Solomon Henderson inherited just three things from his birth parents, who left him at an Ethiopian orphanage when he was 1 year old: a picture of Jesus, a plastic crucifix and HIV.

As one of some 14,000 Ethiopian children born with the virus every year, Solomon's prospects for survival — much less adoption — were grim. But Erin Henderson's heart stirred when she saw him, and she decided, on the spot, to adopt him.

"They told me that they weren't sure he would live through the weekend," Henderson said by e-mail from her home in rural Wyoming, where she lives with her husband and 11 children, two of whom are HIV-positive adoptees from Ethiopia.

Solomon, now an active 2-year-old with chubby cheeks and a shy smile, is part of a small but growing movement: Americans adopting HIV-positive children from abroad.

Figures from U.S.-based Adoption Advocates International, the agency that arranges the majority of HIV-positive adoptions in Ethiopia, show a clear and steady rise, from two such adoptions in 2005, four in 2006, 13 in 2007, and 38 either completed or pending this year.

The U.S. Embassy corroborates the trend, although its numbers are slightly different because it counts adoptions according to fiscal year. So far this year, the embassy said, Americans have adopted 25 HIV-positive children from Ethiopia, up from seven the year before.

Ethiopia is at the forefront of the trend, in part because it is a well-established adoption hub. But countries including China, Ghana, Haiti and Russia also have seen increases, although the numbers remain small — fewer than five children in each country this year, according to U.S. adoption agencies that work with HIV-positive children. The figures could be higher, however, as many nations do not ask if a departing child has HIV.

The motivations are wide-ranging — some parents say they were driven by religion or a desire for social change, or that the disease is more manageable than ever before. Others, like Julie Hehn, gave more personal reasons.

"I was just scrolling through these pictures, and I saw the photo of Tsegenet, and I said, 'Oh my God, that's my daughter,'" said Hehn, a 53-year-old elementary school teacher from Edmonds, Wash.

Hehn said she was not looking for an HIV-positive child when she decided to adopt from Ethiopia.

"I fell in love with Tsegenet and it just happens she's HIV-positive," said Hehn, who has 27 children, 19 of them adopted from Ethiopia and five adopted from the U.S.

At a recent goodbye party at an orphanage in Addis Ababa, a 9-year-old girl who was heading to the United States with her adoptive family gave a shy smile as her friends ate doughnuts and sang farewell songs.

The children — all of whom have HIV or AIDS and are looking for new families — belted out an Ethiopian hymn called "No one is ashamed of you."

Ethiopian adoptions to the United States peaked at 1,255 in 2007, and the adoption of HIV-positive children is growing in step, according to U.S. government figures. American adoptions in Ethiopia have steadily risen from 135 in 2003, to 289 in 2004 to 440 in 2005 to 731 in 2006.

So far, none of the children adopted through Adoption Advocates International in Ethiopia since 2005 has died. The oldest is now 13 years old.

Margaret Fleming, the founder of Chances By Choice, an international HIV-positive adoption advocacy group that connects parents with HIV-positive children and adoption agencies, said her group also has overseen adoptions of children from Haiti, Guatemala and Russia.

Fleming said her group has helped bring about 52 international HIV-positive adoptions since 2002 from assorted adoption agencies and countries, including Ethiopia.

Fleming, who has three HIV-positive children in her own brood of 12 children, said she wanted to make a difference in the world.

"I feel like I'm on the cutting edge of making an impact on this epidemic," Fleming, 72, said by telephone from her office in Chicago. "It's given us a chance to be ambassadors, and our children to be ambassadors."

Over the past decade, HIV has become a manageable, chronic disease, rather than a death sentence. Some children, like Solomon, require daily medication that can cost between $700 and $1,500 a month, though all parents planning to adopt children with HIV are required to carry health insurance, so costs are usually less.

Others, like Tsegenet Hehn, have been told by doctors that the low levels of the virus in their blood mean they don't need any medication.

"She doesn't get sick any more than my other children," said Hehn, who said another daughter, who has a condition that makes her react violently to wheat and gluten products, requires more care than Tsegenet does.

U.S. Secretary of Health and Human Services Michael Leavitt said HIV-positive adoptees pose no public health threat in America. Congress is set to repeal legislation that requires those with HIV to get waivers to enter the U.S. For adopted children with HIV, the waiver requirement can increase the nine- to 12-month adoption process by about two weeks.

"The American people are compassionate people," Leavitt told the AP on a visit to the Ethiopian capital, Addis Ababa. "I applaud their compassion and I'm delighted to know they're doing so."

But parents overwhelmingly say the reward is theirs.

"I have learned so much from Tsegenet," Hehn said. "I have learned to be more patient and kind through Tsegenet."

Like some parents interviewed, Hehn says she insists on being open with everyone about her daughter's condition.

"I'm a teacher. I want to educate everybody I can educate," she said. "And I believe it is the only way we can erase the stigma. I am not going to tell her that there is not one part of her that is not beautiful and wonderful and pure."

At only 15 Nonsikelelo Hlophe is old beyond her years after she and her siblings lost both their parents to HIV-AIDS, turning the family into one of thousands headed by children.

The slightly built teen lives in the mountainous kingdom's central region, in a remote, sparsely populated area, which according to the charity World Vision has around 3,000 child-headed households.

The Hlophe children lost their their father, the family's sole breadwinner, in 2002. The illness forced him to abandon his job in the gold mines of neighbouring South Africa and return to his home in Sandleni village where he died.

"As kids we were not told what killed him, causes of death are not discussed with kids," Nonsikelelo told AFP, staring blankly into the distance.

Two years later, in 2004, Nonsikelelo's mother also died leaving the family's eldest son Ndumiso, then 18, to assume the role of head of the family and provider even though he was still at school.

According to World Vision's Musi Mayisela, the Hlophe family is far from unique in Swaziland which celebrated 40 years of independence on Saturday and where HIV-AIDS affects nearly one in four adults, the world's highest infection rate.

Orphans are left penniless and with no means of supporting themselves.

"The case of the Hlophe family is a classic case of what is happening in many rural areas here in the country," he said.

Despite Swaziland's high HIV-AIDS rate, the disease is often still not referred to by name. "People call it this new disease or this three-letter illness," added Mayisela.

Life saving anti-AIDS drugs were only rolled out in Swaziland in 2003, according to local action group, Swaziland Positive Living.

There are currently 51,000 patients receiving therapy at different locations across the country -- a fraction of the number affected.

"Sick people have a difficult time reaching these places and drugs often run out, resulting in non-adherence, which could cause fatal complications," Cebile Dlamini, spokeswoman for the group, said.

Dlamini, whose organisation has field workers across the country, said children were the hardest hit by the disease.

"There is still a need for a more comprehensive roll-out of treatment. The available drugs are funded by overseas NGO's and this calls for support from within the country," she said.

For the Hlophe children, none of whom is HIV positive, home is a modest two-roomed brick house, built by World Vision after their traditional dwelling collapsed.

The kitchen doubles as a bedroom for the girls and school fees are subsidised by the government. They receive food parcels from aid organisations.

They work hard to help their eldest brother bring in enough money to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table.

But despite all the hardships, Ndumiso, now 22, who earns money doing odd jobs, has not given up on his dream of becoming an accountant when he finishes school this year.

"Right now I want to earn more money to support my sisters and brothers," he told AFP.

And Nonsikelelo's older sister Phumzile, 20, inspired by her family's experiences, cherishes an ambition to become a nurse after finishing school.

"I saw the pain that my mum went through - now I want to become a nurse when I finish school so that I can help other people," she said.