- My husband and I adopted two boys from Ethiopia 10 years ago.
- Birtukan was a great help in those early days, when we couldn’t communicate in the same language.
- She not only mothered me, but she also adopted us as adoptive parents.
“We’re clueless,” My husband listened to me as I cried and hept my way through the nausea I felt when I became a mother. “We don’t even speak the same language. If I feel this panicked, imagine how they feel.”
We were in Addis-Ababa, Ethiopia to prepare to be first-time parents of our sons, 7-year-old and 8-year old. And I was urinating in a strangers’ toilet.
Our adoption agency gave us a list with guesthouses when we were preparing for our first trip in Ethiopia. Perhaps because we liked the name, we ended up at theFamily Morning Coffee Guesthouse, Birtukan’s house. We knew that we made the right decision the minute we walked into her front door. She treated us like family.
We were jet-lagged, shell-shocked and brought our bright-eyed, gap-toothed sons from the orphanage to Birtukan’s house. And so began the misadventures.
Birtukan helped us with plenty of hand-me downs from her own children. We only brought two stuffed animals, which my boys still love almost ten years later. Birtukan had a courtyard and a soccer ball that kept her company for long afternoons.
I was invited to her kitchen by Birtukan for instructions on how to make my sons’ Ethiopian favorites, such as shiro wat and injera. She also made sure that they were properly fed at all meals.
Her laughter and prayers were the soundtrack to our first family days
When our sons tried to communicate with us, Birtukan translated. One of their first requests came up that afternoon. Birtukan was our only hope. Our attempts at sign language and limited Amharic knowledge proved futile. It was naptime at the orphanage and they wanted to relax.
No one knew that no amount of parenting books or training could have prepared us for what it was like to be thrown head-first into the role of parent. So Birtukan Parented. We all. She disciplined my sons with her quick-tongued Amharic. And she also gave us adult much-needed orders.
One of our sons suffered a frightening medical emergency just hours before we left for America. It was followed by a series of scans, hospital visits, and worry the next day. Birtukan was there to pray over us, comfort us, and manage the details.
It’s hard to think back to that first week and not remember the wonderful smells and loud sounds of my friend.
She recently died from COVID-19
Recently that beautiful friend died from COVID-19 at the age of 55. She was not yet able to get her vaccine.
According to data from Reuters, about 1.3% of the population in Ethiopia has received full vaccination compared to 58.3% of the population in the United States. In the meantime, an August survey showed 19% of eligible Americans still don’t want the vaccine.
The unused doses are not eligible to be sent to Ethiopia or other countries where they could be used. It’s not how the system works. It does point out worldwide disparities.
Or, as my son succinctly stated, “Birtukan’s death is so unfair.”
But her legacy continues
Various retellings of our family’s story of care and compassion have been repeated in a Facebook group honoring her. Birtukan fed hundreds of adoptive families and clothed them. Birtukan was not the only one to provide care for these adoptive couples.
In 2001, Birtukan and her husband founded Yezelalem Minch (“everlasting spring” in Amharic), a nonprofit that meets the basic needs of vulnerable Ethiopian children while supporting their guardians.
In addition to her own children and husband, Birtukan leaves behind thousands of children, including mine — children who sat at her table, read her books, wore her clothing, and received her unconditional, transformative love.