Irish couples who want to adopt children from Ethiopia are calling on the Minister for Children, Frances Fitzgerald, to lift a ban which has been in place since November 2010. It was imposed because Ethiopia did not sign the Hague Convention on the Protection of Children on Inter-country Adoption.
Independent TD Finian McGrath this week urged the minister to speed up the process. He said: "These children need us and many Irish families need them."
It's mid-afternoon in central Addis Ababa and four young children gather in silence around a bundle of clothes. On a dusty side road they kneel unprotected by shade from the 30 degree heat. Cars pass by just a few feet from where they rest. Their hair is knotted with dirt, their faces weary.
The three youngest boys, ranging in age from one to five, say nothing. As I approach, the fourth child, a girl who's a little older, smiles and manages a half-hearted "hi".
Her word provokes movement beneath the clothes bundle, and a bony hand lifts the material from underneath. I'm shocked to see the frame of a woman looking up at me. She's breast-feeding a tiny baby, though she barely has the strength to hold her head up.
She could be no more than 30, but she looks like an old woman.
Her eyes have lost all colour, her expression lacks any hope, and this could well end up being her last resting place. Although Ethiopia is making great strides in helping to stall the spread of HIV/AIDS, the disease still robs children of their mothers, as I'm sure it will do in this case.
But what will become of the children? Across the country, state-run and private orphanages are packed with vulnerable Ethiopian children.
For Maria Dunne and Hugh Duggan from Ringsend in Dublin, a decision was simple. Maria said: "We wanted to adopt from a developing country and we got to know some people who had adopted a child from Ethiopia. We knew there'd be a support network in Ireland and that we wouldn't be alone."
As she talked, two-year-old son Tariku sprinted around the foyer of a hotel in the Ethiopian capital. He was wearing his Leinster rugby kit and left his poor old dad, Hugh, in his wake.
Tariku's name means "he has a story to tell", and it couldn't be more apt. Born in the south of the country, he was three months old when his adoptive parents first set eyes on him. In April 2010 they brought their new son home.
"We're just an ordinary family. There are lots of different ways to be a family and this is our way," said Maria, who is a doctor with the HSE and on the committee of the Irish Ethiopian Adoption Organisation (IEAO).
Hugh and Maria were in Ethiopia, like me, to take part in the Great Ethiopian 10km road race. They pushed Tariku along in a jogger buggy. They believe that frequent trips to his homeland will be hugely important and have vowed to always teach Tariku about where he's from and his culture.
If Irish law allowed the couple to adopt a second child from Ethiopia they'd do so in a heartbeat.
He'd just had a run-in with his six-year-old sister, Fionnuala, after a disagreement over table football. Dad sorted out the drama with the help of a few biscuits and calm was restored.
Donal, a restaurant owner, said: "Miriam and I decided to adopt when children weren't coming, but we ended up having two of our own while we were waiting for the adoption process to conclude." Donal recalls the appalling conditions he found in one orphanage in Addis. "They'd run out of nappies. There were 29 children and one had diarrhoea. Before long they all had it.
"They decided to use plastic bags with the corners cut out and the children's legs were coming out through those and they were trying to contain the diarrhoea. It was an emotional wrecking-ball."