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India
EthiopiaAs most of you probably guessed from our lack of return emails and phone calls, Anthony and I were tied up “having” our second child. We traveled to Mumbai (Bombay), India three weeks ago to pick up our new daughter, Maya. Maya is doing well in her new home. She is the happiest of children, all smiles and giggles.
We first met Maya at the Bal Vikas Orphanage on March 10th for one hour. She immediately jumped into my arms and hugged me close. She was at first a little shy of Anthony, though, being most likely the first male she ever saw and most definitely the first white male! But after a few fake sneezes and other funny noises from her new daddy, she couldn't resist the allure of the funny man making her squeal so she agreed to let him hold her. From that point on, she had clearly established herself as a daddy's girl, refusing even now to leave Anthony's arms for anyone else's.
We returned the next day (March 11th) to spend more time with her and (hopefully) take her with us. The Orphanage had asked us to spend at least 2-3 days with her but we were scheduled to fly to Delhi that afternoon so we were a little nervous they would not release her to our custody that day. Luckily, she immediately recognized us from the previous day, jumped into our arms again, and unequivocally declared herself our daughter.
Before leaving, however, one of the Ayahs (caretakers), took us on a brief tour of the institution. Maya entered Bal Vikas on February 23, 2007, the day after she was born.
We saw the infant room, which is little more than a series of steel floor cribs lining three out of four walls and a floor mat in the middle of the room. We also visited the toddler room, where a little blind girl attached herself to Anthony and followed him around the room, clinging onto his jeans. There was also a little boy who was sitting in his crib methodically rocking back and forth and another boy who had some severe facial deformities. It was heartbreaking to know that these children would not be going home with a forever family like little Maya was that day.
As we left the Orphanage, all of the Ayahs gathered around with tears in their eyes to say their good-byes. Maya would leave Bal Vikas on March 11, 2008 with only a gift book about India from the Ayahs and the green dress she was wearing.
Within hours of leaving the Orphanage, Maya was to experience her first bus ride and airplane ride, and probably her first car ride too. My lap served as her car seat since working seat belts were a rarity in India, and car seats even more so. Luckily, our driver was very adept at the art of shifting gears, dialing his cell phone, dodging other cars/motorbikes/bicycles/cows/people and turning around to smile at Maya, all at the same time.
In Delhi, Maya met numerous aunts, uncles and cousins, and was, of course, flooded with hugs, kisses and gifts. For her first two full days in Delhi, she would spend her time being shuffled in and around the United States Embassy four times, visiting two different doctors, and being photographed numerous times for her visa picture.
By Thursday evening, March 14th, we at last had a moment to relax: we had finally obtained her visa and with that came the comfort of knowing we could actually now leave the country with her.
While we were in India, we did have a few days to sightsee in Mumbai and Delhi. What struck us the most in our touring expeditions was how the extreme poverty that surrounded us contrasted with the extreme wealth. This would especially be the case in Mumbai, where our Guide Book estimated that almost 50% of the population was homeless in Mumbai and the population density of the city was six times greater than that of Manhattan. We did not doubt the truth of these numbers after seeing whole families living on the streets (including the medians between roads) everywhere we went. Brand new luxury apartment high rises would be ringed with tent cities. Even the nicest neighborhoods in Mumbai still had areas where people lived in the streets. The pool and gardens of the gorgeous Hyatt in Mumbai, where we stayed, was flanked by a 10-foot wall with barbed wire and shrubbery. Unbeknownst to the happy sunbathers, a few feet away on the other side of the wall was a large slum or shanty town where hundreds of people lived. From our window we could see the inhabitants bathe in and retrieve buckets of water from a small river that ran near the shanty town, cook their meals in open fires, and play impromptu games of cricket in the dirt. But no matter how poor, all the women wore brightly colored saris or salwar-kameezes, which was a stark contrast against the browns and blacks of the dirt shanties they lived in.
Most of our sight-seeing in Mumbai was done in the car. This was because every time we exited the car at a tourist sight, we were immediately mobbed by beggars, mostly little children. They would follow us around until we returned to the car, and would even come up to the car when stopped in traffic, pressing their faces up against the window and usually singing “Jingle Bells”.
We found Delhi to be much more tourist-friendly, in part because a lot of the sights required entrance fees, and thereby warded off most beggars. There was a nominal fee for resident Indians and a comparatively exorbitant fee for non-Indians and non-residents. I wore my Indian clothes and happily passed as a resident Indian. Anthony, not so much. We also delighted in watching my cousin and aunts haggle with street merchants. Bargaining is something like a national sport, and, we were told, a necessity given that the price of a ware would quadruple upon a merchant’s view of Anthony’s pale, sweaty visage.
On the evening of March 16th, we took our new daughter on the 14-hour plane ride from Delhi to New York. She did a great job on the ride, sleeping most of the time, unlike her father, who spent the last six hours vomiting in the rear right-side bathroom of the airplane that the Continental staff reserved solely for him. From our last meal in Delhi, Anthony caught a bad case of “Delhi Belly,” as the airplane staff had dubbed it, or “Gandhi’s Violent Revenge” as Anthony likes to call it. Imagine an airplane lavatory after your last two hour flight. Now imagine it after 14 hours and a case of Delhi Belly. Best flight ever!
After a week in New York getting acquainted with her grandparents, cousins and other relatives, Maya is now home in Dallas. Myles is adjusting well to his new sister, and slowly but surely learning how to share his toys with her. Every time our little sweet Maya snatches a toy away from Myles and flashes her sassy, enigmatic smile, we breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that she is truly part of the family now.
Welcome home, our Maya from Heaven!
