Sad story, but a happy ending for the two kids. How could we Ethiopians as a society fail to provide for the most basic needs of our children? It’s shame on us all.
A brother and sister from Ethiopia found a home with Canadian parents desperate for their own family
By Dave Deibert, Leader-Post
SASKATCHEWAN, CANADA – Tears were nothing new for Tseganesh and her baby brother Misgana.
Born in Kambatta, Ethiopia – a region of nearly one million people that is remarkably difficult to find on a map – they were two of the nameless, faceless Africans born into unfathomable poverty; the dream of even a middle-class existence as achievable as flying like Superman.
Tseganesh remembers when she was not yet four years old, carrying Misgana on her back, walking an hour each way to get a precious little amount of fresh water.
Tapeworms and other illnesses were a too-familiar part of everyday life.
When Misgana was approaching age two, he was so tiny and malnourished he fit clothes made for an infant half his age.
The last memory Tseganesh has of her birth mother is seeing her covered in her own blood.
Tears were nothing new for Treena Constantinoff and Ryan Killoh.
For years, the Saskatoon married couple had dreamed of starting a family, of seeing their baby’s first step; hearing that first word; waving goodbye on the first day of Kindergarten. But, like one in six couples, they were unable to have children of their own.
They tried the old-fashioned way. They spent tens of thousands of dollars on fertility treatments and in vitro. They went through an adoption agency but had no luck in Brazil or Bulgaria. For more than five years, their hearts were broken time and again.
Then, on Sept. 28, 2006, their phone rang.
Killoh’s mind was racing as he immediately relayed the content of the call to Constantinoff at work, although he was having a hard time wrapping his head around what he had heard. Between his mouth moving a mile a minute and his heart pounding even faster, Constantinoff’s husband could barely be understood.
For a majority of the 75 million people living in Ethiopia, hope is a foreign word.
One of the oldest countries in the world – Ethiopian dynastic history is traced back to 1,000 BC – it’s also one of the most destitute. More than 80 per cent of the population lives on less than $2 US a day. Nearly two million people have either HIV or AIDS. The life expectancy is just 49.23 years, 194th out of 217 countries and barely ahead of Afghanistan, Rwanda and Sierra Leone.
Tseganesh remembers vividly the constant pain she felt from being hungry all the time. It was an agony that never went away yet she could never get used to it.
She remembers cooking a meager supper for the family at the age of three, using an open fire, the flame burning her right leg.
She tells the story of the day she and her older brother went for water and found themselves running for their lives from a lion or a tiger. “My heart was beating so fast,” says Tseganesh. (She has some memories of her older brother, but nobody knows what happened to him; Constantinoff and Killoh assume the worst.)
Then, as if the two hadn’t been dealt a miserable enough hand, the pair lost their mother. Tseganesh last saw her mom covered in blood due to a fall from a tree; that’s the explanation Tseganesh heard, anyway. Soon after, a woman – no one seems to know who she was – brought the pair to an orphanage Killoh says wasn’t much better than the streets.
“It’s a toilet,” he says.
The smell was unbearable. The food was barely edible. The two were so skinny, their eyes looked like they were caved in to their foreheads.
Misgana, 18 months old, wasn’t toilet-trained. There were no diapers and when he had an accident he was beaten.
In the first picture Constantinoff and Killoh saw of the kids, Misgana was wearing a pair of girls’ pink sweatpants; it was all they had for him.
There was never any reason for the two to think it would get better, either. Odds were, the pair would just be another statistic.
What they didn’t know was the filthy orphanage would serve as a life-preserver. Within 10 days of them being placed there, a phone call was made to a couple on the other side of the world.
More than 12,000 kilometres from Saskatoon, Constantinoff and Killoh found themselves at a Canadian foster home in Ethiopia, side-by-side with dozens of other soon-to-be parents just like them.
It had been six months since Killoh answered a fateful phone call from the Canadian Advocates for the Adoption of Children (CAFAC), letting him and Constantinoff know there was an 18-month-old boy and soon-to-be four-year-old sister available. When they first looked into Ethiopian adoptions, the two had been expecting a wait of up to a year-and-a-half; this call came after one month. Could they be ready so soon? Constantinoff had just opened her own hair salon so money was tight. Could they get all the clothes and furniture and toys kids need? It was going to be a whirlwind, they knew, but there was no hesitation: These were their kids.
A day after arriving in Ethiopia, Constantinoff and Killoh were looking at the door from which the first family’s children were brought through. Out of the corner of his eye, Killoh saw another door on the other side of the room open. He had a hard time catching his breath when he saw who was coming from that direction.
“That’s them,” he said, nudging Constantinoff.
The two children recognized Constantinoff and Killoh from the pictures sent a few months earlier. Tseganesh remembers being nervous but excited. The kids knew virtually no English – just a couple very important words.
“Daddy?” She hugged Killoh. “Mommy?” She hugged Constantinoff.
Killoh had never experienced anything like it. “It was the warmest hug I’ve ever had,” he said.
The new parents sobbed. They still get misty retelling the story. But these, finally, were tears of joy.
Constantinoff and Killoh were able to offer a better life to two kids but were also overwhelmed by how many more need help.
“I was thinking, preparing for, the worst when we went there and it was way worse than the worst,” said Constantinoff.
“I had no idea there was that kind of extreme poverty. I can’t describe the smells, the desperation.”
Everywhere they looked, entire families lived in alleys and on the streets. Wherever those people stood at any given time could double as a kitchen, a bedroom or a bathroom.
During the rainy season, the sky fills with smoke from raindrops landing on the street fires throughout the region.
Killoh befriended a homeless family behind their hotel, buying them water and food each day they were there. Constantinoff’s heart broke when she saw a young mother walking the streets with a newborn baby. They hear stories from Tseganesh and wouldn’t wish such things on anyone.
That’s why Constantinoff is taking part in the nationwide Walk for Water this week; she’s trying to raise $10,000 by April 22 to provide clean drinking water for people in Africa.
The numbers are staggering. Every 15 seconds, a child dies from water-related diseases, amounting to nearly 6,000 deaths each day. A big reason? The average distance that African women walk to find clean water is six kilometres. It is 12 per cent more likely a child will attend school if water is available within a 15-minute walk rather than a one-hour walk. A mere $25 – that’s one date night at the movies; a daily coffee at Starbucks for a week; a pair of shorts on the 50-per-cent off rack at your favourite clothing store – provides one person in Eastern Africa with clean water, sanitation and better health for life.
“I would really like to make a difference in these people’s lives,” says Constantinoff. “Even just to make a small difference.”
Tseganesh already knows what she wants to do when she grows up.
“I want to save Africa. I want to save the people there,” she said.
She already has the mindset to do it. At the dinner table one day, Misgana didn’t finish his chicken wings. When Killoh put them back in front of him, the three-year-old pushed them away again. Killoh explained that there are plenty of people, including friends and maybe even family of Misgana’s in Ethiopia, that would give anything for just one of those wings.
Tseganesh scolded her brother. “That used to be me hungry. I was one of them.”
The happy new family touched down in Canada on April 2, 2007. In the year since, a far-away place called Warman has become home for Tsegu and Misu, as everyone calls them now.
Misu proudly wore a Saskatchewan Roughriders’ Grey Cup T-shirt last fall. Tsegu can’t get enough of Hannah Montana.
Misu sings Johnny Cash word-for-word (Folsom Prison Blues is one of his favourites). Tsegu is pitch-perfect when she belts out Bob Marley’s Buffalo Soldier.
She loves pizza. “I like beans,” he says.
Misu had never had pants or shorts that fit him. He’s only recently gotten out of the habit of constantly holding onto the waistbands to keep them up.
Tsegu was so skinny at first – she weighed 23 pounds – Constantinoff thought something was wrong with her.
“When we were outside playing, her knees were buckling. I said to Ryan: ‘I think she’s going to need braces.’ She just had no muscle, no development.”
Now, Tsegu looks like a nine- or 10- year-old and talks like an 11- or 12-year-old.
They’ve been to the lake, gone bowling, taken swimming lessons, gone skating. They love grandma and grandpa, auntie and uncle, and, of course, mom and dad.
They celebrated Christmas and saw Santa Claus for the first time.
“He came in the backyard,” says Tsegu, eyes widening at the memory.
They each were thrown their first birthday parties: He turned three on March 15, she’ll turn seven on Sept. 10, although both dates are just educated guesses.
Dad’s the best tickler in the world, says Tsegu. Dad’s also taught them how to talk some smack. (“Do you know a good vet in town? ‘Cause my dogs are sick,” Misu says, flexing his biceps, AKA his dogs.)
It all feels so right, says Constantinoff. It was a long road for all four of them but things couldn’t be more perfect now.
“I don’t know what we did before we had them.”
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The writer can be reached at [email protected]