The third world is a terrible place. It’s covered in famine, disease, and warlords that look at Toys ‘R Us as a buffet of child soldiers. It’s intolerant, misogynistic, and home to more controversy than Bill Clinton in a leather thong… basically it’s like this blog with hungry African children. But at the end of the day, its just a bunch of under privileged people, dreaming of big Hollywood skylines and 3 solid meals a day. Their hopes and aspirations mimic those of us born into opportunity; they just aren’t blessed with daddy’s credit card or running water. But never fear you Ethiopian refugee son’s of bitches; Madonna is here, and she’s packing some serious heat.
Fuck Armani suites made of carrier pigeons, an exotic chauhau with an ear ring, or a Mercedes Benz with gold plated rims; if you don’t have a Malaysian kid on a leash this summer, you’re going to be terribly out of style on the LA strip. And while it might be the epitome of uncouth, in a luxurious first world setting the only side dish to Kobe beef and a panther salad will undoubtedly be your new adoptive child that speaks less English than Snooki after a bottle of Tequila. Next step; give him or her an exotic name completely removed from the one their starving Botswanan birth parents bestowed upon them. For the most part they are usually named after a character in a J. K. Rowling novel. Never have there been so many black Hermiones and Asian Dracos running around Los Angeles than in the last five years. Finally, cover them from head to toe in outfits that cost twice the amount of the mud huts they came from and then get photographed in People Magazine pointing towards an historical American monument and “Hey Presto” you are the quintessential American adopter who has more children than sense.
But is this a bad thing? Is Angelina Jolie really Kony in Prada? Or is she hosting a really good looking version of Richard Attenborough’s Conservation in Africa? I guess it’s down to motives. Can she have children of her own? Yes, she’s preggos with twins, so Brad’s swimmers definitely aren’t the problem. Does she care about poverty and neglect so much so that she needs to foster a global litter of international charity cases? Maybe, her Rwandan aid organization donates millions to upliftment each year. Or is it that Vietnamese kids just look way cooler with Mohicans than your run-of-the-mill whitey? Whether her motives are pure or disingenuous, children that would have lived life in squalor are now wearing Nikes and playing Gameboys, so does it ultimately really matter?
But how do you choose who to adopt? What is the flavour of the month in your Napolitano piece of family planning? “Im in the mood for Mexican Brad.” “Ah Ange, we had Mexican last night, cant we get a little Thai?” At the end of the day impoverished is impoverished so it is really inconsequential. Unless you’re Charlize. Madam “Taron”, as her American counterparts have so affectionately come to know her, has spawned a litany of outcry by choosing not to adopt from her native South Africa, but rather a black baby from inside the States that she now calls home. “How dare she!” the communal South African public exclaimed aghast. But does it really matter? Are we trying to keep an equitable American Poverty to South African poverty ratio? Shes fostering love for the unloved, and that’s what matters. Are we really now going to get patriotic about our charitable causes? God these South Africans are a sensitive bunch.
But lets not forget the birth parents in this zealous rant of child trade. Abandoned street kids (extra points for being an AIDS orphan) are acceptable to adopt. But when Madge rocks up in Malawi and starts bartering for kids from loving families, then we are skewering the ethical compass. Poverty is not to suggest a lack of love, and if you can purchase a child for a tenner from your local tribal village then youre opening a can of worms. They cant afford basic supplies, so lets open up a baby factory where you get 10% off if you’ve had a number 1 on the billboard charts? A 3 for the price of 2 special? They are children, not commodities, and if our celebs can get around that as a concept and actually adopt for the greater good instead of a compliment to their new Louis Vuitton, then they can call them Hagrid H. Dumbeldore for all I care. Don’t be jealous because your 8 old doesn’t have a Porsche pram and theirs do.
Follow @Stroobz on Twitter as he tries to buy triplets from Zambia, and get his first name legally changed to Perciville.