Girl From Ethiopia

IN THE THICK OF IT

There they were, two toddler friends playing together on a beautiful, hot July day. The girls hadn't seen each other since leaving their Addis Ababa orphanage. Back then, four months -- a lifetime? -- ago, they spoke easily to one another in their native Sidama language.  On this day, at this lovely park in Manhattan, they still speak easily to one another. Only now, the language is English.

It was predicted, of course. Everyone who knows about these things said that my daughter would learn English quickly. And she certainly has. It's a marvel to witness her mastering this complicated language.(Although it's very sweet to hear her say, "Mommy, can I come here please?"). She does not use any of her Sidama language anymore, and rarely uses the Amharic she learned upon arriving at the orphanage.

That brings me to a dilemma. Should I try to preserve her native tongue? To what end? When will she ever use it? Or, should I ensure that she, like the Ethiopian-American youth I met at a Cultural Day celebration, take Amharic lessons?

Does it matter?

"Look at them," says D. as she and I watch our girls playing together on that hot July day. "They're going to have completely different experiences because you're African American and I'm white."

It's true. Most people see us together as a family and have no idea she's adopted from Ethiopia. Does that mean my daughter will not ache for a connection to her roots as intensely as her friend? Is it more important to retain the markers of your cultural heritage when you look so overtly different from the rest of your own family?

Or, is blood thicker than skin color?

Black Like Me

Back in November, NPR did a series on the black family. One of the segments was devoted to black families who adopt from overseas. I was obviously happy about that, as there really aren't enough examples of African Americans who choose international adoption reflected  in popular culture -- even though our numbers are growing. It's a fascinating piece that includes an interview with Thomas Atwood, president of the National Council for Adoption. You can check it out here.

The woman interviewed, Sheri Redwood, was in the process of adopting from Ethiopia. The host of the show asked The Question: "Why Ethiopia?" Ms. Redwood said she chose international over domestic adoption because she wanted to have the biggest humanitarian impact. Yeah, but why Ethiopia? asked the host. Because: 

"We wanted to choose an African country because we're African American. We would never go to Asia or somewhere else...we want the child to be comfortable in America racially and socially."

In other words, she specifically wanted a black child.

I've been following a heated and heartfelt discussion about race on the major ET board.  So many of the white parents are earnest in their efforts to understand what their adoptive children's experiences will be in this country, but the pervasive underlying tone is one of duty, of obligation. I get the impression that if they could avoid the race issue,  and still have their lovely Ethiopian children, they would. I don't see anyone on those discussion boards saying, "I felt a desire to integrate my social world, to push past my comfort zone and explore my own prejudices and deepen my understanding of black culture, to delve into touchy racial subjects firsthand --that's why I decided to adopt a black child."

People are rising to the occasion, true, but that's different from saying, "We wanted a child whom the world would see as African American. We wanted the challenge."

As one mom on the discussion board said: "Does it always have to be about race?"

Yes.

As someone who has spent a lifetime learning to fit in in a predominantly white culture, I can both applaud trans-racial families, and admit that that's not a challenge I'm willing to rise to. Given what my children must face from society, and given my own history, I want them to blend in within the family unit as much as possible. You could say I know too much.

Whatever it is, I have always been clear that my adopted child would be many things I could not control and one thing I could: she'd be black like me.

Let it Be

Here's one of the the most moving and eloquent pieces I've ever read about black women and hair (something I know far too much about!).

It's by Tami at Anti Racist Parent, and it's a reminder to me that even though I've worn my hair natural for many years, I'm not totally free from the insecurity that led to my spending too much money and too many hours in salons, enduring scalp burns from harsh relaxers, and developing an unhealthy dependence on my hairdresser. I was afraid of my hair, and so I let others tell me what to do with it. That phase of my life was a tangled mess!

 White adoptive moms of Ethiopian girls may have to learn how to care for their daughters' hair, but black mothers like me have a harder psychological task -- to let our daughter's hair just be.

Image courtesy of Pheno09on Flickr.com.