Later in the week we returned to the Sofitel Metropole to swim. The pool was on the top floor of the hotel enclosed in a room similar to a fancy greenhouse with sides and a top that would open when it was warm. On this day the top was open and inviting sunshine beat down on the pool’s surface. I wanted to run and jump in but Joy would not go near it, crying every time I tried. I had to be content to sit with her and admire the blue, inviting water.
I reflected back to Kathmandu with Manisha at the Everest Hotel when she had found it more fun to play with my makeup than swim. On another day perhaps I might come back without her. Jenni had offered to babysit for me if I felt I needed a “mommy” break.
With camera in hand, we walked outside to a veranda that overlooked the capital. The Sofitel Metropole was situated on a high hill like a citadel. From this scenic view, Hanoi was dotted with numerous small lakes and miniature skyscrapers. As gusts of wind whipped hair in my eyes, I tried to hold the camera still long enough to snap a few quick photos. Joy was preoccupied with the long row of flower pots in front of the railing. As she looked for the last remaining vestiges of red flowers and I admired the view, one overwhelming feeling superseded everything—how God had brought so much good out of so much adversity.
I snapped several pictures of my new daughter in a pink bathing suit that I had unearthed the day before in a local shop. In her hunt for flowers, Joy had managed to find one lone red flower still clinging to the otherwise bare branches. As I held up my camera, I captured my first picture of her with a charming smile. All the others to that point showed a sad little girl with tears, a scowl or a frown. The smile for the camera, though, would continue to be rather elusive. After a quiet, restful afternoon atop one of the highest points in Hanoi, we headed back to our more modest abode on Hue Street.
Each evening before bedtime, I would fill the bathtub with water. Sitting in the warm, bubbly suds, Joy would have spent the whole evening splashing in them had I let her. I bought a couple of plastic ducks and she excitedly squeezed the little critters filling them with soapy water. Later I would have to extract the cold, soapy water trapped in their belly so the little ducks could survive another day without mildewing. Joy would have been too disappointed to lose her new bathtub friends.
One of the most frustrating things about traveling to foreign countries is when one can’t speak the language. Once when I was in Mexico, I asked for towels and the maid brought me coat hangers. I tipped her for something I didn’t want because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. I am also not very patient. Add into the mix an impatient little girl who easily becomes frustrated and international adoption becomes even harder.
One difference in personality between Manisha and Joy was evident early. Manisha was happy to go with the flow and enjoyed talking to everybody. Joy wanted to swim upstream and have nothing to do with anybody, but as I watched Joy play with her ducks in the tub, I could tell she was frustrated with the language barrier that separated us. It was obvious she wanted to tell me how much fun she was having. She would sit in the bath tub and try to mimic a few sounds.
I knew enough about the Vietnamese language not to even attempt it. Considering that it is tonal makes it even more difficult for non-native speakers. The doctor at the clinic had told me that Joy understood the Vietnamese commands that he gave her, which meant at fourteen months she already understood two languages, her mother tongue as well as Vietnamese.
Depravity would describe Joy’s life before I received her. As she became more comfortable and not so traumatized by her new surroundings, a beautiful flower emerged displaying a gentle delicacy wrapped in beauty. It was encouraging to see her come so far in such a short amount of time.
My new daughter spent hours stacking the blocks that I had brought in my suitcase from home. Sometimes the things children do when they are young are a foretaste of greater things to come. I saw a glimpse of what made Joy who she was, her giftedness, as she patiently and meticulously stacked the blocks into various shapes and designs. When she tired of that, she would stack the pots and pans she found under the sink. I think she enjoyed hearing the clanging of them as much as playing with them.
By far the most fascinating item in our hotel room was the mirror that vertically hung on the wall. Joy rearranged my suitcase so she could sit on it in front of the mirror and make funny faces. I don’t think she had ever seen herself before.
Checking out the contents of my suitcase provided interesting and new things to look at. My new daughter pulled out each piece of clothing and examined it. The only one that grabbed her attention was my bra. She tried to put it on several different ways but it didn’t fit. Perhaps two might work better. She went back into my suitcase and retrieved a second one. As the first one dangled down her back, she unsuccessfully tried to put the other one over her head. Returning to the mirror and frowning at herself disapprovingly, she ran over to me as if to say, “Here, you wear these things. How does this work?”
An afternoon nap was needed each day so I could stay sane. I would put Joy down in my bed—there weren’t any cribs—and snuggle up with her reassuringly. After she fell asleep, I’d grab my book from the Left Behind Series and read until she woke up. Compared to the Tribulation, living in Hanoi for a month seemed tame. At least I wasn’t fighting the Anti-Christ.
In the basement of the hotel was what I called, “the dungeon.” Dark and dreary, I only went down there once a day. It was the small restaurant where Jenni and I had eaten previously on that one occasion when we talked about the ad. The cook was an overly-indulgent, thin, dark-haired, middle-aged woman who went out of her way to be helpful to the guests. She knew how to make the best rice soup in the world for adoptive babies. She showed me how so I could make some for Joy in our hotel room. I never ate any, though, because it reminded me of that soupy stuff they served in the “restaurant” in the Himalayan Mountains.
One morning when I went down for breakfast I ran into one of the other adoptive mothers, Jackie, whom we had eaten with at the expensive hotel. As I walked in and sat down, I noticed her little girl, just a few months older than Joy, was walking around with a limp. When I looked closer I realized she had a club foot.
Jackie told me how excited she was that her daughter, Jenni, had started walking. Since she came from the orphanage and was crippled, she never had a chance to try. Now she couldn’t wait to take Jenni home so her foot could be repaired. I marveled at how doctors could fix a limb so badly mangled. I never heard how it turned out, but I can easily imagine her running track in the Olympics.
Shopping was more fun in Vietnam than in Nepal. I didn’t have to worry about running into unsightly things like dead animals hung out as food or cows and their dung in the streets. There were many stores near the hotel, and we had an abundance of shops to choose from. Most of the items were cheaply priced, especially children’s clothes.
Since Joy was much younger than the one I expected to adopt, I had brought no clothes that fit her. It was a good excuse to shop, and we bought lots of cute dresses and matching knit tops and bottoms for just a couple of dollars each.
When the weather turned cool after the first week, I bought her a red coat that kept her nice and cozy, especially Christmas Eve when we were out in the night air. Joy soon discovered most of the things I bought were for her and couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel to try them on.
Since it was the Christmas season, I indulged and bought some festive ornaments to decorate our hotel room. It was more fun than I thought it would be to put up strands of ribbon and a small Christmas tree. After commenting to one of the restaurant owners how much I loved the nativity scene displayed in his window, he tried to sell it to me, but it was a little out of my price range.
I didn’t watch CNN—news reminded me too much of work—but after awhile, I started watching MTV. I studied classical guitar as a teenager, never having liked rock or jazz, and I was pleasantly surprised by the variety of the songs enriched with an Asian influence.
The quaint Vietnamese stores that lined the streets of downtown Hanoi were family affairs. It was quite common to see a mother and father with two or three young children out front with welcoming smiles to come in and shop. At one store I bought a beautiful twelve by fourteen inch hand-stitched picture of a Vietnamese house surrounded by mountains. A child that reminded me of Joy sat on a donkey. It was hard to choose which one I wanted but I settled on this one, because it seemed symbolic of Joy’s home in Vietnam.
I also bought Joy several souvenirs, including a child’s ring, a red velvet lined trinket box, and a gold and blue laced fan. I had lamented in the years since Manisha’s adoption that I had not brought home more souvenirs. For the next several years, on the anniversary of Joy’s arrival, I would give her one as a present to remember her “Gotcha day.”
It was fun in the evenings to go for a walk when the shops were closed. The families would cook in front of their stores, which were also their homes, on little open grills. Corn on the cob was a staple. The aroma from the freshly cooked corn and other vegetables each night whet my appetite. Sometimes they would offer us some, but I always turned it down. I didn’t want to get sick.
Each day brought us closer together. Despite the difficult beginning, I knew Joy was the child God meant for me to have. On December 8, 1999, at 1:40 p.m., I received this email from Jill at the adoption agency:
I just wanted you to know that I am at home today. We are having another snowstorm. I am rejoicing in all that the Lord has worked out. It seems that you were never intended to parent that other girl, and God knew that. He knew this little one needed you to be her mommy.
God is so amazing! He knew what He was doing. We just need to have faith. I just think it would be so much easier if God just clued us in a little more. But then we wouldn’t have the opportunity to polish our rough spots. I hope and pray you are enjoying your time with Joy. Please try and send me your email photo. I can’t wait to see her. God is all powerful, Jill.
Jill’s prayers and emails while I was in Vietnam seemed mightier than a legion of valiant warriors fighting a battle of lies, betrayal, and deceit. Only after I arrive in heaven will I know fully the demons of evil that were raging in the unseen world about me. She had just the right word to help me refocus on God even when things seemed bleak.
Everything seemed to be falling into place until...
Chapter Twenty-Seven
What is truth?
John 18:38
As time passed and I met other adoptive mothers, I became aware of “things” that worried me. The adoption agency was thousands of miles away and seemed dependent on me for all of their information, almost as if their contact with Anne was non-existent. Anne was several hundred miles south and very difficult to get hold of except through email. Email at the hotel was down as much as it was up. I was left to ponder too many things.
Sometimes ignorance is bliss. While Joy and I were enjoying our time together, there were obstacles that I eventually became aware of that were disconcerting. Looming like a huge thundercloud were continuing questions about Anne. I didn’t know if I could trust her. She told me the Vietnamese government was expediting Joy’s adoption. Normally taking two months, she said they promised to do it in three weeks, but they still couldn’t do the ceremony until the end of December, which wasn’t soon enough for me.
And what about the U.S. side of things? Once the Giving and Receiving Ceremony was held, the U.S. officials would need to approve and sign off on the paperwork. I was told by Anne they wouldn’t approve the Vietnamese adoption until the end of January. Why would the Embassy be so slow? In fact, I had been told by other adoptive mothers that their adoptions were being expedited because of Y2K. The Embassy wanted adoptive families to return home before the end of the year in case there were worldwide computer failures. They didn’t want families to be stuck in Vietnam. Why was I being treated differently?
I couldn’t imagine missing Christmas with Manisha. I didn’t have the money to leave Vietnam and come home for one day and then return. In addition, if I left Vietnam before the Giving and Receiving Ceremony, Joy would go into foster care in the orphanage. I knew that would devastate her.
Without the finalized Vietnamese adoption papers, I couldn’t give Anne Power of Attorney. I realized reluctantly I had to stay until the Giving and Receiving Ceremony, which I still hoped could be done before Christmas. Then maybe the U.S. Embassy could expedite Joy’s adoption like they were expediting everyone else’s. I desperately wanted to be with both my children on December 25th. As I spent hours praying for one more miracle, I received a phone call from a man I later came to know as Mr. Nathan King at the U.S. Embassy.
“Ms. Roberts,” he said, “you need to come to the Embassy to discuss something very important.”
“What is it?” I asked. He refused to tell me over the phone.
“Please come alone and don’t tell anyone you are coming.”
That was easier said than done. When I asked the hotel clerk how to get to the U.S. Embassy, she must have told Anne’s representative that I was going to meet with someone. Either that or someone working for her overheard the phone conversation. Shortly afterwards I received a call from Anne in which she wanted to know who had called me from the American Embassy.
“I can’t remember his name,” I told her. It was the truth. “But he told me to come by myself.”
“I will need to send someone with you,” she insisted. I wasn’t in a position to protest and it made no difference to me one way or the other. I could tell in the tone of Anne’s voice, however, that she wasn’t happy about this new development. Was I being paranoid, I asked myself, or was there something going on that was cause for concern?
I asked Jenni if she could baby sit Joy for me so I could go and meet with Mr. King. I wanted to leave the hotel as quickly as possible and I made an appointment and took a taxi later that afternoon. Anne had a young woman who spoke very little English to accompany me. Upon my arrival at the Embassy, I introduced myself to the receptionist. She quickly picked up the phone and buzzed someone that I was waiting.
A large, handsome, middle-aged Vietnamese man stepped out of an adjoining office. He introduced himself as the Mr. King who I had spoken to on the phone. After shaking my hand and exchanging the usual pleasantries, he glanced over at the young woman who had accompanied me and the two spoke in Vietnamese. I didn’t know what he said to her, but she nodded in agreement. I was motioned by Mr. King to accompany him into his office. My traveling companion remained reluctantly seated as I followed closely behind him and shut the door.
Feeling nervous and intimidated about being there, I sat down in front of his desk with a queasy feeling in my stomach.
“How has your stay in Vietnam been?” Mr. King asked me.
“It’s been okay.” I looked around his office which was immaculately clean and well organized.
“Where are you staying?”
“The Lillie Hotel.” I was surprised he spoke such fluent English. I later learned that he had been adopted by an American family as a child and returned to Vietnam to work for the U.S. Embassy in charge of adoptions for the entire country.
He smiled and commented, “That’s where a lot of families stay.” We chitchatted for a couple of minutes as I told him about what had happened upon my arrival. I got the feeling as he quietly listened he already knew more than he wanted to let on. It would have been nice if he could have validated Anne’s story to me about the kidnapping, but instead, the conversation took on an even more sober tone.
Leaning over his desk and looking directly into my eyes, he stated, “You must keep this confidential, but I need to inform you that Anne is under investigation by the U.S. government. I can’t tell you the details, but we have grave concerns about whether your Vietnamese adoption is legal and if we can approve it under U.S. international adoption laws. We have a higher standard than Vietnam.”
I sat frozen in my chair speechless.
Mr
. King continued, “We would highly recommend you not leave until the approval process has been completed. If there is corruption, the U.S. Embassy will not issue Joy a Visa.”
He held up several case files involving adoptions where the U.S. Government refused to issue Visas. Adopted children were left behind, stranded in Vietnam, while their parents spent thousands of dollars in legal fees. Without an American Visa, a child can’t enter the United States.
“Are any of them hers?” I asked.
He refused to tell me.
“We are not processing any of her adoptions now. They won’t be done until after the investigation has been completed.”
I thought about all the other adoptive families I had met who arrived after me and yet were being approved ahead of me. Jenni had been right about Anne all along. It was unlikely the adoption agency even knew about the investigation. My adoption was the last one they were doing with her, and once I returned home, their business relationship would end.
Earlier I asked Anne about why it was taking so long.
“They won’t be able to finish your paperwork till the end of January,” was all she would say.
“What is holding up my case? Other adoptive families who arrived after me are being processed by the U.S. Embassy almost immediately,” I tried to tell her.
“That’s not possible,” she said.
I could take Joy home before the end of the year if they would do my paperwork like everybody else, I lamented. Anne continued to be evasive, but she did offer to escort Joy home for no charge along with some other children.
Suppose I couldn’t adopt Joy after all, I thought to myself, as I sensed a veil of evilness in all of it. Satan, the father of lies, had done everything he could do to stop me from adopting in Vietnam. God, the Author and Father of Truth, would have to swallow evil up in victory. I had to believe. As the man said to Jesus in Mark 9:24 concerning his son, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”
Children of Dreams, An Adoption Memoir Page 17