The first months were challenging.  Mostly because Ouseman was such a big stinker.  Jumoke was a quiet little man, who wasn't against joining in the fun Ouseman started.

They weren't familiar with our food, but since we ate rice with every evening meal, they filled up on that.  They didn't understand the vegetables, but Ouseman tried each with a sense of adventure.  He ended up liking every food we served.  Jumoke did not like vegetables.  He only wanted chicken and rice.  He was only 4, so I had him sitting beside me at the table, and gently introduced just a bite of each new food at each meal.

Ouseman had an intolerance to dairy foods. I found out later that this isn't unusual among African people.  But at the time, I had no idea why he was projectile vomiting oatmeal every time I served it.

One of the funniest stories the children like to remember is the first time I served the boys grapes.  Since Jumoke was little and since he was sitting right next to me, I made him try a half a grape.  He backed up, his eyes wild, but I told him to open wide, and I got that grape in there.  After feeling it on his tongue, he liked it and asked for more.

I stood up with a grape in my hand to give to Ouseman.  He saw me coming with that eyeball, and he jumped from the table, screaming at the top of his lungs, running from the room with his hands waving over his head.  The children and Tim burst out laughing, and I ran after Ouseman, assuring him I wasn't going to make him try it like I did Jumoke.  He was a big boy. He could try it or not. 

He stopped finally, and decided maybe he would just lick it. Hey! That wasn't an eyeball. He crunched down on the grape and asked for more.

Every night, I'd put a pull-up and some jammies on Jumoke, put the other children to bed, and settle into the rocker to put Jumoke to sleep.  He laid against me as a nursing baby would, and his hands would do the same as a nursing babe's hands.  I was fairly sure that he must have been just lately weaned. I knew that in some third world countries the children are nursed much later than we would nurse our own. It broke my heart for this baby.

We would rock and rock, and I would sing him every song I could remember.  Every night I watched his large eyes grow heavier and heavier, until finally they shut and his heavy breathing assured me he was asleep.  I'd carry him to his bed and tuck him in, kiss his forehead, and pray for him.

I was so glad to have him.

We had many doctor appointments at first. The boys needed to be checked out for many things, including parasites.  At first I took the boys together, leaving the other children with a family member.

Jumoke submitted to the doctor passively, but Ouseman was a stinker. Yelling and fighting against anything unfamiliar, wailing at having his blood taken, chattering loud and long in his unfamiliar accent to anyone who would listen...this boy took some patience.

I finally had to start taking the boys one at a time, however.  Ouseman was having great fun with me, and I was tiring of it.  Every time we'd get in a parking lot, Ouseman would start to run from me.  I'd reach out and grab his arm, and then he'd start yelling, "Run, Jumoke, run!" 

Jumoke would run off, laughing with glee. I'd be left dragging a laughing Ouseman while trying to go fast enough to catch the laughing Jumoke. Sometimes I had to let go of Ouseman in order to speed up to catch Jumoke, and then Ouseman would run off the other way.

We were more fun to watch than a three ring circus.

And I was not amused.

The doctor's report came back on the boys. Both were completely healthy. However, Jumoke had the Hepatitis C virus.  We didn't know what that meant, so we spent a lot of time calling people and reading up on it.

Hepatitis C is a virus that can attack the liver.  Some children that are born with it never have the virus come alive in their bodies...they just carry it.  Like AIDS, it can only be transferred by blood or semen.

I was ok with that. We'd have to be careful during tooth losing time with Jumoke. And he'd have to have his own fingernail clippers, and later, be careful never to use anyone else's razor.  But those were easy things to manage.

We had some folks at church begin to avoid us tho.  Hep C sounds scarier than it is.  Telling folks that it is very difficult to transfer the disease domestically did nothing to ease their minds.  I lost my mother's helper, and we felt a bit isolated.  I really thought with time all of it would be resolved. And within a year, it was.

The boys had been with us almost a month when Tim told me quietly that he didn't believe that Jumoke belonged with us.

I was aghast! Terrified!  I objected vehemently.  Why would God send him to us just to take him away? That didn't make sense.  Being a mother, and being a woman who knows all things, I was sure that Tim was reacting to the Hep C diagnosis.  I was sure he just needed some time to study it more and get more comfortable with it.

Even when Tim told me it wasn't the Hep C thing, I knew he didn't know his own mind like I knew his mind.  I was not going to lose this baby. I loved him. I couldn't lose him. It would all work out all right.

Tim loves me.  He saw me fall apart when he mentioned that perhaps we adopted Jumoke for another family.  He didn't mention it again. At least, not for a long time.

We were settling in.  Ouseman wailed about three or four times a week. He missed his mother who was still living.  He would wail on and on and on for hours. He wouldn't let me comfort him, but I'd hold him against his will anyway.

The boys went potty anywhere they were standing when they felt the need. I trained them to use the toilet, but anything could be a toilet...the washing machine, the dishwasher, the refrigerator.  Even so, if they were standing in the hallway when they needed to go potty, they would pull down their pants and potty against the wall.

When wiping themselves, they were unsure how to clean themselves, and if any got on their hands, they would wipe it on the bathrooms walls.

My stomach wasn't very strong before I got the boys.  After the meal time projectile vomiting, many times daily cleaning the bathroom walls, and wiping up potty all over the house, my stomach had a chance to strengthen.

Ouseman slowly but surely began to understand. Jumoke simply couldn't.  He was only four years old, so I was patient.  I knew it might take him some time.  It was encouraging that Ouseman was catching on tho.

Both the boys had a great time the first week peeling of the brand new wallpaper I'd put up in their room just before they came home.  I explained to them, as I glued up the pieces again, what a pretty picture it was and how nice it would be to keep it up.  Ouseman agreed and quit peeling.  Jumoke continued to peel till almost all the lower part of the wallpaper around his bed was gone.  He was only four. 

I took down the wallpaper and painted the room.  Jumoke found other rooms with wallpaper, and began to peel them as well.  Plus he found the painted area around his bed a perfect canvas for artwork with pens and crayons he found around the house.

Try as I might, I couldn't convince the little man to leave the walls alone. So I took down all the wallpaper in the house, painted all the walls an antique white, and bought two extra gallons of paint to cover Jumoke's artwork every couple weeks.

The boys both had similar issues when they first came. They fought with each other violently, and were violent with the other children as well.  We were able to bring Ouseman down fairly quickly, within a couple months. But Jumoke continued with the chopping, hitting, kicking, and biting.  He tried it a few times with Tim and I, but Tim reacted swiftly and terribly, and nipped that in the bud.

Jumoke spat on people when they tried to get him to do other than he wanted.  He broke things constantly, finding other's things and just...breaking them.  He was quieter than Ouseman, but he was making a constant quiet noise...a white noise.  He wanted to be like Isaac, our two year old, and be put into diapers and be fed with a bottle.  When I told him no, he was a big boy, he didn't like Isaac for a long time. Not until Isaac was out of diapers and had finished with his bottle would Jumoke be nice to him.  Thankfully, Isaac was finished with all that within a few months of the boys arriving.

I wasn't terribly concerned about anything Jumoke was doing. I wasn't bothered by our inability to get thru to Jumoke or our inability to train him in anything. After all, Jumoke was only four years old and this was an entirely new culture.  He wasn't as old as Ouseman...Ouseman was able to compare things and adjust.

Jumoke was just a baby, really. My baby.  And I felt confident that as he aged, we'd be able to do better with him.  Give it a year, I told myself, and the little man would be just like the rest of the kids. Just the way that Ouseman was slowly becoming like the rest of the kids. Still himself, still Ouseman, but relaxed and open and enjoying his life.