Homecoming will, one day soon I hope, be a huge cause for celebration. For now, it marks Living ONE year in Ghana.
For this trip of course Finn is thrilled to b returning home. But once again, I leave my two little guys, only to then turn around and leave Michael and Finn.
By now, instead of just holding steady while I am packing, I actually do let a few tears slip over in utter frustration and disappointment.
I can’t believe it. I have actually “lived” in Ghana for a year.
Can you believe that? One year? I thought I would be home between 6 and 8 weeks.
There were not many Canadians that I knew or had been connected to who had adopted from Ghana. Even Sunrise had not completed an adoption from Ghana. I got my information on time lines from US and European families, who all boasted 4 week wait between court and visas. I didn’t put much in that because I am not that ignorant as to predict another countries rules would have any bearing on my own. But I spoke to CIC in Ottawa who suggested a 6-8 week timeline for adoptions would be appropriate because “adoptions are a priority for all visa officers and missions abroad”.
Yeah, right. So much for that. Now, one more time, having jumped the last hoops, I am returning with empty arms. No one is more shocked than I. I met with the Minister for Women and Children’s Affairs who had our file re-re-investigated for legitimacy, who then forwarded my file to the Minister of Foreign Affairs who then re-re-re-investigated the details of our file, then followed up with a letter to the Canadian Immigration Minister. There is NO higher authority in Ghana, no more final way of securing the legality of our adoption. The whole shebang was sealed by the boys biological father traveling down here for an interview.
What is taking so long???? I’ve emailed the High Commission three times inquiring the status. Am I going home to prepare documents for a federal court judicial review? Or am I going home today, only to turn around Wednesday to come and get our children?
I am a little stressed about leaving today given how sick Charlie was last week and as Murphys Law would have it, I was up for every moment save for the few hours before midnight with Will. Fortunately his fever did not tip over 39, and I won’t complain about the fact that he will be spending most of the day snuggling in my arms. They are in good hands with Serwah and Kate for sure, but there is not much worse I can think of than leaving them again.
OK, wahn wahn wahn wahn. Why am I even writing this today? Because I am frustrated and looking for an outlet. Because it is not quite 6 a.m. and I have not slept since midnight. I don’t want to break down and be all splotchy faced when Finn wakes up. I just want to take the power away from the regret of my departure today and just get on with today, enjoying to the maximum my time with all four of our kids (yes! Ryen has been here this week and that has been the single biggest gift that she has ever given me – her time and energy and undying enthusiasm. More on her visit later when I am feeling more celebratory and less sorry for us).
See you tomorrow Bowen.
Nope. No flight home for the babies. The High Commission did not give us an answer regarding our citizenship applications in time to book tickets for the babies and depart together.
I am quite literally crushed as I felt that once the interview was over our path would be clear from all hurdles.
Not so, as time is clearly the greatest hurdle.
Finn and I fly on Monday, leaving the babies here in with Serwah (thank God she doesn’t have another job yet) until I return to Ghana by myself for another who knows how long.
Having Finn here has been such a relief. He is my constant companion and laughing buddy. We’ve had such a good time together – we always do. It is brutal to leave him again.
I really really hate this part. Michael felt so sure that the High Commission would come through for us. The gentleman who is currently dealing with our file is a straight up guy and I really believed it when he said that he would keep in mind my departure date.
Now why did I do that?
Well if I thought that my days PRIOR to the interviews scheduled with the high commission were stressful, then I clearly had no idea what stress was because post interview I am a ball of nerves.
I am not nervous because I am afraid of what was said during the interview. I’ve said this before — in our case, everyone involved worked solely for the benefit of first the babies and then the biological family. Michael and I came in long after the fact; after the reports were done, things were signed sealed and (almost) delivered. So for us, (and Michael lives by the this) the truth shall set you free.
I hope that the truth will send us back to Canada.
Only thing is that Finn and I are scheduled to fly back on the 16th of August… this upcoming Monday. Ryen (my step daughter) is here this week in the hopes that she will be able be the second adult that I need in order to actually fly home with the babies.
If we don’t hear anything from the High Commission Friday morning, it will be too late for anything. It will mean yet another trip back to Ghana. Alone. And then what? Someone else has to fly all of the way here to help me bring the boys home. A small inconvenience in the big picture of course, but flying home with a jet lagged person and two babies isn’t going to be fun, or particularly helpful.
I’m torn. I have to return in time to get Finn set up for school. This is a big year, his first year. I also need to find some help for Michael and so I need some time prior to school starting to get things organized. But do I re-book my tickets pushing by a couple of days, and hope that a few extra days will give us those visas? I’m still in the same boat because Ryen has to work so unless we are all on a flight on Monday, it will absolutely mean a whole whack more of travel itineraries for our family. Something I will need to work out if and when it happens, I suppose. I did tell the visa officer about our travel dates, and he actually acknowledged them. Who knows. 48 hours will tell.
As for the interview:
It was good to have the interview because it also gave me an opportunity to shake the hand of my boys biological father without the stress that I was under last time (just arrived, two sick kids, one I knew needed to be hospitalized – bio Dad and brother showed up when the taxi was loaded and we were on our way out the door. That meeting lasted maybe 15 minutes, and I could only think “get me out of Kasoa”. Not an enjoyable experience at all). Anyway, the opportunity to see him was a welcome one because I don’t think that he will be on this earth when we next visit this continent (actually, right now, I don’t think we will ever visit Ghana again. I don’t plan on leaving Canada for at least the next decade). Extremely awkward – yes. But a great privilege nevertheless. When the babies are men I can say “yes, you look like your Dad… you have your mother’s mouth”. All the things kids want to know. I have a good picture in my mind now and forever.
Funny (or not so funny) story to tell about the interview: almost two hours in, the interpreter came out to greet Eric. He shook Eric’s hand, and informed him that Mr. Namuk was asking to speak with Eric. Without a split second, Eric knew by the freezing hand of the interpreter that his Dad was literally freezing inside. Eric told the interpreter that he was sure that his Dad wanted to see him because he was cold and needed some help. In goes the interpreter to report back to Mr. Namuk and the visa officer. Mr. Namuk confirms that he is growing very weak from the cold. Visa officer recognizes this instantly, and allows him to come outside and sit in the sun for a while.
Keep in mind that this man has NEVER sat in an air conditioned room in his life. As he became colder and colder and colder — and his teeth began to chatter and his hands grew stiff, Mr. Namuk literally thought that he was dying and that the cold was his spirit leaving his body. He wanted his son to come in to be with him and witness his death. He had NEVER been cold, at least not like this.
After about twenty minutes, he managed to thaw out enough to finish off the interview. However, Eric sent me a text and told me that his Dad had to remain in Kasoa for two extra days in order to recover as he could not shake off the cold in his bones, and the feeling that he was in the same room as a death spirit which was literally freezing him as he sat there.
I learned few things about the beliefs and traditions of the Konkumba tribe, of which my boys are a descendant, beyond the icy personality of a death spirit. Konkumba tribesmen are Christians, but practice and believe in a fascinating mix of traditional beliefs – particularly the power of spirits. Before arriving in Ghana, I had heard so much about how twins are regarded in the various tribes here (from good luck to bad luck), but more interesting to me was the belief that if a mother dies in child birth, the children can never return to the home where they were born, or at least where the mother lived. This is because the mother’s spirit, in her grief and confusion over being separated from her children, will return to the home in order to take the children with her. The mother will not stop at taking only her new born child, but any other spirit in between her and her baby. This puts a whole household at risk of being ‘taken’ by spirits. Newly orphaned babies are whisked away, never to return. Twins are double the threat so to speak. Even today, this particular belief holds tight, and it gives me such a full understanding why a village could not or would not take on the responsibility of motherless newborns.
So beyond learning a bit about Konkumba traditional beliefs, I am happy to say that Mr. Namuk made it to Accra, lasted the interview, and is now safely back home with the minor hypothermic incident.
And I am in the waiting game again, hoping that an answer will come before my flight – with enough time to get my babies on the flight with me. There can only be a positive decision. There is nothing else left.
Today is a day of miracles for sure. Maybe this week is one of miracles.
Despite us all being so sick, I am a bit uplifted because the interview between the High Commission and the bio dad was scheduled for Friday (this Friday) and everyone is still willing to come!
This spells huge relief! Wasn’t sure if Bio dad would come — but he is.
Today I literally fell into the lap of a doctor who can help me with the copious amounts of issues that continually deplete my energy, and surely Will and Charlie as well.
The latest: Charlie has malaria (again). He also has a mucosal strep infection, and she made a presumptive diagnosis of measles. She strongly suspects the vaccine details I was given were not correct.
As for the allergies — those will wait till we get home. No real way to test and treat food allergies, but the doctor was not surprise by Charlie’s insane list of allergies, as it is common with orphans and malnourished children to develop these. Depending on his severity, the doctor may recommend medical treatment outside of Ghana, either to South Africa or to the UK depending on how bad things get and stay for Charlie and food.
As for the ulcers that creep up all over Will’s body. The doctor agrees with the diagnosis of auto-immune disorder. Again, a common side affect of malnutrition. HOWEVER, the big deal is that I have been told by several doctors that good nutrition will treat Will. The doctor today told me that treating and auto immune response/disorder with nutrition is akin to treating and epiletic with smarties (her phrase exactly).
So next week, Will will undergo a proper assessment from this doctor and we’ll see if he can be treated in Ghana. She thinks probably not, but if Will has to be sent out to treat his medical issue, then we might as well sign Charlie up for some allergy expertise and diagnostic tests. The fact that Charlie’s allergies affect him his breathing causes everyone some serious concern. But Finn had asthma, so whatever it is I can handle it and am feeling like today is a miracle that I found a specialist who has submitted papers to the WHO on pediatric conditions in underdeveloped countries. She knows orphans, she knows disorders, and I have some help with the babies on going medical problems.
But will we really need to go elsewhere? Could you imagine– blocked from Canada where the boys could be treated quite easily, only to travel to SA or UK for treatment? I mean come on, how ridiculous is that?
Whatever the case may be, I am utterly exhausted as Charlie was really really sick today and just the brain work it took to be on top of all three kids with such sad pup as Charlie was has me heading to bed right now.
Oh yeah, my own sinus infection hasn’t improved either. Could be the sleepless nights? Who knows. Maybe by tomorrow, Day 3 on meds… fingers (and nostrils) crossed.
We have an interview! Re-scheduled for this Friday.
So far, so good as Bio Dad is still ok to travel down for this event, and I hope that this is really the last hurdle with Canadian Immigration.
I really, really hope, because after August 10th I’m back to house hunting or hotel living again. I’d rather just move home.
Finn is super sick. Super sick and super cranky, the poor love. I have a sinus infection which is so painful that my jaws ache. Babies seem to have dried up, so half of us are OK.
If I can get through this week, I can probably get through anything.
Hello Sudafed, and good night friends.
Some interesting developments have occurred with my three boys.
Finn has found a kindred spirit – a friendship entirely based on a mutual love of star wars, and an uncanny similiarity between the Danish friend (Fabian) and Luke Skywalker (feathery blond hair. how can you beat that?). This friendship is most certainly making Finn’s days in Ghana a lot more pleasant.
Finn did something brilliant the other night. We were blowing out two candles I had lit on the table. Finn wanted to make wishes, and asked me if he could make his wish to God – thinking that might make a little more impact. So he wished to God – then realized that he was hearing a lot of people pray to God in Ghana – only here they call him “Lord”. So Finn had an interesting thought – that maybe our wishes weren’t coming true because God goes by the name “Lord” in Ghana. Hmm, it all makes sense to me (and where on earth did he learn this! I am amazed by what he picks up).
Charlie has developed a fascination with clothing. He will haul a pile of clean laundry into a room and wile the time away trying on various outfits. Occassionaly he will come out and model whatever concoction he has put together, then will return to his pile of cloths for another round. He has a special affinity for underpants of all kinds, which we find absolutely hilarious.
Will just wants to dance. He has figured out that the music comes from the laptop, and pushes a chair up to the table where the computer sits, climbs up and starts pushing the keyboard saying “moremoremoremore”, giving a wiggly dance in order to re-emphasis the point.
Between Charlie’s modeling and Will’s dancing, Finn and I are kept more or less entertained.
I was going to title this post “Ill’n”. We’ve all been pretty sick. It started off with the vile de-worming of the babies. The state of their guts likely lowered their immunity and they came down with horrible colds and flu symptoms (fever, general misery despite the dancing and the wardrobe changes). Of course after a week of sleepless nights, I came down with the flu and now Finn is looking suspiciously bleary eyed and wants to just lay near me, uninspired by his buddy and lego. I think we’ll pass this nasty bug around for a while.
The biggest and most worrisome side affect of Will and Charlie’s recent illness is the weight loss they have suffered. Will has lost 14% of his body weight and Charlie lost just under 10%. They were making some serious progress achieving 10th percentile in weight, but this knocks them back down to below the chart. Nutrition issues have never gone away – coupled with the degree of Charlie’s allergies, the on going battle to fatten them up and get rid of the on going side affects of malnutrition keep me very concerned.
So coupled with illness, my coping abilities have taken a sharp turn down hill. The boys are happy (skinny, but happy) so I should be content enough with that.
Fingers crossed the High Commission is going to re-schedule the interview with the babies biological father. It has been a bit of a confusing process to establish a neutral interpreter and make travel arrangements. The village of Lungni is apparently remote, requiring Bindingnum to take a 2.5 hour motor cycle ride to one village, then a tro-tro to another where he can get on a bus which will take him to Tamale, where he will get on another bus which will take him to Accra. He planned to arrive in the early morning hours the day of the interview, which makes both me and the High Commission a little nervous that he could miss the interview. I’ve asked that he consider traveling a little earlier, but given his obligations up north, this is unlikely. I am crossing my fingers, and hoping for the best.
I’ll post some pictures to keep the eye candy flowing. Like I said, skinny but happy – all three of them.
Could all my friends who have twins, or at least two tiny children that are close together in age, please advise me as to your coping strategies?
Honestly, it is kind of funny, if you take a step back. But in our first hour of wakefulness, Charlie and Will managed to dump their smoothies all over the couch that I just stripped and washed covers for (literally just did this, as sleep did not come at all last night so I figured I’d while the night hours away washing upholstery).
As I was cleaning that up, Charlie dumped my coffee (now cooled) down his front and all over the carpet.
As I was cleaning that up, Will took their medication, somehow opened the child proof cap, and dumped that down his front and mashed it into the carpet right behind me.
So why did I have coffee and medication at close range?
I gave the babies their smoothies, then returned back to the kitchen to get meds and my coffee. I was entering the room to give them their medication when I saw the smoothies all over the place, I put the meds on the desk near my cup (looked out of arms reach, but I failed to accurately guess how stretchy my kids are), went and got soapy water for the clean up. While I started to clean up, Charlie dumped the coffee. My reaction to Charlie gave Will a good 5 seconds to grab the meds and somehow, somehow open the cap and dump in its entirety onto the carpet.
For the first time, I have turned on the TV, and am thankful for the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse show because they are sitting down in a TV coma. I have a new cup of (hot) coffee, and can type a bit.
Sleep didn’t come last night because the door bell was rung on the hour by the guards. If I wasn’t alone, with my three kids in the house, I probably would have answered the door at midnight and would have been done with the door bell ringing and keeping me up all night. However, I am entirely on my own in a foreign country with my three kids, so after dark, my door stays shut. I have no idea why the guards were ringing, likely something to do with not having any water today.
That is right. I have no running water. Three kids, no running water. And no, it isn’t like camping and it isn’t fun. I’ve been here wayyy too long, and lived in Kasoa with no electricity and no water long enough last year to take away and sense of wild adventure. I’m Canadian, I’m used to water – no romance in Ghana when the power and the water is shut off.
So let me recap: sleepless night due to door bell ringing, multiple major spills this morning of milk products and coffee, totally dump out of de-worming medication on carpets, no water.
Oh, did I forget to mention? Both babies have worms? Fun, fun, fun! They have a lovely mixed variety of gastrointestinal infestations: pinworm, whipworm, roundworm, threadworm…. lovely, just lovely.
In terms of the bigger picture, I did not hear from the Minister of Women & Children with anything solid. They are busy with parliament sitting all this week, and have asked for some more time. So I wonder if they have contacted Canadian Ministers yet or not? I will talk to the Deputy Minister today and will find out more information.
My MP has inquired what specific we’d like him to ask Minister Kenney. I wanted to say “get me home. intervene. do the right thing JUST like you did with the visa for the Indian Police Officer a few months ago”. But can I say that? I don’t want to be lost in the sea of requests, but seriously, get me home. This is ridiculous.
As for Bio Dad’s interview, I just found out that the Canadian High Commission has, by requesting this interview, asked a 70+ year old man from North Ghana to take a 2.5 hour motorcycle ride, followed by a 12 hour bus ride, to get here.
Then, after the interview, he’ll take another 12 hour bus ride, the 2.5 hour motorcycle ride back to his village.
29 hours for a 5 minute interview to have him say in person what he has already said in numerous affadavits, not to mention in his relinquishment forms and court documents?
Argh…… the TV coma has worn off. Mama is needed. It is feeding time on this farm and I need to ply myself with more coffee, more something, to get through another day.
(Mom, you might not want to read this one)
There, warning over, and now I need to literally sob into my key board.
Today should be a day of such fun and sun and celebration. A woman, whom I have come to know and whom I know will become a life long pal, is celebrating her birthday today. Rather than having a full on insane party, which she well deserves, she opted to spend time with the people she would actually befriend if we all lived in New Zealand (her home island).
An enormous compliment as those few people include me and my three boys.
So this is good! The beach toys are packed, 5 children (yes, five as Finn had a sleep over yesterday) have had their pancakes, orange juice and are now onto the muffins I somehow did not burn yesterday. The babies are back asleep after waking up at 5 a.m. Technically I am ready to go to the beach.
The beach seemed like such a good idea even at 5 a.m. Now I am ready to cry because taking three kids to the beach, on my own, no Michael, no Grandparents, is such a colossal undertaking that I don’t know where to begin. I’d like to shrug it off and say “give up on perfect, just do it”. But it really isn’t the undertaking of 3 on my own. It is because I am so so sad during these excursions. Viggo and Freja have their Mom AND their Dad. Jen has her husband. Michael has his wife. Rebecca has her husband, and Gregor has his wife. I am a 5th wheel, always.
Finn pulls me one way, Will another, Charlie a third. I offer NOTHING to any of them. I just stand still and wait until someone cries the loudest and I turn my attention there.
Never in my life am I so reminded that I am utterly alone as when I am out with my new friends in Ghana. Yes, I’ve made friends, absolutely, and I do not want to take anything away from that because they are awesome and supportive and absolutely brilliant. But when the chips are down and we are coping with the mayhem, it is Michael who is there to hold me to up too. He and I chose each other. Michael and I are such a bloody brilliant team that none of this would be so awful if he was here. 11 months in, with the numbers crunching down hard on us, it isn’t even an option for him to come for a week. More than any other time this whole year, we are really truly a family torn apart.
Last week, I had my big foray into some serious potential for advocacy for adoptions happening here in Ghana. Not only am I ill equipped to have such meetings, but I have no business making arrangements for governments to talk. I have an arts degree, not a political science degree. I have purposely avoided politics all of my life with the exception of voting and several thousand opinions. My meetings were a nice distraction, but have left me spent and terrified.
Another thing keeping me up at night: what if I can’t get the boys biological father to travel? He doesn’t want these baby boys, and quite frankly isn’t all that interested in their welfare. It isn’t as if he calls me up and asks me how his biological kids are (he can’t speak english, but I doubt that is the reason). He simply does not want them. His family does not want them – we’ve gone down this route before. What is it going to cost me to ensure that he travels? What happens if he doesn’t come? What are the risks involved with this seemingly innocuous interview? Why isn’t there someone that I can ask these questions to? Where is everyone???
My life, as I try to maintain joy and desperately try to find moments where I can be still and find something happy in my heart, is becoming more and more challenging. Michael, just this second, texted me “I am loving you”. How his timing could have been this perfect. Guess we really are twin souls. A year a part. A year gone for what? Finn can no longer sleep without touching me, his anxiety and shirt twisting and finger nail biting have developed into something serious enough that I’ll seek counciling once we get home. We all need some advice in order to help him deal with the side effects of this brutal year. My heart is bruised from the continuous bashing and stress of living in Ghana for the past year, parenting entirely by myself first three kids, then two kids, now three again. More of the smashing of a ping pong ball rather than a roller coaster. My faith is busting up all over the place. I’m no Job. I’m asking why and banging my head against my cell phone.
I had a casual encounter with a visa officer who declared that it is never a surprise to visa officers when they received fraudulent or forged birth or death certificates. She told me that Ghana does not issue such documents, but the High Commission demands them, so it is open season for fraud.
WHAT???? They knew this would or could happen to us? No warnings on the High Commission website? No travel advisory against fraud? So when I sat in my second interview with the visa officer, and she looked at my documents, examined my death certificate last October, she KNEW and still put me through three months of waiting, stress, cost, torture? How is this possible?
It is so upsetting to get so angry and have no outlet. Upset, angered, tortured, sad, loved, hurt, despair, loss. I dare someone to pick the right adjective to describe me right now.
Search for a blessing in my three children. Today, instead of a blessing I see is that Finn is suffering the most and has regressed to coping like he did when he was three. It is on me to love him double, triple, quadruple than what I ever thought possible when he was three. Patience, stroking, consistent and predictable stability (in Accra? are you kidding me?). How do you teach a 6 year old patience (this is not rhetorical, I’d like to know because Finn’s anger stems from the agony and hurt and confusion of having his world tossed upside down this year). Charlie’s face is full of scabs because he clearly has some food allergies that he is battling with, so I have to sort that out (he scratches at the welts around his mouth and cheeks until they bleed, or until I tie socks onto his hands until the claritin starts working). Will just doesn’t like to sleep all night long, ever, so I am utterly exhausted, trying to keep my mind steady and my heart open. When we get home, we will curl into bed together and not move from our bedroom for a month.
Couldn’t resist. Had to do it. Since everyone else in my family has super interesting hair, and I do NOT have interesting hair, I had to rasta up my baby boys.
Today is a mixed day: The Stewart family departed Accra for good today. I delivered them safely to the airport myself. For your reference, the Stewar family comprises of one of the two Viggo’s whom I often refer to, as well as beloved, wonderful, amazing Kirsten, her husband John, and two other equally famous children Unni and baby Ivar.
God how they will be missed. Kirsten admitted, somewhat sadly, that her emotional imprint on Ghana is smaller than what she normally would have expected. On her friendships made here, however, this imprint is of enormous and impressive proportions. I think Jen will mourn this departure, as will I.
On another note, I finally formulated my letter of concerns regarding the Bio-Dad interview. Maybe I’ll post the letter here later.
And on a fun note, not only did I swim this afternoon with Finn, finish one COMPLETE cup of tea with both Jen and Kirsten, but I had the boys hair done! They were pros, and are now even more ridiculously cute than they were 8 hours ago. A photo for you all to ooh and aahh over.
To be honest, the screaming during hair combing sessions was more than I could bear. And EVERY male has a shaved head in Ghana. If you look at Finn, you will realize that I am a mama who loves hair!
“I don’t know what to say”.
I am quoting my Mother here. She is on the phone with me, and she has little idea how much or how often I listen to her. She told me that I was doing a good job. And that we’ll get through it.
Mothers everywhere, be aware: yours words can be a blister, or a balm. In my case, Balm. All of the way. Just goes to show you (me, actually)- You never outgrow your mama.
Back to my title for today’s missive: So Much For Miracles. I thought that I was going to take a few days “off” and enjoy, but this universe is conspiring to get me and it keeps on adding onto the heap. First off, Michael went in to try to wire some funds to the couple who put our deposit/rent down on my apartment while I was still in Abu Dhabi. He successfully wired them half of the money, then went now TWICE to send the second half (we did it in two just to make sure the wire would go through etc., etc.). And wouldn’t you know it but after an hour of arguing with the bank teller, she informed him that the bank codes he gave her are not correct. Of course they are 100% correct, and the first wire went through to these very same codes. Nothing but a make work project. Nothing but frustration. Michael will need to take another day off of work to argue with another bank teller about this. Couldn’t something be easy, please???
Tonight, I had both babies loaded into my rental car, on my way to pick Finn up from his play date with the two Viggos. At 7 pm, with my two tots, this is no easy feat. No kidding, because my ignition was locked and I couldn’t start the car. Down came the transport coordinator at 7:30 to fix the problem, and out came from the car two sweaty, totally over tired toddlers who were already an hour past their bedtime. The car got fixed, Jen returned Finn, and Serwah took a taxi home. No problem, but seriously, couldn’t one thing be easy?
As you all know, my papers were picked up the other day as promised, which was a miracle. I delivered the documents to the high commission today. I was there at 9 a.m. because I had child care for my napping babies and Finn was at camp. Only, security refused to accept my package, demanding that I take my package back because immigration/permanent resident/citizenshp applicants can only access the immigration section between the hours of 1 pm and 3 pm.
Wha????? So the security guard wanted me to leave the high commission, and return at 1 pm. Today, returning was an impossibility, so I begged him to just keep the package – it only needed to be delivered approximately 100 feet away from where his desk way. I did not need to see anyone. This is just a delivery – would he turn away a courier? He phoned reception. They told me to go away and return at 1 pm.
How can this be? I just want to deliver a package? Why come back? I can’t come back. Please, just accept the package. I am just a courier. A courier cannot take a package back. There is no time frame for drop offs, only for actually meeting with visa officers. Please, please, please just accept this package and deliver it LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO.
Now, the high commission security team has gotten to know me a little bit, and a bit of kindness goes a long way, so the security guard agreed to hold onto the package for me (after getting permission from reception to do so) and agreed to walk it in himself at 1 pm
Relief. Package delivered. But only after 15 minutes of pleading and insane negotiating.
At 1 pm I received an email from the high commission. I was super excited to see the name in my inbox, but then was stymied to see the contents, which was an interview request for my boys biological father, to determine whether or not HE qualified for HIS permanent residency application to Canada.
OK, now, there are typos, but this is one big typo! Firstly, to my knowledge, their father has never, ever, never thought of traveling outside of Ghana, let alone has he ever applied for permanent residency to Canada!
I responded, suggesting that perhaps due to work overload they have made a small error – that it was my baby boys, not their father who were applying for CITIZENSHIP, not permanent residency. They got back to me pretty fast, and cleared this matter up.
Whoops.
But now all the way down the calendar road on August 5th, we have an interview, and the boys non-english speaking father has been asked to come in to determine whether or not he/we/whoever followed whatever protocol.
After all the court documents, all the department of social welfare reports, three signed sealed an stamped affadavits in front of court judges by this very man, their biological father, they now want him to travel 22 hours by bus to interview him in person.
Great. Yet another hurdle, after we had been assured by CIC in Canada that the last hurdle was confirmation of the death certificate used in our final adoption order. No small task.
I’m not actually worried about any secrets coming out. I’m not actually worried about the interview at all. In fact, when I handed my passport over to CID (Ghana’s crimes investigation department) and requested that they investigate me and my children in case there was any possibility of children trafficking, I told the boys senior brother, Eric, that if there was ANYTHING at all that he needed tell me, then now was the time to do it because if CID found out that something illegal had gone on, then Eric, who is the head of the family and the person who first brought the boys to social welfare, would be arrested. He knew this was the truth. I was speaking the truth. I was quoting the deputy superintendent verbatim. This country is in major crack down on child trafficking.
Eric’s response to the threat of arrest was: Fine. I am ready. Interview me, give me a lie detector, we are ready, this has gone on long enough.
You see, every single time the high commission asks this family for something, the wound of loss, the memory of a mother died and buried 20 months ago, comes to the surface. This family wants to move on, to move beyond not only the hurt of having to make this decision to give the boys up, but to live with such loss. They have no closure so long as we keep hounding them to deliver more photos, more stories, more details as to my boys’ mothers death. It hurts. They are exhausted by this, and only wish us well. The end.
Both Eric and the boys father are quite happy to travel to Accra for this interview, and only wish that it was in two days time. Me too. I wish they asked us in for tomorrow. Bindingnum Namuk (bio dad) is quite elderly. Possibly in his 70′s, maybe in his 60′s – he isn’t sure. But if you look at my old blog you will see photos of him and you can quite easily see that life has not been particularly easy. He now walks with a cane, ambles more than walks. But for a man with no formal education, he is a tribal elder, and is keen to finish this business of adoption. Only thing is that Bindingnum is supposed to bring photos of his wife, his marriage certificate (original) and a whole whack of family memorabilia proving his marriage, or the existence of him and his late wife, Nasan.
Now that is hilarious. There is no marriage certificate. Even Eric, who was married just a few months ago, exchanged some Fanta (yep, the pop drink) with his in laws, and was pronounced married. No justice of the peace. Simply and amicable arrangement, which is honoured by every level of government. These are traditional marriages. As for the photos? Not a minolta in Lungni, as far as Eric can tell. His Dad has seen about 6 photos in his entire life, all of dead people. These are poor cassava farmers. Life is hard. Life is not about the pictoral memories. Eric says he will ask his Moms family if they have any photos, other than the ones of her being prepared for burial, but he says it is very unlikely. So Bindingnum will come, empty handed. In fact, all Bindingnum has is empty hands – how poetic, in a twisted and depressed kind of way.
Onto another very unpleasant topic, here is the thing about twins and adoption that nobody wants to talk about, because it is a weird fetishy or voo-doo-ie thing that gets ignored outside of a very small group of people. But I am going to put it here in print: Twins are very often regarded as bad luck. Serwah has told me that in many tribes, when twins are born and the mother dies, the babies are put in the casket with their dead mother and buried with her. No mercy killing. Another belief in some tribes is that twins embody both good and evil, and because you never know which is which, the twins must be banished as soon as possible, by whatever means, especially in the case of a maternal death. On the other hand, the Fanti people celebrate twins (Fanti’s are a dominate Ghanaian culture). They believe that twins double your blessing. Fanti’s also lay out their dead for weeks on end and parade and have a major wake before they finally bury the deceased. If you can’t find the right burial spot, or pay for the right party, the body is frozen until such time as the two weeks of parading and carrying on can happen. So it all depends on who you talk to, and who is willing to tell you the straight goods on twins (and dead people). I must be clear here and say that have never heard anything in this regard with the birth and death that brought my boys into this world, and into my care. Eric does not talk about it, and falls silent when I ask the hard questions. I rely on Serwah for most of my cultural information, and her word is biblical in my mind.
So that is that. Yet another hurdle. Another delay in our return to Canada. Mark my words – this interview will follow up with mandatory DNA testing. Another hurdle. Another hurdle.
One word, I guess: Obstruction.
(I guess you’ll have to wait another week or two for photo updates. The stress doesn’t appear to be thinning any time in the near future).
