Children of Dreams, An Adoption Memoir (10 page)

The conversation took only a minute as they were waiting for my call. When I turned to thank the mysterious figure that had let me in, she was gone. I looked around the school lobby and out front but she was nowhere to be found. It was the second time I wondered if I had met an angel in disguise.

The Reeses showed up a few minutes later and the taxi driver, still waiting for his money, followed them to their apartment. They took Manisha and she started to cry. I felt badly leaving her.

I had the taxi driver—for once I was glad I didn’t speak Nepali—take me to the legal office. Upon arriving, I gave the poor, confused guy a nice sum of money for his trouble. I am sure he thought good riddance.

I walked into the legal office and plopped down in front of the official, making no effort about my appearance.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asked.

“I am sick.”

He could have cared less.

I thought, maybe I will puke on you and then you will give me my papers.

I didn’t have a Christ-like attitude, but I was sick and didn’t want to have an accident and bring humiliation on myself.

After a couple of hours, he got tired of looking at me. He left and came back later.

“You can go into this other room and wait.”

He directed me to a dark room and I sat for another hour and waited. He probably put me there because he didn’t want to look at me. After another hour, he told me to go see another man and he would have all of my papers. I went into another room and faced another man. He glanced through my documents.

“Everything is in order.” He said.

After stamping them, he handed them to me. After all the waiting, it took five minutes. I thanked him and left.

I managed to get out of the building and took a few steps away from the pedestrian walkway before collapsing on the ground. I tried to be discreet about my situation as people walked by.

At least the Nepali side of the adoption was done. I wouldn’t have to deal with the legal office anymore. I just had to give the U.S. Embassy proof that everything was legal so they would issue Manisha a U.S. passport.

I got a taxi back to the Bleu and called the Reeses so they could return Manisha. Shortly they arrived, and although I was feeling awful, I refused to let them keep her for the night.

“I can’t do that to her,” I told them, “no matter how badly I feel.” I tucked Manisha into bed early again and collapsed on the bed. The phone rang about 9:00 p.m. and the light displayed it was the front desk.

“Manisha’s father is here in the lobby and he wants to see Manisha.”

I wondered what he was doing in Kathmandu. I thought he had returned to his village.

I politely told the attendant, feeling guilty, “Tell him he can come tomorrow. I am sick and can’t come down tonight.”

I overheard him speaking in Nepali to Manisha’s father.

He came back on the phone, “He says it’s okay.”

I was relieved and hung up. Manisha had seemed exceptionally quiet since returning from the Reeses. I saw confusion in her eyes.

The next morning when I woke up, I realized I could hardly move. I willed myself to get us dressed and walked downstairs to meet Ankit and Alisha in the lobby. They had come over to finish the paperwork.

“Are you okay?” Ankit asked me.

Handing me a piece of paper to fill out, I started filling in the blanks and realized I couldn’t read the questions.

Ankit grabbed them from me. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

Alisha took Manisha, and fortunately, she didn’t protest this time.

We walked a couple of streets over to the Himalayan Clinic run for Westerners who frequently get sick. The clinic had just opened for business. We walked in and I slumped down in a chair. Ankit spoke to the receptionist in Nepali.

After a few minutes they took me to the back. Ankit asked me if I wanted him to come or wait in the lobby. I wanted him to translate.

Fortunately the doctor and nurse spoke English fairly well. The doctor poked on my belly and said, “You need fluids. You are very dehydrated. People die here all the time from dehydration. You are very sick.”

The nurse took me into another room and hooked me up to an I.V. I was relieved to see that it looked like an American clinic. It appeared sanitary and reassured me I wouldn’t die in a dirty Nepali hospital. Ankit had told me stories about the medical care and it sent shivers down my spine.

As the hours passed and the intravenous fluids coursed through my veins, I began to feel better. I relaxed on the cot from 9:00 in the morning until 4:00 in the afternoon with six bottles of I.V. fluid being pumped into me.

Ankit later returned to check on me. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Much better.”

“You need to come with me to one place,” he said. “You have to sign something I can’t sign for you.” He had spent the day trying to finish paperwork so I could return home. The doctor disconnected me from the I.V. and I felt strong enough to accompany Ankit.

We took a taxi to a government office where I signed one document and then he brought me back to the hotel. We decided it would be better for Manisha to stay with Ankit and his wife for the night to give me more time to recuperate.

After Ankit dropped me off, I began to feel sick again. I headed back over to the Himalayan Clinic before it closed. The nurse gave me another shot of something to ease the nausea and I left hoping I would feel better.

Back at the hotel I tried not to be anxious, relaxing in bed and sipping small amounts of water, but I couldn’t keep it down. I was getting better but not fast enough. Patience had never been my greatest virtue. Considering how close I came to dying from Cholera, I needed to be thankful I was alive. How dreadful it would have been had Manisha lost two mothers from the same disease.

The next morning, although I felt weak, I did not feel sick. I wanted American food to soothe my achy stomach.

I called the Reeses and asked them if there was a Western-style grocery store close by. I couldn’t handle the local food market anymore. I knew the sights and smells would trigger a return of the nausea from the previous day.

They told me about a little grocery store down the street for trekkers and hikers. I left the hotel and headed in what I thought was the right direction and found it. I wondered why I couldn’t have found the place a week ago. I got exactly what I wanted—Saltine crackers.

I munched on the crackers and began to feel better than I had felt in a couple of days. Ankit called and asked if I felt well enough to take Manisha.

I couldn’t wait to get her back. He and Alisha showed up in a little bit to drop her off, but Manisha was angry and would not come to me. I was disappointed but understood her reaction. In some ways we would have to start over again.

Only a few things remained to be done before we could leave. I had to pick up Manisha’s Visa at the U.S. Embassy. We went there first. Manisha fought with me the whole time and screamed loudly for her father. Her outburst worried me that the Embassy might not grant me her Visa, but they didn’t pay her any attention.

After a longer wait than expected, they handed me the precious document. From there we headed over to the Thai Airlines to get my ticket changed from May 16th to May 6th. The only way to do it was to spend two nights in Bangkok.

“Can you put us in a nice hotel?” I asked the ticket agent.

“Do you have a Visa for your daughter?”

“Yes.”

He was asking about a Thai Visa, but I was referring to the American Visa. I would later wish that, “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” (Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, 1594) .

I left the Thai ticket office and headed back. I decided to check us out of the Bleu Hotel and stay at the Everest Hotel for one night. Things were going dreadfully between us. I wanted to be in a different environment for Manisha with nothing to remind her of her father or my sickness; and to start afresh in a place that was more in keeping with a soft American girl.

I quickly packed everything and a waiting taxi took us to the hotel. It was also close to the airport and more convenient. After checking in we had some time in the afternoon to relax by the pool. I coaxed Manisha into the water up to her legs.

After swimming we went back up to our hotel room to get ready for a special evening. I gave Manisha a hot, bubbly bath and washed her hair. As I showered she watched a television broadcast from the States starring Barney, the purple dinosaur. She sat on the bed and clapped to the tune of, “I love you, you love me, we’re a happy family…” Later that became her favorite television show. Sweet memories. I almost felt like Manisha liked Barney more than me but at least she was mine.

We didn’t have a brown-out while she took her bath, but we did when I took my shower. Many of my experiences in Nepal had to do with bathrooms and toilets and bodily fluids. This time I was taking a shower when the power went out. I couldn’t remember how to turn the water off, how to open the shower door, or where my towel was. It was quite a new experience to be lost in a totally dark bathroom. Brown-outs were quite common and this was a “gotcha” one.

Alisha and Ankit arrived later in the evening and I treated them to a tasty meal. Ankit mentioned that Manisha’s father had called wanting to see her one more time. I suggested he come by the hotel after 10:00 that night when she would be asleep.

As we sat in the dining room feasting together, I reflected on my time in Nepal, how God had made everything possible even when things seemed impossible. We shared stories, reveling in God’s blessings. Manisha fell asleep in my arms and I took her up to the room to tuck her into bed. Raj, her father, stopped by and said a sweet goodbye to me in the lobby without seeing Manisha one last time.

The next day the world changed.

Chapter Fifteen

…I will bring your children from the east

Isaiah 43:5

I was awakened by the phone ringing before daylight. It was Ankit.

“The communists are striking today,” he said. “Nobody is supposed to travel on the roads because it’s dangerous. Everything is closed. I am not even sure we can make it to see you off.”

It wouldn’t make any difference as far as Manisha and I getting to the airport. We were just a couple of miles away. I was glad we had checked out of the Bleu which was near the epicenter of the political turmoil. I would have been disappointed if they had not shown up, but they made it.

After checking in our bags and sharing hugs, Manisha and I stood in line to board the plane, waving goodbye. I handed the attendant my passport, Manisha’s official travel document, and our airline tickets.

The Thai attendant looked at my paperwork. My heart skipped a beat as I could see in his expression that something was wrong.

“You can get on the plane, but she can’t.” He said. “She doesn’t have a Thai Visa with her documents.”

Ankit came over to see what was wrong. We looked at each other not knowing what he was talking about. We had not been told that any Thai Visa would be needed. There must have been some mistake.

Passengers continued to board the plane as the Thai official pulled us out from the line. He suggested we talk to somebody with more authority. Maybe a higher-up person could explain to us the problem. We were escorted to a private room to talk with a supervisor.

“You can get on the plane,” he said. “You don’t need a Thai passport because you have an American passport, but your Nepali daughter does not have an American passport. She has to have a Thai passport to stay for more than twenty-four hours in Thailand.”

I tried to explain to him that we had to stay two nights in Bangkok to make the travel connections work.

“Manisha can’t stay more than twenty-four hours in Thailand,” the Thai official said again.

Despite my protests and pleas, including being willing to sit in jail while waiting, they weren’t going to bend the rules.

“Why don’t you go to the Thai Embassy quickly and get one,” the supervisor suggested.

That was easier said than done. It was a long ways from the airport. Ankit wasn’t sure with the strike if we could even travel on the roads. The Maoists, who had instituted the strike, had roadblocks set up throughout Kathmandu.

“They could throw stones at us. It’s very dangerous,” Ankit cautioned. I could tell Alisha did not want us to go. On a motorcycle we would be easy targets. I wasn’t deterred. I wanted to try.

I gave Manisha a hug and handed her to Alisha. Ankit and I walked out of the airport and I followed him to his motorcycle feeling guilty for putting both of us in danger.

I didn’t know which was scarier: Speeding on a motorcycle or Communists stoning us with rocks.

I hoped we could do it quickly and get back before the plane left. On the motorcycle we were able to go around the blockades. I thanked God as we passed each one without incident. We finally arrived at the Thai Embassy but there were no cars in the parking lot. We got off the motorcycle and walked up to the closed door. On the door hung a hastily-written sign.

Ankit translated for me. “Closed today.” There was nothing we could do to get a Thai passport for Manisha until they reopened. With the political situation it was hard to know when that would be.