Journey to Marco Part 4: The Gauntlet

Wednesday, September 14^th, we were set to return to the orphanage. This would be a different experience. We would be comfortable, we knew Marco, and we would have a sense of his routine and the people we would meet with—or so I thought. We were picked up at 7:30am, caffeinated and bright-eyed. Before going to the orphanage we had to make a pit-stop at the Cancillería to have our visas extended. We popped out of Jairo’s car, took an elevator upstairs, and hopped in a short line. To boot, we got to skip ahead on account of our circus of children, stroller, and oxygen tank.

But not so fast, just days before our visit to the visa office, they changed their requirements asking all new applicants to fill-out an online form prior to coming in for processing. So Erin retreat with Marco to a nearby internet café and filled out the form. I pumped the older kids full of saltines and dad jokes until she returned about 45 minutes later. In those 45 minutes the line grew significantly. We made it into a waiting room full of exchange students from other South American countries, people from Asia looking to establish a long visit in Colombia, and possibly a few other adoptive families.

After another wait, Bruno Mars,
or a Colombian official who looked like Bruno Mars, brought us to his cubicle. Alas, Erin’s internet café form had not made its way into the system. He did not take pity, but he did take action. This is the day where Erin shined. Her ease of operation in other countries pulled us through. I can tell a difference in how Colombians (and in past memory Guatemalans and also Dominicans) treat her and how they treat me. People sense her cultural aptitude and the fact that she is not high maintenance, culturally arrogant, and in many ways savvy. They let her skip ahead and they give her the benefit of the doubt. That’s what happens, literally and figuratively, when you have a Global Entry card paper-clipped to your passport. For me, a grocery store clerk forced me to show him my cash before he would ring me up because I had “dumb” written all over my face. In his defense, they day before I had not brought cash.

So Bruno Mars pulled some strings and let us skip the online form. Again, this was not pity, as I could see on his very stressed face. It was willingness to work with someone he perceived as passing culturally (not me). So he sent us out to the waiting room, then brought us back to his cubicle about thirty minutes later. He looked over our passports. It was at this point I realized I needed to take this video. He sent us back to the waiting room again. Then we went to a cashier, but we did not pay yet. Again we circled back to the cubicle, then to the cashier, and four hours later, the “pit stop” was over.

We went outside and rewarded Silas with a Colombian National Team soccer jersey bought from a street vendor whom Silas torturously watched for four hours from the Cancillería’s window. The vendor named his price, which we were happy to pay. Jairo intervened with a swagger I had not anticipated. He calmly conjured the unimpressed face of McKayla Maroney and the vendor budged. This attitude has reared itself with more frequency as the process has become more intense. Jairo is not a driver, he is a fixer.

***Editorial comment: none of this is a reflection of Colombia, our adoption agency, or the people with whom we were working. It is just how things go when you have a lot of moving pieces. Erin and I reminded ourselves about construction permits in the United States, which are confusing and drawn-out, and these don’t even involve foreign travel, nor the transfer of a minor’s guardians!***

From the street vendor we hustled to the car as it began to rain. Lucy dropped her pacifier in the road, which we did not notice at first. She spat worried gibberish and when we finally realized what happened, I had to risk life and limb to re-enter the street to extract the left-behind treasure. As a side note, Lucy never used a pacifier in her whole life until we brought one on this trip for Marco. She has adopted the practice.

Onward we went to the orphanage to meet with Juliana. She was so sweet to all of our children and helpful with our understanding Marco’s past, present, and future. We also met Ana Maria. She is the attorney for our adoption agency, but she is more than an attorney. She arranged our relationship with Jairo, a pediatrician, and even helped us find our place in Bogotá. Ana Maria and Jairo form a sort of dynamic duo that makes the adoption happen. They are dogged and we owe our lives to them.

Juliana gave us a tour of the orphanage, which was wonderful. It was well-run, vibrant and clean, but it was also obvious no amount of professional excellence could replace a family. They reminded us of that, which was encouraging. Between our interview and the tour, we were signing papers. All of a sudden we were whisked off to a defensora’s office. On the way Lucy and I caught a nap.

This next stop was an impromptu visit to a defensora. As best I can tell this person is a sort of Guardian ad litem/social worker. We thought we were not seeing this person for a few more days, but she was able to squeeze us in. Jairo and Ana Maria shuffled us up to her office. In this situation, Jairo, Ana Maria, and Erin all spoke in a frenzy of Spanish.We signed some things and took the papers from the defensora back to the orphanage where we waited in Jairo’s car. Around 4pm we ventured back to the apartment. We had gone nine hours non-stop.

It was a gauntlet at sprint speed. We had to snack on the go—snacks Erin had packed. It was exhausting and distressing at times, but Erin and I agreed this was the way to do it. To spend one full day just banging out these tasks felt so accomplished in the end. We would much prefer one brutal gauntlet surrounded by a week of wonderful days exploring Bogotá; rather than spreading them out. We all slept well that night.