Precisely Halfway Around the World: Adoption Journey

Vahn and I in a clothing shop

View Photos (14) Image © 2000 Global Directions, Inc.

I stepped out of the airplane into the heat and humidity of Hanoi, Vietnam, on June 15, 1998. After spending nearly 24 hours in airplanes from Fort Wayne to Vietnam, Dad and I were almost precisely halfway around the world. But what were a former Vietnam veteran and his 17-year-old daughter doing in Vietnam?

It started in August of 1997, when Dad asked Mom if she wanted to apply for international adoption. She was willing, so they began the adoption process and found that they were eligible to adopt from Vietnam. On February 18, 1998, a baby boy, born January 6th, was referred to our family. We named him Vahn. He would be the fourth son and seventh child of the Shannon family. Mom and Dad worked through the necessary paperwork and on June 1st we got a long-awaited phone call. Our adoption was approved! Dad and I were scheduled to leave on June 13th. Now with our schedules exactly 12 hours off and the distinct impression that we had become inhabitants of an oven, Dad and I were nonetheless very glad to be in Hanoi.

Going through customs in Vietnam was not that difficult, but I got my first experience of a soon-to-be common problem. The Vietnamese consistently had trouble figuring out how I was related to Dad. As I got to the last checkpoint out of customs I fell behind Dad. The official there stopped me, but I pointed out Dad and said I was with him. The official let me go with a rather surprised, "You're young!" With a jolt I realized that he thought I was Dad's wife. Eventually, we started carrying around a picture of our family in the diaper bag. It helped explain.

Once we had passed through customs we were met by people from the hotels where we were staying. The Claudia Hotel, with a justly deserved excellent reputation for assisting adoptive families, handled most adopting families, but it was full. We were going to stay within walking distance at the Thang Long Hotel until there was room for us at the Claudia.

I will never forget the drive into Hanoi from the airport. The rice paddies stretched out for miles, dotted with thatched huts and small ponds. The Red River, on whose banks Hanoi lies, lived up to its name, for it was a striking reddish-pink color. The city was a crowd of houses, stores and people.

The driving itself was memorable. In Vietnam the horn is an essential part of the vehicle. It is used to clear a path through the traffic just wide enough for the vehicle to squeak through. The highway was actually quite open; the inner city was a tangle of fast-moving traffic. The streets ranged from barely two lanes to about five lanes wide, but the people did not stay in lanes. They drove wherever they wanted, and the few stoplights were more of a suggestion to stop rather than a command. I was glad to get out on the sidewalk side when we arrived at the Thang Long in the Old Quarter of Hanoi.

Meeting Van

Tam (pronounced "tome," more or less), a young lady who worked at the Claudia, had met us at the airport. Now she told the adoptive families to rest, and around 5 p.m. we might be able to get our babies. It was around 2 p.m. when we got to the hotel. Around five, a worker came from the Claudia hotel. I had been sleeping and, waking up to a knock and the news that we were to go and get the babies right away, my first impression was that it was tomorrow. After all, my biological clock thought that it was 5 a.m.

I forgot about everything but the immediate present as we walked. The sidewalk was uneven--tile here, cement there, sandy hole elsewhere. Motorcycles and bicycles were thickly parked on the sidewalk, merchandise from the open-front stores projected out on to it, children played on it, dogs lolled around on it and vendors and old ladies sat or stood around on it, talking and watching us go by. The vendors were quick to see potential customers in this group of Americans going by and they hounded us all the way to the Claudia.

We had to cross two streets to get to the hotel. The traffic system was 'dodge and be dodged,' and this system took cooperation between drivers themselves and between drivers and pedestrians. The drivers would gauge a pedestrian's speed and intent as the pedestrian walked onto the street and they would plan their way around them accordingly. In order for the driver to plan his route successfully, the pedestrian had to employ a careful and determined speed and body language as he crossed the street. Everyone had to respect the hierarchy of vehicles, though: buses, vans, taxis and cars, motorcycles, bicycles and finally pedestrians. The higher up in the hierarchy a vehicle was the longer and louder its horn blew to clear a path. The horns were constant as drivers constantly cut within inches of other vehicles and pedestrians.

Dad would later call the traffic system a study in non-verbal communication. However, as we crossed the street for the first time, we were ignorant novices. We waited for a minor lull in the traffic and then stepped out amid the vehicles, trying to hurry but hesitating as traffic went around us. We would learn soon enough that if we did not remain steady our irregular pace would lead us right into a driver's path even as the driver was trying to avoid us. Then we would get a much-needed dose of horn blowing.

Somehow we made it to the Claudia and entered the blissful air conditioning and a crowd of adoptive families. To our surprise, the workers were calling out names and passing out babies. There was not much ceremony to this! We realized that the babies had just been brought over to the hotel from the government orphanage.

The International Mission of Hope (IMH), which had custody of the babies, had brought them. IMH was founded about 20 years ago by an American woman, Cherie Clark, who had herself adopted four Vietnamese children. Its mission is to upgrade the care given to children in the government orphanages and to facilitate international adoption of these children. When Saigon fell in 1975 Cherie Clark went to India and worked with Mother Teresa, founding orphanages and homes for unwed mothers. However, she returned to Vietnam when the government permitted and has continued working tirelessly for babies that need homes.

Her work was bearing yet more fruit as we waited for our baby to appear in the crowd. From the half dozen babies, the families and the workers, Tam appeared to help us. "No, not that baby; here he is." A light brown baby with short, fine black hair and bright black eyes was placed in Dad's arms. As people in the crowded little 7-foot-wide hotel lobby milled around and began filing toward tables to change their babies, Vahn looked silently and intently at Dad. Though some of the other babies were upset at the different people and surroundings, it was just about five minutes later, after Dad talked to him and smiled at him that Vahn smiled back.

Even at that special time, however, some mundane things could not be put off. There was a reason the adoptive families headed to tables to change their babies, and we had a reason, too. Vahn, who was five months old, came with pants and a shirt but no diaper. We took care of that problem and then Tam gave us the formula that we were to use and instructions on how to mix it. Meanwhile, Vahn was still preoccupied with watching Dad. He had the pensive expression that remains characteristic of him, but his eyes were especially striking, so dark that they appeared black from iris to pupil but nevertheless very bright.

By the time everyone's questions and needs were satisfied, it was getting dark and we faced the walk back to the hotel. Dad and I and another couple of adoptive parents who were staying at the Thang Long started back as a group.

As we carefully walked back in the light from the stores, I was struck by the change in the attitude of the Vietnamese toward our little group. A person looking for business approached us just once. The Vietnamese saw the babies and realized that we were not simply tourists; rather we were in the country for a specific purpose. There were murmurs, not at all threatening but perhaps a little curious. I would soon become used to hearing "Vietnam baby" said softly as we went by or sometimes asked as a question. The walk back also showed us something about the babies. They loved Hanoi's traffic. After watching the traffic for a while Vahn went to sleep on my shoulder, lulled by the walking and the sound of horns.

That night, we got our first call from Mom. She had a whole list of questions about Vahn. Right away we could say that he was healthy, alert, good-natured and very cute. Shortly after, we would be able to report that Vahn was rolling over, trying to crawl but going backward, and that he loved listening to music.

The Adoption

The next day we had our giving and receiving ceremony. This was the definitive ceremony during which the Vietnamese babies became sons and daughters of the adoptive parents under Vietnamese law. The ceremony was held in the province where the child was born. Vahn was born in Hanoi, so we joined three other families for the Hanoi giving and receiving ceremony. We took a truck from the hotel to the ceremony. Again, watching the driving was an adventure as people wheeled in and out of what seemed to be extremely perilous situations to American eyes.

The ride also afforded me a sight that I would never see in a lifetime in the U.S. A man came by on his motorcycle, like any other driver except for one thing. Lying on its back on the motorcycle seat in front of him was a large pig! It had obviously been butchered, but the head, hooves and hide were still intact.

Not long after, we arrived at the place of the ceremony. The building was a large, yellow, somewhat dilapidated example of the French influence in Hanoi. After standing outside in the 1000+ heat for a little while, Bo-Bo (that's his nickname), the IMH worker in charge of the families, arrived and led us into a rather small room without air-conditioning where the representative of the Vietnamese government was ready to begin the ceremony. It turned out that the building was just a temporary location, and through a translator, the official apologized because of it. We were all sweltering. Dr. Linh, the orphanage doctor who would transfer custody of the babies, promptly began taking extra clothes off one baby and clucked disapprovingly at the sweat beginning to soak Vahn's clothes. The Vietnamese still looked cool though, except for Bo-Bo, but before long, I found out why he looked as hot as us Americans.

Bo-Bo lived in Vietnam, spoke Vietnamese, and he was dark-skinned and had Asian eyes. However, he was quite tall for an Asian and his face was shaped like a Caucasian's. I had puzzled over that mix, wondering if he were possibly middle-Eastern, until others told me that he was half-Vietnamese and half-Romanian. He had studied in the United States and was about to finish his thesis. IMH was busier than usual because there was a backlog of families going through due to a temporary slowdown in the Vietnamese government in April and May. This meant that we knew Bo-Bo as a man who seemed never to sleep as he worked to get us through the adoption process as quickly as possible. It also meant that we did not get to meet Cherie Clark; although she tried to get to all the ceremonies she was simply too busy to get to ours.

The other adoptive parents went through their ceremonies smoothly. The parents at the ceremonies give often speeches, but we were all so hot that although we were happy, we were in no mood to sit and listen to speeches. We gave gifts to Dr. Linh and the people involved in the ceremony, as this is customary in Vietnam, whether for a cleaning lady or for the official at an adoption ceremony. Dad and I did not give our gift to Bo-Bo at that time because he was busy trying to herd all of us to the waiting vehicles. He was definitely in a hurry, but he did not make it quite clear to us why.

After a short drive we arrived at another building and stood waiting with the other families. We were going to apply for passports for the babies. If we applied today we might be able to leave earlier than the three weeks we had planned to stay. Bo-Bo arrived shortly and took us in to the passport office, apparently after getting permission for us to enter. After the parents signed for their child's passport, we returned to our hotels. It was later that I realized why Bo-Bo had been so rushed to get to the passport agency. They closed strictly on time and if we had not gotten there that day, we might have had to stay in Asia a week longer than we did. As it was, we now had about a four-day wait for the passports to come through. We would also need a Thai visa for the baby because the adoption process would have to be completed in Bangkok.

The Vietnamese and Babies

When we returned from our ceremony it was time for Vahn's tea bath. Mrs. Thuy (Twee), who ran the Claudia, took a great deal of interest in the health of the babies. She said that Vahn needed tea baths to clear up his skin. Every afternoon we brought Vahn to be bathed in a Vietnamese herb tea and have herb medicine put on his hands, which were sore because of the heat and his sucking on them. Mrs. Thuy told us to keep socks on his hands to keep him from eating the medicine. The only way we ever saw a Vietnamese child wear socks was on their hands!

The Vietnamese were very particular about how the adoptive families dressed their babies. If it was sunny out the baby had to be wearing a hat no matter how hot it was. If it was cloudy or if we went inside and forgot to take the baby's hat off right away, the Vietnamese would tell us to take it off or simply do it themselves. They did not hesitate to tell you what to do with your baby. I was walking once with Vahn over my shoulder, and a lady stopped me, saying "Madam, Madam, the baby, the baby." It turned out that Vahn who had a cold due to the frequent change from air conditioning to oppressive heat, needed his nose to be wiped.

The night of the same day we had our ceremony we went out to celebrate with some other adoptive families. We went to Mama Rosa's for dinner, and on our way we had to cross a giant intersection. At least four large streets converged around a large circle that had buildings and people on it. Somehow all the traffic came in, went as far around the circle as they needed to go and then got out again without mishap.

At Mama Rosa's the waitresses took our babies and held and played with them until the baby cried or we were finished eating. The love of the Vietnamese for babies was very obvious here and everywhere we went. The hotel workers and many other people we met would talk to the babies in a distinctive mixture of Vietnamese, clucking and inarticulate sounds. Vahn loved it but at times it was difficult for us to gracefully excuse ourselves, especially when the hotel workers came into our room to play with the baby.

The next day we moved to the Claudia Hotel. Around noon we left the Thang Long. Miniature ants had taken over my carry-on, the window to the street let in the traffic noises, the bathroom was open to the outside, making it rather like a sauna and the steps were incredibly irregular and out of proportion for us. However, the friendliness and helpfulness of the Thang Long workers (and the air-conditioning) more than made up for the minor shortcomings. I would soon come to prefer those rather cute little ants to the gargantuan cockroaches that would soon share room and board.

The cockroaches were an average of three inches long, but they moved at an amazingly fast rate. Luckily, we had to deal with just one or two until our last very lively night in Hanoi. That night I even found one in the diaper bag stuck between the inside wall and one of Vahn's toys. Crawling roaches were bad enough, but the flying ones were ghastly. An ugly three-inch insect flying in the same quick, erratic pattern that they skitter around in was something to be seriously dodged. However, we were lent sandals with the hotel room--sandals that proved to be wonderful cockroach smashers.

We got settled in at the Claudia, then went shopping with Tam. We had discovered that Tam would take people out and do their haggling for them, so we asked her to help us buy ao dais for me, my sisters and mother. An ao dai is a traditional Vietnamese dress that is long-sleeved, has a Chinese mandarin collar and a skirt slit up to the waist on both sides because it is worn over white or matching pants. The dress has a design of some sort, often flowers, on the front and a smaller matching design on the back. Tam took us to a tiny shop that seemed to be run by a family, as there was a little girl who seemed to belong there. For my sisters, Tam translated American ages to the age at which a Vietnamese girl would be their height. Her help and our picture of our family helped us pick perfectly fitting ao dais for my sisters and mother. We also got an embroidered, red Vietnamese suit for Vahn.

We paid, turned to leave and realized that Vahn was not with us. We had let one of the Vietnamese hold him since we knew how they loved children. Now we did not see him anywhere! Then Tam spotted him and called across the street to bring the baby back. Vahn was immediately returned with a rattle that had been given to him. Apparently, the lady who held him was just showing him off to the other storekeepers and vendors along the street.

Outings in Hanoi

One evening Mrs. Thuy arranged for the adoptive families to go the water puppet show while the Claudia Hotel workers watched the babies. The water puppets were made of brightly painted, carved wood and were operated in a large pool of murky water. The mud in the water was to keep people from seeing the details of how the puppeteers worked the puppets. The puppeteers were hidden behind screens as, with accompanying live music, they presented the ancient and often legendary history of Vietnam. I was impressed by the use of fireworks with the puppets. As well as fireworks in above-water scenes, they were sometimes underwater for a short time. I knew the puppet dragons were on their way when a boil of smoke bubbles erupted from the water.

Later we went shopping again and visited the Duc Loi Silk Shop. Following the example of other adoptive families I ordered a white silk baptismal suit for Vahn. Also, Dad asked Mrs. Thuy to help us have a charcoal drawing made of Vahn by an artist in Hanoi. When the beautiful picture, made from a photograph of Vahn, was delivered to us, Dad photocopied it and faxed it to Mom. In Mom's next phone call she said she had faxed the picture to many people. Not only that, Mom was making birth, adoption and baptismal announcements with it.

On Saturday night Mrs. Thuy arranged for us to have a traditional Vietnamese meal. A group of adoptive families gathered and watched as the Claudia workers brought more and more strange-looking food to the table. Tam began to explain what everything was, telling us that it was the kind of meal eaten at Tet, the Vietnamese New Year. The soup was made of chicken, mushroom and egg, the latter explaining the somewhat jelly-like consistency of the broth. There was regular rice and some sticky rice that had been cooked with seaweed. The sticky rice, which had a definite green tinge, was considered a delicacy. It was supposed to be eaten with a type of grey pork. There were six-inch sticks that had meat and onion on them; they reminded some people of a shish kebab. We were also served spring rolls that had some type of meat in them. They were to be eaten with fish sauce, which is made from fermented fish. There are two different kinds of fish sauce, strong and mild. Dad remembers the strong fish sauce from his time in South Vietnam, saying the smell could wake the dead. At this meal, though, we had the mild kind, and it did not taste that bad, just somewhat sour.

On Sunday Mrs. Thuy had arranged another outing for us, a tour of famous areas in Hanoi. Again the Claudia workers stayed with the babies, except for Tam, who went along as our guide. We first went to a Buddhist pagoda that stood on the shores of West Lake. After winding our way through the outer parts of the building, we reached the dim interior where statues of Buddha were lined up in rows that got progressively higher and narrower. The tip of the golden pyramid of statues was lost in the shadowy contours of the roof. The smell of incense pervaded the open-air building. We looked around an interior courtyard for a while and then started for our next destination, the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum. We kept driving because Tam said that as foreigners we could go in ahead of the Vietnamese. The line must have stretched at least a mile as it wound around streets and toward the mausoleum. Our vans reached a blocked off area to the front of the mausoleum and we got out.

The regulations for entering the mausoleum were very strict. Absolutely no cameras or camcorders were allowed, so Tam kept them for us. The guards wouldn't allow two ladies in our party to go in because of the dress code--they were wearing sleeveless dresses. After we had left behind anything not forbidden, we were led to the front of the mausoleum. We waited for a moment while some honor guards carried a funeral wreath while they goose-stepped in front of the mausoleum and up the steps. As they placed the wreath in a line with others, we were allowed to begin entering. The guards watched everyone closely, one of them telling Dad to take off his hat. As I saw the bayonets on the rifles held by two guards at the door, it became even more obvious that these guys were very serious. In the passage leading to the dim interior of the mausoleum, there were guards every couple of yards. Again they were very alert, stopping one of our party to see what he had in his pocket and telling other people not to talk. We reached the square inner chamber where the body of Ho Chi Minh was laid out in state. As I went around the corner, I did not stay close enough to the people ahead of me, so the guard standing there jerked me into place. Four more guards were standing in the sunken area around the coffin, and at least two more were further along the passageway. I was somewhat distracted by the need to keep from annoying them!

After we came out of the mausoleum, Tam walked with us to see a musical exhibition. After playing a lengthy selection of Vietnamese music, the musicians launched into "Oh, Susanna!" They finished with "Auld Lang Syne." Next we visited the One Pillar Pagoda that stood in a small pond on one large pillar. Then we went to the Temple of Literature, the school where the children of princes and mandarins and the gifted peasant children had studied. We followed Tam through the formal pools and gardens and around large ancient plaques carved from stone that commemorated the accomplishments of men from the school. After seeing the Confucian temple that stood at the far end of the grounds, we left. We walked through the art museum and then returned to the Claudia. The day had been one of the hottest we experienced in Hanoi; even the natives were hot.

Heading Home

The next morning I worked on packing while Dad and other adoptive parents went out to pick up the Thai visas for the babies. When Dad came back, we gave gifts to the Claudia workers who had been so kind in helping us. Then we left for the airport. After watching part of an American military ceremony during which the coffins of MIAs were being placed aboard an American military plane and then waiting for twenty minutes while the Hanoi mechanics tried to get the brakes on our plane to release, we took off for Bangkok.

On Thursday, aided by Dan Clark, Cherie Clark's son, we had the medical examination for the babies and obtained photos for the American visas for the babies. Finally, we went to the American Embassy to finish the last Asian steps of the adoption process.

We had gotten new plane tickets as we were leaving a week earlier than originally planned and on Friday we left. After almost a day in planes and a night in Los Angeles, Dad, Vahn and I arrived at the Fort Wayne airport on Saturday, June 27, 1998. We were met at the airport by John, my older brother, and began the thirty-minute drive home. As we drove down the driveway, just moments before Vahn was placed in Mom's arms for the first time and surrounded by the rest of his new brothers and sisters, I noticed a giant yellow ribbon tied around our old walnut tree.

Published on 5/1/99