Word has finally been received that the U.S. Embassy in Kazakhstan is prepared to issue Andrei his immigration visa to America. Gaining this visa will be the long anticipated conclusion to the patient and enduring process of bringing Andrei home to our family. I will soon return to Kazakhstan - this time without Becky - and will be reunited with Andrei in Almaty for the first time since Becky and I left Karaganda a few weeks earlier. I can only imagine Andrei’s bewilderment when he sees me, surely not understanding where I have been all this time. I can also imagine this will not be the only source of his confusion, having just been uprooted from the only existence he can recall in the Karaganda orphanage.
But Andrei is not home yet. Before leaving Kazakhstan, he must submit to an exit health exam, and the two of us will face up to Embassy officials as they interview us (me) prior to the issuance of the visa. In all, Andrei and I will spend maybe three days in Almaty before we board our flight back to America. As in Karaganda, the winter is harsh in Almaty, and the days spent here will certainly not be the most pleasurable that we will share. Additionally, I will have to combat my anxieties about the long travel home (a potential ordeal with a two-year-old child). To quell this anxiety, I have been preparing myself by internally chanting: “this is all about Andrei, and the hardships and discomforts are temporary,” over and over again.
For the next few days until my departure to Almaty, I will spend my time hovering between two separate realities: my more recent inhabitance of a Bavarian mountain valley in southern Germany, and my mental anticipations of Kazakhstan and America. I am currently staying with my friend Thorsten in an 18th century farm house near Bad Tölz, not far from the Austrian border. With an early spring arrival, the local farming scene has come to life, preparing and fertilizing the patchworks of pasteur for the season’s hay production and grazing. Farmers, wives, tractors and animals have been mobilized, and it has been pacifying for my mind and soul to spectate the time-old dance that has been so integral to European (and human) development. This classic Bavarian reprieve has afforded me the rest and reserve I will need for the events to come.
In all, Operation Kazakhstan has been a wild experience. From the struggles of Kazakhstan to the riches of Europe, I have been able to place foot and finger upon the places and lifestyles I had known only from books. But I long to be with my family now, wearied by our separation across the globe. More than ever, I am ready to “mission accomplish”, and introduce Andrei to Edward as well as our American home. Fortunately, the time will be soon.
Charles
Friday, February 29, 2008
Thursday, February 21, 2008
A European Odyssey
With Becky recently gone for home from our European visit, I remain in the Wuppertal river valley of the German foothills above the city of Cologne. Our friends, Thorsten and Jovanka, with whom we have shared many experiences over the course of a decade, greeted us in Amsterdam and carried us back to their home in this story-book German setting. While Becky was still with us, we embarked on an essential European experience: visiting a late medieval castle in Schlossburg, marveling at the great gothic Cathedral in Cologne, and even witnessing a host of well-known female rockclimbers pit their strengths at a nearby competition (something innately European). I am already missing Becky, having just shared the experience of a lifetime in Kazakhstan, and look forward to the assembly of our new family to be united. For now, I will delve and ponder the ways and wonders of European life as I await my return to Almaty.
Germany is an exemplary example of European lifestyle and the rich world at large. People here take great care to ensure a high quality of life, and the examples range from the superb breads, meats and cheeses that arrive at our dinner table to the immaculate landscapes and details of their homes. Even the quality of the roads here is extraordinary, something especially noticeable when you are shotgunning a mid-range BMW down the Autobahn at 125mph. Nothing that Becky and I saw in Kazakhstan could compare to level of sophistication that this society employs. It is interesting to consider that during the thousand year interim between the shattering of the Roman Empire and the emergence of the Italian Renaissance - a period known as the Middle Ages - Germania, as it was then known, was among the more depressed regions of the civilized world. A bit of European history helps to lay the framework:
The Middle Ages was when modern Europe began to take shape. After the fall of Rome (for which the fatal blow was dealt by Germanic tribes), continental Europe, particularly north of the Alps, fragmented into thousands of independent feudal communities. Where Rome was a civilized society with literacy, art and architecture such that the world had never known, the Middle Ages regressed to a pre-civilized state of sustenance farming and superstitious preoccupation. As farm production gradually improved and figures such as King Charlemagne of the Franks began to set a new state building precedent, the wealth that had continued to float on the Mediterranean Sea, as drifting from the Silk Road and the Byzantine Empire, started to find its way back to Europe.
The Bubonic Plague, or Black Death as it is commonly called, arguably kicked off a new dawn for late medieval Europe. A deadly disease that found its way into the West after traveling along the Silk Road from China, the Black Death reduced the European population by nearly half. The severe reduction in size of the European labor class effectively overhauled the “social contract” as feudal farm tenants suddenly gained a greater value in society. Eventually, this bottom up restructuring gave rise to a bourgeoisie middle-class, an important development for the free-thinking minds that would later contribute to the Age of Enlightenment, a period of heightened philosophic and scientific inquiry.
The Age of Enlightenment is considered by many to be the turning point from which Western civilization pulled away from the rest of the world. No longer content with the Biblical explanations of the natural world, Enlightenment thinkers began to rally over many of the great unsolved problems, such as the role of the earth in the physical universe, and the evolution of man and biological species. As scientific understanding increased, manipulation over nature also increased. This movement is expressed in the burst of industrialized effort from this period. But this era of problem solving wouldn’t stay bound to the confines of Europe for long. New knowledge about maritime navigation and the spherical nature of the globe pushed European colonial efforts to ever expanding frontiers until the Western influence was felt the world over. Years later, a circumstantial power shift would give favor to one of these European colonies, and America would emerge to become the greatest globalizing power of all time. It will be interesting to see where this power lies in the future.
Germany is an interesting vantage point from which to cast this survey of historical perspective. Despite a couple of bad episodes that still reverberate through the modern day (read the World Wars), Germany is a country that holds deeply to its national heritage. The people here are still in the thrall of a way of living that must have held steady through their ancestral ages: the mandatory look in the eye upon mealtime “cheers”, the kiss on the cheek upon friendly greetings, and the tactful deliberations among casual friends (not to mention a love for sausages, a weariness of the “Franks” and “Hollandaise”, and a penchant for BMWs).
Near Jovanka’s flat in Wuppertal, there is a footpath that leads to a nearby forest. Every morning, I like to walk there, musing at the ornate and picturesque German houses along the way. From the far edge of the forest floor, I can see the rolling hills of the most beautifully manicured farmland I have ever seen. My imagination runs wild during this time, thinking through the ages of European development, about America’s rise to colonial and world domination, and about how places like Kazakhstan got left behind. Despite my being enamored with this place that is not my home, I consider myself immensely lucky to be American, and I hope that Andrei will grow to feel the same way.
Germany is an exemplary example of European lifestyle and the rich world at large. People here take great care to ensure a high quality of life, and the examples range from the superb breads, meats and cheeses that arrive at our dinner table to the immaculate landscapes and details of their homes. Even the quality of the roads here is extraordinary, something especially noticeable when you are shotgunning a mid-range BMW down the Autobahn at 125mph. Nothing that Becky and I saw in Kazakhstan could compare to level of sophistication that this society employs. It is interesting to consider that during the thousand year interim between the shattering of the Roman Empire and the emergence of the Italian Renaissance - a period known as the Middle Ages - Germania, as it was then known, was among the more depressed regions of the civilized world. A bit of European history helps to lay the framework:
The Middle Ages was when modern Europe began to take shape. After the fall of Rome (for which the fatal blow was dealt by Germanic tribes), continental Europe, particularly north of the Alps, fragmented into thousands of independent feudal communities. Where Rome was a civilized society with literacy, art and architecture such that the world had never known, the Middle Ages regressed to a pre-civilized state of sustenance farming and superstitious preoccupation. As farm production gradually improved and figures such as King Charlemagne of the Franks began to set a new state building precedent, the wealth that had continued to float on the Mediterranean Sea, as drifting from the Silk Road and the Byzantine Empire, started to find its way back to Europe.
The Bubonic Plague, or Black Death as it is commonly called, arguably kicked off a new dawn for late medieval Europe. A deadly disease that found its way into the West after traveling along the Silk Road from China, the Black Death reduced the European population by nearly half. The severe reduction in size of the European labor class effectively overhauled the “social contract” as feudal farm tenants suddenly gained a greater value in society. Eventually, this bottom up restructuring gave rise to a bourgeoisie middle-class, an important development for the free-thinking minds that would later contribute to the Age of Enlightenment, a period of heightened philosophic and scientific inquiry.
The Age of Enlightenment is considered by many to be the turning point from which Western civilization pulled away from the rest of the world. No longer content with the Biblical explanations of the natural world, Enlightenment thinkers began to rally over many of the great unsolved problems, such as the role of the earth in the physical universe, and the evolution of man and biological species. As scientific understanding increased, manipulation over nature also increased. This movement is expressed in the burst of industrialized effort from this period. But this era of problem solving wouldn’t stay bound to the confines of Europe for long. New knowledge about maritime navigation and the spherical nature of the globe pushed European colonial efforts to ever expanding frontiers until the Western influence was felt the world over. Years later, a circumstantial power shift would give favor to one of these European colonies, and America would emerge to become the greatest globalizing power of all time. It will be interesting to see where this power lies in the future.
Germany is an interesting vantage point from which to cast this survey of historical perspective. Despite a couple of bad episodes that still reverberate through the modern day (read the World Wars), Germany is a country that holds deeply to its national heritage. The people here are still in the thrall of a way of living that must have held steady through their ancestral ages: the mandatory look in the eye upon mealtime “cheers”, the kiss on the cheek upon friendly greetings, and the tactful deliberations among casual friends (not to mention a love for sausages, a weariness of the “Franks” and “Hollandaise”, and a penchant for BMWs).
Near Jovanka’s flat in Wuppertal, there is a footpath that leads to a nearby forest. Every morning, I like to walk there, musing at the ornate and picturesque German houses along the way. From the far edge of the forest floor, I can see the rolling hills of the most beautifully manicured farmland I have ever seen. My imagination runs wild during this time, thinking through the ages of European development, about America’s rise to colonial and world domination, and about how places like Kazakhstan got left behind. Despite my being enamored with this place that is not my home, I consider myself immensely lucky to be American, and I hope that Andrei will grow to feel the same way.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
Postcard to Edward
Edward, our 7-year old son, has been a trooper extraordinaire throughout the entire process of Andrei’s adoption. He has been staying with my folks in Salt Lake City, and the reports that Becky and I receive have told a story of how grown up this young man is becoming. Edward has consistently readied himself for school in the morning, and has taken responsibility for his school work with only minimal hounding. Edward has undoubtedly missed Becky and I, as we have intensely missed him, but it sounds as though he has kept his cool and acted like the young man that he is.
Edward has been skiing this year for The Canyons Summit Ski Team. This last weekend, our family friend Patrick took Edward to one of his races at Brighton. We are told that he had a great run and was also a great sport. Edward is an awesome skier and is certain to be an awesome big brother as well.
We love you Edward!
Mom and Dad
Edward has been skiing this year for The Canyons Summit Ski Team. This last weekend, our family friend Patrick took Edward to one of his races at Brighton. We are told that he had a great run and was also a great sport. Edward is an awesome skier and is certain to be an awesome big brother as well.
We love you Edward!
Mom and Dad
Farewell to Karaganda
As our bags are packed and internet connection soon to be broken, the time has come for Becky and I to cast our farewell to Karaganda. Operation Kazakhstan has been about the addition of a new life to our American family, and I hope the pages of this web-log have helped to chronicle the adventure thus far. Andrei is a gift; something beyond our wildest expectations and something Becky and I are deeply grateful for. Thanks to those who have shared in the experience with us.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Field Report: Special Agent Andrei
Andrei was taken into custody at the Karaganda orphanage in July 2007, when he was about seventeen months old. Becky and I don’t know the details of his past except that his parent’s legal custody rights were relinquished to the state of Kazakhstan when he entered the orphanage. Six months later, Andrei made his first appearance to a group of adoptive parents that had traveled halfway around the world from America. Becky and I were among these parents.
Visiting the orphanage that day was an anxious time for Becky and I. Still jet lagged from the long journey that concluded only the night before, our stomachs were in our throats and our senses were adrift with delirium. The tarnished corridors of the old Russian orphanage were straight out of a Cold War movie and added a thickness to the emotions we were trying to compress. Soon, we were introduced to Rosa, the director of the orphanage, and Larisa, the adoption facilitator. Larisa, a very tactful woman whom I have come to understand is infamous for her curtness, gave Becky and I, along with the three other fellow American parents, a brief rundown about the child selection process. Shortly thereafter, a trickle of children started streaming in for us to see.
Blankets were laid on the floor and one by one, the orphanage care-givers started bringing in these stunning little Kazakh babies. Most were able to prop themselves on their elbows and hands and some were able crawl about and creep up on our pant legs. Before long, the room seemed flooded with babies and I watched Becky go haywire, hugging and adoring every last one of them. This was obviously a dangerous scene for a woman with ‘the fever’. Then came in a few toddlers, something Becky and I weren’t sure we could expect.
Of the toddlers, there were two little boys and a girl. Becky and I thought that we would like to adopt a toddler, but were told that the availability was unpredictable and not something we could count on. Days before leaving for Kazakhstan, we were told that we probably needed to fix our minds on adopting a baby.
As I watched Becky continue to wallow in babies from across the room, I turned my attention to the new arrivals. In particular, I tried to divide my attention between the two boys (the girl toddler, Anya, was already beginning to create a stir among the other parents). The smaller of the boys had ice blue eyes and blond hair - Andrei, as it turned out. Upon entering the room, he was immediately busy gathering toys and scuttling about. He genuinely seemed to be a good kid and instinctively I felt he might be good candidate for Becky and I. However, with so many options cruising around the room, I was hesitant to isolate any of the children just yet.
The other boy, a taller kid with brown hair, was also busy gathering toys, and having ‘bookmarked’ Andrei for later inspection, I decided to go ahead and try to acquaint myself with him. Despite my deliberate effort, I found myself completely unable to attract his attention. At maybe three-years of age, the brown haired boy had the dark bags of trauma hanging below his eyes and I could only guess that he was suffering from some degree of detachment disorder. Becky and I have been told that there is a special league of parents that are willing to take on a child like this, but it is a different type of adoptive game; ‘masters-chess’ if you will. Such an adoption would be beyond what our social-worker back in Salt Lake City advised for us. Meanwhile, I continued to take notice of the teasing that Andrei intermittently directed towards me. At one point, Andrei even offered a toy for my own amusement. While Andrei seemed to offer a positive impression of himself, I was beginning to wonder if Becky had set herself on a different course. As far as I could tell, she was sinking rather deep in a tide of babies.
Feeling like I had a working idea of what was going in Toddlerville, I broke off to see how Becky was fairing. At this moment, she was holding two babies, one in each arm and passed one off to me so she could pick up another. Fun and games, I thought. Again, this was a dangerous scene.
By the time the orphanage medical doctor began to read-off the medical reports for the children of interest, Becky and I decided it was time to get serious. Little did I realize, but while Becky was getting carried away with her baby-wrangling, she had also been eyeing little Andrei. I guess we were deciding to stick to our original intentions after all. Becky and I then gravitated to Andrei in an attempt to affirm what we were already sensing about him. With Becky and I now together and receiving the full dose of Andrei’s charm, we were starting to see the light. Andrei was definitely glowing before us. It took no time flat and we knew for certain that he was the one.
To my mind, agreeing on a child that both Becky and I could embrace as a suitable addition to our family would be the crux of our journey to Kazakhstan. As it turned out, accepting Andrei to be our own was the easy part. For the next two weeks, Becky, Andrei and I would spend a substantial amount of time together trying to forge a bond among strangers that we could carry back to a permanent existence in America. Getting to know the fickle and whims of a two-year-old child that has already learned an array of survival skills in an old Soviet orphanage has proved to have its challenges. In the beginning, everything was new and good and we were all having a really nice time.
Becky’s love affair with Andrei was nearly immediate. She has a gift for the subtle amusements of play. Her games might include: “stuffed animal storytime”, “mom’s restaurant”, and helping to make fun with the perennial classic, “all the little toy people getting stuffed in the little toy house by Andrei-the-Giant”. Andrei quickly grew to adore Becky and it was easy to see that these two would go far. My relationship with Andrei was a bit more uphill. As a masculine figure, I represent something of an alien to a boy who has been living exclusively under the feminine care of the orphanage establishment. Larisa, the adoption facilitator, forewarned me that this would be a hurdle to overcome. Fortunately, Andrei’s basel temperament is inherently good natured, allowing me to make inroads with him at a steady pace. However, after the first week came a confrontation that damaged some of the bond between Andrei and I.
One afternoon, Andrei began to throw some nesting bowls in a tyrannical manner. I told him twice to stop, and in utter defiance, he continued to throw the bowls. Firmly, I extracted the bowls from his grasp, and shelved them out of his reach, no longer rebuking him but gazing coldly into his eyes, as if challenging him to push me further. He held my eyes, and after a 45-second stand off, I could see him physically bow down and emotionally sour. I may have won the match, but it was apparent to me that my hammer might have been too heavy. I felt a weakening of the goodwill that had been slowly generating between us and it took a couple days for Andrei and I to recoup what we had lost. An upshot to this is that I think I have a better sense of where his personal will lies and can hopefully better gauge the disciplinary pressure to apply in the future. Already, I like to believe this small tribulation has opened a space for us to reach a new high watermark in our relationship.
Andrei is an incredibly good little boy. Uncannily, he reminds us a great deal of Edward when he was two. The primary challenge ahead of Andrei is getting his English speech at a par with his Russian. This will not be a great feat for him though, as his Russian is still mostly jibber-jabber peppered with a variety of his more practiced words. Some of Andrei’s favorite words include “peet” (a drink), or “paka” (see you later), and “garyachee!” (hot! - a common response in mom’s restaurant).
As of this writing, Becky and I are winding down with the final signatures and appearances necessary to finalize our adoption of Andrei. Our time with Andrei in Karaganda is also drawing to a close. Andrei and I will reconvene 3-4 weeks later in Almaty, once his U.S. emigration visa has been completed. As a swan-song to Becky and I, the orphanage will host a small party that will be attended by all of the people in Karaganda that have helped us along the way: Rosa, Larisa, and Olga (the director, facilitator and Russian interpreter for the orphanage), and all of the care-givers, many of whom work behind the scenes. From the party, Becky and I are off to the airport and on to Europe where we will meet our dear friends from Germany, Thorsten and Jovanka, for a long awaited visit on their home turf.
After spending some time with our friends, Becky will return to the States and to her work. Andre will remain at the Karaganda orphanage as other prospective parents arrive to adopt more of the awaiting children. I will bide away in Europe, keeping vigil until I am summoned to Almaty for the last strokes of paperwork at the U.S. Embassy in Kazakhstan. As I make my return flight back to Almaty, Andrei and his escort will be on an old Soviet railway, crossing the great steppes of Kazakhstan to meet me. I can’t wait to get this little bugger home.
Charles and Becky
Visiting the orphanage that day was an anxious time for Becky and I. Still jet lagged from the long journey that concluded only the night before, our stomachs were in our throats and our senses were adrift with delirium. The tarnished corridors of the old Russian orphanage were straight out of a Cold War movie and added a thickness to the emotions we were trying to compress. Soon, we were introduced to Rosa, the director of the orphanage, and Larisa, the adoption facilitator. Larisa, a very tactful woman whom I have come to understand is infamous for her curtness, gave Becky and I, along with the three other fellow American parents, a brief rundown about the child selection process. Shortly thereafter, a trickle of children started streaming in for us to see.
Blankets were laid on the floor and one by one, the orphanage care-givers started bringing in these stunning little Kazakh babies. Most were able to prop themselves on their elbows and hands and some were able crawl about and creep up on our pant legs. Before long, the room seemed flooded with babies and I watched Becky go haywire, hugging and adoring every last one of them. This was obviously a dangerous scene for a woman with ‘the fever’. Then came in a few toddlers, something Becky and I weren’t sure we could expect.
Of the toddlers, there were two little boys and a girl. Becky and I thought that we would like to adopt a toddler, but were told that the availability was unpredictable and not something we could count on. Days before leaving for Kazakhstan, we were told that we probably needed to fix our minds on adopting a baby.
As I watched Becky continue to wallow in babies from across the room, I turned my attention to the new arrivals. In particular, I tried to divide my attention between the two boys (the girl toddler, Anya, was already beginning to create a stir among the other parents). The smaller of the boys had ice blue eyes and blond hair - Andrei, as it turned out. Upon entering the room, he was immediately busy gathering toys and scuttling about. He genuinely seemed to be a good kid and instinctively I felt he might be good candidate for Becky and I. However, with so many options cruising around the room, I was hesitant to isolate any of the children just yet.
The other boy, a taller kid with brown hair, was also busy gathering toys, and having ‘bookmarked’ Andrei for later inspection, I decided to go ahead and try to acquaint myself with him. Despite my deliberate effort, I found myself completely unable to attract his attention. At maybe three-years of age, the brown haired boy had the dark bags of trauma hanging below his eyes and I could only guess that he was suffering from some degree of detachment disorder. Becky and I have been told that there is a special league of parents that are willing to take on a child like this, but it is a different type of adoptive game; ‘masters-chess’ if you will. Such an adoption would be beyond what our social-worker back in Salt Lake City advised for us. Meanwhile, I continued to take notice of the teasing that Andrei intermittently directed towards me. At one point, Andrei even offered a toy for my own amusement. While Andrei seemed to offer a positive impression of himself, I was beginning to wonder if Becky had set herself on a different course. As far as I could tell, she was sinking rather deep in a tide of babies.
Feeling like I had a working idea of what was going in Toddlerville, I broke off to see how Becky was fairing. At this moment, she was holding two babies, one in each arm and passed one off to me so she could pick up another. Fun and games, I thought. Again, this was a dangerous scene.
By the time the orphanage medical doctor began to read-off the medical reports for the children of interest, Becky and I decided it was time to get serious. Little did I realize, but while Becky was getting carried away with her baby-wrangling, she had also been eyeing little Andrei. I guess we were deciding to stick to our original intentions after all. Becky and I then gravitated to Andrei in an attempt to affirm what we were already sensing about him. With Becky and I now together and receiving the full dose of Andrei’s charm, we were starting to see the light. Andrei was definitely glowing before us. It took no time flat and we knew for certain that he was the one.
To my mind, agreeing on a child that both Becky and I could embrace as a suitable addition to our family would be the crux of our journey to Kazakhstan. As it turned out, accepting Andrei to be our own was the easy part. For the next two weeks, Becky, Andrei and I would spend a substantial amount of time together trying to forge a bond among strangers that we could carry back to a permanent existence in America. Getting to know the fickle and whims of a two-year-old child that has already learned an array of survival skills in an old Soviet orphanage has proved to have its challenges. In the beginning, everything was new and good and we were all having a really nice time.
Becky’s love affair with Andrei was nearly immediate. She has a gift for the subtle amusements of play. Her games might include: “stuffed animal storytime”, “mom’s restaurant”, and helping to make fun with the perennial classic, “all the little toy people getting stuffed in the little toy house by Andrei-the-Giant”. Andrei quickly grew to adore Becky and it was easy to see that these two would go far. My relationship with Andrei was a bit more uphill. As a masculine figure, I represent something of an alien to a boy who has been living exclusively under the feminine care of the orphanage establishment. Larisa, the adoption facilitator, forewarned me that this would be a hurdle to overcome. Fortunately, Andrei’s basel temperament is inherently good natured, allowing me to make inroads with him at a steady pace. However, after the first week came a confrontation that damaged some of the bond between Andrei and I.
One afternoon, Andrei began to throw some nesting bowls in a tyrannical manner. I told him twice to stop, and in utter defiance, he continued to throw the bowls. Firmly, I extracted the bowls from his grasp, and shelved them out of his reach, no longer rebuking him but gazing coldly into his eyes, as if challenging him to push me further. He held my eyes, and after a 45-second stand off, I could see him physically bow down and emotionally sour. I may have won the match, but it was apparent to me that my hammer might have been too heavy. I felt a weakening of the goodwill that had been slowly generating between us and it took a couple days for Andrei and I to recoup what we had lost. An upshot to this is that I think I have a better sense of where his personal will lies and can hopefully better gauge the disciplinary pressure to apply in the future. Already, I like to believe this small tribulation has opened a space for us to reach a new high watermark in our relationship.
Andrei is an incredibly good little boy. Uncannily, he reminds us a great deal of Edward when he was two. The primary challenge ahead of Andrei is getting his English speech at a par with his Russian. This will not be a great feat for him though, as his Russian is still mostly jibber-jabber peppered with a variety of his more practiced words. Some of Andrei’s favorite words include “peet” (a drink), or “paka” (see you later), and “garyachee!” (hot! - a common response in mom’s restaurant).
As of this writing, Becky and I are winding down with the final signatures and appearances necessary to finalize our adoption of Andrei. Our time with Andrei in Karaganda is also drawing to a close. Andrei and I will reconvene 3-4 weeks later in Almaty, once his U.S. emigration visa has been completed. As a swan-song to Becky and I, the orphanage will host a small party that will be attended by all of the people in Karaganda that have helped us along the way: Rosa, Larisa, and Olga (the director, facilitator and Russian interpreter for the orphanage), and all of the care-givers, many of whom work behind the scenes. From the party, Becky and I are off to the airport and on to Europe where we will meet our dear friends from Germany, Thorsten and Jovanka, for a long awaited visit on their home turf.
After spending some time with our friends, Becky will return to the States and to her work. Andre will remain at the Karaganda orphanage as other prospective parents arrive to adopt more of the awaiting children. I will bide away in Europe, keeping vigil until I am summoned to Almaty for the last strokes of paperwork at the U.S. Embassy in Kazakhstan. As I make my return flight back to Almaty, Andrei and his escort will be on an old Soviet railway, crossing the great steppes of Kazakhstan to meet me. I can’t wait to get this little bugger home.
Charles and Becky
Monday, February 4, 2008
Operation Kazakhstan Daily Summary
Now that Becky and I have managed to find our footing in Karaganda, we figure the time has come to do a bit of explaining about our daily doings:
Becky and I begin each day with a morning routine that includes a bay-window breakfast, a little personal scrubbing, and a glimpse of e-mail while we wait for our driver, Vladimir, to pick us up at a quarter of ten. Meanwhile, Andrei is also getting his day along with his eleven roommates: getting cleaned up and dressed in their winter layers (an ordeal as we have seen), eating porridge (I’m not kidding), and a morning group activity such as Russian story-time, Russian Sesame Street on the tube, or singing Russian songs to a piano accompaniment. While discussing Andrei’s morning routine, it is important to note that at twenty-three months Andrei is completely potty-trained, dresses himself, washes his own hands and face, sips his juice from an open cup with out spilling... What do these orphanage care-givers know that the rest of us don’t? I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it firsthand.
Becky and I arrive at the orphanage around ten. We take our boots and coats up to the playroom where we spend our daily visit, then carry off down the hall to retrieve little Andrei from his quarters. Andrei’s group activity is usually wrapping up by the time we arrive. To our continual surprise, we are then welcomed into Andrei’s quarters by the caregivers where we are greeted by the eager eyes of the children. As so many of the children at the Karaganda orphanage are not eligible for adoption due to various reasons, Andrei is the only one of his bunch that is currently undergoing the adoptive process. Therefore, it is a bit distressing to me when the kids call out to us as “mama” and “papa” (these Russian words are the same). I don’t understand why we are granted such unobstructed access, but I must say it is immensely interesting to see the habitat in which Andrei spends the bulk of his time. Having spent ten days with Andrei at the time of this writing, Andrei is running for us the moment we enter his room. It is quite a heady scene. Andrei’s quarters include a bedroom with two rows of beds for 'the little dwarves', a tiled area with a pint-sized wash-basin, two mini toilettes, a washing machine, and a cubby with a hook for each child’s cup, washcloth and clothes. There is also a common area with tables for eating and activities, and a carpet area for story-time and singing. Other scheduled events, such as music recitals and holiday programs are held in one of the larger common rooms of the orphanage.
Back at the visitation playroom, Becky, Andrei and I set about for a two hour session of unadulterated monkeying: balloon badminton, magic coin tricks, rifling through mom’s purse for goodies. We share our playroom with another family (that also happens to be from Utah) who are in the process of adopting baby twins. Generally speaking, it is a very pleasant, if somewhat tiring two hours. Our play session lasts until noon, and then everybody takes an extended European-style lunch break. Becky and I walk Andrei back to his quarters--swinging him between us like we used to do Edward when he was little--and return him to his comrades for more playtime, lunch, and a nap. Vladimir waits for us outside the building while we visit with Andrei, smoking cigarettes and telling Kazakhstan horse-stories with the other drivers. Becky and I catch a ride back to our apartment to eat lunch, then either go for a walk, watch the latest Kazakhstani music videos, decipher food labels at the grocery store, read, or nap. As far as Becky and I can tell, there are five other families, four from the U.S. and one from Spain, that are on a similar routine.
Returning to the orphanage at four, the afternoon session goes much like the morning: two-year-old dancing to an Ipod speaker, dumping out mom’s coin purse, playing peek-a-boo over the back of and old chair. During the afternoon session, the winter sun eventually sets through the room’s large south facing windows. By this time, I think everybody is finished for the day. Andrei gives Becky and I each a hug and a smacker for the road, and never fusses about returning to the other kids. As Becky and I leave the orphanage, the whole operation is winding down.
As Andrei and his homies begin their way to bed after a final bowl of porridge, Becky and I usually settle in for an uneventful evening of dinner, books, and maybe a DVD. We have gone out to dinner a couple of times with the other parents and have had a really nice time. The food here is excellent and actually quite cheap. In a Turkish restaurant one evening, we even enjoyed some live music care of the local talent. Pretty cool stuff.
Becky and I have ten more days in Karaganda, making for a total of three weeks. Our time spent in this old Soviet outpost has been enough for us to gain a fresh perspective on what it means to be American, something I will discuss further in a future post.
Charles and Becky
Post Script:
The Karaganda orphanage houses about a hundred and fifty children. Ages range from newborns to five years. I don’t know the percentage of kids that are eligible for adoption, but I get the impression it is surprisingly low. As long as a family member visits a child once every six months, the biological parents’ legal custody is preserved and the state will continue to care for the child as long as necessary. Beyond the age of five or six, kids are transfered to another orphanage that will continue to house them until the age of sixteen. From there, we are told, national military service is one of the more common avenues into the outside world.
Becky and I begin each day with a morning routine that includes a bay-window breakfast, a little personal scrubbing, and a glimpse of e-mail while we wait for our driver, Vladimir, to pick us up at a quarter of ten. Meanwhile, Andrei is also getting his day along with his eleven roommates: getting cleaned up and dressed in their winter layers (an ordeal as we have seen), eating porridge (I’m not kidding), and a morning group activity such as Russian story-time, Russian Sesame Street on the tube, or singing Russian songs to a piano accompaniment. While discussing Andrei’s morning routine, it is important to note that at twenty-three months Andrei is completely potty-trained, dresses himself, washes his own hands and face, sips his juice from an open cup with out spilling... What do these orphanage care-givers know that the rest of us don’t? I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it firsthand.
Becky and I arrive at the orphanage around ten. We take our boots and coats up to the playroom where we spend our daily visit, then carry off down the hall to retrieve little Andrei from his quarters. Andrei’s group activity is usually wrapping up by the time we arrive. To our continual surprise, we are then welcomed into Andrei’s quarters by the caregivers where we are greeted by the eager eyes of the children. As so many of the children at the Karaganda orphanage are not eligible for adoption due to various reasons, Andrei is the only one of his bunch that is currently undergoing the adoptive process. Therefore, it is a bit distressing to me when the kids call out to us as “mama” and “papa” (these Russian words are the same). I don’t understand why we are granted such unobstructed access, but I must say it is immensely interesting to see the habitat in which Andrei spends the bulk of his time. Having spent ten days with Andrei at the time of this writing, Andrei is running for us the moment we enter his room. It is quite a heady scene. Andrei’s quarters include a bedroom with two rows of beds for 'the little dwarves', a tiled area with a pint-sized wash-basin, two mini toilettes, a washing machine, and a cubby with a hook for each child’s cup, washcloth and clothes. There is also a common area with tables for eating and activities, and a carpet area for story-time and singing. Other scheduled events, such as music recitals and holiday programs are held in one of the larger common rooms of the orphanage.
Back at the visitation playroom, Becky, Andrei and I set about for a two hour session of unadulterated monkeying: balloon badminton, magic coin tricks, rifling through mom’s purse for goodies. We share our playroom with another family (that also happens to be from Utah) who are in the process of adopting baby twins. Generally speaking, it is a very pleasant, if somewhat tiring two hours. Our play session lasts until noon, and then everybody takes an extended European-style lunch break. Becky and I walk Andrei back to his quarters--swinging him between us like we used to do Edward when he was little--and return him to his comrades for more playtime, lunch, and a nap. Vladimir waits for us outside the building while we visit with Andrei, smoking cigarettes and telling Kazakhstan horse-stories with the other drivers. Becky and I catch a ride back to our apartment to eat lunch, then either go for a walk, watch the latest Kazakhstani music videos, decipher food labels at the grocery store, read, or nap. As far as Becky and I can tell, there are five other families, four from the U.S. and one from Spain, that are on a similar routine.
Returning to the orphanage at four, the afternoon session goes much like the morning: two-year-old dancing to an Ipod speaker, dumping out mom’s coin purse, playing peek-a-boo over the back of and old chair. During the afternoon session, the winter sun eventually sets through the room’s large south facing windows. By this time, I think everybody is finished for the day. Andrei gives Becky and I each a hug and a smacker for the road, and never fusses about returning to the other kids. As Becky and I leave the orphanage, the whole operation is winding down.
As Andrei and his homies begin their way to bed after a final bowl of porridge, Becky and I usually settle in for an uneventful evening of dinner, books, and maybe a DVD. We have gone out to dinner a couple of times with the other parents and have had a really nice time. The food here is excellent and actually quite cheap. In a Turkish restaurant one evening, we even enjoyed some live music care of the local talent. Pretty cool stuff.
Becky and I have ten more days in Karaganda, making for a total of three weeks. Our time spent in this old Soviet outpost has been enough for us to gain a fresh perspective on what it means to be American, something I will discuss further in a future post.
Charles and Becky
Post Script:
The Karaganda orphanage houses about a hundred and fifty children. Ages range from newborns to five years. I don’t know the percentage of kids that are eligible for adoption, but I get the impression it is surprisingly low. As long as a family member visits a child once every six months, the biological parents’ legal custody is preserved and the state will continue to care for the child as long as necessary. Beyond the age of five or six, kids are transfered to another orphanage that will continue to house them until the age of sixteen. From there, we are told, national military service is one of the more common avenues into the outside world.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
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