Amana

She is walking adeptly over the rocks and stones barefooted as she takes my hand. She looks up at me and I am somehow compelled to pick her up and carry her even though I know she can walk the rest of the way on her own. She accepts the ride joyfully clinging to this strange white woman.


Within a few days I have wiped her nose, comforted her after falls and run ins with Johnny Cash (the monkey not the man), coaxed her to sleep with songs and stories, blown up her balloons, convinced her that 3 year olds can indeed sleep during the day and evening when everyone else is awake, beamed with delight as she sings and dances in front of the whole church and taught her to defend herself with stones against the aforementioned monkey. She is Amana, she is our new daughter. Oh and she has 60 siblings - we're going to parent them too.

This feels most overwhelming when I realize I am the only woman living here and therefore the only mother, Amana picked up on this quicker than me. She wants a mom so bad she has decided I will just have to do and so it is.