When I committed to adopt internationally I knew it came with great responsibility. Not only would I gain entry into a new culture, I would also need to embrace the loss that accompanied the international adoption experience. The child placed with me will have been separated from her birth family and removed from her birth country; each a place with distinct cultural, historical and traditional roots. The loss she will grow to know will one day need a voice. She will look to me to be her eyes, her memory and her interpreter of a life she barely knew but will forever be a part of her. Traveling to Ethiopia was the most complete way for me to be witness to the information she will eventually need.

Travel has been a rite of passage for me.  It has created a bridge that not only brought two continents together but assisted me to new ground expanding both heart and mind. I have seen through my travel experience the ripple effect that occurs by one person’s actions. I will forever be indebted to my daughter’s birth mother for having the strength and enduring will to bring forth life under the cruelest of circumstances.

I had never traveled out of the United States prior to my trip to Ethiopia. The only real exposure to life outside of America was through the eyes of the media. When I chose Ethiopia as the place to adopt I had the common perception of an impoverished country plagued by disease and hunger. Images of bloated, lethargic children living in squalor and barren country side with stick and straw huts defined my view of Ethiopia.

When I arrived in Addis it was night time and driving in the dark unlit streets made it difficult to observe what surrounded me. As I rode to the Care Center, I saw a lit sign with “pizza” and “ice cream”. I mentioned to the driver how pizza and ice cream were my favorite foods and that I had no idea they had these in Ethiopia. “Ooh!” amazed at the coincidence, “Like me! I like pizza, too. I take you for pizza?” I laughed because this so did not fit my image of Ethiopia.

The Ethiopian sun was brilliant. Each morning it pushed through the closed curtains in my room. It wouldn’t let me miss a moment of the mornings at the Care Center. The festive sound of Ethiopian music and women laughing and conversing in Amharic created a buzz in the air. My first morning there I couldn’t wait to see my daughter and greet the energy downstairs. My joy however, was met with reservation as I came down the stairs toward the nursery. The Care Center staff didn’t seem as eager as I was. Perhaps they were so used to families coming and going that there was a worn familiarity to new faces. As I moved to the room where my daughter was I felt a bit like an intruder. I went to her bassinet as the nannies followed and observed our interaction. My daughter seemed to approve as she smiled and looked into my eyes. I however, could feel the bittersweet glances that surrounded me. I fast realized my daughter was not quite mine yet. She had not been released from the protective care of the nannies and I had not yet earned their trust.

The second day there, I was visiting my daughter in the nursery when from behind me one of the nannies began speaking to me. She was a stocky woman with a hard look and was revealing to me in a soft, sincere voice her sorrow. Tears spilled from her eyes as she held one of the babies. She began expressing her worry for him. She worried about the family he would go to. Would they care for him the way she did? Would they have love for him as deep as hers? Would he be raised in a “Christian” home? Oh how she prayed for him, she confided. I witnessed the inherent connection the nannies had to the children. Beyond the human attachment there is a very real cultural and spiritual bond that is difficult to sever. The religious influence that permeated the culture was evident in her concern.

My travel experience took me beyond the walls of the Care Center and into the heart of Addis Ababa. I became acquainted with the culture by visiting restaurants, dress shops, museums, gardens, homes and buildings that celebrated the pride of Ethiopia. At first glance the city struck me as a third world version of Manhattan. There were marked similarities in the hustle and flow of the city; cars and taxis crowded the streets; shops and markets adorned every city block; masses of people moved about monotonously; and homeless people lay on unclaimed areas of pavement. However, as I looked closer, I could see a level of intimacy one would find in a small town; the friendly, hospitable nature that radiated through the people created a city of fellowship. There were no strangers in Ethiopia.

My travels to Ethiopia contained invaluable moments that made such an impression on me that I truly will never be the same. My journey created the bridge necessary for my daughter (and one day her children) to cross whenever she needs to return (to her first) home.