Shae' log: the last third

With all the commotion surrounding the funeral of Happy's father, I failed to realize that I had entered into my third trimester of pregnancy.  However, the hourly contractions for the last 8 hours has quickly reminded me that indeed, there's a baby in there.

Congratulations little boy on making it this far.  If we are able to go to America next month, you can do whatever you want.  But while we are in Africa, please stay in.  You are not ready to come out.  Trust me.

Love,

Mom

Shae's log: "...until the nights run out."

If you are still married and madly in love with the father of your children...

If you are divorced but maintain a friendly relationship with your kids' dad...

If you have conceded that he was only your 'baby daddy'...

Then you can probably understand what I am feeling right now.

In my previous blog I said that I would go every night and take care of Happy's father "until the nights run out."  Well today at 1:30 p.m., that is exactly what happened.  I got the call that Happy's father, Ewaldi Augustino Ngowi, had passed away.  I wanted so badly to hold back my emotions but somehow the tears kept quietly falling out of my eyes and slipped down my cheeks.  When I reached the top of my stairs, my housegirl Pendo was choking back tears while sweet Happy girl sat giggling in her arms.  Happy was all smiles at seeing me walk through the door and immediately ran for me to pick her up.  I tried to dry up my eyes but I found it was fairly futile.  As I got tissue from the bathroom, Happy ripped it out of my hands and did something that is actually so in character for her little soul.  She flipped my glasses off my face (thought they might break as they crashed to the floor. Ooops!), took the tissue to my tears, and then proceeded to stuff the paper up my nose to wipe it clean.  It was such a beautiful and sweet moment. In years to come she will understand the significance of those tears and how poignant her little two-year-old actions were today.  But for now, she just thought she was taking care of her mama in the exact same order I take care of her tears.  It was so touching that it made me want to cry more.  But I didn't.

I quickly gathered myself and rushed to the hospital to meet with the rest of Happy's family.  As we gathered together and moved our collective to Happy's uncle's house, more family members arrived --to my joy.  Of course, the occasion was solemn but the affections shared by each member that I had only seen from time to time was so needed. With the help of one of their friends who speaks beautiful English, we were all able to come to some decisions regarding Ewaldi's funeral and transport of his body.  I was so moved by their welcoming spirit.  It was made very clear that I was not there as a money machine.  I would help, sure, but every friend and family member chips in cash to cover burial expenses.  I explained that since Happy is so young, I must be there as a representative for her.  They all agreed that pictures were appropriate as she would want to know how we all came together in honor of her father.  It was so moving for me.  And heartbreaking.
Nomatter that limited time I had with Ewaldi, it is time that I will cherish for Happy.  He was so obviously intelligent.  And when sober and sound, a true gentle spirit.  His english, though limited, was so clear and beautiful.  I am forever grateful for his gifts-- both in the existence of Happy and his advocating for her to be my child. Nomatter how we feel about the men who father our children, we must give credit for they are part of the creation.  And even before I met him, I thought of him often.  Now he will always have a specific place in my heart.

The very last things he said to me after all the "business" was talked about, as he knew his time was ending, were these words:

"Tell me about Shae."

I held his hand as I spoke in English and my friend translated to make sure he understood every word.  I told him how spending these days with him was a privilege for me.  I told him about the success he brought to the adoption.  I told him about Happy's day and how already she looks at his pictures and says "baba, baba".  I told him she knows who he is as much as she knows me.  He smiled really big. He tried to squeeze my hand, and his VERY last words to me were this:

"Congratulations".

I gave him a half hug and left for the evening.  The next night (the 14th) was a difficult one as his breathing was labored and he could barely speak.  He stared at me.  Not creepily.  Not with confusion.  But with gratefulness and, dare I say it, honor.  As I fed him, I wondered if he knew it was me but there was no one to translate.  But then I heard him tell his sister that I had come again-- as if he was surprised-- but it was in Kiswahili and I didn't want to push him to try to think about translating his words to talk to me in English.  I eventually gave the food to his sister, and I propped him up and held his body as he was too weak to sit up on his own.  As the smell of death emoted from his skin, I kind of knew that night might be my last time to see him alive.  And I as I made plans this morning to come to the hospital equipped with materials to give him a bath tonight, there was a part of me that wondered if tonight would be our last time together.  But alas... our nights ran out.

I am devastated beyond words for my daughter.  AIDS has robbed her from ever knowing, smelling, feeling, touching, and hearing her father at a time when she would be old enough to remember.  The pain I feel for her is so great that its almost too much for me to bare.  Losing our parent while we are adults is horrific.  But we have a lifetime of memories to share and reflect.  Losing a parent before you are even old enough to talk-- well-- thats just cruel.    My only comfort is that he is with God now.  No, I don't believe that he is in heaven looking down over us.  That is not how I view death.  What I mean is that his fate is in God's hands.  I believe that one day upon our Lords return, we the living and the dead will raise up to heaven together.  And I have to believe that God will not leave Ewaldi behind.  And that is the only thing that I can teach my daughter to bring comfort to a situation that makes no sense.

In peace, Ewaldi Ngowi will now rest.  In faith, I will continue on the earthly fight for the life of his daughter.  And I'll be "happy' to do it.

~Shae

Happy, Baba Happy (Ewaldi), her auntie Editha and cousin Sharon. Only 1 month ago. A picture our family will cherish forever!

Shae's log: Today I was a good African

Watching patients in the mens ward of a local Tanzanian government hospital is sadness to the nth power. But being able to feed Happy's father and drown out the sadness around me-- truly a gift! He was so thrilled to see me even if he can't really talk or hear much now. But the little he could talk was words that will stick with me forever. I'll go every night until the nights run out...

And today, when he was telling my friend things to translate to me, his sister became choked up and walked out of the medical ward.  I could see through the window that she was outside crying.  So I did the only thing I knew to do.  I walked outside, stood beside her, and just took her hand into mine.  Her sister-in-law came out and took her behind the building (I think to get her to stop crying).  But while she was with me, I just let her cry.  Its probably something she doesn't get to do that often and as an American, crying is part of our culture.  So I was happy to foster this uncommon emotion in her.  Watching her brother deteriorate has got to be the most gut wrenching thing.  And then to hear him give me instructions on what to do after he dies had to be even harder.  But for her and for her brother, it was easy for me to hold it together and take care of business.  I really do think God built me for this.  And I feel honored to be able to help.

I desperately want to come home to America to deliver this baby boy and introduce everyone to Happy.  But if God's plan is for me to be here and care for this man and his family as he succumbs to AIDS, then that is what I will do.  

I hope my children will one day understand the choices I've made and, if need be, forgive me for my decisions.  I'm really trying to do what is best for everyone but I am sure that I will fail someone.  But I'll keep trying and pray for God to take over where I am deficient.  

~Shae

 

Shae's log: I don't make a good Tanzanian

Those beautiful brown eyes of hers motivate me in ways nothing else could!

My heart is breaking a little bit today.   After having enjoyed an amazing day at Cradle of Love and Tanz Hands yesterday (the blog is done but I wasn't in the emotional state to post it yet), I woke up to a text that made me pause.  I got word that Happy's father was very sick and his family needed my help to get him to the hospital.

My housegirl Pendo was so kind and kept calling the family for updates as they don't speak English well and my Kiswahili is crap.  I had made arrangements to get a car that her father could lay down in and I was all ready to collect him and take him to the hospital.  Luckily, the neighbors had worked it out  and transported him .So I got Happy ready and headed out to the hospital.  Uchumi was gracious enough to agree to accompany me and translate where needed.

Upon arrival at the hospital I remembered that it was Sunday and that things were a little different than they should be.  You see, here in Tanzania at a government hospital, personnel don't work if not properly motivated. I caught up with the family and found out that they had bribed a doctor to see Ewaldi, Happy's father, and that he was getting evaluated and meds. Upon walking into his ward, I found 10 beds in a dark room all full of 2 sick men per bed.  You read that right... 2 men per twin bed.  Only 1 blanket per bed. I expected this but my heart was heavy none the less.

I have to admit that I embarrassingly could not identify which man was Ewaldi. Upon approaching his bed, I found a severely sick, somewhat emaciated man. I was only allowed a look before the doctor ushered me out.  Visiting hours are strict and I was an hour too early.  Since Happy is not allowed in the ward, we all quickly went out and found her with Uchumi and started a translated conversation.  

Ewaldi was able to tell his brother and sister today what was translated as "the bad words".  Upon leaving the family, I asked Uchumi what was specifically said, and this is what Ewaldi told them today:  

"This is the end of my life. Please  get me to Moshi [nearer the family home] so that my mother and father can see me one last time before I die." 

As a collaborative effort between me and his sister and brother, we will have Ewaldi moved either by taxi or ambulance (if we can bribe enough) tomorrow to a hospital in Moshi where his father can come down the mountain and see his son before he dies.  Other family members will also be able to stay with him to make sure he is fed, drinks water, and receives medical care as it won't be done without the supervision of family. 

The most heartbreaking part for me is... well there are so many things.  I guess the realization that Happy won't see her father again is a large sadness.  Well, we don't know for sure, but the reality is not looking good.   I guess i thought we still had time to go to the family compound, see her older brothers, and take pictures with all of them together with their father.  But I don't see that happening now.  Three weeks ago when I met up with her father, I paid for his bus fare to Marangu where his parents and other relatives live.  Now I am so happy I did that.  Without knowing it, I gave him an opportunity to see his family all together.  I hope that it wasn't the last time.  But reality is telling me that it might. 

In Tanzanian culture, the only real time you might ever see someone show fear of or tears about death is at the physical funeral.  And even then, emotion may not be shown at all.  We pretend its not a big deal.  Death and birth are so casually referenced here as they happen too often... and sometimes as one event.  But I'll admit to you that today, while driving home with a singing Happy in the back seat, I couldn't stop the single tears that wanted to fall.   Suppressing my emotions is something of Tanzanian culture that I thought I was mastering well...

But today I realized that I make for a terrible Tanzanian.  My child losing her father is not something that will ever be casual.  Its not something that I will ever forget.  And it is a big deal.  My heart breaks for Happy, Kelvin, and Julius.  And for Mama Ewaldi.  Mama's aren't supposed to bury their children. 

~Shae 

Shae's log: Its a bird, its a plane...

Even though the plagues have stopped, I am still keenly aware that something else rodently, bugly, or snakely may attack my apartment!  I guess you could say that i am in a constant state of Unagi.  So you have to understand how the events of 20 minutes ago played out...

So there I was, sitting in the dark innocently trolling the internet when the fear of all fears struck.  From out of nowhere, a bush baby (not a squirrel, not a monkey, not a rat-- but something in between) jumped into my lap.  As my computer and all accessories went tumbling over onto a crumpled blanket beside me, I managed to get my almost 7 month pregnant self to my feet and let out screeches that must have made my downstairs nighttime guard shutter.  As I leapt toward the light switch, I heard a high pitched sinister squeal echoing behind me.  As the light switch clicked, and the room became illuminated, I swung around only to find my sweet Happy girl in absolute hysterical laughter.  She was laughing so hard that she was at that moment, dead silent!  She finally let go an outrageous howl and she excitedly lapped for breath.  And of course, it is in this moment that I realize the terrifying bush baby was no bush baby at all!  Instead, I found laying there on the floor beside my chair, Happy's beloved "GiGi" baby doll.  Apparently, she had woken up and thrown it over her crib and perfectly into my lap!  And in the dark, my Unagi senses tricked me into believing that the rodents of Africa were on attack in my apartment.  How the hell a bush baby could have gotten into my apartment... well... I don't know!  But somehow in that split second my rational mind was gone and dreaded nature was out to get me.

It took another 10 minutes of both of us laughing, a few cuddles, and a song or two for me to finally settle her back down into her crib. Oh my goodness.  I just got bested by a two year old.  George Clooney-- the ultimate prankster-- would be proud.

Happy's passport better come soon because if I don't get out of here for a bit, I may just lose my mind!!!  :)  Thats right, comment below.  I'm ridiculous.

~Shae

Shae's log: The plague is over/yummy eats

YUM!

 

So, I think this 2nd trimester has been really good.  I've finally gotten a hold of the iron issue and WHADDAYAKNOW my headaches have gone away!  I'm so stupid.  I really should have realized that the headaches weren't normal.  Anyway, yesterday's lunch was just so beautiful that I had to take a picture.  I mean, look at all that color!  Rice, beef cooked in light olive oil with onions, bell peppers, carrots, and spice-- all topped off with fresh cut avocado, watermelon, apples(i found good ones) and the sweetest mango I've ever had in TZ.  Its this kind of meal that makes me believe that maybe my lack of weight gain is ok.  Because the oil is the fattiest thing that I ate all day.  Everything else that I eat is so pure and nutritious.  The baby is moving around a lot and growing so I'm starting to worry less and less.  Gosh, how I will miss this good food when I am back in the U.S. Sure, sure, I can buy it in the grocery... but chemical free?  Cheap?  And straight off the vine/tree?  Nope.  Not possible in the city.  


On a side note, the plagues of Tanzania are over.  The ants have subsided, the water is clear again, the crickets have moved on.  Peace has been restored. 

~Shae

Shae's log: Maji Moto

The main pool of Maji Moto

Tanzania has a lot of interesting landscape and beautiful nature.  One such example is Maji Moto.  The words "maji moto" translate to "hot water".  So that was the destination on Sunday... get to the hot water spring.  Little did I know prior to our early morning journey that our trip out to the "hot water" would take almost 2 hours and a detour off the main roads onto 18 kilometers of rough, dusty, rocky terrain.  It wasn't until we were half-way there that the lead driver in our caravan of cars pulls up beside me (while I was stopped by the local Tanzanian police--- this makes #26!) and says, "hey, do you have a spare tire?"  My reply, "no. do I need one?" and he says to me "well, we are going on rough roads for quite a ways".  Great.  Information I could have used a few days ago (spare tires are expensive and not standard for your car. life very different here!).  Anyway, Mt. Kilimanjaro was out for all to see and in my experience with Kili, only good things have happened on the days when I've seen it.  So, I tempted fate and away we went. 

One of the awesome trees on our way.  Felt very safari like!

"Shikamoo!" (Smooth roads + no traffic = Lauren jumped out to get the shot!)

While on our way there and back, I would occasionally greet the people in the villages we passed.  All the children on the side of the roads were so polite and respectful.  NEVER did we hear a single child shout "white woman" but instead they exchanged respectful greetings which inspired me to also extend those same greetings to any elder I saw along the way.  The older men and women turned furrowed brows into big smiles whenever I slowed down the car to minimize the dust they had to breathe from the back tires of my car.  And their faces beamed as I would call "Shikamoo" (literal translation : I am at your feet (clasp your feet).  But the sentiment is this: I respectfully greet you, my elder).  They would immediately call back "Marahaba" (literal translation:  I accept your greeting/acknowledgment/blessing.  But the sentiment is this:  I acknowledge your respect of me, your elder).  There are some negative origins of this greeting. However, I have been told by many of my Tanzanian elders who speak English that they appreciate the greeting to them by a younger person-- nomatter the nationality.  I have seen older Tanzanians shun younger Tanzanians who do not offer the proper greeting.  I have always heeded the sage advice given to me by those who have lived a bit past myself.  So extending this respect is something I'm proud to do.

The banks of the springs-- can you see the rope swing?  I SOOO wanted to jump. But alas, with baby on board... not a good move!

Happy wasn't keen on the springs so she took refuge with Megan.

 

 

 

Happy loves hanging with Auntie Loz and looking at her "pichas"

Most of the good pictures Lauren has on her camera.  I will get those from her later and add to this post.  But in the meantime, I hope you've enjoyed some shots I took from my little point-and-shoot.  Maji Moto was not necessarily hot water, but the water WAS warm and crystal clear!  It was absolutely beautiful. Happy didn't enjoy it, but had fun with my other friends who were there while I took a little dip.  Again, I'll show those "shae in the water" pictures later when I get them! 

~Shae

"I'll drive us home, mama. I have the keys!"

"See, I'm an excellent driver!"