The house is full of kids running around. I keep on staring at the clock behind my son, Nahom, who is sitting on the floor opening birthday present after present. He has grown to be a very handsome, well mannered and easy spirited boy. It all seems perfect now…..my weekend was consumed with me planning his tenth birthday. I do not know how the ten years flew by, but the years before his birth are tattooed clearly in my memory… .

In the mid-eighties, before I finished junior high school, my mother got a job in Italy. Dad was unwilling to leave Ethiopia. He didn’t want to start over. On top of that, he didn’t have a job lined up. Mother was the ambitious one while dad took it easy and was content with his job. He spent most of his time with his children and friends, the rest at the tennis club. Mother was very different from most of my friends' mothers. She was very intense, composed, scrupulous and formal. She focused on her career a great deal. She was always busy taking international exams and interviewing for different international jobs.

My older sister and I were shipped to a boarding school in Switzerland while the rest of the family settled in Rome. On our first day at the prestigious boarding school, we took a long look around and felt overwhelmed. It was all too much and we just felt lost. We blamed Mother for all that had happened. We just plain missed our dad, our younger siblings and our warm home in Ethiopia. My sister took the opportunity to rebel. She’d hang out with the wrong crowd, go into the city and party during the weekends. I, on the other hand, made school my one and only passion. I became one of those academic machines and my grades showed it.

In high school, I earned a full scholarship to go to a prestigious prep school in the New England area. I had to go alone as my sister was not accepted at the school. I thought it was for the best so I headed west to the US. I had no choice but to make the best of my four years there. I would go home (Italy) during the summer and Christmas breaks.

Dad had finally found a very decent job. However, every time I saw him I noticed that he was sinking further and further into depression. Mother was oblivious to his situation and kept on focusing on her career. Dad started to withdraw from everyone. He suffered and he suffered alone. My dad, my shield, my refuge, my pillar, my everything was slipping away…slipping away further every time I saw him. You could read the despair in his eyes. My younger siblings were too young to discern the difference and my older sister was too busy rebelling to notice. Meanwhile, there was nothing I could do to alleviate his pain………so I bottled up everything inside.

My senior year came and went fast. I was accepted to twenty-one universities including two ivy league institutions. Dad came to visit me. He was beaming with pride. He took me to DC to show me off to his friends. He was laughing; he was making everyone laugh. For the first time in so long, he was back to his old self. I was relieved that my dad was back. He advised me to go to the school of my choice regardless of its rating. My happiness mattered to him. Mother, as always, pushed and pushed for me to go to an Ivy League school. She wanted the prestige. I was already tired of the competition and wanted to go to a small, honorable, liberal arts school. Mother was very disappointed. The fact that I was graduating at the top of my class did not count. The fact that my sister declined going to college to pursue a non-existing modeling career did not matter. She was still displeased with my choice.

I narrowed down my choice to two colleges: Vassar and Rice. I was tired of the long New England winters. My body was dying for sunshine. Hence, Rice University it was! I was going to love Houston, no matter what. But Houston was not about to like me. My first year at Rice went well. I explored every flat and dusty part of Houston. Unlike all the other cities I had lived in, Houston had no culture. The summers were very hot and humid, but I was just happy to be there. People studied hard and partied even harder. I joined the madness and locked my family problem away somewhere in my mind. I was at ease and loving every moment of the day.

At the end of my second semester, I ran into an Ethiopian guy, Teddy, at a Seven-Eleven. I was ecstatic. I had been completely removed from the Ethiopian community for almost five years. I followed him to his car, introduced myself and gave him my phone number. We became friends quickly. We promised to keep in touch and I left for Italy for the summer.

That summer, my parents were not on good terms. Dad's contract had ended and he was sitting at home. He was very depressed. Dad wanted to move back to Ethiopia. It was tough for him. He did not have his friends, his kids, and his mehaber around. He did not speak the language and refused to mingle with anyone. Mother, on the other hand, was doing well in her job. She was almost fluent in Italian and had adjusted well in the society. She had made enough friends. She said they had to make the sacrifice for the sake of the kids except the sacrifice was one sided. The tension in the house was mounting and it was unbearable. It was hard to part from Dad that summer. He held me tight and cried. I could feel his pain. I cried. I couldn’t see Dad in that condition anymore.

The next time I saw Dad, he was lying in a coffin. Mother said he had a heart attack. We all wanted the funeral to be at home back in Ethiopia, but Mother was always like an elephant, crashing every major decision we made. So the funeral was held in Rome with only few family members present. My younger siblings were in a boarding school so they did not hear about it until school was over. Everyone was infuriated with Mother. She refused to talk about the details surrounding Dad’s death. Deep down though, I know that the heart attack was just a cover up.

After the funeral, Mother insisted that I go back to school. I was in no condition to be back. My resentment towards Mother was quickly building up. She refused to talk about Dad. She simply wanted to move on. She was more concerned about our education. I had no choice but to go back to school.

In Houston, I started to depend on Teddy more and more. He was a very nice person. He was the only Ethiopian I knew in Houston. He understood my loss. He was there for me. I opened up to him and embraced him with my whole being. Before I knew it, things had taken their own path and our friendship had elevated itself to the next level. The loss of my father created a void in my life. My world became tolerable only when Teddy was around. Teddy became my everything. I didn’t know much about his past. In fact, I did not even know what he actually did for a living. I felt that he would tell me everything in his own time. He cared a great deal and that was enough. I was finally coping with the loss of my father. I was excelling in school and my relationship with Teddy was thriving. I loved loving Teddy and my future looked hopeful .

Then, one day during the spring semester, I passed out in the organic lab and found myself in the emergency room surrounded by nurses. I didn’t know what was going on. A few minutes later a nurse came to tell me that I was pregnant. My whole world came crashing at me. I was only nineteen. Teddy came to the hospital. He was shocked to see me there. He knew that I was very sad and assumed that I must have overdosed. He was shaking. I assured him that I was okay. We checked out from the hospital and as we were driving, I told him that I was 11 weeks pregnant. He turned white...he looked like he’d seen a ghost. I was terrified by his reaction. He dropped me at the dorm and drove away.

My hell began then. I didn’t hear from teddy for a month. During those four weeks, I was fighting with myself. I had no place to turn. I was too ashamed. I couldn’t tell Mother. It would kill her. I was running out of time. The idea of having an abortion was unbearable. I had three choices: have the baby, except I was on a student visa and there was no way I could support a child; have an abortion, but then I couldn’t live with myself; and the third choice was suicide. I refused to eat or leave my dorm room. My roommate was very concerned. The day I told her about my pregnancy, she cried with me the whole night. She was a godsend. The next day, she took me to a counselor. I decided to have the baby and give it up for adoption.

I was tormented daily with my decision. Most of my days were spent crying. Teddy was furious with me for deciding to have the baby. He called randomly and it always ended with a fight. I was scared to death...I was at the edge...I wanted to die so badly...I was alone. I was glad Dad was not around to see this. I had to move off campus and share an apartment with an African friend.

The adoptive parents were a well to do African-American couple from Atlanta. The lawyers arranged for us to meet. By this time, I was six months pregnant and I was beginning to become attached to my baby. I didn't like the adoptive mother from the get go. She kept on telling me that I would be compensated very well. She was very callous and treated me as if I were selling her a commodity. She reminded me of Mother. The husband was very warm and compassionate. They had tons of paper work. All eyes were staring at me. I started to sign the paper work, then all of a sudden, I got up and rushed out of the building. A few minutes later, I was back at the apartment. I was sobbing hysterically. I didn’t want to give up my baby. Not to that heartless woman!!

I was back to square one. I didn’t have insurance. I was not eligible for Medicare. I was on my own. I called Teddy and told him that I had decided to keep the baby. He hit the roof. He told me I was throwing away my bright future - I agreed. He said I could not support myself let alone a baby - I agreed. He said I will be ruining his life - how??? I wanted to run away...I hated Houston. Where will I go...what will I do... .

Two months before my due date, Mother called and said she wanted me to come visit her in Italy. I lied and told her that I was doing an internship in a big firm in Houston. She offered to visit but I insisted that she come in October, a month after the baby was born. I had no plan for the future. I knew for certain that I was in no condition to face mother.

When it was time to have the baby, I only had five hundred dollars and a few items that I got at the baby shower. I was so alone. I went to the delivery room alone. I went through twenty-nine hours of pure pain alone. No insurance meant natural labor. The pain is still vivid in my memory. After so many hours of labor, there was this beautiful li'l angel...he was the most adorable boy….he still is. He had the longest eyelashes. I was in love at first sight...I couldn’t let go...I just looked at him and said "we will make it kido… .”

I named him Nahom...Nahom....loved the sound of it. There is this verse in the bible that says: "the lord is good, and he is a refuge in bad times" in Amharic it says "Igziabher melkam new, bemekera Qen mesheshegia new.” And further down, it says: “Bawelonefase wisT menged alew" - Nahom 1: 3,7.

At the hospital, I met this elderly Ethiopian lady who worked at the gift shop. She came to visit me twice. She saw that I had no one and took me to her house. I stayed there for two weeks. She insisted that I stay longer, but I knew my days at Rice were over. I could not stand Houston any more so I left everything behind and headed to Florida where I had some close friends. I took class part time and worked...Nahom was blessed with so many mothers. I graduated the same time Nahom graduated from pre-K. It was tough indeed, but we made it together. I never heard from Teddy once I moved from Houston but I have Nahom to remind me of him everyday.

Nahom is a blessing in disguise. Even though the circumstances surrounding his birth still make my eyes tear up, I would not trade him for anything. Mother refuses to see him even after so many years. She paid for my tuition in college, but didn’t want to be part of my life anymore. She didn’t want my younger sibling to be influenced by me. It is very painful, but not as painful as realizing that Dad will never kiss my Nahom the way he kissed me… .