Following a calling

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Susan Aitkin tells of her challenging, but rewarding, work as a journalist in South-East Asia, and how this compelling experience led her to adopt two Cambodian children.

I first travelled to Cambodia in 1989. I was working as a journalist, and while I was there, I visited a Red Cross-supported hospital in an area called Kompong Speu. There was an orthopaedic ward filled with local people who’d been injured by mines.

There was one woman I’ll never forget. She was a widow, she had three kids and she supported her father who was blind. One morning, she walked off her back steps and stepped on a mine.

It took about a week for the villagers to carry her to the hospital and in that time, gangrene set in. Both her legs were amputated and she was left with stumps too short even for underwear. It was a horrific sight and I was blinking back the tears as she told me her story.

I returned to Cambodia in 1991 to teach a journalism class. The work was challenging but highly rewarding. It was hot, the power often failed and I had gastric problems, but I felt the class was really useful for the local people. After two weeks, however, it was time to go back to Australia and my newspaper job.

I tried to settle. I even bought a house, but I couldn’t shake the thought of Cambodia – I wanted to go back. The only way I can explain it is to say I felt called. I requested a lengthy period of time off but was told I couldn’t have it, so I resigned. I had no income and no savings, but I just knew I was doing the right thing. When you’re a journalist and you’re reporting, you’re often talking about problems people have and you hope reporting them will help, but here I had the chance to do something myself. I felt I could actually make a difference.

In 1992, I went back to Cambodia and continued teaching journalism. I spent six years there. During the following two years, I worked in Australia and then studied and worked in the United States. But in 2000, I moved to Laos to become a communication officer for UNICEF.

The job was immensely enjoyable, but I knew I wanted more – I wanted to have a child. The difficulty was that I’d just turned 40 and it didn’t look like I was going to find a partner. It seemed the type of life I lived meant that having my own children just wasn’t going to be.

Soon after, I started to think about adoption. I was settled; I had a regular job and could afford to care for a child. I had the support of my family back in Australia, plus, UNICEF is a family-friendly organisation… I began making plans.

Finding Kho
In early 2002, a friend told me about a home in Cambodia for orphaned and abandoned children who are HIV-positive. My friend explained there was a 14-month-old boy there who’d recently been tested and was negative. The people who ran the home loved him dearly, but the boy, who was named Kho, was not meant to be there – he needed a family.

That July, my friend and I visited the home. I took presents, and when we arrived, all the kids descended upon us, except for one boy. He just wanted to be picked up and cuddled. And that was Kho.

I come from a very cuddly family, so I think the fact Kho wanted to be cuddled was significant, but I was very careful not to give my whole heart immediately. There’s lots of paperwork, plus medical and psychological studies involved in adopting and you never really know if you’ll pass the process. Also, the people running the home were concerned I was a single mother. They gave me a grilling to make sure I could handle the additional needs of an adopted child, but in October, he was in my arms.

Once the adoption was complete, Kho and I went back to Laos. We continued to get to know each other. I didn’t rush him, but in November, about six weeks after I’d adopted him, he kissed me for the first time. I was definitely misty-eyed. It was a very moving moment.

In April the following year, Kho and I moved to Nepal to continue my work as communication officer for UNICEF. We spent the first night without electricity. It was horribly hot, we were horribly dusty and Kho, newly turned two, thought we had the candles out to celebrate his birthday again. Still, it didn’t take long for us to settle in and we were happy together.

I had always wanted two children, and about a year after I’d adopted Kho, I felt I was ready for another child, so I let the people who ran the home back in Cambodia know. They told me they had a 14-month-old girl called Koki whose widowed mother had placed her there when she’d entered their hospice. They didn’t know Koki’s HIV status, but I was very happy to know that it might be possible for Kho to have a sister who came from the same group home that he did.

In December 2003, Kho and I travelled back to the group home to meet Koki. She was with a frail young woman called Hong. I was stunned when staff told me that Hong was Koki’s mother, as I thought she’d already succumbed to her illness.

A heartwrenching request Hong held Koki out to me and said, “Look how strong she is. Look how fat her legs are. She can’t possibly be HIV-positive. She’s healthy. Please will you adopt her? Please will you look after her? I’m dying and I want to know she will be in a safe place. The people in the orphanage tell me how much you love your son. They tell me he’s happy and healthy. Please would you adopt my daughter and love her like you do your son.”

I burst into tears, but she was dry-eyed. She had something very serious to say and she was just trying to say it. It was very important to her that I take Koki. Her husband had already died and it looked like she was going to die as well… she didn’t want that to happen without knowing that Koki was in good hands.

I told her I’d organise for Koki to be tested for HIV, and that if the tests were negative, then I‘d adopt her. There are restrictions on adopting overseas children with HIV. Then I promised her that I’d love Koki like I love Kho. After that, she relaxed.

We had Koki tested and she was negative. I went to tell Hong the good news, but at first I couldn’t find her. She wasn’t in her village. Eventually, I found her in the hospice, where she was curled up in the foetal position. She was very ill and uncomfortable, but I was able to tell her that Koki was negative. “I can adopt her,” I told her, and Hong said, “She’s your daughter now.” Then I lost it again. There I was in a hospice with all of these terminally ill people and I was the one crying; it was very, very difficult.

During the coming months, I tried to slow down the adoption process as I wanted Koki and Hong to have as much time together as possible. Hong wanted the opposite. She really wanted to make sure full adoption went through before she died. She wanted to be sure her daughter would have a family who loved her.

The homecoming
While we waited for the adoption to go through, we took pictures of Koki and Hong together. We took a video as well and Hong gave me some special things to give Koki. I was determined she’d know as much as possible about her birth family.

In June 2004, the adoption went through and Koki came home with Kho and me. She was quite sick. She had a lung infection and giardia, an intestinal infection that causes terrible diarrhoea. She was waking 10 times a night, so for the first three months, I had very little sleep. But because I’d been through it before with Kho, I knew what to look for and how to deal with the doctors.

Today, Koki, four, is fit and healthy, and loves her big brother Kho, now five. Like all kids, they do have spats, but in general they get along really well. Kho is very kind and helpful with Koki. He always has been.

The children have changed my world. It’s extremely difficult for me to imagine life without them. We’re a happy family and obviously I’m happy I adopted. Of course, my birth family is not the only family the kids have and I’ve gone to great trouble to make sure they’re aware of that.

We visit Cambodia once a year at least, and have travelled to the village where Kho was born to meet his grandmother and his many aunts, uncles and cousins. Koki does not have the same richness of relatives, but we visit Hong and Koki’s paternal grandmother and other relatives. Our visits are a bittersweet time for Hong, who tells me she dreams of Koki nightly, but it’s a great weight off her mind to know she’s happy, healthy and cherished.

Knowing your roots
I think it’s important for the children to see their birth relatives regularly. It helps keep them grounded and, hopefully, it will mean they won’t have the same quest for identity that so many adopted kids have in later life. I also do my best to make sure my kids spend time with other Cambodian children who were adopted. The HIV/AIDS issue hasn’t come up yet, but I’m sure it will. When it does, I want them to be able to talk to other children who come from an HIV-positive background. I don’t want them to think they’re the only children in the world with such a background.

I’m passionate about my children, but I also feel passionate about the needs of children in general. Australia has its problems, but there are countries where things are a lot worse. I’m working in a country where 50 per cent of the children are malnourished and have stunted growth. That can be hard to imagine, especially if you’ve not worked or lived overseas. But the fact is, life can be a struggle. It can come down to whether you have food to eat or clean water to drink.

It would be great if people here would support basic health, education and water programs for needy children worldwide So much can be done to give them a good start in life and it takes so little.

How you can help
By giving a regular donation, you can become a UNICEF Global Parent and be sure your money is going where it’s most needed. For details, visit www.unicef.org.au.

Words: Kelly Baker. Photography: Scott Hawkins. Hair & make-up: David Novak-Piper.