The meeting

On 9 September 2015, a beautiful little boy was born in Johannesburg. He was immediately taken to an adoption home where he was assigned to a Gogo to give him individual attention and love.

This little boy's mom had made the decision before he was born. He was to be placed for adoption. However, the social workers of Joburg Child Welfare worked with the mom for a few months to ensure that she was making the best decision for her and her boy.

Eventually, she signed over her parental rights. This was the best decision she knew to make for her boy. She still had two months to change her mind and revoke the adoption order.

She never did.

On a sunny day in April 2016, my phone rang and I recognised the number of the social worker assigned to our case. There was a boy available, would we like to meet him. That was easily the scariest and most exciting moment of my life. Two days later, after not being able to sleep, my husband and I drove silently to the adoption home. The little conversation that we made on the drive just confirmed both of our nervousness. Questions like: "What if this tiny human didn't like us?" Irrational emotions and fears, but emotions and fears nonetheless.



The adoption home has a protocol for meeting possible placements. The family was to wait in the sitting room for the social worker, who would get the baby and introduce him to the family. This protocol did not happen that morning. When we arrived, there was a lot of commotion going on. We introduced ourselves and a care worker came and handed the baby over to me. I looked at him, and he looked at me as if equally confused and overwhelmed. I asked the caseworker what his name was. She answered: "Levi," as she made her way back to the other babies.

The adoption home did not know that that was the name we had chosen. How could that be his name?

I stopped another care worker and asked the same question. Same answer. I was truly overwhelmed with emotion.

Our social worker arrived, having been kept at the office with an emergency. She was clearly upset that we had already met baby Levi, but nothing was to be done, and we carried on with the formalities. Paperwork had to be done. I asked her what the baby's name was. "Levaughn," she smiles.

A name that was so close to the one we had chosen, long before he was even born. He already responded to Levi, since the accents that the care workers pronounced his name with, was so similar.

"Do you accept him?" Our social worker asked this bizarre question.

"Of course!" We had finally met our little boy!