Thoughts of motherhood had been put on hold — until I met Simi. At eight months old, she was the daintiest little doll, with dark, gazing eyes and a striking composure. I was visiting, in a professional capacity, the orphanage in Nepal where she had lived since being abandoned. I certainly hadn’t come shopping for a baby.

The principal of the orphanage came up and said, “She hates loud noises,” then she clapped her hands in Simi’s face and shouted, “Bam! Bam! Bam!” It was the defining moment. This woman’s insensitivity, coupled with the grim surroundings, set me thinking. Could I give this little girl a better life? Whatever the impression given by Madonna’s African jaunt, adopting a child from abroad is not an easy option. The process is arduous and unglamorous. Inter-country adoption may start with a coup de foudre, but any element of whim evaporates during the lengthy investigation into every aspect of the wannabe adopter’s life.

Like many single women in their late thirties, I’d been through the usual baby-hunger pangs and thought hard about the options. It seemed selfish to bring another child into the world and to inflict fatherlessness on it, which, as a single, would-be mother, was my only alternative to adoption. When I decided to adopt Simi, I faced the same questions and criticisms as Madonna. Chiefly, was it right to take her away from her culture and community? However, unlike Simi, Madonna’s boy has a father, who reportedly didn’t realise his son might be put up for adoption. He put him in an orphanage because he thought he’d be better cared for, but he didn’t want to lose him. This, to me, seems completely wrong. I canvassed everyone I knew with an informed opinion and got a consensus: for an orphan, a secure, loving family life is preferable to growing up in an institution. Within a few months, I made my decision to adopt.

The culture issue continued to nag at me, though. And it continued after I’d adopted Simi. Had I had done the right thing? Was I depriving her of a sense of community? I needn’t have worried. When you become a mother to a child, you also become a surrogate to their friends. The endless flow of people through your house and daily interactions at the school gate stand in contrast to the self-centred life of a singleton working from home.

The Madonna critics are right: overseas adoption is to do with image. But it’s not that you do it for street cred, more that it suits who you are. Most of the overseas adopters I know are unconventional: many are unmarried and self-employed. They are, good or bad, women of the times. To me, becoming a mother to a little girl from a region I love and regularly visit seemed far less prosaic than being single and up the duff by some feckless man.

The most difficult thing was keeping my resolve when I met with disapproval. But then I’d stare at a picture of Simi and there was no question. We now say that we were always mother and daughter — we just had to find each other. On visits, I watched her grow from a withdrawn little thing to an independent toddler, sparkling with mischief and merriment. At last, the day came when this tenuous notion of motherhood became reality. “Your file has been approved,” read the e-mail. “You are requested to come to Nepal.” Within weeks, Simi, by then nearly three, was living with me and had launched herself wholeheartedly into my life. Bonding had happened invisibly over our time apart — it was just a matter of cementing it.

She’s six and a half now, and I am more sure than ever that adopting Simi was right for her, not just me. What convinced me was a visit to her orphanage two years after the adoption, when we took out two of her former housemates for the day. The contrast was stark. Simi was confident, alive and interested in everything around her. But the spark had gone from her friends’ eyes. Their sole interest was food.

My desire for adventure and to keep Simi’s culture alive has resulted in our latest project — a year living in Nepal. Whether it’s successful or not, at least she can’t later complain that she missed out on growing up in her native culture. Nor, unlike her little friends left in the orphanage, can she regret not having a mother.

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