I wish I had a photo of us in our car on the way to Assala.

When we were in Ethiopia in February to get our son Benjamin (and which we didn’t know at the time, to meet our daughter Belane), one of the things we did was to travel outside of the capital city of Addis Ababa to the small town of Assala, which is about 3-4 hours by car south of Addis, and is also the town where our Ben was born and spent the first four and a half years of his life.

Our adoption agency arranged a car and driver (and translator) for the journey. We knew it would be a long and hot trip and had pleaded our case for a van, but when the time came to leave, we had a Toyota Rav 4 (which as the name implies, seats four people) to carry five adults and one child. Shortly after the realization came that this was not going to be the most comfortable of journeys, came the realization that our “translator” did not, or would not, speak English.

We speak frequently about the abundant love and kindness we found in the people in Ethiopia…how everywhere we went we were met with smiles and seemed to make friends. The only exception to this was our driver that day. He did not smile, did not address us in any way except to ask for money, did not point out landmarks on the way, did not smile or talk to Ben at all…you get the idea. He played the same cassette tape over and over and over at a very loud volume and ignored the rest of us, occasionally talking on his cell phone in loud, rapid Amharic, making for a very awkward atmosphere.

So the trip was interesting. We had our driver and dear friend Dan in the two front seats. In the second “row” was me, then Ben and then Ben’s grandmother. We were very squished together, and there was an awkwardness that I blame on the fact that we were two women who very much loved the same little boy and would have lots to talk about, if it weren’t for that dang communication barrier and blaring Ethiopian cassette tape. We shared smiles often, and did manage some communication based on her limited English (usually when the driver was on his cell phone and had turned down the music momentarily).

Oh, and then there was poor Josh. He got the “hatchback” area. The sun was strong on him, and the “bumps in the road” were brutal. He did ok until the pavement ran out about two hours into our journey. His back is still hurting him.

While the Rav 4 had a control that indicated there was air conditioning, it was not working that day. The options were to open the windows and get a blissful breeze, which also carried in large amounts of exhaust and dust, or to shut the windows and sweat to death. We opted to leave the windows down and to try and hurry and shut them when another vehicle was going to pass us. I don’t know that I have ever been as hot and dirty as I was at the end of that very long day.

Ben sat blissfully unaware of all the awkwardness and unpleasantness in the vehicle, happily watching a DVD on the portable player we had brought along. He occasionally smiled and said something to me or his grandmother, and did not seem bothered one bit. You got to love kids. The trip was four hours each way, and we never once got to use a bathroom.

Eventually we arrived in Assala and had an amazing experience meeting members of Ben’s family and town making the whole trip worth it, but that is a story for another day.

Yes, even though it wouldn’t be pretty, I wish I had a photo of us in that Toyota Rav 4 on the longest, squishiest, hottest car ride of my life.