Shae's log: Truths from her father

There is a small part of me that always wanted this day to come.  But the biggest part of me-- the logical side of me-- knew that this day would be dangerous.  But here it is: 17 January, 2012, the day Happy would meet her father for the first time. 

When I started this whole process of adoption, Happy's father Ewaldi wasn't around.  He had been in prison and fighting personal demons so his family was left in charge of deciding what was best for Happy.  The hushed rumors of the family is that he would not support adoption and that he wasn't in his correct mind to make a sound decision.  So the other males and village elder signed off on her relinquishment.  Still, I knew that although he had technically abandoned her, family ties in Tanzania are strong and a parent can talk a social worker or judge into giving them back their child.  So avoiding Ewaldi seemed like the right thing to do.  

And then today happened. As you all know from my previous blog posts, I have been round and round with the social worker trying to get her report and approval for the adoption.  She insists on talking to more family and hasn't budged.  I've been trying to contact her to see if she has met everyone yet and that is when I got the call from Ewaldi's sister saying he was in town and wanted to meet with me.  

Oh no.  

I knew the social worker wanted to meet him and based upon some of her remarks, I feared that she would sway/guilt him into taking Happy back.  Because, as was the talk among the family, they didn't want Happy, but he might.   But what could I do?  His sister Editha would be with him and she requested that I bring my housegirl to speak good English because apparently HE can speak some English and the sister wanted to make sure someone was there to translate for her and to correct him if he was saying untrue things (did I mention before how WONDERFUL Happy's family has been in trying to make this adoption happen?) Anyway, I decided it was best if we met in town at a neutral location so we all could talk.  Heartbeat going a mile a minute, I made sure Happy looked as cute as possible, I grabbed her bag, and away we went. 

Upon the first moment he laid eyes on Happy, I could tell this was going to be interesting.  Although he doesn't look especially sick, I knew right away that his body was in the beginning stages of decline.  His hairline was patchy, his countenance was hesitant, and his walk was reserved. We immediately greeted each other and Happy willingly climbed into the arms of her aunt.  But it took a few minutes for her to make eye contact with Ewaldi.  But once she did, she toddled right over to him, outstretched her little arms, and lifted right up to his chest in a sweet embrace.  I could have cried.  I held it together.

The next two hours were spent over soda at a local shop discussing all matters of Happy.  I spoke in simple English telling him all about her and a condensed version of her life over the last two years.  My housegirl Pendo would translate the areas of conversation where his English and my Swahili didn't mesh and Auntie Editha seemed pleased with how the conversation was going.  It was upon this portion of the conversation that the lump in my throat went away, and my heart melted into this pool of compassion, sorrow, love, and honor. 

"Shae, I am very sick. And Happy."  Ewaldi tells me. 

I respond, "Yes, I was afraid you might be.  I don't know how to say this, but do you know Happy is sick too?"

"Yes, I know."  His head drops a little and I immediately go on to tell him about Happy's medical care, about how much weight she's gained, how well she is, and my plan for her care in America.  He turns to my housegirl and starts telling her things in Kiswahili.  My heart starts to race again only because I understand only about 40% of what he is saying.  The 40% doesn't scare me.  Its the 60% that I DON'T understand that has my heart aflutter again.  He stops and listens to what my housegirl has to say, and then he turns to me with confidence and convinction and says: 

"I appreciate you.  Happy will do so good with you.  Let us go tomorrow and tell Mama Urassa (the social worker) that she must let Happy live with you in America.  I am very sick and I will die.  I cannot take care of Happy and you must take care of her.  Tomorrow, we will go."   

And with that, the conversation and questions were over.  And my heart began to beat regularly again.  I didn't let any tears well in my eyes.  I didn't want him to think I was sad over the situation.  Still, I could see that this man, now sober and dieing, wanted to do the only thing he would ever be able to do for his child... give her a life. 

Through the course of the two hours I learned a little more about Happy's mother, her brothers, and the rest of the family.   Tomorrow I hope to learn more!  

I think the biggest piece of information that I learned today was one that only God could give me.  As I said earlier in a facebook post, I would support Happy seeing her father with the inference being a visit for today... or forever.  The reminder that I get from our Father in heaven is this:  God is God, and I am not.  And this meeting today was out of my control from the very start because this meeting had nothing to do with me, really.   Today was a gift to Happy.  And I believe it was planned before I came into the picture and probably before Happy was even born.  How beautiful that God our Father could bring sobriety of the body and mind to an earthly father.  That in this earthly father's last year of life, he could bring the gift of hope and a family to his daughter.  

AIDS will take the life of Ewaldi Augustino Ngowi this year just like it will his daughter  in years to come.  But for now, in these moments, I will cherish and foster the time I can give the two of them.  I grew up without any knowledge of my biological father and it was a black mark in my emotions growing up.  I am so grateful to God that Happy won't know that emptiness.  Tomorrow I will take so many pictures and I will video everything I can.  I want her to hear his voice when she is older since her memory will betray her these days. 

I'm started to fight back tears.  I'm so grateful to Ewaldi and to God.  How lucky are we to have a God who is so good. 

 "Great is the LORD and most worthy of praise; his greatness no one can fathom." 

~ Ps. 145:3

Happy, Ewaldi, and Aunt Editha Ngowi