge our own bond. I just knew it and so I didn’t worry.

Our first order of business was to drive to Mpigi and meet with Timos’ probation officer so she could make us his foster parents. This would allow him to stay with us at the hotel, instead of needing to go back to the orphanage every night.

On the way, we pulled over to a shop on the side of the road and immediately our car was surrounded by children who were shoving sticks of meat and bottles of soda into the car for us to buy. Timos was so indescribably tiny and hungry that he grabbed one and began eating it right away. Garen got one too and those two enjoyed their first meal together – road kill goat liver on a stick.

Finally, in Mpigi we drove to what looked like an abandoned part of town. Our driver and Timos’ social worker tried to hide the fact that we were white from the probation officer by having us stay outside and away from the windows. But word had gotten out and she insisted on seeing us, which meant it was going to cost us to become Timos’ foster parents.

It was a giant government building, sitting in a quiet field. The silence was strange, unfamiliar. We walked in through tall, wide doors into a quiet hall. Went up quiet stairs and sat in a quiet office. I was so unnerved. The silence, the slow pace – it was all so different and added a layer of stress over an already surreal day. It took an hour, but we walked back out into the quiet outdoors with foster papers in our hands. This child would be with us for the duration! But we were warned that our foster papers could be revoked by anyone, for any reason, and we were to never go anywhere unattended. That meant that when soldiers threatened to beat my son for disobedience, Garen and I had to stand aside helplessly, because they could do worse than hit him. It was a strange moment in my life, realizing I was walking in a land where the freedom I had been born to was nowhere to be seen, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

With nothing more to be done that day we were dropped back to our hotel. When we pulled up Timos stripped off his red sweatshirt and threw it onto the floor of the van. I picked it up and handed it back to him. He threw it down again and jumped out of the car. On some level, this four-year-old boy KNEW his life had changed. That sweatshirt symbolized the old way, and he was rejecting it. HARD.

Walking into this beautiful hotel must have been like walking into a dream. In an instant Timos was treated with a deference he had never known. With wide eyes Timos asked me, “Daddy is important?” I told him yes. Daddy was important. And Timos was important too. He could not look away, almost like if he broke eye contact this new reality would slip away. Suddenly he was no longer yelled at to go away. No longer slapped or shoved aside. Adults were asking what they could do for him. Bringing him whatever he asked for. Scrubbing floors that before, he would have had to scrub.

Upon entering our room Timos immediately began to explore. How strange it must have looked to his tiny eyes. Only one giant bed in a large room, instead of many small bunk beds. A desk. A deck with a table and chairs for all of us. A bathroom INSIDE. A sink for water. A refrigerator. A box on the wall blowing cold air.

When it was time for dinner, we asked Timos what he wanted to eat. He didn’t know. He had never had a choice and had never really had access to variety. We ordered several options so Timos could try them all. And in typical kid fashion, Timos fell in love with French fries. But he liked EVERYTHING. Especially the bottle of Orange Soda.

In Uganda, orange soda is a very special treat for children in the orphanages. They will usually get a bottle for Christmas, or if they are lucky enough to be included, in a celebration. We knew this and ordered a bottle for Timos for his first dinner with us. He very carefully only drank half of it. After dinner he filled the bottle with water and stuck it in the refrigerator. The next day he drank half and refilled it. By the next day I saw what was going on, saw the insecurity, saw the fear, so before lunch I took it out of the refrigerator, told him everything was going to be okay, and dumped it in the sink. He watched me with a stony face, clearly not believing me when I told him I would buy him another one. We walked down to the restaurant, and I immediately ordered him an orange soda. But I didn’t let him take it with him when we left. I ordered another one for the room. And another one for dinner. And another one for the room. And another one for lunch the next day. And another one for the room. And so on.

Timos never drank more than a few sips of the soda. He didn’t really LIKE orange soda. He would always get a glass of water WITH ICE and that was his nirvana. Cold, cold water. (To this day he doesn’t drink water without ice.) But what that orange soda represented was worth every penny spent on undrunk soda. It taught him that he no longer had to go without. He never had to be hungry. He never had to be thirsty. He never had to be alone.

This was a child that knew what it was to sleep on the streets of a huge city and now he was nestled into bed between two people, that he called Mommy and Daddy from day one. He began by sleeping in a tiny ball with his little arms over his head. Protecting himself. Within a week he was sleeping with his arms and legs flung wide. Vulnerable and trusting US to protect him while he slept.

This tiny child ran into his new life. He embraced it. He had been praying for a family and he wasn’t going to waste this opportunity. He constantly talked about America and when we would all be there. Every morning when we first woke up, he would ask if we could go shopping.

I’ll never forget our trip to the source of the Nile. In the middle of the river there was a floating shop. Our boat pulled up, we disembarked and went inside. Timos never, ever touched ANYTHING when we were in shops and stores. But there was this gorgeous carved wooden tiger that he couldn’t resist. Timos timidly picked it up, turned to me and hesitantly asked, “Mommy? Can I have this?” I told him yes, he could, and he just hugged that little thing so tight.

I am convinced it was the first THING he ever wanted. His life had been about surviving. Getting food, clothes, shelter. No time or reason to want something just to own it. He was never shy about asking for things after that. He LOVED shopping. Not for the material things he got, but because it was proof that things were different now. Ice in his water and being able to go buy a little bag of peanuts in the shop in the lobby – his life was pretty great now.

I still find it rather humorous that this tiny person was so pragmatic that he didn’t really have some of the issues that other children had. Never an attachment issue, never a fear of leaving his old life behind. He had wanted a family. He had wanted a “rich” family. Now he had one and it was time to get on with it. Issues would come of course. But not today.

One of our first mornings at breakfast we were all three sitting there, chatting, and laughing and playing. There was one other white couple with a little boy and a little girl they were adopting. Those children sat with their hands in their laps, eyes on their plates, never speaking. Timos kept glancing over at them with a worried frown on his face. A spoon slipped to the floor and none of them picked it up. Timos jumped up, ran over, and offered the spoon to one of the children. They just looked at him. He sat it on the table and said to them, “It’s okay!” Then he came back and asked what was wrong with them. How could I explain to him that their reaction was the more normal one? That his own reaction to all this was beyond extraordinary? The staff, the people we met along the way – they all were beyond shocked by how close we all seemed. They couldn’t believe it had been days, rather than a lifetime that we had known each other.

Timos truly was not surprised by his life. He had wanted it, had prayed for it, waited for it and now it was here. Garen and I had packed an entire suitcase with books to read to him, movies to watch with him, coloring books and crayons and toys. Toy planes, toy cars, blocks, and balls – including a soccer ball. How I loved kicking the ball back and forth in the courtyard and on the lawn with Timos. When asked what he wanted to do in America when we got home, he never hesitated. Play futbal! We had him in his first soccer club within a month of landing in America.

And then there were the lazy afternoons at the pool. Timos loved swimming. We bought him a big, colorful beach towel in one of the hotel shops and he was so proud of it. We would order lunch to be eaten poolside or go up to the room and get changed for dinner in the outdoor restaurant. I loved that restaurant. It was strung with lights that twinkled in the dark and sometimes they had live music. It was warm and beautiful, and I loved watching Timos learn to order for himself.

Going to breakfast, the chef would see us coming and immediately make an omelet with tomatoes for Timos. He was so delighted that the chef would remember what he liked. The staff were in turn delighted by Timos. He was so thankful for their service, and it showed. Sometimes he would get cranky, and they would tease him until he was laughing again.

Garen would have to go to the lobby to work because Wi-Fi was spotty in the rooms. Sometimes Timos would INSIST on going with him because he needed to learn how to be a businessman like Daddy. He would pretend to have clients and would tinker around on my tablet.

We brought DVD’s to play on our computer. Timos loved the Curious George videos we brought. There wasn’t a lot of dialogue in them so that made them perfect. And strangely enough it was SpongeBob who ultimately taught Timos American English. The shows were funny enough to make him laugh and there is so much slang in them, Timos picked it up very quickly. The best though was Despicable Me. Timos constantly sang, “I’m having a bad, bad day. It’s about time that I get my way…” Minions were his new favorite thing in the universe.

These are the pretty memories. The ones that are fun to remember. But not all of our time in Uganda was so idealistic.