Blog post #9

April 23^rd, 2013

Court. Today little A officially became ours: Amahle Gaffga. The whole house was up early, bathing & getting the kiddos fed & fancied for court at 9am. We took some family photos ahead of time, and arrived at the courthouse with about 15 minutes to spare. (When will we ever accept that things here run on “Africa time?”) We weren’t sure exactly what all goes on at that courthouse—we looked to be the happiest & most dressed-up people there. We saw at least one man come in wearing handcuffs, held securely by a police officer. We were an excited, jittery group of ten adults: three pairs of adoptive parents, a supportive grandmother who flew in from America for the occasion, two lawyers, & one social worker, and six impatient, decked-out children.

The magistrate was not there when we arrived…or at 9, when our appointment was to be…or at 10…It was after 11 when the first family went in for their proceedings. So the 16 of us took up all the benches in the lobby, as the littlest kids melted down, Amahle sung a constant stream of too-loud made up songs, and the anxious adults said No! to a continual list of requests from the kids. It figures that on this momentous day, our children would not behave angelically—we cleaned them up on the outside, but they were just as rambunctious and self-interested as on any other day. And we were not perfect parents, as we waited to pledge our commitment to our new children. That’s the reality—adoption does not look as pretty, up-close, as it may seem from afar. Adopted children don’t behave “gratefully” for having been taken out of an orphanage! They act their age, usually younger, making up for years of not having anyone to ask for things. They don’t have lovely social skills, they don’t smile & give a hug at every appropriate moment. They are just kids who haven’t been tended to, who have some deep wounds, who struggle with the same desires to do the wrong things as any other child.

To some in the courthouse, we were an annoyance, waiting in the crowded lobby, but many people looked our group over & smiled, knowing what we were there for. When it was finally our turn, we met with the magistrate in his office. He was a vibrant, faithful, amazing man. I came away wishing he were a second father to me! He read over all our papers, checking for errors, asked us if we had any questions, interacted with both kids, and had us sign our pledges to care for Amahle for life. Though outwardly things seemed different—we dressed the part, we were in a courthouse, this was THE date—I truly didn’t feel any different. I felt like Amahle was mine from the moment we took physical custody of her. Our lawyer playfully said, “Call us tomorrow & let us know how you feel when the reality sinks in.” But no extra layer of emotion hit me. For me, it comes in small waves, when I watch both girls sleep; when I find myself laughing at their silly antics during dinner; when I line up two sets of little girl shoes. After signing all the documents, the magistrate, who sees his appointment as a divine calling, prayed for our family with such authority & fervor—it was an awesome close to a long morning at court.

Though the official adoption is now complete, we have a lot of work to do in the coming weeks, in order to be able to leave the country as a family. We need to apply for a new birth certificate and ID number for Amahle, a visa, a temporary passport, and secure her a plane ticket home. She needs to be registered in SA’s official record of children adopted out of the country. She needs to be cleared by a specific doctor before she is allowed to leave the country. This is all a part of the red tape we need to persevere through in order to finish this process. We have been told we will be dealing largely with the Department of Home Affairs for all these documents.  Praying people, please lift this process up for us.