Your generosity helps children all around the world receive the nurturing care and support they need to grow and thrive.

Last year, your gifts provided essential healthcare and met critical medical needs — including lifesaving surgeries — for over 131,900 children. You also helped provide specialized care and support for 2,280 children with disabilities who are living in orphanages or in poverty with their families. None of this would have been possible without your compassionate heart for children in need.

Whether it’s life-changing medical treatments for conditions like cleft lip and palate or congenital heart disease — or specialized feeding assistance, therapies or special education for children with special needs — your gifts make a powerful difference! Every child deserves compassionate care that reminds them they are deeply loved and valued. Thank you for seeing these children, and for providing the vital care they need.

Here are just a few of the children you’ve helped care for over the past 10 years!

Feeding Support for Jin in China

See Jin’s progress in the video below!

Surgery and Therapy for Arban in Mongolia

Heart Surgery for Luli in China

Physical Therapy for Jolie in Mongolia

Cleft Lip Surgery for Rebekah in China

Disability Support for Giang in Vietnam

Deworming Medication for Kissa in Uganda

Heart Surgery for Lai in China

Carrying on Molly’s Legacy

Just as Molly gave her life “to the things that she loves with her whole heart,” we’re so grateful you share her heart for children with special needs.

To continue Molly’s selfless legacy, send a gift to the Molly Holt Fund today to make a lasting impact on the life of a child with special needs!

Give to the Molly Holt Fund

Your gift helps a child with special needs receive the surgery, medicines, and specialized care they need!

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The post Each Child Seen and Loved appeared first on Holt International.

As she takes to the stage, Elita Damron reaches up to her ears and then sets something down on top of the piano before sitting down to play.

Her fingers travel furiously up and down the keyboard, playing Solfeggietto in C minor by C.P.E Bach — an impressively quick piece that seems to span every octave. But what makes it even more impressive is what the audience learns at the end — that she did it all without her hearing aids.

This performance was part of Elita’s latest competition in the Miss America Opportunity – where she was awarded Miss Fresno County. Her platform is one that is encompassed by her piano performance and who she is as an Asian American adoptee with a disability: Disability doesn’t mean inability.

Elita was adopted from China at 1 year old into her family in California. But it wasn’t until she was 3 years old that she was diagnosed with severe bilateral hearing loss.  

“No one really notices that I have a disability unless I tell them,” Elita says. “It’s never been something that’s held me back, and I’ve lived my life to prove people wrong about people with my disability — people with disabilities are so capable of so many amazing things!”

Elita herself is a horseback riding trail guide, personal trainer and musician, and hopes to go into the medical field one day. She also hopes she can be a role model for others like herself, because she never quite had anyone similar she could look up to.

“There’s no one who I would wholeheartedly say, ‘I see myself in that person,’ because I’m an Asian American adoptee living with a disability,” Elita says. “So maybe getting to be that for a demographic that hasn’t had a voice and hasn’t had a person? It’s the coolest thing.”

As an adoptee, the chance to advocate for adoption and represent children with disabilities is especially meaningful to her, because she knows that it’s primarily these children who are waiting for a family today through international adoption. And she believes they deserve the same opportunities as any other child.

While prospective adoptive parents may be unsure or intimidated about what raising a child with special needs could look like, she wants to show that it may look different than they think.  And as she speaks, acts and advocates on behalf their behalf, she uses herself as an example.

“There are so many amazing things that children with disabilities are capable of,” Elita says. “I want to highlight that and show that disability does not mean inability — and I hope to kind of change this as it pertains to adoption. I want to be that bridge and open the floor to conversation about this.”

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Provide urgently needed medical care to a child in an orphanage with special needs.

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The post Disability, Not Inability appeared first on Holt International.

At 8 years old, Meaza had never gone to school. 

She was born deaf and didn’t know sign language — and had no way of learning it. That is, until Holt donors helped send Meaza to a special school for the deaf in her community!

“God helped me,” she said. “Otherwise I would have been left at home isolated.” God helped her, and used the generosity of our Holt donors to bring incredible change in her life!

“God helped me. Otherwise I would have been left at home isolated.”

Meaza, student at the school for the deaf

When Meaza first enrolled at the deaf school, she received free tuition, school supplies, daily school lunch, a medical examination and the critical sign language education she had been waiting for. 

Her life changed, and her world opened up. She’s had the chance to grow into all she was born to be! 

“Our child Meaza is an interactive, well-mannered, confident and energetic girl,” Meaza’s parents say. “She is happy because she has turned out to be a clever and thoughtful girl, even though she is deaf.” 

After going to the deaf school through grade 9, Meaza is now completing her education at the local public school. She is able to communicate with those around her, and she lives with confidence! 

After graduating, Meaza has big plans. 

“She dreams to become a medical doctor or special needs teacher, and envisions helping people with disabilities like her,” her Holt advocate says. “She also imagines taking part in volunteerism and work in community change and cultural norms around people living with disabilities.” 

Meaza’s life is full of possibilities, because of the generosity of people across the world!

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The post “I’m Deaf, But I Can Learn” appeared first on Holt International.

Ten years ago, in the fall of 2012, a boy named Xin joined an adoptive family in the U.S. He was born in a northern province of China without ear canals due to a condition called “hemifacial microsomia.” Xin spent the first 9 years of his life in an orphanage, and due to his condition, he couldn’t hear. He had never received hearing aids and had never been taught sign language. During the adoption process, specialists told his family that he may never learn how to communicate through language.

“Thankfully,” his mom, Kristi, says, “he has surpassed those expectations.”

Xin will be 19 in June, and he has overcome countless barriers to become the thriving young man he is today. In the U.S., he received nine surgeries to help with his hearing. Although he still struggles with language, he did learn how to communicate through words and signs. He is an athlete and an Eagle Scout. He has the love of many friends. Most of all, he belongs to a family that loves and adores him.  

“He has been our pride and joy!” shares Kristi. “Watching him become a young man will always be one of the greatest blessings of my life.”

Xin recently created a video of his life for a school project, and he gave us permission to share it.

Read a story Xin’s mom, Kristi, wrote about her family’s experience adopting an older child. Or visit our waiting child photolisting to learn about older kids who need families!

The post Xin’s Anthem appeared first on Holt International.

Adoptive mom Amanda Kick shares her family’s story of adopting two children with special needs from South Africa, where Holt just launched our newest adoption program.

My husband and I were on our first date when I bluntly asked if he’d be comfortable with adoption as a way to grow a family. I had adoption in my heart for years and knew I wasn’t willing to budge. Although there’s deep beauty in biological children, I just knew I wanted to parent the kids who were waiting. Thankfully, my now husband was fully on board.

We first approached our agency and learned we were too young for many countries, too poor, or our BMI was too high for others. We fit all the parameters for South Africa so it was an easy decision that felt kind of made for us. I had been on a trip to South Africa in high school so I thought I was somewhat familiar with the country.

We eagerly joined the program wanting to adopt a “healthy” baby girl, age 4 or younger.

We quickly learned that would be a long, long, long wait because young children with little to no medical needs were being adopted domestically. (Woohoo — we loved hearing that these children would be able to grow up in the country and culture of their birth!) We then learned there was actually a list of waiting kids in South Africa who were fully eligible for adoption and who had long waited for an international adoptive family.

It was a slow process of peeling back the layers of our desires.

We had to ask ourselves hard questions like, “Are we asking this child to fulfill something for us or are we asking them to come fully as themselves into our family?” We realized it wasn’t about us and was actually about these children.

We saw our son on the waiting list a few months after our dossier had gone to South Africa. He was 6, had “possible hearing loss” and cerebral palsy (CP). He had been on the waiting list for months! I had seen his picture every single day for months, but we had checked “no” to CP on the list of special needs we would be open to. We thought it was too complex for our family. It wasn’t until we saw videos of him walking down a hallway and smiling that we realized we were greatly misinformed about CP.

We were matched with Ben and thought, “Ok so he’s deaf. No big deal. We’ll just learn sign language,” and enrolled in a ten-week class. We had coffee with a friend who grew up with a deaf brother and asked if she thought we could do it (even though secretly, our minds were already made up). She lovingly told us we were in for a bumpy ride and shared the difficult realities of being hearing parents to a deaf child.

Meeting Our Children in South Africa

We met Ben when he only knew about 15 signs and we knew about 50. The early days were full of tantrums. Whew. As we took our screaming, crying, biting, kicking and spitting child out of a mall in South Africa, someone actually stopped and asked us if we had found a lost child. But I think what saved us those first few years was our training on trauma. We had to remind ourselves that Ben couldn’t express himself and didn’t have words. He hadn’t learned sign language yet so all he knew for six years was to physically use his body to express himself.

Imagine not being able to tell someone your tummy hurts or you’re cold or you don’t want to wear the red shoes today?

We failed over and over, but had to learn a lot of patience. We had to learn a brain in trauma can’t be reasoned with in the moment. Ben had to first regulate before we could reason with him. That took time and practice. Today, he’s nearly 10 and has the language of a 3-year-old. We are all still signing and doing our best to be fluent!

He still has tantrums, but they’re much less frequent. We continue to learn his brain isn’t wired like ours so his behaviors can’t be explained like ours. Sometimes, it happens in public and we have to learn to brush it off because a traumatized brain needs time and space to regulate. We’ve gotten a front row seat to watching our son go from not even understanding what a question is to being able to tell time, remind me that on Mondays he rides the bus, and ask if we can have pizza for dinner! It’s a treat to watch him learn new words all the time!

A year after Ben came home, we were matched with his sister, Haddie Thandolwethu. We were quickly making our way back to South Africa, this time for a 2-year-old girl who we were told was born with no cerebellum in her brain, and no ability to walk, smile, communicate or sit up on her own.

How in the world we went in two years from wanting a healthy, “perfect” baby to a toddler who would need lifelong care and therapies, I have no idea!

I think God just slowly peeled back the layers and made us address our selfish desires. These children didn’t owe us anything. We owed them the promise of our unconditional love.

We asked ourselves if we could change diapers for the rest of our lives and we couldn’t think of a reason why we couldn’t. We are a homebody family. We like a slow-paced schedule. We don’t like to be on the go. We couldn’t help but acknowledge that we really were a good fit for a child with special needs.

Building a Strong Attachment

When we met Haddie, unlike with Ben, our attachment was not instant. It was terrifying. Our connection to Ben was instant and fierce. But Haddie’s needs felt big and scary. She screamed hours of the day, her sensory needs meant she slammed her head on any hard surface, and she sucked her thumb until it was raw and cut open. We’d show up to a restaurant in South Africa and realize there was no wheelchair ramp. We definitely had some moments of panic where we questioned what had we just done.

Thankfully, we had well-seasoned adoptive families who let us know it was totally normal if the attachment took time. I didn’t fall in love with my spouse in a day so it was OK if I didn’t fall in love with my child in a single day.

They encouraged us to take little steps each day to attach. No step was too small or silly. For me, it was buying new clothes for her. It sounds funny now, but I wanted to buy her new outfits and try them on her. We did that to build our bond. We worked on her hair, trying new products and styles. We threw on our swimsuits and took our baths together. We took naps together. We did whatever we could to build our bond.

I followed my gut. I found myself making her homemade mashed foods that helped me build attachment. Looking back now, it makes sense. Mothers and fathers care for their baby’s every need in the beginning and it forms a bond, so that’s exactly what we did.

We nurtured her every way we could. Some days, she would scream and slam her head and we would ride in the car and silently cry. We went to our court date and just trusted God that our attachment would come in time — and boy did it come!

I wish I had known all along it’s OK when things don’t come instantly. It’s OK to mourn the version of your family you lose when you add a child. I wish everyone knew that.

Although we faced many legal challenges while in South Africa, the country was a perfect host. The scenery is stunning and the hospitality is warm and inviting. We met amazing people who would stop at nothing to make us feel welcome. South Africans are communal and inviting.

Lessons We’ve Learned as Adoptive Parents

Now that we are home, we are always learning something new. We are learning about the resources available to us to parent two children with developmental disabilities. We bought a wheelchair-accessible van and put a ramp in our garage. We tried therapies and we quit therapies. We went into spaces our kids didn’t quite fit so we found new spaces. All you can do is take it one day and one step at a time. As parents, we have to keep our mental health in check and make sure all our energy doesn’t go to our kids at the expense of our own health.

If I could go back to my old self and tell her anything, I’d tell her this:

1. The weeks before court when your child is still in their care home/orphanage are not the time to form opinions about your parenting or your child. Your child is grieving the loss of everything they know and love and that can present in many behaviors. The people who love them and cared for them are also grieving. This can also make you feel uncomfortable and unsure if you’re the parent, or a visitor. Give space for everyone to grieve and let the true bonding begin after court!

2. Attachment won’t come over night and THAT IS OK! Take each baby step you can take to form your attachment. Snuggle, pick them up, read them a story, spoon-feed them, buy the cute outfit, do hair care! (I carried my 6-year-old everywhere and people stared, but it bonded us in a beautiful way.)

3. You can do hard things for the people you love. You can wipe butts. You can battle schools. You can modify your home, your schedule, your wallet, your priorities and your plans. Life is much richer when you aren’t at the center!

Amanda Kick | Adoptive Mom

Adopt From South Africa

Many children in South Africa are waiting for a loving, permanent family.

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The post One Family’s Story of Adopting From South Africa appeared first on Holt International.

When Dawit was 3 years old, a mysterious epidemic swept through his village in southern Ethiopia. With the nearest hospital an inaccessible 12 miles away for most families in this impoverished farming community, many parents instead cared for their children at home — hoping and praying for their recovery. But as the community mourned the loss of first one and then another and then another child, Dawit’s mother nursed and comforted her only son — and prepared to say goodbye.

“So many kids died at that time,” Dawit’s mother remembers. “The whole family expected him to die. I was prepared to bury him. He was that sick.”

Twelve years have passed since the epidemic that devastated their community. And today, Dawit is a tall, self-assured 15-year-old with a charming, crooked-toothed smile. He is a natural artist, a skilled football player and an aspiring language teacher with an interest in photography.

Dawit survived. But although he didn’t lose his life 12 years ago, he did lose something that he would never get back. His ability to hear.

The Most Clear and Pressing Needs

In 2008, Holt began serving the community where Dawit and his family live in the Kembata-Tembaro zone of southern Ethiopia — a rural region of the country where 40 percent of the population lives in poverty and 29 percent lives in extreme poverty, earning less than one dollar per day. Here, as throughout Ethiopia, years of civil war and drought have robbed many people of their livelihoods, while famine and illness have robbed many children of their parents.

Holt concentrated our program in Shinshicho, a district capital where goats and cattle still roam the unpaved roads that lead through town, few establishments have electricity or running water and donkeys are the primary mode of transportation. To begin working in Shinshicho and surrounding areas, we hired local social workers who know the language, culture and customs of the community, and sought the guidance of local government and community elders to both identify families and children in greatest need — and partner with us in developing culturally appropriate ways to empower them.

With a majority of families relying on subsistence farming for food and income, we provided livestock to help them grow their income and seek greater stability in their lives. For families without land, we equipped them with the tools and resources to start a small business. We helped build a kindergarten in the community of Wallana and matched children with Holt sponsors who also provided uniforms, books and supplies.

And recognizing a gaping need for improved healthcare in the region — a region with one doctor for every 100,000 people — we first renovated a government clinic and then partnered with the community to build a full-service hospital, a massive pink stone structure with a staff of over 170, including eight full-time doctors, who now see up to 200 patients per day from its location in the heart of Shinshicho.

From providing services tailored to meet the needs of individual families to investing in basic infrastructure for the entire community, Holt sponsors and donors have through the years helped to address many of the most clear and pressing needs of the people of this deeply impoverished but naturally beautiful region of Ethiopia.

“It’s unknown why there is such a high prevalence of deafness in Shinshicho. Some children are born deaf, but many lose their hearing later.”

Gelila Yacob, child sponsorship and family strengthening program coordinator at Holt Ethiopia

Some of the greatest needs were not so obvious, however, when we first began working here in 2008.

“It’s unknown why there is such a high prevalence of deafness in Shinshicho,” says Gelila Yacob, child sponsorship and family strengthening program coordinator at Holt Ethiopia who serves as translator during our visit to the region in June.

Gelila is a warm and funny former sociology major who works closely with our partners in the south to ensure sponsors receive timely and quality reports on the children they support.

“Some children are born deaf,” Gelila says, “but many, like Dawit, lose their hearing later.”

No one has ever conducted a research study to determine the cause — though Holt plans to initiate one soon — and few if any of the children have ever seen a hearing specialist. One doctor suggested to Gelila that hearing loss can come from untreated ear infections. Others point to malaria or even malaria medications. And exceptionally high fever is known to cause hearing loss in children as well.

“But locals,” Gelila says, “believe it’s because of a curse that others put on you.”

A School for the Deaf

Three years ago, Holt began partnering with the Yesus Mena School for the Deaf — a school started in 2010 by a retired government official named Abebe Abura who is also the former director of a deaf school in Addis Ababa. When the school first opened, not even Abura knew the extent of the need for sign language-based education in Shinshicho. On the first day, the school had space for 50 students. To everyone’s surprise, over 200 showed up.

Dawit was among the first students to walk through the doors of the then two room, mud-walled schoolhouse that was donated by local officials. He was 9 years old.

“I was shocked and angry when I learned that my son wasn’t able to hear,” says Dawit’s mom, a woman with high cheekbones like her son and an upper lip that disappears into an amused expression when she smiles. Although relieved and grateful that he survived his illness, she was devastated when she saw her 3-year-old son no longer trying to speak or responding when she called him.

But perhaps no one was more upset than Dawit, who for six years communicated with his family by pointing and gesturing only.

“My family didn’t understand me…. That experience made me angry because they couldn’t understand my feelings.”

Dawit, age 15

“My family didn’t understand me,” Dawit signs to his teacher when we interview him outside his classroom at Yesus Mena. “Since they couldn’t understand me before, they only gave me orders — to keep cattle, to do so many household activities. That experience made me angry because they couldn’t understand my feelings.”

For Dawit and many of his fellow students, the opening of this school presented their first opportunity to communicate complex thoughts and emotions. To say I’m hungry or I love you, I’m sorry or I’m in pain.

“Previously, the kids were so angry because no one would understand their feelings. They tended to be mad and aggressive,” says Gelila, who has come to know the students well in her four years with Holt Ethiopia. “Many are teenagers now, so they went their whole childhood unable to communicate. The bigger ones are more angry because they kept their feelings inside for such a long period of time.”

Meaza is 14 years old and in grade 4 at Yesus Mena. On the day we meet her, she wears a purple-striped headband over tight braids and a turquoise sweater under the navy blue button-down shirt that’s part of the uniform her sponsor provides. Like Dawit, Meaza had never attended a school before Yesus Mena opened in 2010, when she was 8 years old.

“I used to be so angry I would cry, even in the classroom,” Meaza shares with us as she stands outside her classroom. “I used to be angry because people didn’t understand me.” Meaza emphatically shakes her head, purses her lips into a frown and firmly shakes her finger when her answer to a question is ‘no’ — exaggerated expressions that give a glimpse of how hard she’s had to work to nonverbally communicate her thoughts and feelings.

Meaza still doesn’t understand everything, and her teacher shares that she struggles a bit in school. Meaza fell behind her peers when her parents moved to a neighboring town far from Yesus Mena — causing her to drop out for a year. Day laborers in a sugar plantation, her parents — like most parents in this community — could not afford to send Meaza to school without the support of sponsors. Meaza now lives with her relatives closer to town, but like many of her classmates, she walks over two hours to get to school each day — a sacrifice she makes, she says, because she wants to continue learning.

“I’m not angry anymore,” Meaza signs to her teacher, with a smile that seems to come naturally. Meaza talks of all the friends she has made, how they enjoy studying together and braiding each other’s hair. “I’m so happy,” she says, “now that I am able to communicate.”

“I’m not angry anymore. I’m so happy now that I am able to communicate.”

Meaza, age 14

Both Meaza and Dawit were fortunate to be among the first class of students at the first school ever to offer sign language-based education in Shinshicho. But when over 200 children arrived at the gate six years ago, teachers and administrators felt devastated to have to turn even a single student away — much less the 150 that exceeded the capacity ofthe two-room school. Immediately, the board of Yesus Mena worked to expand the school, partnering with a German organization to build three solid stone block buildings made up of 14 classrooms that accommodate nearly 500 students.

But as the school grew, so grew the need for teachers and supplies and uniforms for the children. The depth of poverty in this community may have never been quite so apparent as when hundreds of children arrived at the deaf school each day — hungry and exhausted from walking two hours, in clothing so dirty you had no idea what color it was to begin with and holes so large they exposed most of their skin.

“The first time I visited here, it made me cry,” Gelila says as we sit and observe a class. “They barely had clothes or shoes. Some were nearly naked.”

The school’s founder soon realized that classrooms and desks and teachers are meaningless if children have no energy to learn. “Students walk about ten kilometers — ten kilometers!” Abura says emphatically of the six-mile journey some students must walk to get to school every day. “As soon as they arrived at the classrooms, they used to sleep. The first time we came to visit the students, we were just really, really sorry. They came here to learn, but they were sleeping. How should we avoid this, we said.”

Abura is a tall, dignified man who wears a raincoat around his shoulders like a cloak. Both Abura and the chairman of the board drove six hours to thank us for the work Holt has done to strengthen and empower families and children in Abura’s hometown of Shinshicho.

Before Holt came alongside Yesus Mena in 2014, Abura says, they partnered with an organization that provided one cup of tea and one slice of bread for the children every day for a year. At the end of the year, the program abruptly ended when the organization ran out of funding. “We were in trouble!” Abura tells us, punctuating his words with raised arms. “Again, we approached many organizations, including Holt. Holt International promised to support [the students] by providing lunch every day, which is wonderful, wonderful.”

The board chairman, a somewhat intimidating gentleman who serves as the head of Ethiopia’s justice bureau, cuts off Abura to say, matter-of-factly, “If Holt hadn’t helped us to survive, the school would be closed.”

As we speak, two women arrive with lunch for the students carried on a cart pulled by donkeys and begin setting up steaming pots of cabbage, rice, a traditional chickpea stew called shiro, and injera — the spongy bread that Ethiopians eat with most meals.

Since Holt began the feeding program at Yesus Mena two years ago, the students have become very “fat and healthy,” the chairman says — the definition of “fat” in Ethiopia meaning anywhere above underweight. At home, the children likely eat sparingly. But with just one good meal per day, they have more strength and energy to walk to school and learn throughout the day. In their classroom, quiet but for the scrape of chalk, they exuberantly raise and shake their hands for an opportunity to write English letters on the board or sign the Amharic alphabet for their classmates. At lunchtime, the noise level rises to that of a typical playground during recess as they line up to eat and then play in the muddy schoolyard.

Gelila shares some of the additional needs that Holt sponsors meet for the children they support at Yesus Mena — including books, notepads, pens and pencils and crayons, uniforms, art supplies, toys, games and teacher’s aids. With support from sponsors, Holt pays salaries for teachers — all of whom have degrees or training in special education. Some are deaf and some can hear — key for the 97 hearing students in attendance at Yesus Mena.

“The government wants deaf and hearing students to learn together so that it’s normalized,” Gelila explains. “At deaf schools in Addis, the policy is to incorporate 10-15 percent hearing students.” Here, many of the hearing students are siblings of the 395 students who are deaf or have partial hearing.

Enrolling both deaf and hearing students at Yesus Mena underscores the critical importance of inclusive sign language education in a community with such a high prevalence of deafness. And every Saturday, the teachers at Yesus Mena hold sign language class for the parents and family members of the children at the school. Some of them dutifully walk the same six miles their children walk each day, and they sit side by side in the same desks where their children also learn.

“Previously, it was so difficult to communicate with my son,” Dawit’s mom says of the years before he started school. “I tried to communicate, but not with any formal language.” To say “mother,” she would point to her breast. To say “father,” they had a different gesture.

After class one Saturday, we visit Dawit and his mother at his home. As they sit facing each other, Dawit’s mom asks her son to demonstrate how he first taught her sign language six years ago when he started school and would eagerly share with his mom and dad what he learned each day. Together, Dawit and his mom count numbers on their fingers and sign the English alphabet. Dawit’s long, lanky arms sit casually perched on his knees and he laughs with his mom as she demonstrates some of the words she knows how to sign — words like tea, milk and wood that are now so simple for them both, but were once so hard to express.

“It was difficult to express our feelings. Now, I can say everything in detail,” she says with eyes as bright and warm as the hot pink scarf that covers her head.

Dawit says he is no longer angry now that his family understands him. Signing to his teacher, he shares that he is very happy, and that he loves his family. He is also grateful to his sponsors, who have empowered him through the beautiful gift of education. Smiling his adorable, crooked smile, he holds his fingertips to his mouth and slightly bows his head —signing “thank you and God bless you” to his sponsors on the other side of the camera, and the world.

Because her son now has a decent education, Dawit’s mom tells us that she no longer even thinks of her son as a deaf child. She hopes for him to achieve a great goal, to be healthy and to be as successful as children who can hear. “But most of all,” she says, “I wish for him to have a happy life.”

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The post At a School for the Deaf in Ethiopia, Children Learn to Communicate for the First Time appeared first on Holt International.

June and Gavin are waiting for an adoptive family! When asked how to describe June and Gavin, their caregivers say that they are sweet and diligent. These two siblings care very much for each other and have a good relationship.

June, the eldest, was born in 2003. She gets along well with the other children at the care center, and her caregivers say she is kind and well-behaved. June performs well in school, excelling in multiple subjects like history, geography and technology. She says she wants to study hard and become a successful teacher someday. June enjoys singing and dancing, and her favorite sport is volleyball! She likes helping with the younger children at the center and is a loving and attentive older sister to Gavin.

Gavin was born in 2008. Although he can be shy with new people, Gavin is described by his caregivers as charming and playful. He is very active and loves outdoor games like football and soccer! Gavin cares for his friends and dreams of being a police officer when he grows up. He has mild bilateral conductive hearing loss and currently attends speech and language therapy, where he is making good progress.

June and Gavin are in good health. They are familiar with adoption and have expressed a desire to be adopted into a loving family. The best fit for June and Gavin is a family with a good knowledge of older child adoption and access to excellent educational resources.

Could you or someone you know be the right family for June and Gavin?

Visit the Waiting Child Photolisting

Meet some of the children waiting for loving adoptive families. Could you be the right family for one of these children?

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Born with severe sight and hearing impairments, it’s like Giang was trapped, unable to communicate with the world around her. But then, everything changed.

Giang sat on the back of her family’s motorbike, riding home after a full day. Her mother thought everything was going well, until out of the corner of her eye she saw something fly through the air and land on the side of the road.

“No! Not her hearing aids!”

Yes, 4-year-old Giang had apparently had enough noise for the day. But still — believe it or not — this was progress.

Born with a heart condition, as well as severe sight and hearing impairments, Giang has endured tremendous obstacles in her short life. Although her heart was mended shortly after birth, eye surgery only restored minimal sight to one of her eyes — and nothing could be done for her hearing.

As she grew, her sight and hearing impairments were like a wall — a wall keeping her from making friends, going to school, and even from basic communication with her family. At just a few years old, it was clear that Giang so badly wanted to learn and connect with the world, but she just couldn’t… It’s like she was trapped.

Giang just needed someone to give her a chance.

But like any other child with special needs in Vietnam, Giang had few options.

During the Vietnam War, American forces blanketed Hoi An and the surrounding region with the deadly chemical compound Agent Orange as they tried to fend off enemy troops. Thousands of innocent civilians died from exposure, and for more than two generations, women in areas once hit by Agent Orange have given birth to children with much higher-than-normal rates of physical and developmental disabilities.

But despite tremendous need, specialized therapies and programs for children with special needs are virtually non-existent in Vietnam. Determined to educate their daughter, Giang’s parents contacted numerous schools and daycare facilities — but every time, they were turned down. Not one school would enroll Giang.

“Poor children with disabilities in Vietnam are one of the most vulnerable groups of children,” says Thoa Bui, Holt’s senior executive of south and southeast Asia programs. “Lack of access to medical care and rehabilitation, poverty, discrimination because of their disability, isolation, and a lack of accommodation and special curriculum tailored for them in the classrooms are just some of the challenges that children with disabilities face in their everyday living.”

Every day, all day, Giang stayed home with her mother, who struggled as her daughter grew increasingly frustrated that no one could understand her — and expressed herself in the only way she knew how. She screamed, would lock herself in the bathroom for hours on end, and even began to harm herself. She was diagnosed with autism. Her family was exhausted, heartbroken for their daughter, and running out of options.

But then, when Giang was 3 years old, her family finally found some relief.

They discovered the Kianh Foundation — a school and day care center specifically for children with special needs. Situated in the quaint, stunning costal community of Hoi An, this first-of-its-kind school relies on the support of generous Holt donors to provide a world-class education to children from the poorest families of the region, often at no or little cost.

For families like Giang’s, which relies on the father’s income as a driver and the mother’s work raising chickens — not only for their daily needs, but for their substantial healthcare debts — the Kianh Foundation seems too good to be true.

Every day, over 100 children show up for class. They work with a therapist, overcome challenges and learn from teachers specially trained to educate children who have a wide range of special needs and abilities.

If anyone could help Giang, it would be them.

“The staff had never worked with a child who was deaf and blind before,” says Nhan Duong, Holt’s regional coordinator for Danang. “It was a learning curve for them.” Nevertheless, the Kianh Foundation welcomed Giang and enrolled her in their day program.

Every day, her parents brought her to the center, praying that they would find a way to get through to their daughter, to unlock her potential and future.

It didn’t take long for her teachers to realize that Giang had been misdiagnosed — she didn’t have autism. She simply behaved in the way of a child who had been given no way to communicate. In fact, they quickly learned that Giang’s cognitive development and potential was above average for children her age.

Every day, a teacher worked one on one with Giang. Through research, trial and error, and countless dedicated hours developing her skills, they finally figured out a way for Giang to communicate: Vietnamese sign language, signed into her small 3-year-old hands.

Now their time together was spent learning new words, and teaching her to sign back. For the first time, Giang could communicate.

But her teachers also recognized that Giang’s deafness was not absolute. There were resources to help her hear.

In 2015, Holt donors helped the Kianh Foundation purchase high-powered hearing aids. And for the first time, Giang could hear.

At first, she didn’t know quite what to think of it.

“Never having heard speech before, Giang could not distinguish it from other sounds she was hearing for the first time,” Nhan says.

The extreme increase in stimulation was too much at first. She became more disruptive in class, and then came the day that she threw her hearing aids to the side of the road from her family’s motorbike.

But they found the hearing aids, dusted them off and persevered.

The Kianh Foundation purchased an FM system to block out all background noise as they worked with her at the center, allowing her to focus in on her own voice and the voice of the person talking to her.

Progress was slow, and Giang’s behavior showed that she was still getting used to this new world.

But then one day, something clicked.

As if by magic, Giang began to follow along during lessons. She communicated in return. She completed tasks for herself. She engaged with the world.

“It was as if all the input she had been receiving suddenly came together for Giang,” says Nhan, “and she suddenly realized that she had some ability in this [communication] department.”

When Giang first came to the Kianh Foundation, she had already been labeled a “problem child.” Her needs were a challenge and anomaly to everyone around her. Her behavior was unhealthy and even a danger to herself and those around her. But she just needed someone to give her a chance. Someone to truly understand her needs, see through her behavior and give her the unique pairing of resources, therapy and personalized care she would need to thrive.

Through the care she received, Giang — her true self and personality — was uncovered.

“Her only problem [before] was that she could not interact or express herself to the outside world due to her sensory disabilities,” Nhan says.

Now 6 years old, Giang’s life has completely changed in just a few short years. She has realized her potential. And she can persevere with hope for the future.

How many other children with special needs are there in Vietnam, and around the world, who have yet to realize their potential? How many other children are there, like Giang, who just need a chance?

Giang, her future and her family have completely changed. She’s getting an education and she can appropriately and effectively express her feelings — she is thriving beyond what anyone ever thought possible for her.

At just 6 years old, it may be a few years until she will understand and communicate about the complete transformation that has occurred in her life. But the important part is that now she has the ability to communicate about this in the future — the ability to communicate about anything and everything she wants to — she can engage with the world, be known and reach her highest potential.

But for now, her parents — with full hearts — can express the difference it has made in their lives:

“There is no price that we can put on the help that we have received.”

Megan Herriott | Staff Writer

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The post At a Special Needs School in Vietnam, One Girl Receives a Gift Beyond Price appeared first on Holt International.

There’s a universal kind of magic in the first day of school.

The potion is simple: mix one new outfit with two cups of optimism for what a new school year may hold — one from the child, one from the parent. Add a fresh-faced teacher and 50 sets of new notebooks and school bags. Blend it all together with a dose of excitement and a pinch of nerves. Add a new best friend and a handful of lunch-time giggles. Drink it up, knowing this school year will be the best one yet.

At the Holt-supported Yesus Mena School in Shinshicho, Ethiopia, the first day of school is truly a day of celebration and joy for children and families. For most children — even those in their teens — this year will be the third time they’ve ever felt the joy of the first day of school. For nearly a quarter of the 500 students, it will be their first. In this region of more than 250,000 people, there is only one school for deaf children. Despite the fact that deafness is especially prevalent here — and no one is sure why — three years ago, there wasn’t any place for deaf children to learn.

Instead, they were hidden away. Like all disabilities, deafness is heavily stigmatized in rural areas of Ethiopia. Because deafness is often misunderstood in more remote areas, children are frequently marginalized and bullied, often living in near constant isolation.

When Holt first learned of the high number of children born deaf in this region, we were horrified by what we saw. Not only were they children completely excluded from educational opportunities, but resources and sign language courses were completely nonexistent, meaning deaf children couldn’t even communicate with their families.

Miruk Alemu, Holt Ethiopia’s sponsorship, adoption and communications director, says that many parents just gave up hope that they could ever communicate with their children.

“The families were very ashamed,” Miruk says. “Can you imagine if you could never talk to your children? There was no one to help them.” Seeing the tremendous need, Holt helped mix together a little magic of our own. We collaborated with local government and business leaders to find space for classrooms and trained sign language teachers. Local staff added an additional social worker and the community helped raise money for classroom supplies.

Then, it was the first day of school.

Ready to open classroom doors to 50 students, Holt was shocked when more than 200 children and families showed up, eager to learn. Unwilling to turn any child away, Holt reached out to our dedicated supporters, who were excited to help grow the school. In the three years since, Yesus Mena has grown to include three more teachers, 400 more students, weekend sign language courses for parents, and a free lunch program for the many children who have to travel incredibly long distances to get to school and show up hungry each day.

In December 2014, a German nonprofit provided the funding to build a larger school — accommodating the ever-growing student population. Each year, Holt child sponsors and other compassionate individuals contribute to a special fund to buy school supplies, uniforms and shoes for children in all of Holt’s sponsorship programs around the world, since the cost of these items is often overwhelming to already struggling families.

“For the children, this is their first opportunity to go to school,” Miruk says. “But it is also their first opportunity to interact with another child with a disability. It’s impressive, really. When we first met these children, they were shy and they would hide. Now, they are interactive, energetic and attentive.” Miruk visits children and families to prepare updates for sponsors, and she says the children like to show off what they’ve learned. The parents also like to show how they are learning to speak with their children for the first time.

“By opening the school, the perspective of the parents has changed,” Miruk says. “Their children have worth. They are often in tears expressing their gratitude. They have hope that they can share something meaningful with their child now.”

The impact on the community has been tremendous, as well. The headmaster and school social worker educate the community about special needs, and overall, children are much more accepted. Miruk says the school has made a huge impression.

However, there is still more work to do.

The first day of school is September 11. Many deaf children in the community still need sponsors, and even though the school is at near capacity, the teachers hope that even more students will show up for the first day. Children will need uniforms and supplies. Their families will need support and encouragement. Right now, there is a beginner class, then classes for first through third grade. Each year, the school hopes to add another grade for classes so that children can continue to learn and grow in their education.

“When the children receive their school supplies and uniforms, they are so happy,” Miruk says. “It’s a big event when we distribute these things. Local authorities come to the school, and all the children and families come. They are excited and grateful. The children feel good in their uniforms.”

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The post For Deaf Students in Ethiopia, the First Day of School is a Major Milestone appeared first on Holt International.

Child Hand Off Day.  That was the name given to the monumental day we would meet our youngest son, the child who we had prayed for, chased an endless paper trail for and — most of all — loved and cherished. We had thought and dreamt about what this day would be like. We were told that most children cry painfully. Not our little guy.  He ran to us with open arms and full of joy.  I was blessed to be the first to walk into the room where he was waiting.  He hugged me and called me “Mama.”  Next, my husband lifted our son up in an embrace while being called “Baba” (Daddy) and our oldest son was called “Gah Gah” (Brother) while being hugged.

After such a wonderful union, we started the incredible adventure of becoming a family of four. We arrived home from China in November of 2012 and we just celebrated our one-year anniversary as Xin’s (Sheen) Mom and Dad.  He was 9-and-a-half years old when he joined our family, and he has enriched our lives in countless ways.

Our adoption journey began more than 10 years ago. We first learned about Holt at a Winter Jam concert. As child sponsors, we enjoyed reading our Holt publications and seeing the bright, beautiful faces of the children who were adopted.  In 2011, we read a blog by Holt’s managing editor, Robin Munro, about a little boy on Holt’s waiting child listing from China who had been waiting many years for his family. After we read Robin’s profile about “Jack,” we knew that we would be abundantly blessed to be his parents. The day we decided to adopt, we put on special necklaces that we didn’t take off until we arrived home in the U.S. with our son.  The necklaces were our daily reminder of our commitment to our little boy in China.

Like many families who consider adopting an older child, we had concerns about attachment issues and also Xin’s adjustment to so many changes. While waiting for all our adoption paperwork to process, we read numerous books on adopting older children and also on Chinese culture. We did our best to learn how to help Xin face the challenges of living with a new family, in a new country with a new language and culture.  We were nervous, but knew that we would just take one day at time.

The issues that we were concerned about prior to our adoption never occurred. Xin ran toward us when we first met, and he seems to have never looked back. He has such a wonderful personality.  He is a little guy who embraces each day with joy and does the best he can do with the challenges he faces. Xin was born without ear canals and is very hard of hearing. He also has underdeveloped ears and a small jaw on one side. Despite these difficulties, he is very comfortable with himself, very confident and very happy.

We have learned so much about life from adopting an older child.  Xin has taught us to appreciate life. He is filled with joy from the “little things,” like a plate of food, a new sweater or a trip to the movies. He claps his hands and his happiness bubbles out.  One moment that I will always remember happened after his first day of school.  He looked me deep in the eyes and said the most heartfelt “thank you” I have ever heard.  He was so glad to have the opportunity to learn.

Xin is very kindhearted and loving.  He cares deeply about people.  Xin had been home a couple of weeks when he said his first words in English. We were having a snow ball fight when I saw Xin slip on some ice.  Without thinking, I went running over to him, and — of course — slipped on the same sheet of ice.  Being much older and larger than Xin, I didn’t land as gently as he did.  After the “little blue birds” stopped circling my head, I opened my eyes to see his concerned little face.  He kept saying, “You alright?”

Of course, like all major changes in life, adoption has brought challenges.  Our son, who I love with all my heart, is in many ways a mystery.  We know almost nothing about the first nine years of his life. When I look at Xin’s shiny black hair, sparkling brown eyes and mischievous smile, I wonder what his birth parents looked like. Were they bold and self-confident like Xin? I wish I could tell them that they created an awesome child.  I wish that they knew that their little baby’s disability doesn’t hold him back. I wish that they knew that his years in the orphanage and in foster care made him extremely strong and resilient.

When I tuck Xin into his warm, snuggly bed at night, I wonder where he slept the first nine years of his life.  I wonder who taught him how to tie his shoes, who hugged him when he was sad and who taught him such good manners. I wish that I could — somehow — tell the orphanage workers and foster parents that they raised a kindhearted and loving little guy.

When I listen to Xin sleeping so peacefully, I wonder about his future.  Will he be able to “catch up” in school enough to choose any occupation that he would like to do? Will people treat him differently because he has an accent? I wish that he could be judged by his character and not by stereotypes. When I see Xin gazing out the car window, deep in thought, I wonder what he is thinking about. I wish he could tell us his deepest thoughts and concerns. I wish he could tell me about all his experiences in China.

Has this past year required a lot of effort? Yes. Yet, with great effort comes great reward.  Having Xin’s as our son has given us rewards beyond measure.  In one year, we have watched as Xin was fitted with hearing aids and began to hear well for the first time in his life.  Even though Xin is an older child, we have many, many “firsts” — swimming, snow skiing, riding a bike, his first Christmas, his first day riding the bus, first time on a sports team, and his first English words.

We encourage families planning to adopt to consider an older child.  Our son is a valued member of our family. A true blessing. A member who provides us with immeasurable joy every day.

Kristi Mathia | Adoptive Mom

Older children are waiting for families!

Many children wait longer for a family simply because they are older in age. Could you be the right family to adopt an older child? Meet some of the children who are waiting!

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