March 2002

Our adoption of Ouseman, aged 7, and Jumoke, aged 4, was finally complete. Tim was flying to Baltimore to pick the boys up.  We weren't allowed to fly into Liberia because the civil war had erupted into more violence, so the pastor in charge of the ACFI orphanage was flying our boys and three other boys out of Liberia to get them to their families.

Pastor Kofi came off the plane with Ouseman holding one hand and Jumoke holding his other.  He saw Tim, whom he knew because they had spent a weekend together with one other man on a retreat recently, and he marched the boys up to him.

"They're all yours now!" he said, with some meaning and a small laugh.

Tim laughed too, but was a bit nervous as well. There was some relief in Pastor Kofi's laugh that meant more than just "good luck".

The other families meeting the other boys had some helium balloons, and they gave one each to Ouseman and Jumoke.  The boys were delighted.  Jumoke played and played with his balloon, till suddenly it POPPED! He erupted into a loud wail, and then he caught sight of Ouseman's balloon.

Tim still tells this story as though it happened just a few minutes ago.  He said that Jumoke's eyes got wide and wild, and he toddled stiff legged toward Ouseman, his little arms outstretched toward Ouseman's balloon.  Ouseman knew what was coming...he hadn't lived with his cousin, and because they lived in different villages, had seen him only infrequently, but he had just spent three weeks in an orphanage with him.  He knew what was in Jumoke's mind.

But Tim didn't.

Jumoke was wailing, and began walking in a stiff Frankenstein type gait, his little arms reaching for Ouseman's balloon.  And when he got that balloon in his hands, he dug his nails into it and popped it.

And then he stopped wailing.  Everything was fine now.

Tim didn't know what to make of it.  Who would? When he told me about it later, he was flabbergasted.  I just thought Jumoke was a little boy who didn't understand balloons.

Pastor Kofi handed off the boys' little black bag with their possessions in it, and Tim left to go to the hotel room he had rented for the night.  They would be getting up at 2 a.m. to catch their flight home. He was hoping for a little sleep before they flew out.

He called me from the room, and told me the boys were just wild! Running all over, touching things, jumping on things.  Sounded normal to me.  Two boys from a third world country being put in a room with running water and light switches and telephones and real beds...I imagine that I would be happily crazy too, and I was 42 years old.

We tried to get them to talk to me on the phone, but I was just a voice of an operator to them.  But I got to hear their sweet little accents, and my heart swelled up with love. I couldn't wait to see my little men.

Tim finally got Ouseman settled down.  He laid him on the floor with some blankets, and as soon as Ouseman's head touched the pillow, he was out.  Tim was trying to get Jumoke settled, but Jumoke was just too wired up.  When Tim wasn't looking, Jumoke toddled over to Ouseman, took a look to make sure he was asleep, then drew back a foot and kicked him hard in the head.

Oh my.  I couldn't find a cute slant on that one.

Tim finally got Jumoke to sleep. He laid Jumoke on the floor next to the bed and, sitting on the bed, held Jumoke's foot while he sang softly to him.  They slept for a few hours, and then it was time to be up and at the airport.

Ouseman started the trouble.  Turned out that Ouseman did not like flying at all.  When he realized they were getting back on a plane, he began what my brother calls "The Liberian Wail".  It's deep and loud and lasts forever. Even hours. 

Jumoke was wild, constantly trying to get away from Tim. Tim had his hands full with a wailing Ouseman and Jumoke trying to escape.

The lady at the ticket counter told Tim he needed to get Ouseman calmed down or they couldn't allow him on the plane.

Stress and lack of sleep and fear of being stranded in an airport with two wailing boys caused Tim to snap. "Are you telling me that if I can't make this boy that I don't even know quit crying, you are going to strand me in Baltimore?! With them?!"

"Yes, sir."

Tim called me.  It was 4 a.m. at our house.  All he said was, "Pray!"

I did.  And I called a few other folks whom I knew wouldn't mind being wakened, and I posted to my friends at the Haven: "Pray!"

A woman who worked for U.S. Air saw the situation, and went into a little store there in the airport. She came out with some little bags of snacks and handed them to the boys.  Food!  Ouseman quit crying and Jumoke quit trying to run away  Tim was able to get on the plane with both of them intact and fairly quiet.

Ouseman slept the whole way across the country.  But not Jumoke.  He would begin wailing if Tim sat him down.  Jumoke was wild and screaming every time Tim tried to put him in his seatbelt.  He had to be sitting chest to chest with Tim, or the whole plane would know about it.  Tim was willing.  Tim was tired.  There was that moment, however, when Tim's chest began to feel warm...and wet...

When I saw them coming down the ramp from the plane, Tim had a very tiny little boy with tiny slits for eyes by one hand, and a beautiful, handsome little tiny boy on his shoulders.  The boy on his shoulders was dressed only in pants...no shirt, no shoes.  He had wet everything else Tim had brought for him.

Tim looked at me with relief in his eyes. "Here," he said, as he handed the boys off to me.

I don't remember much of Jumoke at the airport  He seemed a very quiet toddler like person.  Ouseman started a tug of war with me over the coats.  I had a green one and a red one.  Both the boys were the same size, so it didn't matter who got what coat, but Ouseman decided that both coats belonged to him.  And apparently it didn't matter that I was an adult and a mom-type person; he was going to get both coats from me and Jumoke could just deal with it.

I could just see that this Ouseman boy was going to be a challenge for us, and I was going to settle it right now.  I didn't care that my relatives and a number of strangers were looking on. I was Mom, and I was used to having my way.

So was Ouseman.

I love the memory of the two of us tugging at the coats, and Ouseman's determination matching mine.  Tim had to finally step in, and the battle was a draw.  But Ouseman tried for months to reclaim the green coat I gave to Jumoke.  Why is it one of my favorite memories?  Maybe because it's the first memory I have of this little man who has stolen my heart.

We drove the two hours home, with Ouseman sitting toward the front, chattering on and on in his accent that was too thick for us to understand.  Jumoke sat in the far back in a car seat, with me right beside him.  He was so lovely to look at. I couldn't quit looking at him.  My heart burst with the same feeling I had when I brought home a new baby.  I reached up to take his little hand in mine.  He looked at me blankly, but didn't take his hand away.  We drove the whole two hours holding hands.

I was in love.  I didn't know what I was going to do with that Ouseman boy. I could see I had my work cut out for me there.

But I was in love with this little man in the car seat beside me, his large, thickly lashed eyes looking so sad, his perfect nose and wide mouth creating lovely African features, his fingers and toes so absolutely perfect.

I was in love.