The Embassy. Last stop before having all documents enabling us to take our son home. I was exhausted, needless to say, when Scott, Karen, L, Tom, and I climbed into the cab that would take us into the part of the city where the embassies are housed. Thankfully, even though many of the details were tucked away inside my tired brain, getting around Delhi had been Scott's domain, so I was able to rest on the drive and didn't have to think too much. I remember very little of the drive, but eventually, we pulled up close to a building with a much-welcomed image...an American flag.
Visiting the American Embassy while you are in a foreign land is a rather amazing experience, not even including the adoption part. Lines and lines of people waiting to be given an ear, a chance to state their case as to why they should be allowed to travel to the United States of America. As an American citizen, an embassy is security, is belonging, is home; to others, it's a dream, a desire, a hope. What a privilege it is to be an American, to be able to travel to other countries and then to return home; an American passport should never be taken for granted.
Thanks to families who had traveled before us, I had specific instructions as to what to say when arriving at the Embassy's first checkpoint. These words would be the "golden ticket" that would get us sent to the front of the line.
And boy, did those words work!
No cameras are allowed inside the Embassy, so I have no pictures, but indeed, the words "I-800 Adoption" ushered us into a building, past a waiting area full of people, then outside into a courtyard while appeared to be another holding area for folks who were waiting, and then, finally, into the main building. Upon entering, we were greeted with the beautiful and welcoming pictures of President Obama and Secretary Clinton. No matter whether or not you agree with the politics of the standing President, when you enter an American Embassy, you are on U.S. ground, and you are glad to see his face smiling down at you as if to say, "You're a citizen. Don't worry...we've got your back, and we are here to help you." I stood for a brief moment, looking at the flag and thinking about all we had been through that had gotten us to this point. And then I had to move on, because our escort was walking fast!
It was during the walk through that last room that I noticed the stares....it was as if our long but fast-paced walk had awakened me, and all of a sudden, I was alert and no longer felt the exhaustion that was clearly there after a night of no sleep. The McFs and I waited until our names were called, and the whole process was incredibly smooth. The Embassy worker I talked to was very kind, and I distinctly remember him asking if I was pleased with the adoption process. I was surprised by that question (as we hadn't gotten any question remotely close to that in our Ethiopia embassy experience), but I was happy to have a place to give some feedback, both positive and negative. Overall, though, it was hard to be too negative--after all, I was standing there with my son!
After the interview, Mr. Embassy told me that I could leave, get some food (no food allowed inside, so I had a hungry-and-quickly-tiring little boy), and come back in four hours. However, as per advice from previously-traveling families, I told him that I would just wait. The McFs had some friends in the area, so at this point, they left to meet them for lunch, assuring me that they could get another cab home and that I could take ours back to the hotel. As predicted, about 45 minutes later, he called me up and returned Tom's passport to me, complete with visa for entry into the USA!
And this is where it gets interesting.
Like a rushing river, as soon as that visa was in my hand, I was hit with an absolutely overwhelming exhaustion. I was so, so, so tired, and I had been carrying Tom in the Ergo at this point for 3 or 4 hours as well as trying to keep my mental faculties alert and useful. Once I had the visa, it was as if my job was done, and so was my mind.
I walked out of the Embassy like a zombie. I remember being almost stunned that it had happened, that I had everything in hand needed to bring my son home, that a sleepless night had resulted in a still-successful embassy appointment, that our faithful God had been so...faithful... throughout this whole cramazing experience. I wanted to cry, I wanted to jump up and down (but had no energy), and mostly, I just really wanted to sleep.
When I got out to the street, I realized I was in trouble because I. had. absolutely. no. idea. which one of the dozens of cabs...was ours. I remember standing there just kind of dumbfounded. I had the visa, but I had paid almost no attention to any details on the way to the embassy. I didn't know what our cab or our driver looked like, and I could barely remember the name of our hotel at that moment. I certainly would be no help on directions.
Thankfully, through the fog, I recalled that Scott had given me a tiny piece of paper with our cab driver's phone number on it. I must have looked ridiculous, turning back and forth trying, with what little brain power I had, to figure out how in the world I was supposed to call this guy. After asking some random guy if he spoke English (He didn't.), my decision was to walk over to the Indian soldier with the really big gun and ask him for help. This man....thank you, Lord....this man took pity on me, took the piece of paper, dialed a number, and, in Hindi, presumably told our cab driver to come get me. A couple of minutes later, a cab drove up, and as sure as I'm sitting here, I tell you that I had no idea if this was the right cab or the right driver. The soldier motioned that I should get in, and I tell you...that was a faith stretcher! "Okay, Lord," I reasoned, "You've gotten us this far; I can trust You to get us the rest of the way."
My driver did not speak English, so I had to assume that he knew where he was going and that he was taking me back to the hotel from which I had come, but I'll tell you, I honestly didn't know. Sitting in the back of that cab was probably the most apprehensive moment of the trip for me, and yet, I was too tired to be really scared. I did start making a plan, though, which included jumping out at a stop light if I didn't recognize something in ten minutes (This was about 30 minutes into the trip already, and since I had dozed on the way there, I was only guessing as to how far away the hotel was from the Embassy.). Thankfully and with great, great relief, with about two minutes left on my timer, I saw the sign for the Sheraton high in the air. I was so happy to see that sign, and it was probably about then that I lost it (again) and burst into tears. I can't honestly remember much, but I know that when I got in our hotel room, I literally handed Tom to Hoffbeast, said, "We got the visa, and I'm going to sleep," and did just that. And I slept all afternoon.
Visiting the American Embassy while you are in a foreign land is a rather amazing experience, not even including the adoption part. Lines and lines of people waiting to be given an ear, a chance to state their case as to why they should be allowed to travel to the United States of America. As an American citizen, an embassy is security, is belonging, is home; to others, it's a dream, a desire, a hope. What a privilege it is to be an American, to be able to travel to other countries and then to return home; an American passport should never be taken for granted.
Thanks to families who had traveled before us, I had specific instructions as to what to say when arriving at the Embassy's first checkpoint. These words would be the "golden ticket" that would get us sent to the front of the line.
And boy, did those words work!
No cameras are allowed inside the Embassy, so I have no pictures, but indeed, the words "I-800 Adoption" ushered us into a building, past a waiting area full of people, then outside into a courtyard while appeared to be another holding area for folks who were waiting, and then, finally, into the main building. Upon entering, we were greeted with the beautiful and welcoming pictures of President Obama and Secretary Clinton. No matter whether or not you agree with the politics of the standing President, when you enter an American Embassy, you are on U.S. ground, and you are glad to see his face smiling down at you as if to say, "You're a citizen. Don't worry...we've got your back, and we are here to help you." I stood for a brief moment, looking at the flag and thinking about all we had been through that had gotten us to this point. And then I had to move on, because our escort was walking fast!
It was during the walk through that last room that I noticed the stares....it was as if our long but fast-paced walk had awakened me, and all of a sudden, I was alert and no longer felt the exhaustion that was clearly there after a night of no sleep. The McFs and I waited until our names were called, and the whole process was incredibly smooth. The Embassy worker I talked to was very kind, and I distinctly remember him asking if I was pleased with the adoption process. I was surprised by that question (as we hadn't gotten any question remotely close to that in our Ethiopia embassy experience), but I was happy to have a place to give some feedback, both positive and negative. Overall, though, it was hard to be too negative--after all, I was standing there with my son!
After the interview, Mr. Embassy told me that I could leave, get some food (no food allowed inside, so I had a hungry-and-quickly-tiring little boy), and come back in four hours. However, as per advice from previously-traveling families, I told him that I would just wait. The McFs had some friends in the area, so at this point, they left to meet them for lunch, assuring me that they could get another cab home and that I could take ours back to the hotel. As predicted, about 45 minutes later, he called me up and returned Tom's passport to me, complete with visa for entry into the USA!
And this is where it gets interesting.
Like a rushing river, as soon as that visa was in my hand, I was hit with an absolutely overwhelming exhaustion. I was so, so, so tired, and I had been carrying Tom in the Ergo at this point for 3 or 4 hours as well as trying to keep my mental faculties alert and useful. Once I had the visa, it was as if my job was done, and so was my mind.
I walked out of the Embassy like a zombie. I remember being almost stunned that it had happened, that I had everything in hand needed to bring my son home, that a sleepless night had resulted in a still-successful embassy appointment, that our faithful God had been so...faithful... throughout this whole cramazing experience. I wanted to cry, I wanted to jump up and down (but had no energy), and mostly, I just really wanted to sleep.
When I got out to the street, I realized I was in trouble because I. had. absolutely. no. idea. which one of the dozens of cabs...was ours. I remember standing there just kind of dumbfounded. I had the visa, but I had paid almost no attention to any details on the way to the embassy. I didn't know what our cab or our driver looked like, and I could barely remember the name of our hotel at that moment. I certainly would be no help on directions.
Thankfully, through the fog, I recalled that Scott had given me a tiny piece of paper with our cab driver's phone number on it. I must have looked ridiculous, turning back and forth trying, with what little brain power I had, to figure out how in the world I was supposed to call this guy. After asking some random guy if he spoke English (He didn't.), my decision was to walk over to the Indian soldier with the really big gun and ask him for help. This man....thank you, Lord....this man took pity on me, took the piece of paper, dialed a number, and, in Hindi, presumably told our cab driver to come get me. A couple of minutes later, a cab drove up, and as sure as I'm sitting here, I tell you that I had no idea if this was the right cab or the right driver. The soldier motioned that I should get in, and I tell you...that was a faith stretcher! "Okay, Lord," I reasoned, "You've gotten us this far; I can trust You to get us the rest of the way."
My driver did not speak English, so I had to assume that he knew where he was going and that he was taking me back to the hotel from which I had come, but I'll tell you, I honestly didn't know. Sitting in the back of that cab was probably the most apprehensive moment of the trip for me, and yet, I was too tired to be really scared. I did start making a plan, though, which included jumping out at a stop light if I didn't recognize something in ten minutes (This was about 30 minutes into the trip already, and since I had dozed on the way there, I was only guessing as to how far away the hotel was from the Embassy.). Thankfully and with great, great relief, with about two minutes left on my timer, I saw the sign for the Sheraton high in the air. I was so happy to see that sign, and it was probably about then that I lost it (again) and burst into tears. I can't honestly remember much, but I know that when I got in our hotel room, I literally handed Tom to Hoffbeast, said, "We got the visa, and I'm going to sleep," and did just that. And I slept all afternoon.
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