Losing beautiful dihmet

Over the past ten weeks, there's probably been one phrase I've heard more often than any other from all the well-meaning people checking in.

"How's Aberash's English coming?"

Aberash's English is coming along fine.  Every day brings a few more words, and these have recently started to be pieced together into phrases.  But I'm not sure Sue and I deserve much credit for Aberash's success.  In fact, today was the first time in our over ten weeks of being together that I made any real attempt to sit down and teach her English - and that was by playing a game.  I would hold up a flash card with a picture on it, teach her the word, then see if she could remember it a little while later.  But before saying anything I'd wait to see if she knew what the picture was - either in English or Amharic.  Given all the eating she's been doing, it's maybe not surprising that "ice cream" and "banana" were both English.  But when I held up a picture of her favorite four-legged animal, Aberash went with Amharic, a big grin on her face. "Dihmet!"

And that's when it hit me.

The first time I heard that word was in the courtyard of Horizon House, and it was Aberash who said it.  In the midst of playing with the other kids Aberash suddenly stopped and pointed to the rooftops.  "Dihmet!  Dihmet!"  A lanky stray cat was making its way across the concrete and bricks, and soon more of the kids were joining in.  "Dihmet!"  That moment is indelibly printed on my brain, one of those memories that stay crystal sharp no matter how much time passes.  The sunshine in the courtyard.  The knowledge that my daughter loved cats.  And the music that the Ethiopian children managed to make with that one simple word.  "Dihmet!  Dihmet!"

If you decide to adopt internationally, you'll get the opportunity to learn of a wonderful thing called cultural loss.  If you are like me, you'll read the articles, talk to your spouse, and formally and informally affirm your commitment to making your child's birth culture a part of your life.  But if if you are like me, you won't get it.  Not really. Because in the midst of all those affirmations and article readings, you've got a new kid in your life.  And that's a happy thing, right?  A wonderful, beautiful, joyous thing?  

Sue and I love Ethiopia.  Truly and deeply.  We love the people, the food, the music, the land.  Our time in the country only strengthened our desire to learn all we could about the culture and pass it on to our adopted daughter.  We both learned a little Amharic and work in the words and phrases whenever we can.  Ethiopian music is on our stereo, and artwork is on our walls.  And while I haven't had the courage to try my hand at injera, my doro wat and tibs are pretty damn good.  But culture isn't something you learn with a few phrases and appropriate meals.  Culture is something you learn because you are immersed in it, and it is seeped in everything you see, hear, smell and taste ALL THE TIME.  And as much as Sue and I want to be good teachers, the culture we are attempting to pass on isn't our own.  We're second rate AND second hand.      

There will come a day in the not too distant future when Aberash won't say "dihmet".  Not to me, not to anyone.  Like everyone else I know, she'll say cat.  And that's such a small thing, isn't it?  The loss of that one musical, magical word?  But then my eyes are opened, and loss begets loss.  The loss of charcoal smoke and coffee beans roasting in a skillet.  The loss of strange discordant music on the radio,spicy stews, roasted corn and sour bread. The loss of a village.  Of chickens in the courtyard, and children playing with rope, hoops and sticks.  The loss of mother, of father.  The loss of home.         

The daughter that I love and adore is only with me because of terrible loss.  And as wonderful as our lives might be, there is nothing I can do to change that fact.  No matter what I do, that loss will follow us for the rest of our days.  How's Aberash's English coming?  It's coming along fine.  As important and necessary as that might be, right now, that's breaking my heart.