Going visiting

Going to the slums. Doesn't that sound like a charitable chore, likely to be either heartbreaking or odious? However, when you are going to visit your dear friend and house worker Hobtomwa, then it becomes a joy.

Mindy, Erin and I drove down to the house where Hobtom's husband works as a guard, and parked there. The road going to the slums turns into a steep, muddy rock-filled slope, with water running down it, more like a creek bed than a proper road. Hobtom's brother escorted us, since it's not necessarily safe for Ferengis on their own. As we walked I wondered what to expect; the street was lined with tin and mud huts, it was hard to tell what lay behind the walls. What would Hobtom's be like?

It turned out to be a small two room house within a compound made up of several homes, so that there was what seemed like a maze of homes and courtyards to traverse before reaching Hobtom's courtyard. Their mud home had had a cheerful coat of paint around the door, along with a neatly painted house number, and there were several plants and flowers in pots in the courtyard (which Mindy says Hobtom realized she could do from seeing their yard). Hobtom greeted us warmly, and went back to work in her "kitchen" (a corner of the living room floor) making coffee and popcorn for us. She popped the corn and heated the coffee on a little portable stove, grinding the coffee by hand first by smashing a metal rod into a can full of coffee beans. Some fresh cut grass served as a trivet.

Although none of the homes in the compound had running water and many people share a neighborhood toilet, amazingly, they do have electricity and Hobtom's house boasted a TV and a CD player. The furnishings of the home were simple but reflected their values: family (photos) and their Orthodox faith (icons). But more than anything the home reflected the influence of the Beethams'. Conspicuous among the few toys proudly on display were two Barbies, gifts to Haimee from Chris's parents. Draped over the toy shelf and serving as a decoration, I spotted a party favor from Kate's birthday, a simple tulle skirt. The spoons that we used to stir in our generous helping of sugar into our coffee and even the coffee cups themselves were from the Beetham's folks. Apparently prior to their recent visit, Hobtom had only one spoon. But an even bigger change was as a result of the financial benefit of working for the Beethams: they had been able to enlarge their house from one to two rooms. Now they have one room for sleeping in, and one for entertaining and cooking in.

In between our three cups of coffee (the standard polite helping), we walked outside and met some of the neighbors. Around the back of Hobtom's house was a young woman making injeera, the traditional sourdough flat bread that Ethiopians eat nearly every meal, on a flat griddle over a Eucalyptus fire. She had the amount of batter needed for each and the speed for at which to pour the batter down to a science, her fingers so used to the heat that she could take the injeera straight off the griddle. I didn't appreciate her skill until I was given the opportunity to try pouring it myself. I was trying to be careful, but that meant that I went too slowly and the injeera rose too much and didn't spread out enough. By the time I got the middle of the griddle, I was totally out of batter, leaving a large hole, right in the middle or the bread—much to the entertainment of all of Hobtom's neighbors, who had gathered around to watch! [This picture shows what the injeera looked like when I ran out of batter, the following picture is what properly poured and baked injeera looks like.]

My final impression of the slums? A friendly neighborhood, peopled by kind, gracious women who make homes for their families in spite of their poverty.