The Day of Reckoning

Today was the day. Our court date. The day every family adopting in Kaz approaches with a combination of anticipation, excitement and apprehension. The judge stands between you and your child, ostensibly the guardian of the child’s best interests, but perhaps more truly the guardian of their own bureaucracy, as everyone works diligently not to make any mistake that might come back to haunt them in the future. The judge is responsible for rendering a decision about your fitness as a parent to this Kazakh child, and for giving permission for the adoption to proceed. If the judge ‘agrees with the petition’ to adopt the child, the court date is followed by a mandatory 15 day waiting period before the adoption is finalized. The waiting period is mostly a formality, to ensure that birthmothers have adequate time to consider their decision, although it would seem best this be done prior to a court date… in reality, most judges require either the birthmother appear in court, or submit a signed and notarized letter (referred to as a petition) stating their intent NOT to appear in court and giving their approval for the adoption to proceed. It is, of course, not always possible to find the birthmother, but in a country who’s population numbers only 16 million, and for whom community ties are so strong, it’s tough to get lost in the crowd. Almost invariably the birthmother is found, but not always with a happy ending.

In our case, this birthmother petition bit proved tricky. Tuma/Milan’s birthmother was difficult to find, and when she was found, didn’t have the proper documents to allow a petition from her to be notarized. There was a lot of discussion about how to proceed, and faxing of documents back and forth, and many, many phone calls. In the end, it required people going to her house and taking her to the court in the city in which she lives, so that her petition could be witnessed by the judge. Then the judge there was to send a telegram (yes, a telegram- not a fax, not an email, a telegram) to ‘our’ judge confirming her answers to the questions. After that was received, our coordinator would call us (or so went the plan) and tell us when we would have court. And then we would pass the secret code word to the… well, suffice it to say it was convoluted.

We had our first indication of trouble when at 10:15, Habiba still had not arrived for her 9:00 appointment with us. We headed over to the orphanage, figuring if she need us, she knew where to find us. When we returned home, she still had not been heard from, so I called. “I am sorry, I am very busy,” was the answer I received. The court hearing with the birthmother had not happened in the morning she informed me, but would happen in the afternoon. She would call later with more information. At 1:30 she called to tell me that we would be ready between 4 and 6pm to go to court, that the judge would call as soon as she had the telegram, and we would race over to the courthouse. Habiba would arrive at 3pm for our debriefing.

At 4pm there was still no Habiba, but we were dressed and ready to go, and Marzhan arrived to hang out with Jaden while we were gone. We set Jaden up with a movie, and sat down to wait. Habiba called about 4:20 to say that she would come at 5:30 and we would go to court about 5:45. We sent Marzhan home for an hour rather than her wasting time hanging out. Five minutes later, Habiba called to tell us Ceric would arrive in 10 minutes, and we should meet him downstairs. Now we had a problem, as Jaden hadn’t been planning to come with us, and we had told Marzhan she could leave. Habiba couldn’t find Marzhan, and asked if Jaden could just come along, but would have to stay quiet. Not a trivial thing for Jaden. We quick-talked Jaden into coming, while spraying his un-ironed clothes with wrinkle-releaser. He wanted to wear his tie, and although he was concerned about staying quiet for even the 10-20 minutes we were told it would take, he was going to give it his best try. We raced downstairs. Habiba and Ceric pulled up with Marzhan in the front seat. Habiba told Jaden it would better for him NOT to come now, and he should stay with Marzhan. Well, that resulted in an insta-melt, as he now had himself primed to come, and could not be dissuaded.

We piled into the car and off we went, repeatedly emphasizing to Jaden the need for silence in the courtroom. We hustled into the courtroom, a stark affair, with roughly painted wooden floors, crude wooden benches, and ‘Some Assembly Required’ furnishings. On one side was a defendants ‘cage’, built from welded re-bar, and painted Kazakh blue. The Kazakh flag hung behind the judge, with a Kazakh coat of arms next to it. The windows were covered in white lace curtains, which are de rigueur for all buildings here. We took our seats in the front row with Habiba and Jaden behind us, a slight which was not lost on him. After a few minutes the prosecutor and court stenographer arrived. The judge swept in behind them, wearing a burgundy robe with white vinyl go-go boots. She was in her late 50’s or early 60’s, with bleached white hair, which was a startling effect on a woman with strong Kazakh features.

The proceedings were very formal, with the judge asking many questions of us. “Why did you choose to adopt,” “why did you choose Kazakhstan,” “You already have a boy, why did you not come to adopt a girl,” “Will your other son be jealous,” “Why did you bring your other child, is it because you have no relatives to leave him with,” and “If he gets sick when he is older, will you want to give him back?” During many of the answers, she gazed out the window, leaving the clear impression that while she felt she needed to ask the questions to consider she had done her job, she already knew the answers. She wanted to know why we had been in Arkalyk for so long. No good answer there….

She asked additional questions of the head doctor from the orphanage, who was in the courtroom, and the social worker assigned to our case. She found one document in our 3 inch stack that was not to her liking, and after 10 minutes of deliberations with Habiba, Habiba left to go and fetch the original. It was hard to imagine this happening in a U.S. courtroom, where judge, prosecutor, witnesses, etc all sit and chat while someone runs out to fetch a document…. During all of the back and forth in Russian and the waiting, I found myself looking at the busy scene in the street and courtyard outside the courthouse. The window glass is rippled, cheaply made. It created a fun house effect as people walked past, alternately elongating and shortening their legs, their bodies, their heads. It seemed a reflection of the machinations that have taken place to get us to this point.

She was back after another 10 minutes or so, and we continued. More questions, followed by a break for the judge to consider her decision, which Habiba declared meant she was ‘drinking tea’. She returned about 5 minutes later and proceeded to read a long document outlining the proceedings of the entire hearing, the laws of Kazakhstan regarding international adoptions, the process required to get the birthmother’s signed petition, the way Tuma had come into the orphanage, etc. At long last, she got to the end, which was a rather abrupt announcement that she ‘agreed with our petition’, as well as our request to change his name to Isaac Milan. Then she said ‘congratulations’ and walked out of the room. That was it, it was over. She was halfway out the door before Habiba finished translating what had been said. We suddenly were parents of another child, for all intents and purposes. I turned to hug Jaden who blurted out “But I don’t even know the decision!” He was not happy to be in the dark. I told him the news and he started to cry. When I asked him what was wrong, thinking maybe he was upset he hadn’t heard the judge say it or Habiba translate it, he said “Mom, I am crying because I am so happy!” Even in a kid as emotional and sensitive as Jaden, it was an over-the-top moment.

We came back to the flat to drink tequila with Habiba, the head doctor, and the other American couple here adopting. Toasts were made as were plans to spring Tuma/Milan from the baby house. We will bring him here Wednesday around lunch time. Bruce and Jaden will board the train Wednesday night for Astana, and then on to home. Tuma/Milan and I will see them off, and then come back here to introduce a child who has never seen the inside of a real home to the mysteries of appliances and flush toilets and neighbors. And freedom, to pee when he wants, eat when he wants, and sleep- well, hopefully that will be more when I want.