Parenting After Adoption

Leaving the airport in Port-au-Prince is something else! Right outside the doors are throngs of people calling out to you and several men swarm in to grab your bags. We were instructed to hold tight to our bags, walk fast, and say “No!” very firmly. If you give one a bag, they all start grabbing the rest out of your hands. So this is what Monica* and I did, but our driver, Daniel*, threw one of Monica’s bags onto a cart and allowed one of the men to carry it. The others swarmed us and grabbed the box I was carrying out of my hands. In the end, we had 5-6 men carrying our bags and we had to tip them all. This was an overwhelming experience that left me feeling very vulnerable.

If this wasn’t overwhelming enough, imagine returning to the airport a few days later (Feb. 18th) right after saying a heart wrenching goodbye to your little boy who probably thinks you’ll never return just as his birth mother had done. As soon as we pulled up to the entrance, several men swarmed the back of the van and started pulling out all of our luggage. Daniel jumped out and argued with them until we had just one man helping us. I paid Daniel and we were on our way into the airport with the man carrying one of Monica’s bags. I only had my backpack and small suitcase on wheels, but Monica had two large bags, a diaper bag and her 15-month-old son, Tyrell*.

There are few signs to explain what is expected of you and I was feeling more overwhelmed and vulnerable than when we arrived in Port-au-Prince. I wasn’t sure what documents I needed, where to go, and what to do. I didn’t know when I should be tip, whom I should be tipping, or even how much was expected. I had been told to keep one dollar bills in my pocket and give one or two to each “helper” so I was a bit freaked when the man helping asked if that was all I was giving him as if I should have paid him far more. I was down to just two more and not sure who else would require tipping so I panicked. I told him that’s all I had and prayed he would except it. Thankfully he did and walked way. Whew!

Monica has been to Haiti on many occasions so I just stuck to her like glue. For some reason, we were singled out immediately by the airport personnel. Our e-ticket itineraries were looked over and then we were shuffled to the front of the line. The entire time, all the people in line just stared at us and watch our every move. Our checked luggage was opened and inspected in front of the entire crowd. Nothing like all your dirty unmentionables being shown to the world!

We finally made it to the ticket counter to check in. Thankfully it was a quick and smooth process but we weren’t done yet. We had to pay our exit tax, which I had held out and kept inside my passport so that I wouldn’t accidentally spend it. Once we paid, we were given a little ticket to present as we exited through customs. Great, one more thing to worry about losing!

On our way to the secure area for customs, another man approached us and started asking for money. He kept telling us that for $10 he’d take care of security for us. At first we didn’t understand him but I eventually caught what he was saying. I wasn’t sure if we were supposed to let him or whether this was a bribery situation. I finally just starting telling him that I didn’t understand and bolted through the security door while praying that I did the right thing.

We headed toward the customs agents and we were escorted to an agent. The copies of the adoption paperwork were requested from Monica and we were then escorted into a tiny little room about the size of a standard American walk-in closet. Tyrell was tired, hungry and been through a lot already in the hour we had been at the airport. He began to cry in that tiny closet of a room. Again, no signs nor anyone who spoke English to tell me what I needed to be doing. Monica was busy looking for her paperwork and unable to help me.

When I entered the room, I gave the agent the orange copy of the form I filled out on the plane. The first time through customs, they took the top copy and now this time an agent needed the second copy. We had also filled out a second form but I believe that one was kept by the first agent when we arrived. However, it appeared this agent also wanted that copy so I franticly went through all my things looking for that white form that I was certain I no longer had with me. I began to cry and thought for sure I’d never get out the country!

Monica finally realized my confusion and explained that I was done. The agent was just waiting for the rest of Tyrell’s paperwork before he allowed us through. So I asked the agent in Haitian Creole if I was finished. To my utter relief, he said yes. Monica found the paperwork and we were escorted to the security screening area. We sailed through that part and we were finally done with customs. We then had two hours or so to pass before our plane would be boarding so we went upstairs to the food court and shops.

I went through all the shops looking for some souvenirs to take home. I saw many things in my price range, but they were too big to carry on the plane. My backpack was too full, but it would accommodate a few small items. I settled on two small statuettes and a ball point pen that says Haiti 2004. Haiti celebrated its 200th anniversary last year.

At long last it was time to board our plane so we went down stairs and through another security station. This time we were patted down. They board in groups these days, but we couldn’t understand the English over the the intercom any better than the French or Haitian Creole. We just picked a line and hoped for the best. We figured the ticketing agent would tell us if we were in the wrong line, but it appeared only one of the two planes were boarding.

Our ticket stubs were taken and our passports checked. We walked out the door and within 5 feet our passports were checked again. The security officer checking my passport looked serious and gruff, but he evidently has a sense of humor. I have been concerned by the photo in my passport because it does not really look much like me. I know it is my photo, but if you didn’t know me, would you know it was me? The officer asked, “Is this really you?” My heart sank, but I thought I heard a hint of teasing in his voice so I said, “Unfortunately, yes. It’s a really bad picture of me.” He chuckled and responded, “Oh, don’t say that!” He then returned my passport and motioned me along.

I was then boarding the plane to go home to America. We boarded the plane, got settled, took photos of Monica and Tyrell leaving Haiti, and then I was left to my thoughts. As I looked out the window and said my goodbyes to the landscape and to my son’s country, I felt the intensity and complexity of the moment. At that moment I was between two worlds… the world of my Haitian born son, whom I left behind, and that of my own country where my family was anxiously awaiting my return. I missed my family immensely and wanted to return but at the same time I wanted to stay and be with my son who has no family until the day I return to bring him home.

Once we landed in Miami, we stood in another line for a passport check. We had also filled out a form on the airplane for customs. This time it was easy to understand and I was back in a country with people who speak the language I speak and understand fluently. I understand the culture and customs. When I go to pick up Lucas, I think that I’ll choose the same later flight as getting through customs was a breeze compared to the stories we usually hear. The longest part was actually walking from our gate to the customs area. We found a short line, quickly went through the line, and then into the room where they processed Tyrell’s adoption and citizenship paperwork.

Once we collected our bags and caught the shuttle to the hotel, it finally began to sink in that I was really back in America and I was on my way home. We settled ourselves into our room and treated ourselves to room service. I took my first long, hot shower since leaving the States several days before. Oh, what a wonderful thing! We ate our food and made calls home. My family wasn’t there, which was upsetting. I really needed to hear their voices. I left a message but was asleep by the time my husabnd called. We had to be up by 5 a.m. and it was late so we didn’t talk.

* pseudonyms

Copyright © 2007 Becky Wilson. All Rights Reserved.

Haiti adoption, traveling to Haiti, older child adoption, trans-cultural adoption, inter-country adoption, international adoption, trans-racial adoption