A Break In the Story

On February 13th, a judge in Ethiopia ruled in our favor and legally signed our girls over to us. They are now ours. We just have to go and get them. We have our Embassy date! Please pray with us that the rest of the details would come together. We will be traveling in mid-March. We will keep you updated. Here they are! Turism, Turi, is 8 and is the one in the back. The next biggest is Bitsuanit, or Bitsu, and she is 7. The little one is Tihitina, or Tihi, and she is 5.

Our Return

Our trip out to train other missionaries went well. It was actually quite fun. The people group that they were among was related to ours so some of them could understand when I spoke our people group's language. It was instant love. They couldn't believe I would take the time to learn a local language. Theirs was dying out and they were trying to fight hard to make sure it stayed around. The missionaries, who were fluent in Russian, were amazed at how we were received and said, as we were leaving, "We have decided to learn their native language. We can't believe what a difference it makes!".
We went to a conference in Poland and onto the States. As we were preparing to fly back out, our passports returned with our new visas. On them was stamped the new law: only allowed to stay 3 months out of every 6. We were so sure that we would fly under the radar. What were we going to do now? How can you only live in a country 6 months out of the year? Where would you go the rest of the time?
We didn't have time to worry about it. We were flying out the next day. So, we flew to a country in Central Asia for a training we had. Some of our supervisors were there and we hadn't connected with them for quite some time. We all got to sit down, catch up and enjoy our time together. Then they dropped the bomb. Campus Crusade for Christ was uncomfortable with our placement. We were so far out that their liability structures couldn't cover us if something did happen. They gave us 3 more months to stay in the country. We began facing the question: should we stay with Crusade or join another organization that would allow us to stay?
We traveled back to Russia. We were exhausted and just wanted to crash. We had been traveling for almost 2 months in 4 countries. We flew into Siberia and as planned our friend from our region arrived with our car. He was one of the national believers from the city. We all drove back down together. It was a wonderful drive where our friend, G, began sharing about the difficulties they were having of working with some groups of believers in villages that were so far out. We talked about it a lot and began to wonder if God was planning something for us in this.
We dropped him off at his house in the city, picked up our cat and drove the last 3 hours home. We arrived and the house was still standing although there was an extra car parked in our yard that looked like it was there permanently. We entered the house and found S's (the owner's sister) husband asleep and drunk in our bed. The whole house was different. All of S's stuff (new furniture, kitchen things, etc.) were all moved into the house. Our stuff was pushed out of the way. Our office room was now a bedroom. Our living room was packed with their things and all the stuff we left in there was gone. We went and forced S's husband out of the bed and demanded to know what was going on. He just stumbled out.
We panicked. Why was all their stuff here? S was in the hospital and just gave birth to a baby 2 days before. How long were they planning to stay?
Finally, S's husband stumbled back in and explained they lived there now and we had to move out. Excuse me? I just flew all the way back from America to find I don't have a place to live? I was livid and told him that he was wrong. He would have to find someone else to live. He left. He returned with A's dad, who was actually sober. He also explained that they lived here now and they had a baby to take care of and that was that. We had to move. We were crushed. All this work that we put into this place. Our home. Where were we going to go?
We called A. She said there had been a big fight and she didn't want them living there but there was nothing she could do. She was in the city for the summer studying and her family wasn't talking to her. Sorry.
Sorry? We now had no advocate. The whole family wanted us out. We had no contract or documents to go to the administration with. And they were asking how long it would take us to leave. S's husband didn't want to work and this house was free. They were moving to the very place they promised they would never want, mainly because there was no work to be had in our village.
The emotions are indescribable. Exhaustion. Panic. Dread thinking of the amount of work it would take to move us. We had appliances like a stove and refrigerator. We had just ordered all of our wood for the winter that was sitting in our yard. Plus all of our stuff. And we still had the question, "Where were we to go?".

March to April to May to June

We had plans to leave mid-March. We had some missionaries working with a nearby people group that heard about what we were doing and wanted us to train them. We had a conference to attend. We were flying back to the States for a visa run and I (Janna) was in a wedding. And finally we had a storying training in a nearby country after we left the States. We were looking forward to the break. As we were leaving, things began to turn bad. A's dad began coming over daily demanding the house. I began locking him out and not answering the door when he appeared. His wife began coming over and telling us she didn't want us to leave but he couldn't live with her anymore either. She had 6 kids at home and he was always drunk. I understood her predicament but didn't know how to help. We had a home study worker fly in from Germany to conduct our home study for our adoption that we had just begun working on. We couldn't move now! This was our listed address. We tried to explain that but I'm not sure anyone understood.
We left the area with mixed emotions. We were connected well with the community and language had progressed so that I felt comfortable. We made friends and were known. Just before we left, I was on my way to the store and three ladies I knew were walking the other way on their way to a birthday party. They invited me so I went and sat with 10 other women for 2 hours while they got drunker and drunker. It was not so bad. Better than the birthday parties with men being drunk at least. Once their inhibitions were down, they began confronting me on why I was really in the village. I began to see their true fears as they asked if I was part of a religious cult and was trying to change their children. The same fears, things they have been fed from Communism. I assured them over and over that we were not part of some religious cult, feeling guilty because according to them, Protestantism is a religious cult.
So, the day came for leaving. We said our good-byes. Assured everyone that we would be back June 1st, handed over the house keys to A with assurances that no one but her, her husband, S and her husband were ever going to sleep there, packed up what we wanted, put the cat in the car and drove off into the sunset...
I had a sneaking suspicion that things would not be the same when I returned. Boy, was that an understatement.

Time Passes

And so time passed. January became February and February became March. My days were spent going over to Zoya's for the afternoons and spending the rest of the day surviving: pumping water, dumping water, cooking, cleaning, loading the stove, you know. I grew to be better and better friends with Zoya and her family. Once people learned that we were connected with them, they breathed a sigh of relief. They were a well liked and respected family and people finally felt like they could call us their own. Most of the store owners now knew me and we would chat when I would stop in. Most remarked that they couldn't believe I was speaking their language and when they found out I was foreign, it was the greatest thing since sliced bread, although they don't have sliced bread. We began teaching English at a nearby village and everyone loved that. They felt like we had a legitimate job and were doing something worthwhile for the community.
But we were not without issues. We had the police, more like the FBI, following us everywhere. They visited our neighbors, the school we were working at, some of the shop owners asking about us. Why were we here? What did we say we were doing? The funniest question was to one of our neighbors: "We have seen them climbing that hill over there. Why are they climbing that hill?" Our neighbor responded that she had no idea and maybe they should ask us. We were using the hill for hiking and exercise purposes but I guess they thought we were spying on something...although there is nothing but the village for miles. We even got visited personally by the police. I forced them to find a translator from Russian to the local language. They thought that was SO weird and were slightly insulted (most police are Russian, not minorities). I guess we checked out because they never showed up again.
We continued having the owner's dad show up once a month, on average, to kick us out. We actually spent long hours cultivating relationships with the owner, her fiancee, and her sister and husband. They were the owners of the house and we didn't have a contract so we wanted to make sure that this place was ours. And we just loved hanging out with them. So, we would mention that their dad wanted us out again and they would roll their eyes assuring us that they didn't want the house and their dad was definitely not going to get it. But it was always stressful arguing with him. We soon learned that he was drunk almost daily now and his wife was kicking him out of the house and he needed a place to live. Of course A, the owner, and her sister, S, were livid. He would completely junk the place and have free reign to drink and they didn't want that in their house.
I was pulled into the village administration building (every single village has one. It's the base the police use to know what's going on everywhere) one day. The head lady was furious with me. Why hadn't I come by and declared we were living there? The regional police had come by demanding to know why there were Americans living in this village and she had no idea. I apologized over and over. When she was done scolding (as they love to do), she smiled, laughed that I only spoke the minority language and told me to come tomorrow with all my paperwork. I did and gave her the copies of the humanitarian aid organization we were partnering with and she felt like that would keep the police happy. We were the best of friends then.
In general, life was good.