The question, seemingly stated innocently, usually intimates more. What many want to ask is: “How on earth did you end up adopting from a country like Colombia?” They think drugs, crime and kidnapping. After being there twice, we think beautiful flowers, rich coffee and handsome people.So how did we pick Colombia?
From the beginning, we knew we wanted to adopt from Latin America for several reasons. The language is not as much of a barrier as say, Chinese. It is geographically accessible for future return trips. And, we could happily welcome the Hispanic culture into our family.
When it came time to select a specific country from which to adopt, we didn’t consider Colombia because we didn’t meet the age guidelines. Instead, we chose Bolivia and began completing that country’s paperwork.
But as those who have experienced adoption know, there is nothing predictable about the process. Our agency called one day informing us of a little girl in Medellin, Colombia. Of all the families working with the agency at the time, only we had paperwork near completion. The Colombians would make an exception for our ages if we would consider this baby. We immediately agreed and received her photograph.
She was beautiful, of course. Yet, the fact that she was born with congenital bilateral cataracts gave us pause before leaping at the opportunity to finally become parents. Our ophthalmologist cautioned us, “A child with cataracts from a Third World country? You don’t want to do that.” We persisted. Finally, he conceded that if the cataracts showed no change over a period of weeks, they were probably benign and would cause no visual impairment.
Credit the Colombians for having had this child’s eyes checked by an ophthalmologist twice before even referring her for adoption. Such quality medical care is not often offered in orphanages. We waited about eight weeks for another check up. The cataracts had not changed. We gave our enthusiastic consent to proceed with the adoption.
Our agency said our paperwork would need to be changed, a process expected to take several months, before we could travel to Colombia. Three days later they called and wondered if we could be in Medellin in FOUR days! More surprises!
We knew this initial weeklong trip would only initiate the adoption and that we would return home without the baby. The agency assured us it would only be a matter of a few weeks before we could return to retrieve her. And so, the adventure began.
On the plane, I handed the baby name book to my husband and suggested he begin perusing it for his favorites. After plodding through half the “A’s,” he said, “Just let me see your short list. We can start from there.” After very little discussion, we both agreed the name “Isabella” would be fitting for our new baby daughter, especially given that her nickname, “Bella,” means beautiful in Italian and Spanish.
About the size of California, Colombia has the distinction of bordering both the Pacific Ocean and the Caribbean Sea. Arriving in Medellin in the early evening, we could only catch glimpses of the countryside. Vast greenhouses surrounded the airport located on a high plateau southeast of the city. Colombia ranks as the world’s second leading flower exporter and it stands second only to Brazil in coffee production.
The Hotel Intercontinental overlooks the city from its southern border. A modern hotel, complete with restaurants, a pool and grounds for walking, it would serve our purposes adequately for the few days we would have with our new baby. The morning sun revealed a city nestled in a valley of green, lush mountains. The terra cotta soil provides a rich foundation for every kind and color of plant life. The weather, temperate year round, results from the country’s close proximity to the equator.
Our first morning was filled with visits to various government offices where our driver/interpreter led us through the maze. Finally we arrived at the orphanage. The director explained the legal process of the coming days, outlined instructions for caring for our new baby, and interviewed us as to our ability as parents. Fortunately, most of what she said was in writing because we were much too nervous to comprehend anything.
Finally she left and we waited. And waited. She returned announcing, “Ready the camera!” And there in the arms of a white-uniformed nurse arrived our baby. Words are inadequate to describe the range and magnitude of the feelings experienced in those first minutes. To us, it was the miracle of birth right before our eyes.
After we had taken pictures and traded her back and forth between us, it was time to return to the hotel. Our first stop was for baby food. That was followed by a stop at the pharmacy for baby formula. The small pharmacy had a uniquely effective security system—a uniformed guard holding a shotgun.
Finally, back in the hotel we faced the first tests of parenting. And like most new parents, we discovered we were completely unprepared, especially in a foreign-speaking country where we were supposed to appear to be capable parents. We muddled through the next four days doing our best to seem competent.
Having to leave Isabella there was a gut-wrenching experience. I tried to rationalize that it would give us time to get things set up at home, but the uncertainty of what would happen to her and when we would return made it extremely trying.
Once home, baby showers and hurried efforts to put a baby’s room together kept us busy. But each week hearing, “Not this week, maybe next week,” made the wait all the more excruciating. What was to be a three-week process took eight long weeks.
Our return trip was much less stressful. More documents were signed and interviews given. After two days, we flew to Bogota to get Isabella’s U.S. visa. Bogota, a city of 5.4 million, has cooler weather and poverty was much more evident. We stayed in a residence hotel, which provided all the meals in a communal dinning room. The staff cuddled and walked our new baby while we enjoyed their excellent cooking. After receiving the visa, a process that took only two days, we embarked on our journey home.
I remember telling friends that I would be so relieved when our plane finally touched down in Missoula, Montana. Surprisingly, an overwhelming feeling of completion enveloped me as we taxied down the runway in Bogota. Finally we had a baby. She was ours. Always and forever.
So how did we pick Colombia? We didn’t. It picked us.
Wrote a letter to the Town clerk of the City in CT we got married in with copies of our passports, lots of information, and another $10 check for processing requesting a certified copy of our marriage certificate. Sent this via Fed ex today with a return fed ex envelope.
